The Angels

The Angels

By Timothy O'Fallon

The Condemned Man opened his eyes in the midst of his prayers. Someone was coming. Could the murderers have decided to kill him before dawn? Perhaps they feared that the Condemned Man’s supporters would try to rescue him if they waited until morning. He listened to the footsteps and scraping against rock, as the person who was coming scrambled down to the little cave he once called home, but now called prison. The killers would pretend to let him go, as was their custom, and then chase him down with their long knives.

Would the Lord deliver him? Even in earnest prayer, the Condemned Man felt sure his life would be measured in hours, perhaps minutes. He knew he should not be anxious. He would be joining his Savior soon, with joy. But his mind was very troubled, his heart was racing, and his palms were wet.

The door was barred shut, but a weak voice came through a crack in the wall. “Hello?”

The Condemned Man recognized the voice immediately, and he was filled with concern. Please, Lord, he silently prayed, let this gentle old man not come to a violent end!

“Dear friend, you should not be here. It is dangerous,” said the Condemned man.

“Nonsense,” said the voice, crackling with age. “No tiger has gotten me yet. But you haven’t been to the village in three days. I brought you food. And why did you lock your door? You never lock your door. I can’t get in.”

The Condemned Man realized then that his captors were having sport with the old man, and did not reveal themselves to him. The poor soul had no idea of the danger he was in. They would probably kill him as he left. The Condemned Man despaired in his heart.

“Won’t you let me in…er…er…Teacher?” asked the kind, elderly visitor.

The Condemned Man smiled in spite of his fear and concern. The old man had forgotten his name again. Reminding him would only cause embarrassment, the one called “Teacher” had learned long ago. Sometimes the old man would remember on his own, though, and would be very proud of himself over it.

“Dear friend,” said the Condemned Man, “I cannot open the door. I am a prisoner here. The murderers who have sought to kill me these last two years have finally found me, and they will kill me in the morning. You are in mortal danger. I have not been to the village because they have kept me here, without food or water, while they decided when to kill me.”

“Oh,” said the old man. He paused. “Good thing I brought something to drink, then. You’re probably thirsty, too!”

The Condemned Man chuckled at the unexpected reply. He wondered if the old man understood. He decided not to press the issue. “But you will not be able to get that water through this small crack in the cave, my friend.”

The old man paused again. “Oh. Do you mind if I take a drink, then? It has been a long walk.”

“Please drink,” said the Condemned Man, and in spite of his terrible thirst, he smiled at the irony. He felt better than he had moments ago. Perhaps the Lord had sent his old friend to be a comfort.

“Do you…mind if I eat, too?” asked the old man. “I’m hungry. Could you say a blessing?”

The Condemned Man gave thanks for the food, and waited while the older man ate. He tried to find a comfortable sitting position, not wanting to take the trouble to bring a chair to the crack in the wall. The Condemned Man was much younger than his visitor, but he was still approaching seventy. He had to change positions frequently to stay comfortable, except when he prayed. He was always comfortable on his knees.

“That was good,” said the old man. “I think I’ll take a nap, now.”

“No!” said the Condemned Man, fearing that his captors would then kill his ancient visitor. “First…would you tell me a story?”

He could almost imagine the old man’s eyes light up as he asked, “Story? What kind of story?”

The Condemned Man said, “Tell me of the time when you first met the Lord.” He knew it was the old man’s favorite story to tell. It was the story that made him a celebrity.

“Oh, easy,” said the visitor. “I first met Him when you arrived…how many years ago was that? For fifty years I had been trying to be a good Jew, because I’d given up on Zoroaster when I was in my forties. But I was such a failure of a convert. I was always messing up. But then you told me how the Messiah fulfilled the law. You told me I was forgiven. You told me to fix my eyes on Him, and be born again. Reborn at 96! What a funny thing! But that is when I first met Him.”

The Condemned Man choked back his tears. That wasn’t the story he was expecting. He was astonished at the humility of this old man, who had met the Lord in the flesh long before anyone else alive. He found his voice and said, “Dear brother, you have no idea how much your words warm my heart in these last hours.”

“Good. Now can I go to sleep?”

“Well, actually, I was hoping you would tell the story of your long journey to meet Him, when you were much younger.”

“Oh, that old story! You have heard it a thousand times! Haven’t you? Or did I forget to tell you?”

“I would love to hear it again, old friend.”

The old man didn’t need any more encouragement than that. “It is so long ago…er…Teacher…but I remember it better than what I had for breakfast. Come to think of it, did I have breakfast? I’m not sure I ate today. Oh, right, thank you…I just did eat. Now, where was I? The beginning? The beginning.

