Luke 1:18

Letters to the Faithful - Luke 1:18

Berean Standard Bible

“How can I be sure of this?” Zechariah asked the angel. “I am an old man, and my wife is well along in years.”

King James Bible

And Zacharias said unto the angel, Whereby shall I know this? for I am an old man, and my wife well stricken in years.

Greek Text:

καὶ εἶπεν Ζαχαρίας πρὸς τὸν ἄγγελον· κατὰ τί γνώσομαι τοῦτο; ἐγὼ γάρ εἰμι πρεσβύτης καὶ ἡ γυνή μου προβεβηκυῖα ἐν ταῖς ἡμέραις αὐτῆς.

Transliteration:

Kai eipen Zacharias pros ton angelon; kata ti gnōsomai touto? Egō gar eimi presbytēs kai hē gynē mou probebēkyia en tais hēmerais autēs.

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How can I be sure of this?

Zechariah's question reflects a moment of doubt and skepticism, which is significant given his role as a priest. This question arises during a divine encounter with the angel Gabriel, who brings a message of miraculous birth. The context is important: Zechariah and his wife Elizabeth are childless, and in Jewish culture, this was often seen as a sign of divine disfavor. His doubt contrasts with the faith of other biblical figures who received similar promises, such as Abraham and Sarah. This moment highlights human frailty and the challenge of believing in God's promises when they defy natural circumstances.

Zechariah asked the angel.

Zechariah's interaction with the angel occurs in the temple, a place of divine presence and revelation. The angel Gabriel is a significant figure in biblical narratives, often serving as a messenger of God's important announcements. This encounter is reminiscent of other angelic visitations in Scripture, such as those to Mary and Joseph, emphasizing the divine orchestration of events leading to the birth of Jesus. Zechariah's questioning of the angel can be seen as a lack of faith, which later results in his temporary muteness as a sign from God.

I am an old man,

Zechariah's acknowledgment of his age underscores the human impossibility of the situation. In biblical history, age is often highlighted in stories of miraculous births, such as that of Isaac to Abraham and Sarah. This phrase connects Zechariah to the patriarchs, suggesting a continuation of God's covenant promises. It also sets the stage for the miraculous nature of John the Baptist's birth, who will play a pivotal role in preparing the way for Jesus.

and my wife is well along in years.

Elizabeth's advanced age further emphasizes the miraculous nature of the promised birth. In the cultural context, barrenness was a source of shame and social stigma, yet God often chose barren women to fulfill His purposes, as seen with Sarah, Rebekah, and Hannah. This phrase highlights God's power to bring life and hope where human ability falls short. It also foreshadows the miraculous birth of Jesus to Mary, a virgin, drawing a parallel between the two birth narratives and underscoring the theme of divine intervention in human history.

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Luke 1:18, found in the opening chapter of the Gospel of Luke, states in the New International Version, “Zechariah asked the angel, ‘How can I be sure of this? I am an old man and my wife is well along in years.’” This verse captures Zechariah’s response to the angel Gabriel’s announcement that he and his wife, Elizabeth, will have a son, John, who will be the forerunner of the Messiah. Set within the narrative of the annunciation of John the Baptist’s birth (Luke 1:5-25), the verse reveals a moment of human doubt in the face of divine promise, offering a rich tapestry of theological, psychological, and narrative insights. To fully unpack Luke 1:18, we must explore its context within Luke’s Gospel, its characterization of Zechariah, its theological implications for faith and divine power, and its connections to Old Testament precedents, all while considering the cultural and historical backdrop of first-century Judaism.

