Gabriel

Over at Faith*In*Fiction, and through Infuze Magazine, they're having a Christmas story competition. Now I haven't written anything substantial in the way of fiction since high school, but I thought this might be a good way to start practicing again. I hope you like it.

"Gabriel", He called me. He always used my full name. Others called me Gabe or Gaby or Ria maybe. But He always used my full name.

"Gabriel". And He always calls twice, which I don't quite understand. I mean, does He think I can't hear Him? His voice is plain and clear to those who want to listen. Does He think I won't respond? I was created to respond. What other choice is there?

"Gabriel, I have a message for you."

"Yes, I'm listening."

“Gabriel, I want you to appear to Zachariah, whom I love. There I will give you my message.”

“Earth, Lord? It’s been such a long time.”

“Yes Gabriel. It’s time. Be joyful! Wonderful things are happening.” With His blessing He sent me out.

It had been a while. I remembered the long days of dwelling on earth when He himself would visit His creatures. In those days He’d use me more often: messages to his people; appointments and ceremonies; inspiration to give Him their best praise and worship; speaking to his chosen to bring them all home. Those were busy days, days I’ll never forget. Days that started a long road, He said, days in which He never stopped working.

I sometimes wonder if He rests. He never seems to. He did once, that I know of, at the end of creation. Everything was good. There was no evil, no disappointment, no fight to be fought. Then He rested. It was good. We played. We worshipped. He dwelt amongst us, amongst them. Now He is always working. There is so much to do, He says, so much to win back.

Earth is not far, yet it is so different to Heaven. Be joyful, He told me. Over what, I wondered. Even the brightest days are dim, and those that dwell in His presence are so few. Those He called as His own were now a long way off, and disappearing further into their own self concern. I watched a man sitting by the side of the road, crying out and reaching for things unseen. People didn’t stop. They didn’t help. One of their own was in pain, trouble and need, and all they could do was walk by. He had said wonderful things were happening, but what was this?

I waited for Zachariah in the Temple, and coldness came over me. It wasn’t so much the presence of evil as the lack of God. Surrounded by stone with few adornments and little light, it felt hard to believe that He would meet him here. It was so sterile. Infertile. Barren.

When Zachariah entered I noticed how low he hung his head. He had been chosen to offer the yearly sacrifice, a great honor. I waited. Never once did he look up, and whilst going about his duties not once was he truly in worship. And yet, He had said He loved him. Zachariah walked about the chamber mumbling prayers, beating his heart, and burning a meager amount of incense. The fire was failing, threatening to go out. The coals were growing cold.

Still I waited. Zachariah was preparing to leave when I appeared. “Zachariah, be bold and strong, for the Lord your God loves you.”

The poor man was paralyzed with fear. He dropped the incense burner on the floor, making a loud clang, and reverberating throughout the silence. Finally he looked up at me, the first real sign of God in this place, and then quickly looked away, embarrassed and afraid. He groped on the floor for the burner.

“Zachariah, do not be afraid. I have a come from the Almighty, who gives you this message.” It was always like this. He spoke to me when the time was needed, neither before nor after, but in the moment. It was fresh, strong and powerful. It was lovely, tender and passionate.

“Do not be afraid. Your prayers have been heard. Elizabeth, your wife, will bear a son from you. Name him John. Be happy! Leap for joy! Shout and sing to God for His blessings to you! Many will delight in his birth. He will achieve great stature with God, and do great things for Him. He will be filled with His Holy Spirit from the time he leaves his mother’s womb.”

Still was he in awe. As he listened his eyes grew wider and slowly lifted to meet my own. Yet his face remained dark and puzzled. Why would he not believe? This was incredible news! God Himself was intervening in his life!

There was more. “Many of Israel’s children will return to God because of him. He will prepare them for God’s own arrival in the style and strength of Elijah. Parents and children will be reconciled, and skeptics swayed towards God. By John will the people be ready for His coming.”

What was this, now? What is this message? God’s own arrival? Was He finally bringing His creation home? Praise to the Father of all mankind!

Finally Zachariah spoke, stumbling over his words. “What? How can this be? This can’t be right! I am too old, and Elizabeth has been barren for years! How can you expect me to believe this? You have the wrong man!” He hung his head again and shook it from side to side, mumbling, “No, No. I don’t believe it.”

“I am Gabriel, the messenger of God. He sent me to bring you this incredible news!” The poor, broken man would not allow himself to believe. Where was the joy? Where was his delight? God was granting him his heart’s desire, and glorifying Himself through it!

“Zachariah, everything is possible with God. But as you won’t believe you won’t say a word until the day your son is born. Be silent before God and man!” He fell prone to the floor, and as he rose he looked up to me as if to speak. His mouth opened and he gestured for words, but nothing came. Confusion, anger, and wonderment all covered his face. His very demeanor changed from an empty, dutiful servant, to a marveling child of God. Perhaps there was hope in Zachariah.

“What I have spoken will be true in God’s time. You’ll see, and then you’ll speak.” And I left.

I could not wait to return to Heaven, to His side. There was so much to do, to be said, to bring about. God was at work! “Be Joyful!” He said. “Wonderful things are happening!”