Author's Note

Christmas may be the hardest time of year to see Jesus.

Oh, the tinsel and parties distract us from Him, it's true. But I suspect our single biggest obstacle is sentimentality. Think about the songs we sing: "Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright...." Those lyrics don't have much to do with reality.

Do you think it was silent or calm in that stable-turned-nursery? Did the baby sleep in heavenly peace in the midst of scratchy straw and animal noises? The real-life Incarnation was a messy business.

I believe that until we understand the gritty reality of God making dirty diapers, we're not going to encounter Jesus at Christmas. We need to understand how radical it was for Him to become human; how great His love for us must actually be; if we're going to get past "Silent Night" to the miracle of Immanuel!

That's why I wrote this article, a fictionalized retelling of the birth of Jesus in a contemporary context. Maybe it can help us see the depths of God's love by challenging our preconceptions. Just in case the stable's become too familiar, I've turned it into a highway rest stop. And in case we don't realize that shepherds were the outcasts of Judea, I've made them a biker gang. So if you want to see the Incarnation in a different light, you may want to read this story.

I can't guarantee it will do anything for you. Christmas is, after all, the hardest time of year to see Jesus. But if you're seeking the real Christmas Spirit, it may help more than "Silent Night."¹

- G.H.

* * *

1: Mary

Maybe the angel will come.

I thought Josh would — do something. But he's walking again, at 2:00 in the morning like the irresponsible 15-year-old he can be, while his father is lying here. I'm past thinking Dr. Rosen made a mistake; done with wishing for chemo and radiation to help. But there must be a miracle coming; something from Him....

Josh; he could do it. But he's "walking." And my husband might not last the night.

I step into the bedroom and seize Joe's strangely-chilled hand in mine; struggle to speak something of a lifetime of love, wishing he could still hold me in the arms that have covered me since high school. He opens his eyes and grimaces, hurting again.

I rush to shake some pills from the bottle. "You should've taken that morphine-pump thing," I say.

"Nah, just fuzz up my mind." Seeing my worry, he grins carelessly, the smile that won me forever senior year. "And since when do I need help with that?"

"Joseph Moskowitz, you're incorrigible."

"Don't use your big words on me." He swallows the pills and lies back in bed, gathering strength. "I gotta talk to Josh."

"He's off on one of his walks...."

"He'll come back. Always does."

"But he could do something! He should think about you ... his father — "

"Maybe that's the point."

"What?"

"His Father." Joe smiles again.

I wish it was that easy for me. Joe's always been the rock in the family; keeps me from doubting everything, especially Him. But this should be simple. "Deliverer" — that's what the angel called our son. So why can't Josh manage a miracle for the man who raised him? He's "walking," and my love and light and life is about to d. . .

I can't make myself say the word, even in my thoughts. It's too hard.

There's still no sign of the angel.

But maybe I don't want to see one. Angels aren't what I expected from the books. Sometimes they bring bad news, which is not what we need. And that first time, at Carl's Place 16 years ago....

There's no other way to say it: He was terrifying.

* * *

I was 17 that April, a fragile barely-woman who still found it impossible to sleep without my teddy bear, and life was full of promise. I made a countdown for my wall: 87 days. I hugged myself with the blissful reality. In less than three months, Joe would call me "Bride."

Oh, he was five years older. An apprentice in the carpenter's union, he'd put up with plenty of "cradle-robber" jokes. But we knew — no matter what snide remarks came from his friends or my Gran — we knew it was right.

Joe insisted on taking me to the prom, though he'd been laid off since February. He even arranged for dinner before the dance — at Carl's Place.

"Burgers on prom night," he said, with his irresistible hangdog expression. "I'm sorry, baby. If I could, we'd be at Vincenzo's — "

"Don't get on that again," I reprimanded, polishing off the last few fries. "You're job-hunting every day — "

"Better go back to Gene Robbins while you still can."

Did I detect a note of insecurity in his voice? Gene Robbins was my ex — a doctor's son. He was an arrogant jerk in the first degree, but I was blinded by cash for six months. I finally kicked Gene to the curb the night he tried to take off my dress in his Mustang.

"Gene who?" I asked carelessly. "He's slime.

"Don't worry, baby. I'll find something. Retail if I have to — "

"Joe, I am not worried about money. I have you." I flashed my diamond. "This means I'm yours."

"Still can't believe it," he said, shaking his head. "You could do better."

"Not a chance." I gave him a wink. "Let's dance."

"OK...." He stood up and tried to twirl me, right there between two greasy tables.

"I mean at the prom," I laughed.

"Let me say hey to Larry in the kitchen first, OK?"

I wrinkled my nose — should've known Larry would be working. Once he and Joe started talking fantasy football ... "Larry's working? Five minutes — that's your limit, buster!"

"Five minutes?" He gasped in mock horror. "OK, OK ... I'll be back!" He jogged through the swinging door.

* * *

There have been times when I think that night was a hallucination. It simply isn't possible. Maybe it was some kind of trick; a magician on his night off. But what happened next....

Hallucinations don't live in your belly for nine months.

