A Tale of Two Annunciations

Both Zechariah and Mary seek an explanation for their miracles, but Zechariah is seemingly punished for his question. Why?

An angel appears to an old man with stunning news: his wife, though advanced in years, will bear a son. The old man asks, “How…?” The angel responds sternly—rather than offer an explanation, he scolds the man for his unbelief and renders him unable to speak for months.

Later, the same angel appears to a young woman with stunning news: she, though a virgin, will bear a son. The woman also asks, “How…?” For her, the angel offers a candid explanation and assures her that “nothing will be impossible for God.”

Both the old man and the young woman seek explanation for a miracle. Yet the old man is seemingly punished for his question, while the young woman isn’t. Why?

These stories are part of the first chapter of Luke, where the angel Gabriel announces the births of John the Baptist and Jesus to their parents, Zechariah and Mary, respectively. Luke doesn’t tell us why the angel responds differently to each. We are left searching the text for clues.

Old Man vs. Young Woman

The most obvious distinction between the two annunciation stories lies in the identity of the recipients. The man Zechariah is “advanced in years” and his wife Elizabeth is past childbearing age, while the woman Mary is young, newly betrothed to Joseph, and still a virgin.

Perhaps God favors youth over old age, or women over men, or both. Thus is Zechariah punished for asking “How?” while Mary is not.

This explanation is too superficial to be satisfying. Identity-based favoritism might sync with modern notions of “equity and inclusion” or “affirmative action,” but nothing in Luke’s text or in the biblical tradition suggests that is what’s going on here. We have to go deeper.

The Nature of the Question: A Demand for Personal Assurance vs. Humble Faith

Both Zechariah and Mary seek an explanation for the miracle (“How…?”), but their questions are not the same. When the angel announces the birth of John, Zechariah points to the biological impossibility—Elizabeth is old—and he asks, “How shall I know this?” Mary also highlights biological impossibility—“I am a virgin,” she reminds the angel—but she asks a different question: “How will this be?”

We might reflect on these questions and what they tell us about the mindsets of the questioners. Zechariah’s question differs from Mary’s in at least two ways: it is self-focused and it is knowledge-centric. “How shall I know?” he asks. Zechariah wants personal assurance of the miracle, an evidential guarantee, something he can use to push back against the doubters who will inevitably question the veracity of his account. Zechariah seems more worried about his reputation in the community than awed by the angelic announcement.

Mary’s question, by contrast, is not a demand for personal assurance. It is a question of humble faith: “How will this be?” Mary seems unconcerned with herself and her reputation—though as an unmarried pregnant woman, she had more to lose than Zechariah. She accepts that the miracle “will be,” yet is courageous enough to ask “How?” The purity of her faith is underscored in her final words to the angel: “I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.”

The Nature of the Miracle: Old vs. New

Perhaps the different nature of the two miracles explains the angel’s divergent responses. The miracle announced to Zechariah fits a biblical pattern. Throughout the Bible, God repeatedly “opens the womb” of childless women, including the 90-year-old Sarah, and blesses them with children. So, while it’s surely a miracle that Zechariah’s elderly wife will bear a son, it is a “predictable miracle,” so to speak. It’s the sort of thing God has done before.

But the miracle announced to Mary is something new. It breaks the mold. There’s no biblical precedent for a virgin conceiving a child. It’s an unpredictable miracle, the sort of thing God had never done before.

Zechariah, a man steeped in biblical tradition, receives the easier announcement, yet he struggles with belief. Of all people, he should have “known.” He didn’t need further assurance. Mary, on the other hand, receives the more difficult announcement. Her miracle was harder to believe in, yet her instinct is to respond in faith rather than doubt.

Religious Ritualism vs. Authentic Faith

A final possibility is that all of the above dichotomies are in play, that Luke is using a complex layering of contrasts to point to deeper truths in the story as a whole. Luke’s first chapter recalls an older biblical story: that of the Eli the priest’s encounter with Hannah, a prayerful mother-to-be, in 1 Samuel 1.

The childless Hannah is at the temple of the Lord in Shiloh, weeping bitterly and praying for a son. She prays silently “in her heart”—“only her lips moved”—but Eli, who is eavesdropping nearby, doesn’t realize it. He thinks she’s drunk and openly scolds her.

How is it that Eli—a religious official whose entire existence is devoted to divine service—cannot recognize the sincerity and pathos of Hannah’s prayer? His lifelong focus on religious ritual has so blinded him to authentic faith that he can no longer distinguish a heartfelt petition from a drunkard’s babble.

But God knows the difference. He hears Hannah’s prayer and blesses her with a son. Eli, meanwhile, will lose his sons and his own life, his entire spiritual legacy cut off.

Authentic faith over religious ritual is a key theme of First Samuel, and Luke picks this up. At one level, he wants us to see the parallels between Hannah and Mary—their two songs of praise are remarkably similar, for example—and between Eli and Zechariah. Luke stresses Zechariah’s role as priest, carefully noting that his encounter with the angel occurs inside the temple—the most holy place on earth. Here, God’s presence dwelt in a kind of ongoing, miraculous encounter of the divine and the human. To stand in the temple was to stand in the presence of God. This is exactly the angel’s point in responding to Zechariah’s question: “I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God.”

It’s as if the angel is saying, “Look where we are, man! This is the place where heaven meets earth. It’s literally an embodied miracle. And you have the audacity to ask how?!” As with Eli, a life of religious ritual has blinded Zechariah to authentic faith. His physical muteness becomes a real-life manifestation of his spiritual blindness.

But there’s more to this story, because Luke also wants us to see that Zechariah is not like Eli. We’re told that Zechariah and Elizabeth are both “righteous before God” and “blameless”—accolades never applied to Eli in First Samuel. In other words, Zechariah is a person of authentic faith. In that sense, he is actually more like Hannah.

Herein lies the deeper symbolic significance of Zechariah’s sudden inability to speak, for in his muteness, he will recapitulate Hannah’s story. Hannah’s silent prayer both expresses her genuine faith and presages a divine blessing: soon after, she will bear a son and burst forth in song. “My horn is exalted in the Lord … because I rejoice in your salvation,” her opening lines declare (1 Samuel 2:1).

In the same way, unable to speak, Zechariah would have been disqualified from performing many of his priestly rituals. Over several months, he could do nothing but pray silently in his heart, with only his lips moving. He was, in other words, more penitent than priest—more Hannah than Eli. It would have been a constant reminder to Zechariah of what genuine faith in God really is. And his silent prayers will also presage divine blessing: soon, Zechariah’s wife will bear a son and he, too, will burst forth in song: “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he … has raised up a horn of salvation for us,” his opening lines declare (Luke 1:68).

The parallels here are impossible to miss. Thus understood, the angelic response to Zechariah isn’t punishment at all. It is a chastening blessing, a means of reminding Zechariah that God’s ultimate concern is with the state of our hearts and not the rectitude of our rituals.

But Luke’s complex narrative also wants us to see that God’s salvation, in the newborn Messiah, is good news for everyone: old and young, priest and penitent, doubter and believer. As Zechariah himself sings:

[T]he sunrise shall visit us from on high
to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.

Amen ve’amen. Merry Christmas.