Gabriel’s Gifts

I delivered the master message — Fear not! — and then the information unit. Your wife will be pregnant. Then I informed him about John, the child who was coming, and I could sense the sheer disbelief hanging about him like that temple incense. So, I brought out my big, golden trumpet (with adjustable powers to confer specific gifts), blew into it, and lo! I eradicated his speaking ability for nine months. It was a little rough on him, but entirely worth it, for in so doing, I gave him a gift he needed at that time. I gave him the gift of silence.

Then, there was that job in Nazareth.

Fear not! I said this to the young woman Mary. She was absorbed in reading one of those novels Earth people like. I interrupted her and told her straight out: You will have God’s child. Talk about class! First she said, Whoever you are, don’t you know your biology? How babies come, I mean! I have always said no! Go back to your books! Learn about humans. Get a life!

Of course, I countered with a fancy theological argument, a variant of the Fear not! thing, and she calmed down, and she said, OK, whatever God wants, God gets. I was so bowled over with her beauty of expression, her words, her intelligence, her faith, that I almost got afraid myself.

Again, I took out my golden gift-conferring trumpet and gently blew it.

I gave Mary the gift of a song.

My sources say that her Magnificat is still popular here and there.

The next visit, just down the street was hard, I tell you.

I also had to tell Joseph, who was serious about her, about the child. I guess that he was, well, earnest and sincere. I think that he’d considered going to seminary, and was torn because he was a kind of Presbyterian and wanted to do the right thing. Hard to tell a fellow that his wife is pregnant, so I gave him the Fear Not message, and he calmed down enough to hear my secondary message: Your beloved, Mary, is pregnant by the power of God’s Spirit.

Joe, he was a real nice Earth person. He did want to do the right thing, and that being the case, I blew my trumpet again, moderately loudly, using the next to last power in the golden tubing.

I gave him the gift of resolve.

I’ve heard that he did do the right thing, and that while he didn’t live very long, he taught the boy a thing or two with the hammer and saw.

Zechariah, Mary, Joseph. Three down. One big job left, and if I do say so, I did it very well. I called for some reinforcements from the celestial choir and took them with me to a lonely field. What a forsaken place. Scrubby little trees, a rock here and there, some tacky little sheep and a bunch of unwashed shepherds. A chilly place. I was giving the whole show to some Earth people who wouldn’t have been admitted to a church on a bet.

Fear not! I gave them the basic message.

Even that didn’t calm them. They were sore afraid. You’d have thought that I was the Roman emperor. Anyway, after the big blast, I presented the message unit about the birth of the first cousin of the son of the old couple, who was the child of the engaged couple, or God and the couple, or God and the young woman, or something like this. Theology never interested me. I am attracted to Methodism. I am into action. Deeds not creeds, as they say.

Unto you, I said, hastily consulting my notes, unto you is born this day in the city of David a savior who is Christ the Lord.

So I gave them that message, and since they were filled with fear big time I blew into my trumpet again, using the very last power. What power! What a glow! What a gift!

I gave them the gift of faith.

Last thing I saw, they were hightailing it from there in fearless fashion, leaving the sheep behind, abandoning their suppers on the rocks, heading into Bethlehem to see what had come to pass which the Lord, via yours truly, had made known to them.

In retirement I am seldom allowed to go out on my own. I have been taken off regular message duty. I can no longer handle new material, so I just wander from place to place, here and there, and when it seems helpful I give the Fear not! message. Now and then I hear a rumor that there might be one last blast for me to give at the End of Time. I’ve not checked to see if there are any powers left in my horn or what gift I might give on that terrible day.

My voice has lost its strength, but not the message: Fear not!

The recipients never think it’s an angel, because I am invisible. The message is mine, but the voice is often that of a child, or a parent, or a husband, or a wife, or a minister, or a priest, or a friend. Often it works. Sometimes fear continues to have the upper hand; sometimes they believe.

It is my message, and the message of the Ruler of the Universe that they hear. Fear not! But, do they believe it? Three did, once, long time ago, and a few shepherds.

I hope you will be inspired by my recollections to go forth with your message, and a well-shined trumpet. Congratulations.