T
he time had come once again for his “division,” the division of Abijah, to care for the priestly services of the Temple. The lot would be taken to determine the Censer-priest whose duties were to burn incense on the altar before the Veil in the Temple of God. These days in Herod’s temple, the altar no longer stood before the Veil. The altar did not stand even in the Holy Place. Different times. Nothing stayed the same. Incense symbolized the prayers of Israel to God. Indeed, he came to offer such prayers. Two relatives assisted the Censer-priest, one to remove what remained of the previous days’ sacrifice, the other to re-arrange the live coals on the altar of incense. Zechariah had long since laid aside any expectations. Once, he looked forward to the lot, hoping to be chosen, wishing to be chosen, living for the day when he would be chosen. Not any more. Today, as in recent years, he thought it all a bore. He held no thought, no expectation at all, that he would be chosen. Hence, on this day he was.
