Sunday, March 13, 2005
George, The Herald Angel
GEORGE, THE HERALD ANGEL
BY
Phoenix Mary Grace Hocking
It was Christmas Eve, and George stood in line with the other Herald Angels to receive his assignment. Gabriel sat at his huge desk, a seemingly unending pile of human need before him.
Gabriel took the really big assignments for himself, of course. That was only to be expected. In the Heavenly hierarchy Gabriel was the Head Honcho of Herald Angels. The Big Cheese. The Boss. Not THE Boss, of course, but Gabriel handled things pertaining to News, and did a good job of it.
Mary was the one most people on earth knew about, but there were others too. Gabriel had spoken with Moses, and with Noah, and with some humans long since forgotten by other humans. Gabriel was one of the three angels who told Sarah she would bear a child in her old age, and she had the nerve to laugh! But, a child she did bear, and that child another, and that one another, and so on down the line until The Child was born.
George had been part of the Heavenly Host then. All the angels were a part of that. Glory to God in the Highest! And on earth, Peace, good will toward men! Ah, the Big News, the Good News, the BEST News before, since, or ever.
George sighed. Since the Good News had been proclaimed over two thousand years ago, his assignments could hardly be called earth-shaking. His heralding bordered on the mundane, the routine, the boring. Just once, he thought, just once I’d like to be called to do something BIG.
“Hello, George,” Gabriel said with a smile. George was a good angel; he was quiet and obedient and faithful. But, it could hardly be said that George was really good at his job. It’s not that he was bad at it; he just messed up sometimes. Like the time he told the woman with terminal cancer that she would recover and her death had to be postponed by a full six years. THE Boss had just smiled and shook His head, but Gabriel had been mortified at the mistake. Since then, Gabriel had given George the easiest of assignments.
But it was Christmas Eve, and the assignment Gabriel had chosen for George was just about as easy as they get. He would tell an anxious mother that her son would be home for Christmas after all. But every time Gabriel reached for that particular piece of paper, a different one appeared in his hand.
After the third try, Gabriel realized that God was trying to tell him something, and he just accepted it. But he had to admit, of all the angels in the universe for this particular assignment, George would have been the last he would have picked.
For this was a Last Chance assignment. And Gabriel knew that this particular human was a Lost Cause. Angels throughout the years had worked on her, but to no avail. She was just as tough now as she had been at the Sunday School picnic eighty years previously when she had snorted in derision at the Good News.
“Good news!” She had scoffed, “Good fairy tale, most likely!” And nothing in her life had caused her to change her mind, no matter how often the Good News had been shared with her.
And now George, of all the angels in Heaven, was to have one last go at her. Maybe it was because she was a Lost Cause, Gabriel thought. Might as well let George go; nobody else has been successful. It’s hard to mess up a Lost Cause.
George looked at his assignment and his eyes widened. “A Last Chance?” he asked. “You’re giving me a Last Chance assignment?”
“I have confidence in you, George,” Gabriel said. And it was true; Gabriel was confident that George would fail, so he wasn’t lying. “Just do your best,” he said, and turned to the next angel in line.
**********
Mary Margaret Masterson sat at her kitchen table, staring out of the window, the scrapbook open before her. Snow lay deep on the lawn and Christmas lights twinkled in the window of the house across the street. She stirred her tea absently, slowly dissolving the clover honey a well-meaning neighbor had given her for Christmas.
Honey. That and a few cookies were all she had to show for presents this year. Not that she cared, really. She knew that her children didn’t have much and couldn’t afford to send her presents.
Mary Margaret looked at photos of Christmases past and sighed. Once upon a time, Christmas had been a Very Big Deal in her family. Why, she could remember Christmases where you could hardly walk in the living room because the presents were piled so deep.
Of course, Christmas was just a secular holiday anyway; a time to give and get presents, a time to get together with family and friends. It was fun. The Jesus story was alright, and somebody was sure to tell it, but Mary Margaret never paid much attention, still seeing the story as a fairy tale much like Snow White and the Seven Dwarves or Aslan in the Chronicles of Narnia.
And now, most of her friends were dead and her children lived in a whole other state, so far away they might as well live on the moon. They might call her tomorrow, if they remembered. She had to admit it; this Christmas she was sad, she was lonely, and if truth be told, she was scared.
It wasn’t much fun getting old. Her joints ached and her cholesterol was high and sometimes she had a twinge in the neighborhood of her heart that caused her a bit of panic. The kids had gone on with their lives and now she was left with a fifteen dollar artificial tree and not a single present under it.