He was a tall, slim man in a dark suit, carrying a pocketwatch. He didn't enter through the door. He didn't burst on the scene with a flash of light like some movie effect. He was simply there, standing next to my table, right after Joe went into the kitchen.

"Don't be afraid. He's here with you," said the man, taking a seat at my table.

Was this freak trying to hit on me? "Uh, I'm engaged," I said, with an awkward smile. "My fiance's in the kitchen — "

"Love isn't always a romance, Mary."

This was getting a little scary. I stood up, holding my cell phone for security. "Look, just get away from me. Or ... I'll get the manager."

"They can't see me," he said. "Go ahead — ask them."

I turned as he pointed. There was a middle-aged couple at a table behind me, staring with some concern. "Hey ... could you maybe talk to this guy, or something ... he's creepy."

The couple just stared. "What guy?" said the husband suspiciously.

"HIM!" I pointed to where the dark-suited man sat calmly, playing with his watch. "You know — black suit, my table?"

"We need to get home, Greg," said the wife, and they hurried outside.

"Look, don't play stupid ... if you won't do anything, will you at least ask in the back?"

The door closed behind them, and I was alone with the stranger.

"Mary, you are an extraordinary girl," he said, in brisk businesslike tones. "In the fullness of time, you will give birth."

I edged towards the kitchen. "Joe ... Joseph, will you come out here?"

"He can't hear you," said the man, standing and following me. "Your child will be called Joshua — Deliverer."

"Get away from me." I started to dial 911 on my phone; realized the display had gone dark —

"Through the power of the Most High — "

"Please don't touch me," I said, backing towards the kitchen. "I'll scream!" With all this talk of babies, was he threatening me; threatening to ... ?

" — The Spirit will come upon you, and you will have a baby boy — "

"JOSEPH!" I hollered towards the kitchen. I was almost there, if I could get through the door —

"Mary, speak with Aunt Elizabeth," said the man.

"What?"

"Aunt Elizabeth, Mary. Sixty-eight years old, and six months pregnant."

That was impossible — I hadn't heard from Aunt Liz in a couple months, but it was completely.... "That's impossible. My Aunt Elizabeth?"

The man abruptly flipped open his pocketwatch and checked the time. Then, as though obeying a cue, he turned away. "The fullness of time, Mary," he said. "Remember — Joshua."

Suddenly, the dining room was empty.

I looked down at my cell phone — the display flickered back on. My hands shook; I was terrified. I put my hand on the kitchen door to get Joe; longed to feel his arms around me....

My phone rang. It was Aunt Liz.

She wanted me to be among the first to know: she and Uncle Zach were expecting, and they planned to name the baby John.

2: Joe

For her sake, I wish for a miracle. What kind of scum leaves his wife alone with four kids? Not like I can help it, but I wish....

Josh could do it, I believe that. But the kid says it's not "His Father's will." I've made my peace, even though I don't understand ... I swear, mostly I have. We all gotta go sometime, and from what I hear, life Upstairs is a little nicer anyway, and Mary and the kids....

But there's the problem. How is "His Father's will" gonna raise four kids?

The other night, Sara — she's our youngest, just started kindergarten — she asks Mary, "If Daddy leaves, when's he coming back?"

I thought my heart would break and kill me right there. It would've saved cancer the trouble.

Josh must be back from his walk, because I hear Mary in the living room taking him on another guilt trip. She won't say it anymore, the stuff about miracles — not out loud. I made her promise. But she won't let the poor kid have a minute's rest.

"Shouldn't you be in with your father?" she snaps.

Josh's footsteps pad quietly into the bedroom. I force my eyes open and smile. "Don't let your Mother get to you."

He suddenly reaches down; takes my hand. "Dad, you know I would — if I could — "

"Son, don't start that again — "

"But I mean it! If I could — right now; you'd be on your feet and — "

"Son ... sit down, OK?"

He sits.

This kid is way too old to be 15. I'd rather die 10 times than see him hurting like this; hurting over something he obviously can't fix....

It's really OK, I want to say, but don't have words. If it wasn't for Mary and the kids, I could go out with a smile on my face. I don't need a "healing," just somebody by the bed, to stay with me until ... That's all I want anymore. It's amazing how simple life gets at the end.

But things have never been simple with this kid around. He sits with his head down, suffering, longing to do something to help.

Silence.

I start thinking about how complicated — and marvelous — he's made my life. The time he was two, when we had to run to Mexico before the CIA found him. When he was 12, and we searched all over town for him, until we finally went back to the synagogue — "my Father's house," he said.

I look up at Josh, sitting beside the bed. I poke him in the ribs and smirk. "You're trouble, kid," I say.

"Always have been," he replies.

I don't say anything more, but I have a feeling he knows exactly what I mean. It's like he's a mind reader.

He started before he was born ... causing trouble. I remember that afternoon two months before the wedding, when I picked up Mary from school. Right in the car, she told me she was pregnant. That was trouble. I mean, who could believe this kid was God Himself, right? I was sure she'd been cheating on me.

No, this kid has never made my life simple.

* * *

It was May, but the sky was overcast and it looked like it might rain and the wind rattled last fall's dead leaves in the yard. It was like the weather was designed with our conversation in mind.

