Off Script, On Cue

Luke 1:57–66

Phrases that spoke to me today:
• his name is John
• immediately his mouth was opened and his tongue loosed and he spoke
• fear came upon all their neighbors
• all these things were talked about through all the hill country of Judea

Applying the Word to My Life:
When John was born, the neighbors and relatives came to celebrate. It seemed like the impossible had finally happened — and maybe they thought the surprises were over. But things took another turn when it came time to name the child.

They figured he would be named after his father, but Elizabeth says his name is John. They turn to Zechariah, who has been mute for nine months. He asks for a tablet and writes: his name is John. Immediately his voice comes back and fear came upon all their neighbors.

This seemed like a strange reaction to me — I couldn't see any reason why someone would be terrified at this set of events — so I looked into the original language.

The Greek word here — phobos — covers a range. It can mean terror. But in this context it is something closer to awe. The neighbors are not running away. They are stopped in their tracks. The word spreads through the whole hill country. That is not the behavior of frightened people. That is the behavior of people who just witnessed something and can't stop talking about it.

The disruption — the unexpected name, the mute man suddenly speaking — didn't cause panic. It caused wonder. They recognized that when something breaks the expected pattern this dramatically, God is probably involved.

Our instinct tends to go the other way. When things don't go as planned, our first response is the wrong kind of fear. Anxiety and the urge to regain control. We read disruption as a problem to solve rather than a sign to pay attention to.

In 2019 my friend Mike and I owned a couple of fireworks stands in central Iowa. It was a rough year. The weather didn't cooperate, competition had increased, and both of us were getting buried by our regular jobs. We sold the stands to another local owner. We didn't get much for them, but we could keep whatever fireworks we wanted — so we picked the ones we liked and that was that.

Then 2020 came. Large gatherings and public displays were banned because of COVID. We had a pile of fireworks and nowhere to use them. So we put on a show in my backyard. Neighbors could spread out, stay safe, and still have something to celebrate. It went pretty well.

The next year our neighbors asked if we were going to do it again. We said we could. They offered money to help with the cost. We said keep it — but if you want to give to something, donate to a local charity that helps veterans.

It has grown from there. Now it is an event with a couple hundred people — free barbecue, live music, a fundraiser for veterans. People we have never met show up. Strangers who become part of the evening, part of the community.

Nobody planned that. A bad season, a forced sale, a pandemic — each one looked like a problem at the time. Together they built something none of us would have designed on our own.

The right kind of fear isn't alarm. It is attentiveness — the recognition that when things go sideways, it is worth pausing to ask whether God is doing something rather than just trying to fix it.

The neighbors saw what happened with Zechariah and Elizabeth and recognized it. They didn't try to explain it or manage it. They stood there in awe and then went and told everyone.

That is the posture worth practicing. Not every disruption is divine intervention. But some of them are. And the ones we spend all our energy trying to fix are the ones we are least likely to notice.

My Response for Today:
Today I will think of one thing in my life that didn't go as planned and ask whether God was doing something in it that I might have missed.