Daily Gospel Reflection
Join the Notre Dame family of faith. Receive God’s Word and a unique reflection in your inbox each day.
December 19, 2025
In the days of Herod, King of Judea,
there was a priest named Zechariah
of the priestly division of Abijah;
his wife was from the daughters of Aaron,
and her name was Elizabeth.
Both were righteous in the eyes of God,
observing all the commandments
and ordinances of the Lord blamelessly.
But they had no child, because Elizabeth was barren
and both were advanced in years.
Once when he was serving as priest
in his division’s turn before God,
according to the practice of the priestly service,
he was chosen by lot
to enter the sanctuary of the Lord to burn incense.
Then, when the whole assembly of the people was praying outside
at the hour of the incense offering,
the angel of the Lord appeared to him,
standing at the right of the altar of incense.
Zechariah was troubled by what he saw, and fear came upon him.
But the angel said to him, “Do not be afraid, Zechariah,
because your prayer has been heard.
Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son,
and you shall name him John.
And you will have joy and gladness,
and many will rejoice at his birth,
for he will be great in the sight of the Lord.
He will drink neither wine nor strong drink.
He will be filled with the Holy Spirit even from his mother’s womb,
and he will turn many of the children of Israel
to the Lord their God.
He will go before him in the spirit and power of Elijah
to turn the hearts of fathers toward children
and the disobedient to the understanding of the righteous,
to prepare a people fit for the Lord.”
Then Zechariah said to the angel,
“How shall I know this?
For I am an old man, and my wife is advanced in years.”
And the angel said to him in reply,
“I am Gabriel, who stand before God.
I was sent to speak to you and to announce to you this good news.
But now you will be speechless and unable to talk
until the day these things take place,
because you did not believe my words,
which will be fulfilled at their proper time.”
Meanwhile the people were waiting for Zechariah
and were amazed that he stayed so long in the sanctuary.
But when he came out, he was unable to speak to them,
and they realized that he had seen a vision in the sanctuary.
He was gesturing to them but remained mute.
Then, when his days of ministry were completed, he went home.
After this time his wife Elizabeth conceived,
and she went into seclusion for five months, saying,
“So has the Lord done for me at a time when he has seen fit
to take away my disgrace before others.”
I understand Zechariah. When the angel promised joy and gladness, promised that his barren wife would bear a son, promised that impossibility would become reality, Zechariah couldn’t believe it. He had waited too long. He was too old. The promise felt cruel.
I was born on the feast day of Saint Zechariah. My middle name, Elisabeth, is after his wife. And this past year, in my own darkness, I became both of them—the one who couldn’t believe the promise of joy, and the one who had to wait in silence for the impossible to unfold.
What strikes me about Elizabeth isn’t that she immediately proclaimed the miracle. After she conceived, “she went into hiding for five months.” She waited. She let the impossible grow quietly, away from everyone’s eyes, before she could speak about what God was doing. The miracle needed time in the darkness before it could be proclaimed before all.
Perhaps God appreciates the darkness more than we realize. After all, God spoke creation into existence out of darkness. Christ was formed in the dark womb of Mary, born in the cold darkness of a stable, and rose in the darkness of a tomb. The moments of darkness are often where miracles are conceived, where the impossible becomes possible, where God’s promises of joy and gladness begin their slow, sacred work.
And when Elizabeth finally does speak, her words undo me: “So has the Lord done for me.” The miracle wasn’t just theological—it was deeply, intimately personal. For me.
This Advent, I’m learning that God’s promises of joy and gladness are not abstract. They’re personal. Even when we don’t believe. Even when we wait in darkness. Even when the miracle feels impossible, God is with us in the darkness. And God is doing something, quietly, impossibly, just for us.
Prayer
Lord, the infant in Elizabeth’s womb leaped for joy when you drew near in the womb of your mother Mary. “Blessed are you,” Elizabeth said to Mary, “and blessed is the fruit of your womb.” Help us to experience the same kind of joy, Lord, as we welcome you each day into our lives. Amen.
Saint of the Day
St. Fausta lived in the third century near what is now Serbia. She was a model mother because she raised her daughter to be a saint: St. Anastasia of Sirmium, whose feast day falls on Christmas, Dec. 25.
Both of these saints are subjects of special veneration: St. Fausta is one of the 140 saints depicted in sculpture in the colonnade surrounding St. Peter’s Square at the Vatican (shown here); St. Anastasia is one of seven women mentioned in the Eucharistic prayer in the Mass.
The relics of St. Fausta and of her daughter, St. Anastasia, rest in the reliquary chapel in the Basilica.
St. Fausta, the mother who is honored for raising her daughter to become a saint, pray for us!
Image Credit: Our featured image of St. Fausta is available for use in the public domain under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public domain Dedication. Last accessed November 21, 2024 on Wikimedia Commons.