Lamb The Gospel According to Biff Christs Childho - By Christopher Moore Page 0,14

hills were full of different factions of Zealots who skirmished with the Romans in hope that they could bring about the change. We were the chosen of God, blessed and punished like no other on earth. When the Jews spoke, God listened, now it was God's turn to speak. Evidently, my best friend was supposed to be the mouthpiece. But at that moment, I just didn't believe it. Despite what I'd seen, Joshua was my pal, not the Messiah.

I said, "I'm pretty sure the Messiah is supposed to have a beard."

"So, it's not time yet, is that what you're saying?"

"Right, Josh, I'm going to know when you don't. God sent a messenger to me and he said, 'By the way, tell Joshua to wait until he can shave before he leads my people out of bondage.'"

"It could happen."

"Don't ask me, ask God."

"That's what I've been doing. He's not answering."

It had been getting darker by the minute in the olive grove, and I could barely see the shine in Josh's eyes, but suddenly the area around us was lit up like daylight. We looked up to see the dreaded Raziel descending on us from above the treetops. Of course I didn't know he was the dreaded Raziel at the time, I was just terrified. The angel shone like a star above us, his features so perfect that even my beloved Maggie's beauty paled by comparison. Joshua hid his face and huddled against the trunk of an olive tree. I guess he was more easily surprised by the supernatural than I was. I just stood there staring with my mouth open, drooling like the village idiot.

"Fear not, for behold, I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be to all men. For on this day, in the city of David, is born a Savior, which is Christ the Lord." Then he hovered for a second, waiting for his message to sink in.

Joshua uncovered his face and risked a glance at the angel.

"Well?" the angel said.

It took me a second to digest the meaning of the words, and I waited for Joshua to say something, but he had turned his face skyward and seemed to be basking in the light, a silly smile locked on his face.

Finally I pointed a thumb at Josh and said, "He was born in the city of David."

"Really?" said the angel.

"Yep."

"His mother's name is Mary?"

"Yep."

"She a virgin?"

"He has four brothers and sisters now, but at one time, yes."

The angel looked around nervously, as if he might expect a multitude of the heavenly host to show up at some point. "How old are you, kid?"

Joshua just stared, smiling.

"He's ten."

The angel cleared his throat and fidgeted a bit, dropping a few feet toward the ground as he did so. "I'm in a lot of trouble. I stopped to chat with Michael on the way here, he had a deck of cards. I knew some time had passed, but..." To Joshua he said, "Kid, were you born in a stable? Wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger?"

Joshua said nothing.

"That's the way his mom tells it," I said.

"Is he retarded?"

"I think you're his first angel. He's impressed, I think."

"What about you?"

"I'm in trouble because I'm going to be an hour late for dinner."

"I see what you mean. I'd better get back and check on this. If you see some shepherds watching over their flocks by night would you tell them - uh, tell them - that at some point, probably, oh - ten years or so ago, that a Savior was born? Could you do that?"

"Sure."

"Okey-dokey. Glory to God in the highest. Peace on earth, goodwill toward men."

"Right back at you."

"Thanks. Bye."

And as quickly as he had come, the angel was gone in a shooting star and the olive grove went dark again. I could just make out Joshua's face as he turned to look at me.

"There you go," I said. "Next question?"

I suppose that every boy wonders what he will be when he grows up. I suppose that many watch their peers accomplish great things and wonder, "Could I have done that?" For me, to know at ten that my best friend was the Messiah, while I would live and die a stonecutter, seemed too much of a curse for a ten-year-old to bear. The morning after we met the angel, I went to the square and sat with Bartholomew the village idiot, hoping that Maggie would come to the well. If I had to be a stonecutter,