The Christmas Story

From the Gospel according to Luke

— And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed.

(And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.)

And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city.

And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:) to be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.

And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.

And she brought forth her first-born son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.

And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night.

And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid.

And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.

For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord.

And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger.

And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

BEAUTIFUL DAY, isn’t it? But it always is up in Heaven. Sorry to have brushed you with my wings. They can be a bit ungainly when I’m down here. But they beat economy class when you want to get to the next cloud-bank in a hurry. It’s like flying in the old days-sleek, formal, stylish.

Of course an angel’s face may be a little blank. That’s the way we’re made. We’re never consternated by events; wouldn’t know how to be. We’re eternal, you know. Unmarked by time. Ageless. Unchanged.

Never heard of an ugly angel, have you? Or at least we don’t talk about ’em, the fallen ones.

Don’t be afraid. Think of us as one big happy messenger service. Though we’re called upon from time to time to do other things, like sing in the heavenly choir. Which is why I’ve still got these wings on. Didn’t have time to change. We dress formal for the Adoration and Praise. Wouldn’t you? White robe and wings required. The wings add just the right touch of elegance and speed. Striking, aren’t they? Beautiful, light, finely veined yet functional. And immediately recognizable-like the perfect typeface, or a great lady’s engraved stationery, or a U.S. passport. . . . Mighty useful things, let me tell you.

BUT HOW I do go on. Fear not. I didn’t mean to alarm you. It’s the wings. I don’t think I’ve quite got the hang-glide of them yet. And I was in a bit of a hurry to pay you a Christmas visit. Can’t tell you how busy things are up there this time of year; business really picks up. The concert music is always Bach, of course, wouldn’t you know. What else for ceremonial occasions in His presence? None of that sloppy sentimental Beethovian bombast. Just austere, ever climbing beauty.Like mathematics.

Oh, yes, it’s always Bach for command performances. It goes without saying, as you mortals insist on saying before you say something. We needn’t worry about choosing the program. He always makes the right choice; it’s His Nature. Which is why Glenn Gould is always there on pianoforte.

Of course, when we get back to the kitchen after the official program for a little night music and put our feet up and slip out of our wings, we play Mozart, which is both perfect and homey. Like it was predestinated. But that only applies after you’ve heard it. Before, there’s that moment of wonderment and suspense between each note.

Maybe that’s what perfection is, the sure anticipation of it. Like that rare moment just before you fall in love when you know it’s coming but you’re not sure just how, and it’s always the first time again. I’m not sure how that works, but it does. There are a lot of mysteries up there, as there are down here, too-if we’d just notice them. Maybe that’s the real miracle, noticing them.

I really don’t know how Mozart did it, that angel of a man. He is well named, ever-young Amadeus, beloved of God. Now you needn’t be uncomfortable. This is just a friendly visit, just to catch up. No big announcements this time. I realize the light is blinding. We forget how it frightens you.

Even when we’re bringing Good News, you can be sore afraid, like the shepherds that night outside Bethlehem. If I hadn’t been intent on delivering the message that night-the most important one I’d ever carried-I would have been amused at the consternation thesight of me can cause. Some

times I forget myself and let

my amusement show. Like

when that prophet couldn’t

see me but his donkey

could. Animals have a spe

cial sense for these things, you know. You should see acat’s fur bristle long before I’ve even materialized. And how the dogs bark. But you humans have no idea we’re right there.

Me, I much prefer bringing good news rather than bad, even when the good news isn’t believed. Oh, I’ll never forget how old Sarah laughed when we told her and her old man they would bear fruit in their old age. Say, maybe you can tell me: What’s old, anyway? You’ll have to explain it to me some time. We’ve got nothing but time up there, or rather time is nothing to an angel.

THERE ARE so many things I don’t understand down here that you could help me with, like why you people worry so much, and almost never look up into the heavens. Maybe there’s a connection between the two.

And why do you find it so hard to believe it when I come bringing good tidings of great joy? The Good News is always so clear to us. But it does rather take the suspense out of things when you can’t doubt. You’re supposed to be lesser creatures, but we’re actually quite envious of you. You get to make choices, so yours mean more.

Yes, our wings are impressive, not to say a lot of fun when we want to do wheelies or suddenly appear in Nebuchadnezzar’s court. But there are things you all can do that we can’t. For example, hard as we try, and much as we would like to, we just can’t do a good deed. I mean a real one, by our own free will. We have none.

But you have that choice all the time. You can go through the whole live-long day, your whole lives, doing good. Smiling and helping and giving. They say it’s the greatest of joys, doing a good deed, yet only an exceptional few of you, the rare saints, do it all the time. Why is that?

I’ve noticed it’s just on one day of the year, this very day, that so many of you suddenly seem to wake up, as if you’d been in a trance the other 364. It’s as if on this one day you suddenly realize Possibility. And for one brief, 24-hour firefly’s existence, you’re filled with light. As if it had dawned on you, right on schedule, by the calendar, every year on the same date, what is important-life and love and family and friends and sheer, unaccountable goodness. Oops, excuse the wings. Gotta go now. It’s time for matins. You sing, too. It’s Christmas Day.

Editorial, Pages 16 on 12/25/2009

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