There is a quiet irony in prophetic utterance. Throughout history, God has spoken words to mankind and we call it prophecy, yet prophecy is not dependent on words alone. From the opening chapters of Genesis, God speaks creation into being—forming the world, life, and order through voice and sound. God chooses speech as a vessel for truth and power, revealing His will , His plans , His character and the promise of the Messiah through those we call prophets, even so silence is just as powerful and necessary to prophecy.
And yet, between Malachi, the final book of the Old Testament, and Matthew, the opening of the New Testament, there are four hundred years often called the “silent years.” During this time, there are no recorded prophetic messages, no formal revelations. Heaven seems quiet.
When that long silence is finally broken, it happens in an unexpected way. We are introduced to Zechariah and Elizabeth—righteous, faithful, and blameless before God. By every outward measure, they seem well-suited to receive such an important revelation. Yet the moment is marked by irony: the silence of heaven is broken through a man who himself becomes silent.
Zechariah is not an outsider or an unlikely figure. He is a priest, devoted and respected, serving faithfully in the temple. And yet, when confronted with the angel’s message, he struggles to believe. Though he sees the angel, hears the promise, and longs for the coming Messiah, doubt enters the moment, and Zechariah is unable to speak.
In this way, Zechariah reflects the story of Israel itself. Like the Hebrews who witnessed God’s mighty acts—deliverance from Egypt, provision in the wilderness, and protection along the way—yet still wrestled with trust, Zechariah encounters God’s presence and power but hesitates. Unlike Israel, however, he is not given the chance to voice complaint. His silence becomes part of the story.
God, of course, is not surprised. Zechariah’s silence does not interrupt God’s purposes. He was chosen not because of his voice, but for reasons that went beyond it. For nine months, Zechariah carried extraordinary news quietly—much like the centuries when God seemed silent yet was still preparing something new.
This theme appears again in Jesus’ ministry. At times, Jesus healed and instructed those He healed to remain silent. He cautioned His disciples about revealing His identity too quickly and silenced voices that spoke the truth before the right moment. These moments remind us that God can work just as powerfully through silence as through speech.
God entrusted Zechariah with profound revelation and then asked him to wait in quietness. Perhaps the message first needed to shape his own heart. Or perhaps God was gently showing that the messenger is never more important than the message. Zechariah was imperfect and uncertain, yet still chosen. Mary did not require conventional circumstances. Shepherds did not need status. Wise men did not need power. Jesus did not arrive in a palace.
Often, the things we believe are essential for carrying God’s message are the very things God teaches us to release and the things we think are necessary to carry God’s message are often the very things God sets aside.
My Faith Place 