“I used to be very wise. At least, I thought I was wise. And rich. And powerful. And religious. I knew all about the soul, and light and darkness, and how the forces of the spirit world could reveal the destiny of souls in the stars. I spent too much time looking at the stars, when I should have been attending to my duties as a leader, but I enjoyed the heavens at night. I usually had someone else do my calculations. Cheating, I know. But I just liked to stare at the sky.

“One night, I noticed something out of place. There was a star, aligned in a certain way, that I hadn’t noticed before. I checked with my assistants, and one said he had been tracking the phenomenon. We studied what it might mean, and came to agree that a mighty spirit had entered the world…in our religion we had a name for it, but you can say “Messiah” if you like. It could be the event of a lifetime – or of a thousand lifetimes! We determined that this event had taken place in a land far to the west, and in that moment I knew I wanted to make the journey. My family tried to reason with me, and my advisors begged me to reconsider, but the desire burned in my heart, and I would not be persuaded. I sent messengers ahead to the kingdoms I would have to traverse, gathered a small group of warriors, loaded down my caravan of elephants with supplies for a long journey and gifts for the King/Messiah I hoped to meet, and set off to the mainland.

“We journeyed a long time before we met the others. I was not the only one who had seen this sign in the heavens. We met the others when we had crossed the Arabian sea. We were trying to buy camels, since we had to leave our elephants behind, of course. But nearly every camel in the city had been sold, and the few that were left for sale were outrageously expensive. I soon found out why: a large group of kings and religious men and scholars had bought everything only a day earlier. I found these men, and was overjoyed that they were making the same journey! They too had seen the sign in the heavens, and were seeking the new King. They let me use some of their camels, and we joined them for the rest of the trip.

“I made many friends in those months. Too many to name. Too many to remember. Baltazar was my closest companion…one of the youngest there, and the most enthusiastic! He was from Sheba, but was studying the arts in Persia when the sign came. He decided to meet this new King at once, and then continue to his home. He brought as many gifts as he could afford: perfumes and trinkets and golden toys. He planned on being even more extravagant once he could return to his kingdom. He had such a kind and generous heart.

“The only one I really avoided was Melchior. He was so brooding and pessimistic. His main purpose for going on the journey, I heard from others, was to prove to certain people at home that there was no truth to this sign, no “great king” in the West. He spent a great deal of time alone.

“After much travel and many adventures, we calculated that the sign in the heavens was directing us to the coast of the Mediterranean, north of Egypt. We were reluctant to enter this Province of Judea, because it was ruled by the ruthless Romans. They were impossible to deal with. But after making several inquiries, we found that there was a local leader who could put us under his protection. We sent a message to this Herod, and he agreed to receive us.

“We were very hopeful that the King could be found in Herod’s household, and we brought many lavish gifts in anticipation. He received the gifts, but seemed to know nothing about any new King. Melchior was delighted, and had a good laugh at all the rest of us. I was totally disheartened, and dreaded the thought of returning home in my folly.

“But King Herod was very serious. He did not laugh, or ridicule us. Instead, he gathered all his own wise men and religious experts to determine the birthplace of this new king. Apparently, the religion of these people promised a Messiah. I tell you, I began to feel hope again! When the local wise men determined an actual town, my heart leapt with joy! Herod then asked us when we first saw this sign in the heavens. When we reported it was nearly two years before, he was very troubled. He seemed to think it unlikely we would find the king in the town after all this time. Still, he gave us free passage, and made us promise that if we found the king, we would send word so Herod could also give him many gifts.

“Melchior was careful not to scoff at Herod, but once we had left the palace, he laughed at us all over again. He was very confident we would find no divine spirit-king in this “Bethlehem”. More than once, I felt like wringing his neck.

“We found no one in Bethlehem who knew anything about a king. We must have asked everyone in town! After a week, we gave up. It was a sad evening when we decided at last to go home, and Melchior’s gloating was insufferable.

“We were camped just outside the city, and I was sleeping fitfully inside my tent. But then, in the middle of the night, I was awakened by a servant. Some local sheep-herders wanted to speak with us. Reluctantly, I got up to hear what they had to say. They claimed to know where this King was staying, and in fact were present at his birth. They had this story of supernatural beings who sent them to a stable (of all places!) some two years earlier. They considered themselves guardians of this child and His family, and agreed to take us with them. We were eager, if a little skeptical. But then, the oldest of these men – a fellow by the name of Nehu – told us that only three of us could go. We would have to choose two among ourselves, but he had been told in a dream that one, in particular, had already been chosen. And then he pointed to Melchior.

