E
lizabeth, barren Elizabeth, elderly Elizabeth gave birth to a son. Over the past several months she and Mary shared feelings, their experiences with God and held long conversations about their soon to be born babies. When Elizabeth’s time came, Mary observed the child’s crowning, its final spurt into this world amidst his mother’s labored groans. She saw the cord cut, the infant cleaned and wrapped in soft blankets, she saw how a small stocking had been made for its head. She observed and learned things she would need for a time not many days hence. Elizabeth’s friends, confidants and relatives came to be happy with her. The secret of this astounding event was out. The word had spread. Ancient Elizabeth, thought past the time of child-bearing, has given birth to a son. They brought food and wine. They danced and played. Women clucked and cooed over the infant. Those first days took the shape of a week. The child would be circumcised tomorrow.
In the temple, the babe shrieked in pain as the priests performed the service of Abraham. “My,” quoth one of the women in great humor, “young Zechariah has the voice of an ass.”
I do not recall my own circumcision, but I imagine that I shrieked as loud as this miraculous babe. Although the priests set great store by it and although the scripture seems to reveal that the custom came from God as a sign of his covenant with Abraham, I wonder. I wonder if it came instead from some venerable shaman very much taken with the ritual of mutilation. Even Jesus said that it did not come from Moses as part of the Law, but from the patriarchs. My concern is; what patriarch? Abraham? Abraham does not strike me as a man given to self mutilation, especially down . . . there. It is a strange, if not asinine custom. Then there is that comical story about David collecting one hundred Philistine foreskins as the price for Saul’s daughter, Michal. Comical for me, perhaps. Not so comical for one hundred Philistine males.
Everyone at the temple service laughed. Elizabeth, her voice as clear and uncompromising as steel, said simply, “His name is John.” Her tone arrested attention.
A close relative said quietly and with respect, “But Elizabeth, there is no one in the family by that name.”
Zechariah sat mute as all had come to expect of him. Still, he was this child’s father. They gestured to him. Ignorance is monstrously embarrassing. Zechariah could hear every word every one had said. Though he could not speak, he could hear as well as any of them. It is remarkable how people think that because one cannot speak, one also cannot hear. Stupidly, they made signs at him. They mouthed the question, “What will you name the child?” hoping he might understand better. Zechariah dropped his head in exasperated resignation. He rubbed his eyes. He had not spoken a syllable in nine long months. He gestured with his hands to make way. The people parted to allow him room to maneuver. On the wooden table lay a tablet. Taking a writing instrument the doddering old man wrote, “His name is John!” He held it high over his head passing through each point of the compass. Embarrassed silence followed until he completed the circle, all eyes on the arc of the tablet.
Then came a shout, “Praise to God Almighty!” an exclamation of commanding power.
