Fr Mark Schultz

Dear Friend,

I love our reading from Zechariah this morning—from its rich prophetic imagery to the evocative concept of the “day of small things” (on which I've written before in this Daily Bread), to the underlying message: our strength and ingenuity are not enough to accomplish the work of God, but God working in us by grace—by the indwelling of God’s gracious and loving Spirit—empowers us to accomplish all those good works that God has given us to walk in. Here, the context relates to the rebuilding of Jerusalem and of the temple after the Babylonians destroyed them in the sixth century BCE. Zechariah’s vision proclaims that God will raise up a high priest and a king (two anointed ones) who will both represent the renewal of- and will themselves revive the fallen temple and the scattered nation by the power of God’s Spirit.

But there’s a facet of today’s lesson that particularly drew my attention when I re-read it: the repeated surprise from the angel that Zechariah doesn’t know what anything in his vision actually means. There’s something even slightly comic about it:
Angel: Do you see this vision Zechariah?
Zechariah: Oh yes, definitely. Very lovely.
Angel: Indeed.
Zechariah: No idea what it means.
Angel: Seriously?
Zechariah: Not a clue.
Angel: Okay, fine then. Let me tell you…

Granted, it’s a bit of a prophetic trope: the prophet sees a thing but can’t comprehend it so appeals to a spiritual tutor or instructor to help them (John’s Apocalypse, for instance, is chock full of exchanges with angels who explain things). And it’s not just a prophetic trope, it’s also a model for how we’re to approach revelation generally, and in particular, how we’re to approach scripture (see Philip’s encounter with the Ethiopian Eunuch which follows a similar pattern)—which is to say, our encounter with scripture ought to occur in community, in relationship, and not in a vacuum.

But more than that, Zechariah’s honest and repeated confession of not knowing how to understand or read his vision is an example to us of what wonderful things of grace we might discover if we, too, could muster the courage to say, “I don’t know.” Certainty is often a very comfortable place to be. But “I don’t know” can lead us from easy and comfortable certainties into visionary places, to thresholds of revelation and mystery and awe. “I don’t know” is akin to the cry of the pained father who said to Jesus, “I believe, help my unbelief,” and he witnessed a miracle. To have the courage to say “I don’t know” is to engage in a practice of privileging the Spirit’s knowing over our own, of setting aside our knowing to allow the Spirit to know in us and through us and for us. “I don’t know” is a discipline not of vague or self-satisfied agnosticism, but of understanding the limits of our knowing and allowing God’s knowing to overshadow ours. A prophet says, “I don’t know” and an angel is freed to reveal a startling and vibrant portion of the mysterious pattern of God’s unfolding love in the world.

The angelic counterpart to the “I don’t know” of the prophet is also instructive—we might have a word of hope and wonder, of instruction and revelation for folks…but if we don’t imagine that someone might need the word we’ve been given to speak, chances are we won’t say it. We are meant to reveal the glorious love of God to others, but if we can’t imagine that the revelation is needed (and often desperately so) or if we can’t imagine that we’re actually the ones uniquely poised by grace to be that revelation in our particular portion of creation, we may find ourselves revealing very little.

My Beloved Friend! I hope that today you and I will find the courage both to freely proclaim the love of God by word and deed, and to admit that we do not know the fullness of that love nor the extraordinary profundity of its power…and in so doing, allow ourselves to be drawn by grace more deeply into God’s knowing, more deeply into the mysteries of God’s abiding love!

Under the Mercy,
Fr Mark+