Wingtips and Light

As we look forward to Christmas week, the following is an original piece of fiction told from the perspective of Gabriel the archangel.

Wingtips and Light

Braided manes of hair the color of weathered ivory, skin in creamy tones from moonlight  to coal smoke, we move without effort, equal speed in any direction. Whether in conversation or contemplation, we respond with wonder and wisdom. We were created for this—not this one midnight performance and proclamation—for the crafting and expressing of ageless praise. Every aspect of our design is intended to enable service and to produce awe.

We reflect The Light. The uncorrupted, unimpeded Light.

We are designed to elicit action.

We are a rendering of The Glory.

It is nearly the moment. This will be the first time we’ve descended en masse. It may never happen again.

We are gathered at the gate, each jostling for a spot. All wingtips and light. At the trumpet blast we will plunge. The rush of our coming will split the sky. 

I told the prophet Daniel of the coming Anointed One. I was given the honor of an audience with Mary. And now I have the joy of appearing first, of announcing us. 

I don’t know which of the humans will be on the ground staring up at us—a city, a nation, a dozen, or a pair—but whomever The Maker has placed below will hear me deliver the pronouncement which has been drafted, sifted, revised, rehearsed, and refined for this very night.

Don’t be afraid! I bring you good news that will bring great joy to all people. The Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born today in Bethlehem, the city of David! And you will recognize Him by this sign: You will find a baby wrapped snugly in strips of cloth, lying in a manger.

Whoever is standing below, looking up, will then hear us sing. Our song is unlike man’s or beast’s. Our voices fill the heavens, octaves stacked upon octaves reverberate from all directions at once. Our song accosts and encases. 

Glory to God in the highest heaven, and peace on earth to those with whom God is pleased.

They’ll not be able to count us, the heavenly host. Only The Maker knows our number. They will rise to their feet. Some may run. Our arrival will compel them to do so. It will be necessary to tell them not to be afraid—of this I am sure.