Christmas Morning: The Song of the Angel

 The Song of the Angel

There was once an angel. Now, you know about angels, I’m sure. Shiny, winged creatures, who sing a lot, especially the singing. Glory to God in the highest. Holy, Holy, Holy. All angels sing.

Except the one in this story. From the day he was created he had had a voice like a foghorn, or, if he tried for a high note, fingernails scraping down a blackboard. 

Anyway, one day God called all the angels together. He had an announcement to make. “I have seen the misery of my people on earth,” he said, “and it breaks my heart. There is love. There is joy, but there is so much hatred and injustice that it is often drowned out. So I have decided to do something about it. I am going to send my son to be born among humanity, one of them, to show people what my love looks like And you will be a part of this, because I want you to sing to welcome him when he is born. You have nine months to dream up your songs, and you can start right now!”

The angels were filled with excitement. They rose up into the air and headed off to find a corner where they could compose their new tunes, all except one, our angel, the one I told you about earlier.

When all the others had gone, he stood in front of God and said “Lord, what about me? You know I can’t hold a tune to save my life - what shall I do now?”

But God looked at him and said, “My friend, you have the most special job of all. I am sending you to earth, ahead of all the rest, to find your voice, and your song, because when my Son is born, yours will be the best song of all. So, fly down to earth, and find that song.”

The angel looked doubtful, but he trusted God, so he did as he was told. He flew down to earth, and as his foot touched it, his wings disappeared – he wouldn’t be needing them, and they would just be in the way. It quite threw him off balance though, and he tumbled forward onto his hands and knees, and knelt there, winded for a moment. “Ark! Ark! Are you all right?” came a voice from the nearby trees. There was a glossy, black raven, sitting in a branch. “I’ve had some rough landings, but that one looked very painful, and where have your wings gone?” The angel explained who he was, and what had happened, and what God had told him about how he, the angel, would find his voice and a song to sing to God’s Son when he was born. 

“Can I come with you?” asked the raven. “Maybe I can find my voice and sing that song too – as you can hear, mine is pretty dreadful now. The larks and the nightingales all make fun of me”. 

“Sure”, said the angel, “though I have to tell you I don’t even know where to begin looking”

So the two set off together. Having no better ideas, they thought they would try to find some musicians who might give them singing lessons, so they went to the nearest village and asked around. But when the village band heard them sing, they roared with laughter. It was the same in the next village, and the next and the next. Months went past, with no success. Now and then someone tried to help them, but with a day or so would always shake their heads sadly and say that they didn’t think there was anything they could do. Sometimes people even threw things at them to make them stop, or ran them out of town. 

One day the two friends were sitting by the side of the road disconsolate. 

“God always keeps his promises,” said the angel, “ but, for the life of me, I can’t see how ours will ever be a song his Son will want to hear, and his birth is only just over a month away”. A sad silence fell between them, but it was soon broken by noises even worse than their singing, the sound of an old woman wailing with grief, and a donkey braying feebly, and an angry man shouting “Get up! Get up!”

The angel and the raven hurried along the road and soon they came across the source of the commotion, an old woman, kneeling in the dust, her arms around a donkey that was no more than skin and bones. The man was standing over them, a stick in his hand, beating the poor donkey.

The angel was having none of this. “Stop that! Don’t you dare hit that donkey! What is happening here?”

The old woman looked up at him. “When my husband died, I had no money for food, and I foolishly borrowed some from this man. Now he wants ten times as much back from me, and I can’t pay him, so he says he will take my donkey, and put him to work for him for a month in his stone quarry, pulling a cart full of heavy stones, to pay the debt. But my donkey is so old and frail that I know it will kill him, and he is the only friend I have in the world!” 

The angel thought for a moment. Then he stepped forward and said to the man, “Take me. I will work in the donkey’s place for a month. I am much stronger than he is.” 

The man looked at the angel. He did look strong, glowing with health in fact. So the man agreed. “And when the debt is paid, you must promise that you won’t bother this poor woman and her donkey again,” said the angel. “Of course,” said the man, “my word is my bond”. 

So the angel went with the man, and straightaway started to work in his stone quarry, hauling huge carts piled high with stones. From dawn till dusk he worked, day after day, week after week, his hands blistered and chapped, until finally the month was up. Then he went to the little stone hut, where the owner spent his days, supervising his workers and knocked on its stout oak door and went in. 

“I have worked for you in the donkey’s place, for a whole month, and I hope I have worked well.”

“Yes, indeed,” said the man, getting up from his chair and walking to stand between the angel and the doorway. 

