Luke 1:57

Everything in this passage grows out of the opening of Luke’s Gospel. Zacharias, a priest, and his wife Elisabeth were old, and she had been barren. The angel Gabriel appeared to Zacharias in the temple and promised him a son who was to be named John (Luke 1:5–25, Luke 1:11–20, Luke 1:13). Zacharias doubted, and so he was struck dumb until the promise came to pass (Luke 1:18–20, Luke 1:20). Then Gabriel came to Mary, and when Mary visited Elisabeth in the hill country, the baby leapt in Elisabeth’s womb at the presence of the Messiah (Luke 1:39–45). Verse 57 is the moment all of this has been leading to.

“Elisabeth’s full time came” uses the verb plḗthō, to fill or to fulfil, with chrónos, time. The period of her pregnancy had reached its full measure, and behind the ordinary months stands the time God had appointed for this birth. Paul uses the same picture for the coming of Christ: “when the fulness of the time was come, God sent forth his Son” (Galatians 4:4). God’s promises are certain, and they arrive when he says.

Luke uses two verbs for the birth. “That she should be delivered” is tíktō, the act of giving birth, and “she brought forth a son” is gennáō, which looks at the result, a living child come into the world. The words are simple, and the simplicity carries great weight, because this son is exactly what Gabriel announced in Luke 1:13. A woman past the age of childbearing holds the child God promised.

Births in Israel belonged to the whole community. Family ties were strong, and neighbours and relatives shared each other’s sorrows and joys. Everyone around Elisabeth had known of her barrenness for years, so the news of this birth in her old age spread fast. The “neighbours” (períoikos) are those who lived around her. “Cousins” translates syngenḗs, which means kinsfolk or relatives in general, a wider word than our English “cousin”.

They “heard” (akoúō), and the word can carry understanding as well as hearing. They grasped what had happened, and they spoke of it as the Lord’s doing: “the Lord (kýrios) had shewed great mercy upon her.” The Greek is emegalynen eleos, “he had magnified his mercy”. Megalýnō means to make great, and éleos is mercy, the compassion that acts to help and deliver. God’s mercy to Elisabeth was abundant and plain for everyone to see. It was a free and gracious kindness, given by the God whose “mercy is on them that fear him from generation to generation”, as Mary had just sung (Luke 1:50).

“They rejoiced with her” is one word, synchaírō, to rejoice together. Her neighbours took her gladness as their own, which is a deeper thing than offering congratulations. The same joy surrounded the birth of Isaac, when Sarah said, “God hath made me to laugh, so that all that hear will laugh with me” (Genesis 21:6, in the account of Genesis 21:1–7). It is the gladness of the returned exiles: “The LORD hath done great things for us; whereof we are glad” (Psalm 126:2–3). Isaiah calls on all who love Jerusalem to “rejoice ye with Jerusalem, and be glad with her” (Isaiah 66:10), and Paul tells the church, “Rejoice with them that do rejoice” (Romans 12:15). The shared joy of these villagers was also a public witness that God had acted, and it prepared people to receive John’s ministry later.

“It came to pass” (gínomai, to happen or come about) “that on the eighth day they came to circumcise the child.” The eighth day, ógdoos, was fixed by God himself. He commanded Abraham, “he that is eight days old shall be circumcised among you” (Genesis 17:12), and the law of Moses repeats it: “in the eighth day the flesh of his foreskin shall be circumcised” (Leviticus 12:3). Circumcision was the sign of the covenant, and it marked a boy’s entry into the covenant people of Israel. Zacharias and Elisabeth keep God’s law with their son from his first week.

Why the eighth day? First and simply, because God commanded it. In Jewish thought the eighth day, coming after a complete week of seven, also often stood for a new beginning, which suits a child’s entry into a covenant relationship with God.

The circumcision was also the occasion for formally naming a boy, and it was customary to name him after a respected member of the family, especially the father or grandfather, to honour the family line. So the relatives and neighbours who had gathered “called him Zacharias, after the name of his father.” The verb is kaléō, to call or to name, and it comes again and again in these verses. They meant well. They had no idea that God had already named this child.

Elisabeth “answered and said”. The verb apokrínomai means to respond, and in Hebrew idiom it can mean to begin speaking where an answer is expected. Her answer is firm. “Not so” is ouchí, a strong form of “not”, and “but” is allá, a strong word of contrast. “He shall be called” uses kaléō in the future passive, which states the name as settled. The name she gives is the very name Gabriel gave Zacharias: “thou shalt call his name John” (Luke 1:13).

“They made signs to his father” uses enneúō, from a root meaning to nod, so they asked by gestures and nods. “How he would have him called” uses thélō, a word for what a person wills or chooses. They were asking for the father’s decision, since in their custom the father had the final say in naming his son.

Why did they ask by signs, when he could have been handed something to write on? Luke gives no reason. Perhaps they took it that he could understand and answer with a gesture, or writing simply did not occur to them at once. What the signs do show is how complete his silence was, and they lead straight to the moment when he writes.

“He asked for a writing table.” Aitéō is a deliberate request, and Zacharias seeks out the means to obey. The writing table, pinakidion, was a small wooden tablet, usually coated with wax, used for notes, messages and legal declarations, a common tool of the day for someone who could not speak. He “wrote” (gráphō), “saying, His name is John” (Iōánnēs). The writing is a public declaration that ends the dispute and agrees with Elisabeth and with the angel. He writes the name as something already decided, because God had decided it. After months of silence that followed his doubt, this is his act of faith and submission.