The verse occurs early in Luke’s carefully crafted prologue (1:5-2:52), which introduces the births of John the Baptist and Jesus as parallel yet distinct events in God’s redemptive plan. Luke 1:5-7 establishes Zechariah and Elizabeth as righteous, devout Jews who serve God faithfully but are childless and advanced in age, echoing the barrenness motif found in Old Testament figures like Abraham and Sarah (Genesis 18:11) or Hannah (1 Samuel 1:2). The angel Gabriel appears to Zechariah while he is performing priestly duties in the temple, announcing that their prayers have been heard and that Elizabeth will bear a son named John, who will be filled with the Holy Spirit and prepare the way for the Lord (1:13-17). Zechariah’s question in verse 18—“How can I be sure of this?”—reflects both his astonishment and skepticism, prompted by the biological improbability of the promise given his and Elizabeth’s old age. This response sets the stage for Gabriel’s rebuke and the temporary silencing of Zechariah (1:19-20), highlighting the tension between human limitation and divine possibility.

Zechariah’s question, “How can I be sure of this?” (literally, “By what will I know this?” in the Greek), reveals a complex interplay of faith and doubt. As a priest serving in the temple, Zechariah is presumably well-versed in Israel’s scriptures and history, including stories of God granting children to barren couples (e.g., Isaac to Sarah, Samuel to Hannah). Yet, his immediate reaction suggests a struggle to reconcile his knowledge of God’s power with the personal reality of his circumstances. The Greek verb ginosko (“to know”) in his question implies a desire for certainty or evidence, perhaps reflecting a rational response to an extraordinary claim. Unlike Mary’s later question in Luke 1:34 (“How will this be, since I am a virgin?”), which seeks clarification and is met with explanation (1:35-37), Zechariah’s question is interpreted by Gabriel as a lack of belief (1:20). This distinction underscores Luke’s narrative subtlety: Zechariah’s doubt is not outright rejection but a hesitation that contrasts with the angel’s authoritative proclamation, revealing human frailty in the face of divine revelation.

The rationale Zechariah provides—“I am an old man and my wife is well along in years”—grounds his doubt in the physical realities of aging. In first-century Jewish culture, childlessness was often seen as a source of shame or divine disfavor, despite Zechariah and Elizabeth’s righteousness (1:6). Their advanced age, likely beyond childbearing years, makes the angel’s promise seem impossible from a human perspective. This emphasis on age connects Zechariah’s story to Old Testament narratives, particularly Abraham and Sarah, who also questioned God’s promise of a child due to their old age (Genesis 18:12-13). Luke’s allusion to these precedents situates Zechariah within Israel’s covenantal history, where God repeatedly overcomes human limitations to fulfill His purposes. However, Zechariah’s question, unlike Abraham’s laughter (Genesis 17:17) or Sarah’s (Genesis 18:12), prompts divine discipline, suggesting that his role as a priest and the sacred setting of the temple heighten the expectation for faith.

Theologically, Luke 1:18 highlights the contrast between human doubt and divine faithfulness. Gabriel’s announcement is rooted in God’s initiative, as evidenced by the statement that Zechariah’s prayer has been heard (1:13). The promise of John’s birth is not merely a personal blessing but part of God’s redemptive plan to prepare Israel for the Messiah (1:16-17). Zechariah’s hesitation, though understandable, momentarily obstructs his ability to embrace this divine purpose. Gabriel’s response—“I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God” (1:19)—reasserts divine authority, and Zechariah’s subsequent muteness (1:20) serves as both a sign and a consequence of his unbelief. This silencing, however, is not purely punitive; it becomes a narrative device that allows Zechariah to reflect and ultimately grow in faith, as seen in his later praise-filled prophecy, the Benedictus (1:67-79). Luke thus presents doubt as a human reality that God can transform, emphasizing His grace and sovereignty even in the face of human weakness.

