"Song of Zechariah"
Gospel Lk 1:67-79
Zechariah his father, filled with the Holy Spirit, prophesied, saying:
“Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel;
for he has come to his people and set them free.
He has raised up for us a mighty Savior,
born of the house of his servant David.
Through his prophets he promised of old
that he would save us from our enemies,
from the hands of all who hate us.
He promised to show mercy to our fathers
and to remember his holy covenant.
This was the oath he swore to our father Abraham:
to set us free from the hand of our enemies,
free to worship him without fear,
holy and righteous in his sight
all the days of our life.
You, my child, shall be called the prophet of the Most High,
for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way,
to give his people knowledge of salvation
by the forgiveness of their sins.
In the tender compassion of our God
the dawn from on high shall break upon us,
to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death,
and to guide our feet into the way of peace.”
God’s Light Breaks Through
This year’s Advent theme, “Justice shall flourish in His time and fullness of peace forever,” from Psalm 72:7, connects beautifully with Luke 1:67–79. In this passage, Zechariah—who had endured months of imposed silence—finally speaks again and declares, “Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel, for He has visited and redeemed His people.” I am deeply moved by the power of those first words. The man who once questioned God’s promise now responds with praise. When the Holy Spirit fills him, doubt gives way to trust, and uncertainty becomes worship.
What speaks to me most is not every detail of Zechariah’s story, but the transformation that unfolds within him. His silence becomes a place where God works quietly and deeply. He perceives that God’s mercy and justice have been unfolding all along, even when he could not speak or understand. That insight resonates with my own journey, especially through the grief of losing my daughter, Gabby.
It has now been five years since her passing, and the holidays—especially Christmas—still carry a weight that words can barely hold. Entering a season known for joy while carrying so much sorrow remains one of the hardest realities I live with. There have been long seasons when I felt silent before God—when prayer felt hollow, hope felt distant, and I could not imagine what God could possibly do with my pain. Like Zechariah, I lived with questions and quiet places where I wondered if God truly remembered me.
During these years, God gently guided me toward communities of comfort. One of those communities is Angels Mom, a group of mothers who have lost their children. We gather a few times a year, especially around tender days like Mother’s Day or the holidays. Our organizer receives us with remarkable compassion. She brings in speakers and therapists who help us hold our grief with gentleness and uncover small but meaningful moments of healing. Being among women who understand this kind of loss—who do not require explanations or apologies—has brought a comfort I did not know I needed. It has reminded me that sorrow shared in the community becomes more bearable.
I also attended a four-day Grief Mama retreat in the Redwoods of Santa Cruz, an experience both profound and life-giving. In that sacred space, surrounded by towering trees that have endured storms and time, I felt something inside me begin to shift. I left the retreat feeling renewed, with a quiet but steady truth rising within me: I choose to live.
Grief often pushed me to withdraw from social spaces, to protect the most vulnerable parts of my heart. I am learning how to live again with intention, how to let myself be seen—even in my brokenness. I am slowly accepting that people may misunderstand or judge me along the way. Their reactions reflect their own stories, not my worth. Life carries a rhythm of beginnings and endings, and I am learning to trust, to surrender, and to rest in God’s loving providence.
This September, I began a nine-month silent retreat based on the Spiritual Exercises of St. Ignatius of Loyola. This journey has been deeply enriching. In the stillness, I am learning to slow down and notice God’s gentle movements in my heart. Each day, I sense Him walking with me, inviting me to encounter Jesus more intimately. Through silence and prayer, I am discovering that God has held me even when I felt most alone.
Zechariah’s prophecy celebrates God’s faithfulness—a God who remembers His people, frees them from fear, and brings light to those who dwell in darkness. These words remind me that God’s justice is not harsh or distant; it is healing and restorative. True justice brings freedom, hope, and a light that enters the places we believed would always remain dark. Psalm 72’s assurance that justice will flourish in God’s time teaches me that His healing in my life—and in the world—may be slow, but it is sure.
Writing this reflection helps me see how God continues to work in my story. Through grief, He has been strengthening and shaping me, giving me a peace that is not dependent on circumstances. The silent retreat has revealed how faithfully He has accompanied me over these past years, guiding me with patience and tenderness.
This passage also challenges me to consider what it means to live as a bearer of God’s light today. The world often feels unfair and fractured, and at times I wonder where God’s justice is. But Scripture assures me that God’s justice rises like the sunrise—quiet, gradual, but unstoppable. My role is to trust Him and allow His light to flow through me in simple, everyday ways.
Every act of kindness, patience, forgiveness, or truthfulness becomes a small seed of God’s justice taking root. When I choose compassion over anger, hope over despair, and faith over fear, I create space for God’s peace to grow.
“God’s Light Breaks Through” is not only Zechariah’s story—it is mine. Through silence, prayer, and the long journey of grief, God’s light continues breaking through. His justice grows gently yet surely, and His peace deepens each time I trust Him.
Prayer:
Lord God,
In the quiet of my heart, let Your light break through and guide me.
As You filled Zechariah with hope and praise, fill me with trust, peace, and courage.
Walk with me in my grief, strengthen me in prayer,
and draw me closer to Jesus each day.
May Your healing justice take root in me
and Your gentle light shines through all I do.
Amen.
Gift for Jesus
Receive my gift, Lord—my desire to be of service to Jesus in all I do.
Maria Lourdes “Malou” Vasquez, named in honor of Our Lady of Lourdes, was born on February 10, just a day before her feast.
She is currently living in the US with her husband. Five years ago she lost her only daughter, Gabby, which led her through seasons of sorrow, silence, and healing. Through this journey, she was drawn closer to God and learned to trust His presence even in the most difficult moments.
This invitation to write a reflection on the ninth gift of Christmas comes to her as a gentle reminder in this season of preparation. Advent calls us to ready our hearts for the coming of Jesus—to stay awake, to guard our hearts and souls, and to remain attentive to His presence. Advent is a time when the Lord seeks to enter our lives in a new way. “Let the Lord enter; He is the King of Glory.”
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