She closed the scrapbook with a thud. “Ha!” she said aloud. “What do I care anyway? It’s not like Christmas means anything.”
So Mary Margaret Masterson, eighty-seven year old widow and mother of two grown children, resident of a small New England town currently covered in snow, took one last swig of her tea, rinsed out the cup and put it in the sink. It was getting late and she was tired.
She turned her electric blanket up to six, and then performed her nightly ablutions. She pulled her flannel nightgown over her head and put on her knee socks. She read a couple chapters of Anne of Green Gables, a book reminiscent of earlier, gentler times, then turned off the light, closed her eyes, and went to sleep.
**********
George was in turmoil. A Last Chance assignment was Big. Very, Very, Big. And now he found himself wishing he had never wished for a Big assignment! A person’s eternal soul was at stake, and this soul was in his hands.
George had done his homework regarding Mary Margaret Masterson. Eighty-seven year old widow, living in upstate New York. Two children, both grown and residing in California. Volunteer activities, none. Friends, none. Had worked part-time as an account clerk before retiring at age seventy-six. Mind, still sharp. Body, giving out bit by bit. Tonight, her last sleep before dying.
In less time than it takes to write this sentence, George saw every second of Mary Margaret’s life, and heard every word of the Good News that had been spoken to her. He saw all the attempts of all the other angels to reach her, and he despaired of his assignment.
Mary Margaret Masterson’s Last Chance to accept Christ as her Lord and Savior was in the hands of an angel who had no idea what on earth he could say to her that hadn’t been said a hundred times before.
But then, George smiled. There was one thing that hadn’t been tried yet, and George was determined.
**********
She was dreaming, of course she was. Her bedroom did not look like this, all light and rosy, filled with the scent of honeysuckle. Honeysuckle…ah, she hadn’t smelled that since her Aunt Pearls’ house back in California. She smiled.
At the foot of her bed stood an angel. She knew he was an angel, because she was dreaming, and no angel would have dared to come to her in her lucid, waking moments, because she did not believe in angels. Just like she didn’t believe in God, as she certainly did not believe the myth of Jesus. Her mind went around that track for a while before she realized the angel was still there, smiling gently at her.
“Hello, Mary,” he said. “Or should I call you Little Bit?”
Mary’s eyes grew wide. Why, nobody had called her Little Bit since her father, lo these many years ago, had given her the nickname. Just why he had called her Little Bit remained a mystery, since she had been anything but a small child. But Little Bit she was, and nobody knew that but her.
She knew she should be scared. She knew she should be terrified out of her wits. Whenever anybody had dealings with angels, wasn’t the first thing the angel said was, “Fear not?” So, Mary Margaret knew she should be afraid, but somehow…somehow, she wasn’t afraid at all. She was curious, she was amazed, but she wasn’t afraid.
George sat on the end of Mary’s bed. “Mary,” he said, “you’re going to die tonight.”
“Tonight?” Mary repeated. “Well, tonight is as good a night as any other. I haven’t much to live for these days anyway.”
Mary thought of her artificial tree with no presents underneath. She thought of her busy children who would get along just fine without her. She thought of her husband, long since gone into whatever land the dead go. Heaven, Hell, none of it made any sense to her. Probably just gone into emptiness, as she would now go.
“Will it hurt?”
“No,” answered George, “but before you go, I want you to meet Somebody.”
Instantly, the room was filled with a Light and a Presence so bright, Mary had to shield her eyes. There was no doubt in her mind as to Whom stood before her. Mary bowed her head and tears fell down her cheeks.
“My God!” she cried. “Forgive me, Lord,” she begged. “I didn’t know You were really real. I thought people just made You up and I wouldn’t believe. I’m sorry, Lord, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, My foolish child,” Jesus said, and He hugged her to Himself. “I am not willing that any should perish, and I died for you as much as I died for Peter or for Paul.”
Jesus looked into Mary Margaret’s eyes and she felt a Love so deep and so pure that she sank into that Love with not even a backward glance.
“Are you ready?” He asked.
“Yes, Lord,” she said.
“Then, follow Me.”
**********
Mary Margaret Masterson’s body was found on Christmas Day by her next-door neighbor, who called 9-1-1. As the coroner took the body away, the neighbors stood on their lawns, wrapped against the cold in heavy coats.
“Imagine,” said the one who had given her the cookies. “Imagine dying all alone like that. And on Christmas Day, too.”
“How sad!” Agreed the other. “How sad!”
George, the Herald Angel, just smiled.