“Of course the rest of us groaned at that choice, and Melchior only smirked, and we were terribly disappointed. We tried to reason with the sheep-herder, but he paid no heed to us. Finally, we cast lots to see who else could go, and as you guessed, I was one. Baltazar was the other, which made my heart very glad. But imagine my disappointment when Nehu laid a further condition on us: we were each to bring one – and only one – gift apiece. This was terrible, you know, after all we had brought with us, but Melchior complained the loudest. He didn’t see why he had to bring anything. In the end, he took a gold cup offered by one of the other wise men. I brought some fine perfume (I was still thinking they were living in a stable, but of course they were not). Baltazar had a hard time choosing. Finally, he brought out a small box, but he did not tell anyone what it was.

“The sheep-herders brought us to some caves outside of town, where the poorest people lived. It was not a very pleasant place. In fact, some of those caves reminded me of this one you live in…uh…er…Teacher! Nehu told us that the King’s family was trying to save up enough money to finish paying a tax and return to the father’s home town. Melchior snorted, and I have to say with shame that I began to doubt very much that this was the King we were looking for.

“It was morning when we arrived. The mother welcomed us, and was using what little food she had to make us breakfast. The father was preparing to go to work in town. He was a builder . We tried to exchange pleasantries, but we had no common language. Baltazar spoke only a few words of Aramaic, and neither of the parents spoke Greek or anything else we knew. We noticed a manger in the middle of their small home, and through Nehu’s translation we asked about it. The mother smiled and said it was her Son’s first crib. I was aghast, and Baltazar looked uncomfortable, but Melchior went over to it and looked at it very intently. He was acting so out-of-character. He was very quiet.

“Eventually, when breakfast was ready, the mother called out, “Y’shua!” and my heart leapt in my throat at the name. Baltazar and I glanced at each other, knowing our journey was almost at an end. Melchior was still looking at the feeding trough that was a crib.

“Suddenly, about a dozen children came running into the small cave, ranging in age from toddlers to about four years. They were all shouting and laughing, and the leader of this little company seemed to be a very young lad with dark, curly hair. To my surprise, they all came running to me, tugging at my clothes (which must have been strange to them) and wanting to play games. I was astonished! All I could say was, “Which one of you is Y’shua?”

“The little curly-headed boy walked right up to me and hugged my leg. Then he said in a voice very clear for one so young, “Thanks for coming to my house. Won’t you play with my angels?” He waved at the children around him when he said this.

“I just raised my eyebrows, wondering who was filling this boy’s head with delusions of grandeur. I did stiffly tousle the hair of a few of the urchins. I don’t think any of them had shoes, and they were all poking me and being somewhat more playful than I was accustomed to. I looked to Baltazar for help, but he was only laughing at me.

“The father then said something to Y’shua, who then spoke to his friends. They whined and complained a little, then filed out of the cave – I guess to their own homes and breakfasts. The father said a blessing, and we all sat down to eat.

“The child kept asking us all kinds of questions. Very perceptive questions. I did the best I could, but I remember being a little annoyed at some of them. Melchior said nothing at the few questions he was asked, and barely ate any of his food. I was getting more and more convinced that the trip was a waste. We found a bright, engaging child, and there seemed to be some local legends about him, but he seemed so ordinary. Nevertheless, we spent several hours there, and in that time all those other children came back. To be honest, although I like children, I was feeling a little overwhelmed, and was looking forward to leaving. Baltazar must have been feeling the same, because he finally said, “We brought you gifts.”

“Y’shua smiled, and told his “angels” to settle down. It was funny to watch the older children obey him, even though they teased him and tugged his hair and chased him like any other child. “What did you bring me?” he asked.

“I presented my gift to the mother, as was proper, and she thanked me very much. Melchior silently brought out his cup (and a few gold coins, which he had found in his tunic). Baltazar looked very worried, but reluctantly handed the small box to the mother. She gasped, and her eyes filled with tears, snapping the box shut. I had a glimpse of what was inside, and I must tell you that I was a little shocked. Baltazar had brought Myrrh, which as you know is used for embalming. We had brought some on our journey in case of any unexpected deaths. I was amazed that he would do such a thing.

“But Y’shua thanked us. He then walked over to Baltazar, and gave him a kiss. Baltazar seemed bewildered, but kept silent.

“Our parting was uncomfortable. We really did not know what to say. We had come to find a king, and instead we found…well…an interesting family. Baltazar broke the ice with a quick bow, and both Melchior and I followed suit, wanting to give no offence. Then, all the children jumped all over me again, and I couldn’t really say anything proper, as I was busy untangling myself. But the little boy, Y’shua, walked with us a few feet out of the cave. As we walked away, he said to us, “I’ll see you again!”

“We returned to our caravan, and were grilled with questions. Everyone was disappointed, of course. Melchior was silent, though, and at least the rest of us were thankful for the lack of gloating. We decided to spend one more night there, and then go our separate ways. We crafted a message to Herod, not wanting to face him directly in our embarrassment, and chose a messenger to go to him in the morning.

