The Silence of Zechariah: A Journey of Faith and Doubt

Fr. Jijo Kandamkulathy CMF
Claretian Missionaries

The scent of burning incense lingered in the air as Zechariah stood alone in the temple, his hands trembling slightly as he performed his priestly duties. The years had been kind to him in wisdom but cruel in longing—he and Elizabeth had prayed for a child, yet their prayers had remained unanswered. He had accepted it, or so he thought. But deep within, a quiet sorrow had settled, a resignation masked as faith.
Then, in the stillness, a presence emerged. A figure, radiant and commanding, stood before him. Zechariah’s breath caught in his throat. He had read of such encounters, but never had he imagined one for himself.
“Do not be afraid, Zechariah,” the angel spoke, his voice both gentle and firm. “Your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you shall call him John.” Zechariah’s heart pounded. A son? Now? In their old age? The words clashed against the walls of reason in his mind. He had long accepted that fatherhood was beyond him. And yet, here stood a messenger of God, declaring the impossible.
“How can I be sure of this?” he asked, his voice laced with doubt. “I am an old man, and my wife is well along in years.”
The angel’s gaze did not waver. “I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and bring you this good news. But because you did not believe my words, you will be silent until the day they come to pass.” And just like that, the world around Zechariah fell into silence.
Zechariah returned home, the weight of the divine encounter pressing against his chest. His hands trembled slightly, his lips parted as if to speak—but no sound came. The silence was suffocating, yet it was the only thing he had now.
Elizabeth turned from her work, her eyes lighting up at the sight of her husband. But the moment she saw his face—pale, bewildered, yet strangely radiant—her smile faltered. Elizabeth: (concerned) Zechariah? What is it? You look… different. Zechariah opened his mouth, but only air escaped. He clenched his jaw, frustration flickering in his eyes. He gestured wildly, pointing to the sky, then to his chest, then miming a child in his arms.

Elizabeth’s brow furrowed. “What are you saying?” she whispered, stepping closer. Zechariah grabbed a tablet and, with shaking hands, began to write: “An angel appeared. Said we will have a son. I doubted. Now I cannot speak.”

Elizabeth gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “A son?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Zechariah, are you saying—after all these years—God has answered us?”
Zechariah nodded, his eyes pleading for understanding, for belief.
Elizabeth’s breath hitched. She had prayed for this moment, longed for it in the quiet hours of the night. And now, here it was—wrapped in mystery, in divine intervention, in her husband’s silent suffering.
She reached for him, cupping his face gently. “You doubted,” she murmured, sadness and love mingling in her voice. “But God has not abandoned us.”
Zechariah’s eyes glistened. He had spent his life in service to God, yet when faced with a miracle, he had faltered. And now, he was trapped in silence, forced to listen, to observe, to believe without question.
Elizabeth took his hands, pressing them against her heart. “We will wait,” she said firmly. “And when the time comes, you will speak again. And you will name him John.”
Zechariah exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. He had doubted, but Elizabeth had not. She carried the faith he had lost, and in her unwavering belief, he found his own redemption.
Days turned into weeks, and Zechariah remained mute. The absence of his voice was more than an inconvenience—it was a mirror reflecting his doubt, forcing him to confront the very faith he had preached. He watched Elizabeth’s joy, her unwavering belief in the promise, and he felt the weight of his own skepticism.
He had spent his life in service to God, yet when faced with a miracle, he had faltered. Was his faith merely ritual? Had he mistaken routine for trust?

As Elizabeth’s belly grew, so did Zechariah’s understanding. His silence became a time of reflection, a period of transformation. He saw the world differently—without words, he listened more, observed more, felt more. He realized that faith was not about certainty, but about surrender.
The day came when Elizabeth bore their son. The household rejoiced, and the time arrived to name the child. On the 8th day, they took the child to the temple for circumcision. The courtyard of the temple was filled with murmurs and anticipation. Family, neighbors, and priests had gathered for the circumcision of Elizabeth’s newborn son. According to tradition, the child would be named after his father—Zechariah, a name of honor and lineage.
Elizabeth, holding the infant close, spoke with quiet certainty. “His name shall be John.”

A ripple of confusion spread through the crowd. “John?” someone echoed. “But none of your family bears that name.” The elders turned to Zechariah, expecting him to correct his wife. He had been silent for months, his voice stolen by doubt. Now, they waited for his decision.
Zechariah, still unable to speak, gestured for a tablet. With steady hands, he wrote: “His name is John.” The moment the words were revealed, a hush fell over the gathering. And then—Zechariah’s lips parted.
“Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel!” His voice rang out, strong and clear, breaking months of silence. His first words were not of explanation, nor of regret, but of praise.
The people gasped. “He speaks!” they whispered in awe. “What is this child destined to be?”
Zechariah, overwhelmed by the power of God, continued to speak. He prophesied of his son’s purpose, of the salvation to come, of the mercy of the Lord. His doubt had been replaced with unwavering faith, his silence with proclamation.
John had been named—not by tradition, but by divine command. And in that moment, Zechariah was restored.

Zechariah’s story is one of transformation. He was a man of faith, yet he struggled with doubt when faced with the miraculous. His silence forced him into introspection, leading him to a deeper understanding of trust and surrender. In the end, he was not just given a son—he was given a renewed faith, a second chance to believe without hesitation.

© Claretian Publications, Macau
Cum Approbatione Ecclesiastica 2025