“So now, I shall be on my way. The debt is paid, and you will leave the woman and her donkey alone, as you promised”

But, quick as a flash, the man jumped out of the door, and slammed it shut, and pushed the iron bolt across it, trapping the angel inside.

“No one’s word is their bond when there is a profit to be made. I have no intention of letting you go, and tomorrow I shall bring the woman and donkey here to join you!” And off he went laughing to himself. 

The angel was appalled. What had he done? The woman and the donkey were no better off than they had been. As he sat there, stunned, he heard a flutter of wings, and through a crack in the door, he saw his old friend the raven. 

He told the raven what had happened. “Please tell the woman to escape now, tonight, with her donkey, as far away as they can, and go with them to guard them. 

The raven flew off into the darkness.

But not long after, the angel heard the sound of the bolt on the door being slowly, quietly slid back, and the door being slowly, quietly opened. As he sat up, the old woman’s head appeared around the door. “What are you doing here? Why haven’t you run away?”

 “Shh! We couldn’t leave you behind, after you had been so kind to us and so brave. Come with us, and we will all run away together. Quickly now!”

The angel crept out of the hut, and they made their way onto the road, and headed off, no matter where, so long as it was far from the quarry. All night long and all the next day too they walked, looking behind them to make sure they weren’t being followed. 

As they walked, the angel told the woman who he was, and why he’d come to earth, “but now it is almost time for God’s son to be born, and I am no nearer finding my voice and my song than I was when I started,” he said, sadly. 

“Well,” said the woman, “I hope you do find it – maybe I will find my voice and sing again as well. I used to sing beautifully when I was young, but now age, and sorrow, have left it cracked and wheezy. And as for my friend here, “ she patted the donkey, “ his voice could do with some improvement too!” “Eey -aww”, said the donkey, as if agreeing. 

Night fell, and they all knew that they must rest. There was a village on the top of a steep hill not far away. “Perhaps there will be somewhere there where we can sleep” they said, as they struggled up to the top of it. A ramshackle stable came into view, with a light coming from it. And as they drew near, the angel could swear he heard some very familiar voices singing. He pushed open the door and, sure enough, it was full of angels, and in the middle of it, an animal feeding trough, with a baby in it, wriggling and squirming and squinnying, and a tired looking man and woman looking on. 

Gabriel, the leader of the angels turned around to look at the bedraggled party coming in through the door. “Ah, my friend!” he said, “God told us you would come, and not a moment too soon, because God said you would have the song the baby needed to hear. As you can see, we can’t get him to sleep, so perhaps you can!” And right on cue, the baby started wailing. 

“Oh dear! I am sorry to disappoint you,” said the angel, “but I don’t think my singing will help. It’s no better than it ever was! I have found many things – these friends for a start, who’ve shown me love and kindness and courage – (“ and he’s shown those things too!” said the old woman) – but I haven’t found my voice and I haven’t found a song to sing.”

“Well,” said Gabriel “God said you should sing, so, whatever you think you sound like, I think you should. If it will help you feel less self-conscious, we can all put our fingers in our ears.” And that’s what the angels did, and Mary and Joseph too. 

“Now, “ said Gabriel, “sing!”

And the angel started to sing, and the raven, the old woman and the donkey joined in to encourage him.

Now at this point, you may be expecting me to say that, miraculously, the raven sounded like a nightingale, the old woman found the voice of her girlhood, the donkey sang like Pavarotti, and the angel sang – well – angelically. 

But it wasn’t like that at all. They sounded just as awful as they ever had done, like a thousand fog horns, and all the fingernails in the world scraping their way down a blackboard. It was the worst singing you’ve ever heard.

But a strange thing happened. The baby stopped crying. Then a huge smile lit up his face. Then he clapped his little hands together in delight. Then, as the song came to an end, he fell fast asleep. 

The four friends were astonished. “What just happened?” said the angel to Gabriel. “I have no idea,” said Gabriel quietly, so as not to wake the baby, “but I’m not surprised. God once told me that he doesn’t hear as human beings or angels do. He hears what is in people’s hearts. The finest song, sung without love, sounds to him– how did he put it? – like a clanging gong and a clashing cymbal. But the song sung by people who live with love sounds like the sweetest music in the world. And I suppose – like Father, like Son…it is the same with this little one” he said, gesturing towards the baby. 

“But now our job is done,” said Gabriel, “and we must be away back to heaven. Are you coming with us? Wouldn’t you like your wings back?”

The angel thought for a moment. “No” he said. “I think I will stay here with my new friends and we’ll sing our song of love together .”

And that’s what he did, and it is said that he still walks the earth, looking for those who have lost their song, or who think no one would want to hear it, and that he tells them of the love of God, who longs for us to come to him, and sing our songs, just as they are.

Amen