The verse also reflects Luke’s broader theological themes, particularly the power of God to do the impossible. The annunciation of John’s birth parallels that of Jesus (1:26-38), and both narratives underscore that “nothing is impossible with God” (1:37). Zechariah’s doubt serves as a foil to Mary’s acceptance, illustrating varying responses to divine promises. Luke’s Gospel frequently highlights God’s intervention in human history to bring salvation, often through unlikely means—barren women, virgins, tax collectors, and sinners. Zechariah’s question, rooted in the apparent impossibility of his situation, sets up the narrative’s resolution, where God’s power is displayed through Elizabeth’s pregnancy (1:24-25) and John’s eventual ministry (3:1-20). This theme resonates with Luke’s emphasis on God’s faithfulness to His covenant promises, as John’s role as the forerunner fulfills prophecies like Malachi 3:1 and Isaiah 40:3.

Culturally, Luke 1:18 situates Zechariah within the religious and social world of first-century Judaism. As a priest of the division of Abijah (1:5), Zechariah holds a significant role, serving in the temple during his division’s allotted time (1 Chronicles 24:10). The temple was the heart of Jewish worship, and Zechariah’s encounter with Gabriel occurs while he offers incense, a sacred act symbolizing the prayers of Israel (1:10). His doubt, therefore, is striking given his priestly role and the holy setting, where divine encounters might be expected. The cultural expectation of progeny to carry on a family’s name and legacy adds weight to Zechariah’s childlessness, making Gabriel’s promise both a personal miracle and a restoration of honor. Zechariah’s question reflects the tension between his religious knowledge and the lived experience of unanswered prayers, a relatable struggle for Luke’s audience, which likely included both Jewish and Gentile believers navigating their own faith in a complex world.

Narratively, Luke 1:18 serves as a pivotal moment that advances the story while deepening the characterization of Zechariah. His doubt introduces conflict, creating suspense about how the promise will be fulfilled. Gabriel’s response and Zechariah’s muteness shift the focus to God’s sovereignty, ensuring that the narrative remains centered on divine action rather than human response. The verse also foreshadows Zechariah’s transformation, as his silence becomes a period of spiritual preparation, culminating in his prophetic song after John’s birth (1:67-79). This arc mirrors Luke’s portrayal of other characters, like Mary and Simeon, who respond to God’s promises with faith and praise, reinforcing the Gospel’s theme of God’s redemptive work through human vessels.

In the broader context of Luke’s Gospel, 1:18 introduces the motif of divine announcement and human response, a pattern repeated in the annunciation to Mary, the shepherds’ encounter with the angels (2:8-14), and Jesus’ ministry. The verse also connects to Luke’s emphasis on the Holy Spirit, as John is promised to be filled with the Spirit from birth (1:15), a sign of his prophetic role. Zechariah’s initial unbelief contrasts with the Spirit-inspired faith of others, yet his eventual restoration highlights Luke’s message of grace and inclusion. The verse thus serves as a microcosm of the Gospel’s narrative, where God’s promises overcome human limitations to bring salvation.

In Christian tradition, Luke 1:18 has been interpreted as a cautionary yet hopeful example of faith’s journey. Early Church Fathers, such as Ambrose and Augustine, saw Zechariah’s doubt as a reminder of human frailty, with his silencing and restoration illustrating God’s patience and transformative power. In liturgical contexts, the verse is often associated with Advent, emphasizing preparation for Christ’s coming and the need for trust in God’s promises. For contemporary readers, Zechariah’s question resonates as an honest expression of doubt, inviting reflection on how God meets us in our uncertainties and leads us to faith.

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To all who are called by the mercy of the Most High, sanctified in Christ Jesus and made partakers of the heavenly calling, I write to you with a burden of love and truth, drawn from the holy Scriptures and stirred by the Spirit of grace. May this letter find you alert in faith, sober in spirit, and anchored in the unfailing Word of our God.

It is written in the Gospel of Luke, chapter one and verse eighteen: “Zechariah asked the angel, ‘How can I be sure of this? I am an old man, and my wife is well along in years.’” What a moment this is in the divine narrative—a man of God standing in the temple, performing priestly duty, visited by an angel, and yet still overcome by the age-old struggle of unbelief. Zechariah was not a novice. He was a priest, a man steeped in the Scriptures, descended from the line of Aaron, and chosen by lot to enter the sanctuary and burn incense before the Lord. And it was there, in the place of prayer, that the Lord answered—not only his prayers, but the prayers of a nation longing for redemption.