Obviously, the baby was Gene Robbins'. She and Richie Rich must have been sneaking around behind my back, and now for some reason he didn't want the kid, so she was crawling back to me with another man's baby inside.

"Just keep the ring. Is that what you want?" My voice was cold; I stared straight through the windshield of my car.

"Joe, I don't understand either. Please try...." Her voice and eyes were pleading; begging me to come near.

"I'm not raising Gene's baby. You need money, take him to court."

"Joe — listen, Aunt Liz is pregnant. She's sixty-eight!"

"Why do I care? I just hope Uncle Zach's the daddy," I snapped.

I felt her hand on my shoulder, touching me with such tenderness.... I couldn't help myself; I turned towards her and tried to believe. "Baby — how can I trust you?"

"Joe, I'm begging you. Seriously, begging. Just listen...." She took my hand. "On prom night. At Carl's Place; while you talked to Larry ... there was a man."

I turned back to the windshield. "So the kid ain't even Gene's? Some one-night thing?"

"No! Joe, he was ... I'm almost sure...." She suddenly looked down; blurted it out: "He was an angel."

I couldn't believe she bought that. Apparently, after prom; after dancing in my arms until midnight; she went and found some guy who claimed to have wings....

"Joe, listen! He never touched me; I never ... saw him again. But we need to name the baby Joshua."

"So this guy never touched you, and the stork brought you kid," I sneered.

"No! It was the Spirit...."

I started the engine. "Keep the ring," I said. "It'll help pay for diapers."

"Joe, I swear!" It was an angel!"

"So marry him."

Mary jerked open her door and jumped from the car; ran into her house without looking back.

As I drove home, I could hardly see the road through my tears.

* * *

I stumbled up the stairs to my apartment, walked past the canned laughter of my roomie's sitcom, and locked my bedroom door behind me. It was two months before our wedding, and Mary was back with Gene, or sleeping with "angels," and the whole time she kept insisting she loved me. I knew she was out of my league; knew she was too young; but I actually believed it when she said....

I jerked her senior picture out of my wallet and shredded it onto the floor. After that, I laid down and — for the first time since I was about 8 — cried myself to sleep.

Dreams are strange things; completely unpredictable. I just remember lying down ... then suddenly, I was in a nightmare. In my dream, I opened my eyes because I heard a noise, and found a stranger standing beside of my bed.

He wore a dark suit and played with an old-fashioned pocketwatch on a chain; stood in a pool of white light that came from nowhere. I guess somehow I knew I wasn't awake, because I didn't start hollering for my roommate.

Not yet, anyway.

The man spoke. "Mary," he said. "Her name means 'Cherished One.'"

"Yeah, that's what I thought," I growled.

Then I realized ... how could he know her name? I eyed him cautiously. "Are you a friend of hers? Teacher or something?"

"You could say that." The man smiled, as though at some inside joke.

"Well, then tell her we're through." I rolled over.

"Most men, if they had a chance at a wife like her ... they'd never look back."

"Who are you?"

"Call me ... Mr. Angel," he said. "Where do you think her baby came from?"

I turned back to face him. "How . . were you listening to us?"

He stared thoughtfully at my shredded picture of Mary on the floor. "Really — where'd the baby come from?"

"Apparently, the stork." I'd had enough of this guy. I climbed out of bed and walked to my bedroom door.

"The Spirit blows where it will, Joe," said the man.

I unlocked the door and turned the handle. It didn't move. I pulled; I twisted the knob — nothing.

I turned to face the stranger, fear rising in my gut. "How did you do that?"

"Behold, a virgin will conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel." The man's words rang out with force. I yanked the door violently; pounded on it and shouted for my roommate. The man walked briskly towards me....

"Mr. Angel ... look, I won't tell anybody about this, I swear — "

"It's not me I'm concerned about," he said. He towered over me, must have been close to seven feet tall. He no longer played with his watch but looked stern, menacing. He backed me against the wall; there was nowhere to go....

"Just — let me out, okay? I haven't done anything," I pleaded.

"I never said you did."

"I swear. I won't tell anyone — "

I braced myself for a blow; a weapon. But abruptly, the man turned and walked away.

"The door's open now, Joe," he said, calling over his shoulder. "But you don't have to use it. Remember: a virgin will conceive."

He never turned to the left or right — simply strode straight into drywall. He was gone; the dream was over; I found myself bold upright in bed, sweating and shaking. Must be awake now; must've sat up in my sleep, I thought. I've never had a dream so real....

I looked down. In my clenched fist I was still grasping Mary's senior picture, the one from my wallet with her love note on the back. But hadn't I just torn it up? Yes — there were the shredded pieces, sitting on the floor where I left them. The photo in my hand didn't have a single tear.

A virgin will conceive. The words from the dream rang in my ears. Of course, that was clearly a fairy tale; completely impossible.

Then again, so was the unharmed picture. And the man in the suit.

Continued in Josh's Time, Part 2

* * *

1. I'm using "Silent Night" as an illustration of Christmas sentimentality, but that's not because I think the song is evil. Actually, I love it! All I ask is this: let's not imagine that "Silent Night" is an accurate depiction of the first Christmas.