“Let Your Life Sing!”

Luke 1:57, 67-79

Rev. Rhonda Abbott Blevins

I don’t know much about my great-great grandfather. I know his name was William Lawson. I know he owned a beautiful piece of land in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains, land passed down through the generations to my own family. I know that my great-great grandfather owned a country store, one of only three stores in the small community of Townsend, Tennessee. I know that he sold all manner of items at that store, from flour and meal to candy to one or two sample headstones for grave sites. I know that he let my grandmother sneak candy from his supply when she was a little girl, a secret her mother never discovered. And I know the story of Albert Peoples.

The year was roughly 1918. Albert Peoples was a young black man. He was free; slavery had been outlawed, but he lived long before the birth of Martin Luther King Jr., years before Rosa Parks, and decades before Brown vs. the Board of Education. Albert Peoples lived in the difficult days between slavery and Civil Rights, but at least he had a job building roads, which brought him to the small community of Townsend. The story goes that while Albert was working in Townsend, he got a little too close to another man’s girl, and he found himself with a bullet in his head. Shot with a rifle at close range. Murder in the first degree. But there was no trial. No conviction. No justice for a black man far from home in that day and time.

The next day, the foreman of Albert’s road crew went around asking local landowners if they would allow the young black man to be buried on their land. Prejudice ran high; no one would hear of such a thing. No one, that is, except William Lawson, my great-great grandfather. Apparently he had compassion on “Poor Albert.” He found a remote spot on the family land, and there Albert Peoples rests to this day. Grandpa Lawson even donated one of the sample headstones from his store, though it had a ladies’ name on it. When my grandmother was a little girl, she and her sister would go place flowers on “Poor Albert’s” grave every spring. And one of these days, I’ll take my little boy to visit the grave of Albert Peoples, and I’ll tell him the story about his great-great-great grandfather, who had compassion for a man when no one else would. You see, I don’t know much about my great-great grandfather, but I know he was a compassionate man.

We don’t know much about Zechariah, the central figure from our text today. We know he was a priest. We know he married a woman named Elizabeth. We know that both of them were card-carrying members of the AARP. We know that they were good folks, and that they had never been able to have children. We also know that old Zechariah was quite the skeptic. He was so cynical that even when the angel Gabriel stood there face to face and told him that he would have a son in his old age, he dared to doubt Gabriel’s promise, so Gabriel taught him a lesson and snatched his ability to speak. So old Zechariah spent the next nine or so months mute. And ladies, we know that those were the best nine months of Elizabeth’s life!

When I think of Zechariah, I imagine him as a grumpy old man, performing his perfunctory duties at the temple much like the character from the 1983 Dunkin Doughnuts commercial. You know, the old curmudgeon famous for the line, “Time to make the Doughnuts.” That’s how I picture Zechariah at the temple. And then, BAM! An angel of the Lord appears and changes his life forever! Zechariah leaves that encounter that day speechless, but a little bit frisky. He goes home to his wife, turns on some Kenny G, lights a couple of candles, pours a couple of glasses of wine, and pretty soon ripe old Elizabeth has a baby bump.

Now for nine months, Zechariah remains mute. And then comes baby. When he was eight days old they brought him to the temple as was the custom of the day, Zechariah confirms the baby’s name as “John,” and instantly his speech returns. Nine months of frustrated silence, and do you know the first thing does? He sings! Zechariah sings a song of praise to God, a song of blessing over his newborn son. The song ends with a promise of God’s peace, “By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” (NRSV)

That’s the story we know about Zechariah. But have you ever wondered how Luke, the supposed author of our text today, knew this story about Zechariah? Luke wasn’t there at the temple when Zechariah saw the angel and lost his speech. Luke wasn’t there when Zechariah brought his infant son to the temple and uttered his first words in nine months in the form of a song of praise and peace. He wasn’t there, so how did he know these things? Simply put, someone must have told Luke the story.

The gospel of Luke was written 60, maybe 80 years after these things happened to Zechariah. By the time the gospel was written, Zechariah was almost certainly dead and gone. Gone but not forgotten. Why? Because he sang a song of peace! He is remembered two millennia later by American suburbanites like you and me because he sang a simple song of peace!

I don’t know about you, but when I’m dead and gone, there’s a part of me that wants to be remembered—remembered fondly like Zechariah. The good news from the story of Zechariah is that I don’t have to be famous. I don’t have to be the President of the United States or discover the cure for cancer. I don’t have to win American Idol or crash a state dinner at the White House. I simply have to let my life sing a song of peace. If I can accomplish that, that’s a legacy I can live with.

What about you? What kind of song does your life sing? It’s never too late to sing a song of peace! It’s never too late to show compassion to those the world rejects! It’s never too late to volunteer for a local charity or give to a worthy cause. It’s never too late to send a card to someone who’s lonely or downtrodden. It’s never too late to take soup to a sick neighbor. It’s never too late to let your life sing!

Last week I was visiting one of our members at NHC, the rehabilitation center on Kingston Pike. As I was leaving, I walked by the nurses’ station. A number of employees were there dutifully doing their paperwork. A woman older than God sat in a wheelchair, a young male employee stood behind her. As I passed by I heard her announce throughout the hall, “There’s nobody I’d rather have push me around than you!” Laughter erupted! Paperwork scowls transformed into sheer delight. The old woman continued in loud voice, “He is so handsome!” Laughter heightened. The young man beamed through slightly reddened cheeks. That old lady had made their day. She made my day! She taught me that it’s never too late to make somebody’s day.

I don’t know much about my great-great grandfather, but I know that his life sang a song of peace. A song of compassion. My family is still singing his song nearly 100 years later. I hope and pray that my song will be one of peace and compassion like his. I hope and pray that your song will be one of peace and compassion, too. Amen.