“In the night, we had a dream. Yes, all of us. It was almost the same dream. We all felt as if we were told by some heavenly messenger not to say anything at all to Herod. That was difficult, because not only would it be breaking a promise, we would also be risking his anger. We all decided to leave secretly. Baltazar heard in his dream that he was to go back to the cave, and help the child and his family with some kind of move. I bid him farewell, and never saw him again.

“Melchior and myself, along with a couple of others, decided to stick together for a while. We escaped Judea, and traveled on in sadness. Melchior was silent, but the rest of us lamented the failure of our mission. There was really nothing magical or divine about this child after all.

“After a few days, during one of our worst laments, Melchior startled us with a shout. “Are you stupid?” he said. “Do you have any idea what you are talking about? There was a miracle right under your nose!” I protested that I saw no miracle, and he threw his hands up in frustration. “What language did he speak to you in?” I stammered, and answered that it was in my own dialect. “Really? Well, I heard him in my own language. And I’ll bet Baltazar heard the child in his language. So there’s your ‘sign’, you blind fool!”

“I was too shocked to be offended. I hadn’t even thought about the language. Everything seemed so natural and ordinary. But Melchior was right.

“A few hours later, a messenger from one of our group who had gone another way came running to us. His message was horrifying. The family we met had left Bethlehem safely, but just afterwards Herod had sent soldiers to kill all male infants and toddlers in Bethlehem. I remembered all the children who played with me only days earlier, and I wept many tears. Once again, I doubted the kingship of the child Y’shua. Surely, if he were divine, he could have saved his friends?

“But Melchior strode off a ways and fell to his knees. He stayed in that position, arms lifted to the sky, and prayed for over an hour. When he returned to us, his face was streaked with tears. His voice trembled as he said, “He is the one. Y’shua is the savior of the world. We found Him.” I did not understand at all, and the look on my face said so. Melchior, gently and with no bitterness in his voice – in a tone I had never heard before – said, “You see but don’t understand, my friend. Remember how He called the other children ‘my angels’? He knew. He knew their time was short.”

“Realization dawned on me. Even though this knowledge did not answer the question of why He allowed His friends to die, it seemed a powerful sign. I decided right then to become a Jew, and to try to follow the teachings of Y’shua’s religion. I could not return home, because there are no synagogues there, and so I came here, to this jungle on the mainland, and joined a small Jewish community. I have lived here ever since, trying my best. And when you came, I stopped trying, and started living in grace.

“That’s my love story. Are you sure I never told you that before?”

The Condemned Man spoke with a soft voice. “I never tire of hearing it.”

“Good, then. I need to go home, though. It is getting late. Will you say a blessing for me?”

The Condemned Man said a short prayer for his friend, and prayed silently that he would make it home alive.

“Do come to the village tomorrow. We miss your teachings so much…er…uh…(and then the old man remembered)…Thomas.”

“The Holy Spirit is the real Teacher, Gaspar,” said the Apostle.

Gaspar walked home, and the murderers did not try to stop him.. They had listened to the conversation, and decided it would be funnier to let the clueless man go home only to realize later that he did not act to save his Teacher. It was a very long walk, though, and the Wise Man had to stop and rest under a tree. He closed his eyes to sleep, and in so doing fell into the deepest sleep of all. After 112 years, his time had finally come.

At first, he did not know what was happening. Everything was light around him, and he thought he heard the voice of Melchior in the distance, laughing merrily. Then, he saw mighty Seraphim, their scales glowing and wings outspread. There was music – such music! But then, he felt a tug on his arm.

There were children all around him, maybe a dozen of them. They looked very familiar. I am too old to play with you, he was going to say, but then he noticed that his arms were strong and his body was straight. Somehow, in this beautiful dream, he was young again! He did play with them. He played catch, and chase-the-calf, and tag, and all kinds of games he had never heard of. After a long time, the children became still, and just stood there giggling. It was then that Gaspar remembered them.

“The Angels! How beautiful you are! Tell me, where is your Friend?”

They all pointed behind Gaspar. He turned around, and was face to face with the Son of Man. His hair was white as snow, His skin a burnished bronze, His eyes like burning coals…and on His face, a gentle smile, His arms open in embrace. Gaspar did embrace Him, and whispered,

“My goodness, how You’ve grown.”

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The Apostle Thomas, according to tradition, was martyred in India in 72 AD. A band of murderers chased him down and stabbed him on a hill, not far from the secret cave he called home. One legend says that the wise man Gaspar, reputedly from the island now known as Ceylon, lived in the same community as Thomas during the Apostle’s ministry there, and died at about the same time. They were buried in the same grave.