BY
Phoenix Mary Grace Hocking
It was Christmas Eve, and George stood in line with the other Herald Angels to receive his assignment. Gabriel sat at his huge desk, a seemingly unending pile of human need before him.
Gabriel took the really big assignments for himself, of course. That was only to be expected. In the Heavenly hierarchy Gabriel was the Head Honcho of Herald Angels. The Big Cheese. The Boss. Not THE Boss, of course, but Gabriel handled things pertaining to News, and did a good job of it.
Mary was the one most people on earth knew about, but there were others too. Gabriel had spoken with Moses, and with Noah, and with some humans long since forgotten by other humans. Gabriel was one of the three angels who told Sarah she would bear a child in her old age, and she had the nerve to laugh! But, a child she did bear, and that child another, and that one another, and so on down the line until The Child was born.
George had been part of the Heavenly Host then. All the angels were a part of that. Glory to God in the Highest! And on earth, Peace, good will toward men! Ah, the Big News, the Good News, the BEST News before, since, or ever.
George sighed. Since the Good News had been proclaimed over two thousand years ago, his assignments could hardly be called earth-shaking. His heralding bordered on the mundane, the routine, the boring. Just once, he thought, just once I’d like to be called to do something BIG.
“Hello, George,” Gabriel said with a smile. George was a good angel; he was quiet and obedient and faithful. But, it could hardly be said that George was really good at his job. It’s not that he was bad at it; he just messed up sometimes. Like the time he told the woman with terminal cancer that she would recover and her death had to be postponed by a full six years. THE Boss had just smiled and shook His head, but Gabriel had been mortified at the mistake. Since then, Gabriel had given George the easiest of assignments.
But it was Christmas Eve, and the assignment Gabriel had chosen for George was just about as easy as they get. He would tell an anxious mother that her son would be home for Christmas after all. But every time Gabriel reached for that particular piece of paper, a different one appeared in his hand.
After the third try, Gabriel realized that God was trying to tell him something, and he just accepted it. But he had to admit, of all the angels in the universe for this particular assignment, George would have been the last he would have picked.
For this was a Last Chance assignment. And Gabriel knew that this particular human was a Lost Cause. Angels throughout the years had worked on her, but to no avail. She was just as tough now as she had been at the Sunday School picnic eighty years previously when she had snorted in derision at the Good News.
“Good news!” She had scoffed, “Good fairy tale, most likely!” And nothing in her life had caused her to change her mind, no matter how often the Good News had been shared with her.
And now George, of all the angels in Heaven, was to have one last go at her. Maybe it was because she was a Lost Cause, Gabriel thought. Might as well let George go; nobody else has been successful. It’s hard to mess up a Lost Cause.
George looked at his assignment and his eyes widened. “A Last Chance?” he asked. “You’re giving me a Last Chance assignment?”
“I have confidence in you, George,” Gabriel said. And it was true; Gabriel was confident that George would fail, so he wasn’t lying. “Just do your best,” he said, and turned to the next angel in line.
**********
Mary Margaret Masterson sat at her kitchen table, staring out of the window, the scrapbook open before her. Snow lay deep on the lawn and Christmas lights twinkled in the window of the house across the street. She stirred her tea absently, slowly dissolving the clover honey a well-meaning neighbor had given her for Christmas.
Honey. That and a few cookies were all she had to show for presents this year. Not that she cared, really. She knew that her children didn’t have much and couldn’t afford to send her presents.
Mary Margaret looked at photos of Christmases past and sighed. Once upon a time, Christmas had been a Very Big Deal in her family. Why, she could remember Christmases where you could hardly walk in the living room because the presents were piled so deep.
Of course, Christmas was just a secular holiday anyway; a time to give and get presents, a time to get together with family and friends. It was fun. The Jesus story was alright, and somebody was sure to tell it, but Mary Margaret never paid much attention, still seeing the story as a fairy tale much like Snow White and the Seven Dwarves or Aslan in the Chronicles of Narnia.
And now, most of her friends were dead and her children lived in a whole other state, so far away they might as well live on the moon. They might call her tomorrow, if they remembered. She had to admit it; this Christmas she was sad, she was lonely, and if truth be told, she was scared.
It wasn’t much fun getting old. Her joints ached and her cholesterol was high and sometimes she had a twinge in the neighborhood of her heart that caused her a bit of panic. The kids had gone on with their lives and now she was left with a fifteen dollar artificial tree and not a single present under it.
