On December 24, as the Church stands at the very threshold of the Nativity, the liturgy wisely places upon our lips and before our contemplation the Benedictus, the canticle of Zechariah (Luke 1:68–79). This is no accidental liturgical choice. The Benedictus is a hymn of fulfilled promise and imminent revelation; it is Advent’s final theological synthesis before Christmas breaks forth.
The canticle begins with blessing: “Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel, for he has visited and redeemed his people.” The verb “visited” (ἐπεσκέψατο) is charged with biblical resonance. In the Old Testament, divine visitation is never neutral; it is either judgment or salvation (cf. Exod 4:31; Ruth 1:6). Here it is unequivocally salvific. Zechariah, filled with the Holy Spirit, speaks not merely of future hope but of salvation already set in motion. Thus, the Benedictus operates in the prophetic perfect: what God has promised is so certain that it is proclaimed as accomplished.
This is profoundly fitting for December 24. The Church, like Zechariah, stands between promise and manifestation. Christ has not yet been born liturgically, yet salvation is already proclaimed as present, irreversible, and efficacious.
The canticle is densely Christological, though Christ is not named explicitly. Salvation is described as a “horn” raised up in the house of David, a potent symbol of strength, kingship, and victorious power (cf. 1 Sam 2:10; Ps 132:17). This situates the coming Messiah firmly within the Davidic covenant, thereby affirming the continuity between Israel’s history and the Incarnation.
Equally significant is the covenantal language: God remembers His “holy covenant” and the oath sworn to Abraham. Memory here is not psychological recall but salvific fidelity. God remembers in order to act. The Incarnation, therefore, is presented not as a divine afterthought but as the climax of a long, sworn history of mercy.
Toward its conclusion, the Benedictus shifts imagery—from covenantal strength to cosmic illumination: “the dawn from on high shall break upon us.” The Messiah is now portrayed as light, echoing Isaian themes (Isa 9:2; 60:1–2). This anticipates the Johannine proclamation that Christ is the light shining in the darkness (John 1:5). On December 24, the Church contemplates this dawn just before the night of Bethlehem gives way to glory.
A central theological hinge of the Benedictus is the role assigned to John the Baptist: “And you, child, shall be called the prophet of the Most High.” John is defined entirely in relation to Another. He is the forerunner, the voice, the preparer of ways. His mission is interpretive and preparatory, not self-referential. This reinforces a crucial Advent theology: true prophecy always yields space for Christ.
Liturgically, this is decisive. On December 24, John recedes even as Christ is about to appear. The last word of Advent belongs not to the prophet but to the Light he announces.
The Benedictus offers a striking definition of salvation: “knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of sins.” Before liberation from enemies becomes political or military, it is moral and spiritual. Sin, not Rome, is humanity’s deepest captivity. This theological ordering guards the Incarnation from reduction to sociological symbolism. Christ comes not merely to improve history but to redeem it from within.
The final note is peace: “to guide our feet into the way of peace.” Peace (εἰρήνη) is not mere absence of conflict but restored harmony, between God and humanity, within the human heart, and ultimately within creation. As the Church prepares to hear the angels sing “peace on earth” (Luke 2:14), the Benedictus provides the theological grammar for that angelic proclamation.
By presenting the Benedictus on December 24, the Church invites the faithful into Zechariah’s posture: silence broken into praise, doubt transfigured into prophecy, waiting ripened into certainty. The canticle gathers the entire economy of salvation—promise, covenant, prophecy, mercy, light, forgiveness, and peace—and holds it at the edge of fulfillment.
Thus, the Benedictus functions as Advent’s doxological summit. It is the Church’s last contemplative breath before the Word becomes flesh. In blessing God for what He has done, the Church prepares herself to behold what God is about to show.
In this sense, the Benedictus is not only a canticle of morning prayer; on December 24, it is the theological dawn of Christmas itself.
Peace be with you
Fr. Okhueleigbe Osemhantie Ãmos
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