Yet when the angel declared that his barren wife would bear a son, Zechariah responded with hesitation: “How can I be sure?” The question strikes us. He was face-to-face with Gabriel, a messenger of the Most High, yet he faltered—not with violent rebellion, but with quiet resistance. His question was not shouted in anger but whispered in uncertainty. Still, the unbelief was clear.

And is this not often the same within us? We believe and yet we waver. We know the promises of God and yet look at our own circumstances and say, “How can this be?” We measure the faithfulness of God against the limits of our experience, forgetting that His Word does not bow to time, nor His plans to human frailty. Like Zechariah, we stand in the very house of God, holding the incense of prayer in our hands, and still doubt when the answer comes.

But the Lord is not silent in the face of our doubt. He responds—not to destroy us, but to discipline us. Zechariah was struck silent, not to shame him, but to shape him. For the next nine months, he would carry a Word he could not speak. He would be reminded daily that when God speaks, He does not ask for our permission—only our agreement. And when God fulfills His Word, it is not because we were strong enough to believe, but because He is faithful to perform it.

Dear brothers and sisters, let this be a word to our own hearts in this hour: we must not let the delay of fulfillment cause decay in our faith. Some of you have prayed long for something that still has not come. Others have heard the promises of God and yet see no signs of life. And still others have concluded, perhaps quietly, that your season has passed, that you are too old, too broken, too late, too far gone. But hear this: God’s promises are not constrained by age, not weakened by barrenness, and not undone by delay. What He has spoken, He will bring to pass.

It may not come in the form we expect. It may not come at the time we desire. But it will come. And in the waiting, we are tested—not to see if we can make it happen, but if we can believe it still will. Zechariah had long given up hope, even while going through the motions of worship. How many believers today sing songs, read Scriptures, and pray familiar prayers—yet inwardly have closed the door to expectation? Let us not be those who worship in ritual while shutting our hearts to wonder.

And when God speaks, let us not greet His voice with “How can I be sure?” but with “Be it unto me according to Your word.” For there is a great distinction between the response of Zechariah and the response of Mary. Both asked questions—but one questioned God’s ability, the other sought understanding. One doubted from disappointment, the other received in humility. One was silenced, the other sang. May we learn to sing, even before the child is born. May we worship, even when our bodies still feel barren. May we declare His faithfulness, even when the evidence is hidden.

Let us apply this truth practically. If God has spoken through His Word that He forgives, then believe it—stop carrying the shame. If He has promised to provide, trust Him—do not give in to fear. If He has said He will build His Church, do not shrink back when the numbers are few or the ground is hard. If He has said He will return, then live as those who are watching and waiting. And if He has whispered a promise to your heart—one aligned with His Word and confirmed by His Spirit—do not dismiss it just because it has delayed. His Word will not return void.

Beloved, the lesson of Zechariah is not one of condemnation, but of hope. Though he doubted, the Lord still fulfilled the promise. Though he fell silent, the Lord still opened Elizabeth’s womb. And in the fullness of time, the child was born—John, the forerunner, the prophet of the Most High. And when Zechariah’s mouth was opened, it was not to explain his failure, but to prophesy the greatness of God. So too will your story not end in silence, but in song. Your testimony will not be about your faithfulness, but His.

Therefore, do not let your weariness rob you of wonder. Do not let delay become your doctrine. Do not let disappointment blind you to divine possibility. If the angel of the Lord stood before you now—and in truth, His Word stands before you already—what would He find? A heart that says, “How can I be sure?” or one that says, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening”?

Let us be those who believe again. Let us be those who make room again. Let us be those who wait, not with folded arms and bitter hearts, but with lifted hands and open mouths. The promise still stands. The Lord still speaks. And even now, He is bringing to birth what seemed long dead.