She closed the scrapbook with a thud. “Ha!” she said aloud. “What do I care anyway? It’s not like Christmas means anything.”
So Mary Margaret Masterson, eighty-seven year old widow and mother of two grown children, resident of a small New England town currently covered in snow, took one last swig of her tea, rinsed out the cup and put it in the sink. It was getting late and she was tired.
She turned her electric blanket up to six, and then performed her nightly ablutions. She pulled her flannel nightgown over her head and put on her knee socks. She read a couple chapters of Anne of Green Gables, a book reminiscent of earlier, gentler times, then turned off the light, closed her eyes, and went to sleep.
**********
George was in turmoil. A Last Chance assignment was Big. Very, Very, Big. And now he found himself wishing he had never wished for a Big assignment! A person’s eternal soul was at stake, and this soul was in his hands.
George had done his homework regarding Mary Margaret Masterson. Eighty-seven year old widow, living in upstate New York. Two children, both grown and residing in California. Volunteer activities, none. Friends, none. Had worked part-time as an account clerk before retiring at age seventy-six. Mind, still sharp. Body, giving out bit by bit. Tonight, her last sleep before dying.
In less time than it takes to write this sentence, George saw every second of Mary Margaret’s life, and heard every word of the Good News that had been spoken to her. He saw all the attempts of all the other angels to reach her, and he despaired of his assignment.
Mary Margaret Masterson’s Last Chance to accept Christ as her Lord and Savior was in the hands of an angel who had no idea what on earth he could say to her that hadn’t been said a hundred times before.
But then, George smiled. There was one thing that hadn’t been tried yet, and George was determined.
**********
She was dreaming, of course she was. Her bedroom did not look like this, all light and rosy, filled with the scent of honeysuckle. Honeysuckle…ah, she hadn’t smelled that since her Aunt Pearls’ house back in California. She smiled.
At the foot of her bed stood an angel. She knew he was an angel, because she was dreaming, and no angel would have dared to come to her in her lucid, waking moments, because she did not believe in angels. Just like she didn’t believe in God, as she certainly did not believe the myth of Jesus. Her mind went around that track for a while before she realized the angel was still there, smiling gently at her.
“Hello, Mary,” he said. “Or should I call you Little Bit?”
Mary’s eyes grew wide. Why, nobody had called her Little Bit since her father, lo these many years ago, had given her the nickname. Just why he had called her Little Bit remained a mystery, since she had been anything but a small child. But Little Bit she was, and nobody knew that but her.
She knew she should be scared. She knew she should be terrified out of her wits. Whenever anybody had dealings with angels, wasn’t the first thing the angel said was, “Fear not?” So, Mary Margaret knew she should be afraid, but somehow…somehow, she wasn’t afraid at all. She was curious, she was amazed, but she wasn’t afraid.
George sat on the end of Mary’s bed. “Mary,” he said, “you’re going to die tonight.”
“Tonight?” Mary repeated. “Well, tonight is as good a night as any other. I haven’t much to live for these days anyway.”
Mary thought of her artificial tree with no presents underneath. She thought of her busy children who would get along just fine without her. She thought of her husband, long since gone into whatever land the dead go. Heaven, Hell, none of it made any sense to her. Probably just gone into emptiness, as she would now go.
“Will it hurt?”
“No,” answered George, “but before you go, I want you to meet Somebody.”
Instantly, the room was filled with a Light and a Presence so bright, Mary had to shield her eyes. There was no doubt in her mind as to Whom stood before her. Mary bowed her head and tears fell down her cheeks.
“My God!” she cried. “Forgive me, Lord,” she begged. “I didn’t know You were really real. I thought people just made You up and I wouldn’t believe. I’m sorry, Lord, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, My foolish child,” Jesus said, and He hugged her to Himself. “I am not willing that any should perish, and I died for you as much as I died for Peter or for Paul.”
Jesus looked into Mary Margaret’s eyes and she felt a Love so deep and so pure that she sank into that Love with not even a backward glance.
“Are you ready?” He asked.
“Yes, Lord,” she said.
“Then, follow Me.”
**********
Mary Margaret Masterson’s body was found on Christmas Day by her next-door neighbor, who called 9-1-1. As the coroner took the body away, the neighbors stood on their lawns, wrapped against the cold in heavy coats.
“Imagine,” said the one who had given her the cookies. “Imagine dying all alone like that. And on Christmas Day, too.”
“How sad!” Agreed the other. “How sad!”
George, the Herald Angel, just smiled.
# posted by Phoenix MaryGrace Hocking : 2:13 PM
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