Monday Rewrite Sometimes it can feel as if we live in those blank page times. That flimsy, empty sheet between two Testaments, Old and the New. So slim, so slight, so long. 400 years… 400 years of waiting. One blank page of silence and longing and hoping and searching. So many anonymous, precious people, living and dying and laughing and loving and caring and rebelling and lifting hands in worship and shaking fists at the sky. The times of Mary and Joseph growing up. The long days when Simeon and Anna, Elizabeth and Zechariah were young. No fresh word from the Most High. Nothing. Prayers bouncing off a sealed sky. The heavens seemingly quiet. Asleep perhaps. When? Where? Why? The questions ring out, whispered, shouted, muttered, mouthed. The blank page times.
The world turning, changing, shifting. Getting ready. Developing. The Greeks and the Romans with their cardboard empires, spreading language and travel. Making paths straight and levelling mountains. For their own purposes. Or so they thought. In fact, setting the stage, furniture in place, for the centuries to come, the good news passing down the ages.
And then, suddenly, with no warning… an angel gets busy. And Zechariah and Mary and Joseph, bustling about their daily tasks, are stopped in their tracks, as a divine spanner plunges into the works. A stick in the spokes of time. Dreams disrupted, religious duties rudely shaken, a young woman becoming the hero. Stop. Listen. Get ready. God is on the move, the times they are a-changing. A long shut, dusty, cobwebbed door is slowly, ever-so-slowly creaking open. Millimetre by millimetre. A door no one will ever shut again.
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