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Most High and Faithful God,

You who speak and it is done, who declare and it stands fast, we come before You with trembling reverence and desperate dependence. We acknowledge that You are not a man that You should lie, nor a son of man that You should change Your mind. Your Word is eternal, Your promises sure, and Your timing perfect. You speak from the heights of glory, and yet You bend low to touch the dust of men. We adore You, for You are holy, and we confess before You that we are often slow to believe.

Lord, we remember Your servant Zechariah, who stood in the temple—where incense rose and prayers were lifted, where generations had waited for the fulfillment of redemption—and when the answer finally came through the mouth of an angel, his first response was not praise but doubt. “How can I be sure?” he asked. And Lord, how often that same question rises from our own lips. We see the impossibility of our circumstances and forget the power of Your Word. We look to our age, our limitations, our failures, our history—and not to Your character.

Forgive us, O Lord, for the ways we have measured Your promise by our logic. Forgive us for exchanging the certainty of Your voice for the comfort of our understanding. Forgive us for withholding our full trust, even as we go through the motions of religious life. We do not want to be those who pray and then refuse to believe the answer. We do not want to be found faithful in routine, but doubtful in spirit. We confess that we are often like Zechariah: weary from long waiting, discouraged by delay, and hardened by disappointment. But even in our unbelief, You are merciful. You did not revoke Your promise. You did not remove Your plan. You fulfilled Your Word—because You are faithful, not because we are.

So now, Lord, we ask You to help our unbelief. Search the hidden places of our hearts where skepticism has settled in. Confront every shadow of doubt we have cloaked in false humility or reason. Uproot the silent resignation that says, “It’s too late,” or “That time has passed.” We declare now: Your arm is not too short. Your timing is not delayed. You are the God of resurrection, and nothing is too hard for You.

Teach us to believe again. Teach us to wait, not with cynicism, but with hope. Let our prayers not just be the ritual of obligation, but the expression of deep trust. Let our mouths speak life even when our eyes have seen nothing change. Let our hearts be fertile ground for Your promises, not hardened soil that repels the seed. Make us tender again—tender to Your Word, tender to Your voice, tender to the move of Your Spirit.

We ask for the grace to stand in the gap between promise and fulfillment. To hold onto Your Word when everything in us wants to let go. To endure the silence, the unknown, the impossible, and still say, “Let it be done according to Your Word.” May we not need signs to believe. May we not demand guarantees. May we not put conditions on our trust. Let us be those who take You at Your Word because we know who You are.

Lord, speak again into the barrenness of our lives. Speak into the places we have stopped praying about. Speak into the dry bones, the empty wombs, the broken dreams, the decades-long waiting. Speak to the servants who feel forgotten, to the hearts grown cold, to the hope that flickers. Let the angelic announcement resound again in our spirits: “Your prayer has been heard.” And when You speak, silence our doubt. Make us worshipers instead of skeptics. Let the silence of Zechariah become a symbol to us—a reminder that even when we fall short in faith, Your Word will not fall short in power.

God of Abraham and Sarah, of Zechariah and Elizabeth, of Mary and Joseph, stir us once again with holy expectation. Make us a people prepared for the Lord, not through perfect faith, but through persistent surrender. Birth in us what we cannot birth ourselves. Make room in our lives for the miraculous. And when the fulfillment comes—when the promise arrives, when the prayer is answered, when the child is born, when the door opens—let our mouths be filled with praise, and let our words magnify Your name.

We look to You alone. We lean not on our own understanding. And we wait for You—not passively, but in trust, in obedience, in worship. Finish what You have started in us, O God. Perform what You have promised. Let our lives declare not just that You can, but that You will—because You are good, and Your mercy endures forever.

In the name of Jesus Christ, the fulfillment of all promise and the faithful Son of the Father, we pray. Amen.