God had named children before they were born. He told Abraham, “Sarah thy wife shall bear thee a son indeed; and thou shalt call his name Isaac” (Genesis 17:19), and the angel would tell Joseph to call Mary’s son Jesus, “for he shall save his people from their sins” (Matthew 1:21). The relatives had their plans for the name, and God’s counsel stood, as the proverb says: “There are many devices in a man’s heart; nevertheless the counsel of the LORD, that shall stand” (Proverbs 19:21).

“And they marvelled all.” Thaumázō is to wonder, to be astonished. Everyone present wondered at the unexpected name, at how decisively the speechless father settled it, and at what happened next.

“His mouth was opened immediately, and his tongue loosed.” Anoígō is to open, and God opened what he had closed. Parachrēma, immediately, means on the spot. The moment Zacharias wrote the name, his speech came back whole, just as Gabriel had said it would when the things he promised were performed (Luke 1:20). For a priest whose service included speaking prayers and blessings, being struck dumb had been a heavy and public loss, and its sudden reversal was a public sign of God’s power and faithfulness before the whole gathering.

“He spake, and praised God.” The word is eulogéō, to speak well of, to bless or give thanks. With his first breath of speech after all those months, Zacharias blesses God. His praise grows into the prophecy that follows, the Benedictus (Luke 1:67–79, Luke 1:68–79), in which he speaks of his son’s calling as the prophet of the Highest (Luke 1:76).

“Fear came on all that dwelt round about them.” Phóbos can mean alarm or fright, and here it is reverent awe, the humble response of people who know God has been at work among them. Gínomai, “came”, says that this awe came upon them, called out by what God had done. It is close kin to “the fear of the LORD”, which “is the beginning of wisdom” (Proverbs 9:10, Psalm 111:10). The church after Pentecost knew the same thing: “fear came upon every soul: and many wonders and signs were done by the apostles” (Acts 2:43).

“All these sayings were noised abroad.” Dialaléō joins “through” and “to speak”, and means to talk something over throughout a company, to make it widely known. “Sayings” is rhēma, which here covers the whole story: the birth to old parents, the father’s silence, the name, and his voice restored. The talk went “throughout all the hill country of Judaea” (oreinós Ioudaía), the high central country of Judaea where Zacharias and Elisabeth lived, the same hill country Mary had travelled to (Luke 1:39). These were close-knit rural villages where news travelled from one to the next by word of mouth. Luke’s repeated “all” stresses how widely the story was known. The shepherds would later spread the news of Jesus’ birth in the same way, and “all they that heard it wondered” (Luke 2:17–18).

“All they that heard them” (akoúō again) “laid them up in their hearts”. The heart, kardía, is the inner person, the seat of thought, feeling and will. To lay these things up there is to keep them, turn them over and remember them as works of God. Mary did the same with the events of Jesus’ birth: “But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart” (Luke 2:19).

Their question, “What manner of child shall this be!”, is full of wonder and expectation. A birth marked by such signs told them that God had a special purpose for this boy, though they could only wait to see it. Isaac and Samuel had come in the same way, to parents who had waited long.

Everything about John points past himself. His preaching would fulfil Isaiah’s word about preparing the way of the Lord (Luke 3:3–6, Luke 3:4–6). He would point to Jesus and say, “Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world” (John 1:29). He told the crowds that the one coming after him would baptize them “with the Holy Ghost, and with fire” (Matthew 3:11), and he said of Jesus, “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30).

John’s birth was a wonder, and Jesus’ conception was a greater one, by the Holy Ghost coming upon Mary (Luke 1:34–35). John’s name was given by God, and so was the name of Jesus, which God has exalted as “a name which is above every name” (Philippians 2:9–11). John was circumcised on the eighth day, and in Christ believers receive “the circumcision made without hands” (Colossians 2:11–12). The great mercy shown to Elisabeth points to the mercy of God, “who is rich in mercy”, toward sinners dead in sin whom he has made alive with Christ (Ephesians 2:4–5). The joy of her neighbours looks ahead to the angel’s “good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people” (Luke 2:10). And the news that ran through the hills of Judaea looks ahead to the gospel that Jesus sent out to “all nations” (Matthew 28:19–20).

The God of this passage is faithful to the day and the detail. What he told Zacharias in the temple came to pass in the birth, in the name and in the opened mouth. When his promises to you seem long in coming, you can remember Elisabeth’s “full time” and trust that his times are set.

Elisabeth’s neighbours give a simple pattern for life together. When God is good to someone near you, you can take their joy as your own and give God the glory for it, as Paul says to rejoice with them that do rejoice.

Elisabeth and Zacharias also show what it looks like to hold to God’s word when the whole family expects something else. Their obedience cost them a little honour among their kin, and it opened the way for one of the clearest signs of God’s hand in the whole story.

And Zacharias shows how God deals with his children who stumble. He doubted, he bore God’s discipline for months, and when he obeyed, God restored him at once. His first words were praise. Like the people of the hill country, you can lay up what God has done in your heart and keep wondering at the hand of the Lord on those he calls.