"Tell me the Christmas story again." Sam was curled up in a nest of blankets, peering over at the angel curiously as he clutched an especially large mug of cocoa that was more marshmallow than liquid.
When so much has been lost, and so much spent, what can such ancient promises of undying hope truly do?
But Gabriel’s purpose for existence is emblazoned on his being–yes, his porn-performing, awkwardly wisecracking, fugitive, deeply lonely being: Bearer of Glad Tidings. Teacher. Messenger. He can do nothing other than oblige the boy with such faith in his wisdom.
He begins speaking before he’s even conscious of collecting his thoughts.
“A brown girl from Palestine … . barely sixteen, if that. Dirt-poor, promised to a man in his twenties, because of his greater affluence, an’ his ability to protect her from the defamation an’ abuse of Roman soldiers. Refugees, both of them. Traveling … traveling a thousand miles to his homeland, for the sake of a tax census. It always goes back to money, don’t it. Anyway … . these’re the principle players.
“Upstairs, it got around that there was an ever-increasing divide, a … . profound alienation … . between what was holy and eternal, an’ what was mortal an’ fleeting. Reconciliation involving an unspeakable sacrifice was the only way. I was no longer convinced anyone around me knew what they were doing. But I was told, ‘go to the girl. Ask her permission: will you help us, compassionate, pure, sweet girl? It must be the lowliest, most forsaken of all, the humblest, to help us, or it won’t work. Please help us reconcile God to Humanity. Please take Holiness inside you an’ allow it to grow. Allow it to sacrifice all the comforts of eternity, to become one of You.
‘Allow Holiness to become Less, so that You might become More. Because Holiness Loves You.’
“So I asked. An’ the girl said yes. An’ it was done. “Nine months later, there He was. All classes, races, an’ genders present, to witness it. Learned, wealthy scholars, black men, Asian men, white men, brown men, women, an’ others. An’ the poor. I had the distinct pleasure of tellin’ the shepherds to rejoice. I was so happy I couldn’t breathe, but the words came anyway, rang across those cold, barren fields that early spring. Everyone from Upstairs I’d ever loved was there, singing their hearts out. We were ecstatic. The sky looked like the Aurora Borealis in the Middle East. Imagine that. All our wings fanned. The atmosphere on fire with zeal an’ joy. For a teenage brown refugee girl’s baby.”
he wipes his eyes quickly, and sips his own cocoa.
“Only been that happy a handful of times in 12 billion years. It’s funny. Nothing about the rest of the world seemed any different that night, or has since. Nobody stopped suffering. War continued, famine too, an’ disease. But everything changed, at the same time.”
