a homily on Luke 1: 67-79: Preparing for Christmas with the Benedictus(24-12-25)

A few years ago, when I entered a chapel, I noticed something that stayed with me. It was almost time to close. The lights were dim, and the place was very quiet. Near the front, an old man was sitting alone. He seemed to have been there for a long time. His body looked tired, but there was a deep calm in him, as if waiting itself had become prayer. Scripture tells us, “It is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord” (Lamentations 3:26).

After a while, a young woman entered the chapel. She knelt, prayed silently, and before leaving, she walked towards the altar and lit a candle. The flame rose gently—steady and bright.

The old man watched that flame for a long time. Then slowly, with effort, he stood up, walked forward, and lit another candle from the same flame. His candle trembled a little, perhaps because of age, perhaps because of emotion, yet it gave the same light. For a few moments, the two candles burned side by side. Nothing was said. But I felt something change. The chapel felt ready. Christmas felt very near.

It is not by chance that, in these final days of Advent, the Church gives us sacred songs born of waiting, previously on Monday, the song of Our Lady and today, the Benedictus, the song of Zachariah. It is good to place them side by side, especially on these final days of preparation. Our Lady sings while the promise is still hidden within her. She has only God’s word to hold on to. Her song rises from trust. She praises before seeing. She believes before understanding. Her song teaches us how to wait with faith, with an open heart, without fear of the unknown.

Today, we hear the Benedictus, the song of Zechariah (Luke 1:67–79), a hymn that rises from silence, memory, and fulfilled promise. It is the song of a man who waited long, who questioned, who was humbled, and who finally learned to trust God’s time. 

Zechariah blesses the Lord because “He has visited and redeemed His people” (Luke 1:68). This is not the joy of haste, but of recognition. He looks back and sees that God was at work even in the long years of silence. The Benedictus teaches us that waiting does not mean God is absent; often, it means God is working deeply and quietly.

Saint Augustine reminds us, “God is preparing you for what He is preparing for you.” Advent is precisely this preparation—learning to trust when the promise is still unfolding and to remain patient when fulfilment seems delayed.

This song rises from a heart shaped by memory. It remembers Abraham and the covenant, David and the promise, mercy given from generation to generation. As Zechariah proclaims, “He has remembered His holy covenant” (Luke 1:72). Waiting becomes bearable when memory is faithful—when we recall not only our questions, but God’s past goodness.

One voice in the Gospel teaches us how to trust before seeing; the other teaches us how to praise after long endurance. One reflects hope that moves forward; the other reflects wisdom that looks back. Both are needed as we stand at the threshold of Christmas. Like the two candles—different in strength and movement, yet sharing the same flame.

Together they reveal something essential about God’s coming: He enters our lives gently. First, He invites trust. Then, He shapes patience. Finally, He fills the heart with peace. As Scripture says, “The dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death” (Luke 1:78–79).

This truth is very close to family life. In every home, there are different voices: the young hope quickly, and the old remember deeply. When only one voice is heard, faith becomes fragile. But when trust and memory walk together, the home becomes ready for God’s visitation.

Saint Francis of Assisi once said, “Let us prepare a dwelling place for Christ within our hearts.” Not with noise or haste, but with humility and openness. The Benedictus prepares us in this way—by teaching us to see God’s faithfulness woven through time.

On this final day of Advent preparation, the Church invites us to bless God before Christmas fully arrives. Not loudly, not perfectly, but truthfully. If our hearts can trust without fear and remember without bitterness, then Christ will truly be born within us.

Lord Jesus let me sing your praises always in my life