Progressive News, Opinion, and Analysis
My Christmas gift to you, Rhode Island, is almost a full hour of the best-ever, easily-available-on-YouTube holiday season songs in one continuous playlist. Enjoy the music, and the holidays.
Marijuana holiday bush
Angels carved from calamari
Candles stuck in ‘Gansett bottles
Santa in a red Ferrari
Christmas in the Ocean State
Big Blue Bug blinks big red nose
Off-key carols by Cardi brothers
River burns and saxophone blows
As snow-flakes fill Rhode Island skies
Forgiveness swells inside of us
Except for all those politicians
Who threw us under the RIPTA bus
But hope is what this season brings
That once again our littlest state
Can embolden our diversity
And show the world that small is great.
c2014pn
Monday Dec 23, 2013
North Kingstown, RI – Happy Holidays Ocean State and fellow futurists … This is Bob Plain and as always I am podcasting to you from The Hideaway on the banks of the Mattatuxet River behind the Shady Lea Mill in North Kingstown, Rhode Island. But this is a special edition of the RI Future podcast celebrating that solstice time of year – or, as we call it here in America, Christmas.
Because so many of us suffer from seasonal affective disorder, and maybe take a little bit of umbrage at all the wanton consumerism posing as peace on earth and goodwill towards all people, we put together an extended podcast today dedicated to all the Christmas tunes Jesus would want us to spin at his birthday party … none are about how disgustingly sweet our lives can be or religious dogma or getting presents. Instead our playlist – ranging from rap to rock and from punk to funk – are about the real reason for the season: building community between our brothers and sisters during this otherwise dark and depressing time of year.
Footnotes:
John Lennon “Happy Xmass (War Is Over)
The Kinks “Father Christmas”
Stevie Wonder “Someday at Christmas”
Woodie Guthrie “1913 Massacre”
The Mighty, Mighty Bosstones “This Time of Year”
The Flaming Lips “Christmas at the Zoo”
Run DMC “Christmas Is”
The Sonics “Don’t Believe in Christmas”
The Ramones “Merry Christmas, I don’t want to fight tonight”
Robert Earl Keen’s “Merry Christmas from the Family”
Steve Earle “Christmas Time in Washington”
Billy Squier “Christmas Is the Time to Say I Love You”
Simon and Garfunkel “Silent Night”
MXPX “Auld Lang Syne”
An article in the online Providence Journal noted “perennial political candidates Christopher and Kara Young” placed a Nativity scene at the base of the State House Christmas tree on Thursday. The event was held, according to the report, as a counterpoint to the banner the Humanists of Rhode Island, with full permission from the governor’s office, put up on Tuesday morning. (Full disclosure: I am the president of HRI.) Of course, the Nativity scene could not be a reaction to HRI’s banner because the same group of people put up the same Nativity at the base of last year’s Holiday tree, when there was no Humanist banner present. (The December 22, 2012 ProJo article covering that event is behind a paywall.)
Chris Young’s statement, that “We have as much a right as anyone else to be here” is absolutely true. I know he was trying to make a big, dramatic point about reclaiming the Rhode Island State House for Catholic, Christian values, but he’s a little bit late to the game (as he was last year as well.)
Chris and Kara Young’s Nativity scene is the 9th Nativity scene presently set up for public viewing in the Rhode Island State House. There were already eight other Nativities in the State House by the time they organized their ceremony. I think if you are trying to make the point that religious imagery and icons are appropriate to display in government buildings, you might want to find a government building that is not already fill to bursting with religious imagery and icons.
A ninth Nativity seems rather pointless, doesn’t it?
Despite the best efforts of the Young’s to permanently display their Nativity at the base of the Christmas Tree in the main rotunda, it has been moved to a table on the second floor, not too far from the table displaying the Humanists of Rhode Island’s banner.
The Young’s are being supported in their efforts by the Thomas More Society, which is like a Catholic version of the ACLU that fights for expanding theocracy rather than democracy. In conjunction with a group calling themselves American Nativity Scene, they have committed to erecting a Nativity display in every state capital in the United States. I guess they can scratch Rhode island off their list, because our Capital is crawling with baby Jesuses (Jesii?)
Governor Chafee is opening the State House to people who might want to see all the decorations in the State House tonight until 9pm and tomorrow for 4-9pm in conjunction with Waterfire. This will be a great opportunity to see what all the fuss is about and enjoy the beauty of our state capital building. One thing you won’t see at the State House tonight? The Hanukah Menorah, which despite reports that say otherwise, was taken down when Hanukah ended.
Below, find some additional shots of Chris and Kara’s Nativity scene.
Finally, here’s the sole banner extolling the virtues of secular government and separation of church and state.
Governor Chafee’s recent decision to let the giant evergreen dominating the State House rotunda be officially called a “Christmas Tree” rather than a “Holiday Tree” as has been the tradition since at least the Carcieri administration, is unfortunate. Chafee has been a very good advocate of church-state separation, fighting the good fight even when there was a political cost to doing so. Now that he is leaving office, one would think Chafee has nothing to lose by sticking to his guns on the issue, but for whatever reason Chafee has conceded the argument to the DePetro’s, Costa’s and Tobin’s of Rhode Island…
However, the Humanists of Rhode Island have more important issues to concern themselves with.
We’re holding a Blood Drive.
For the entire month of December anyone can go to any Rhode Island Blood Center location or Blood Drive van and use the code 3481 to give blood in solidarity with the Humanists of Rhode Island and the secular values our state was founded upon.
Giving blood isn’t a showy display of religious belief, and chances are no one will notice or thank you for it, but I promise that doing so will save more lives than displaying large religious icons in the State House rotunda ever could.
“We are looking for a couple with a newborn baby,” Ani said quietly. “We think the baby may have been born yesterday. Although, it might not be until tomorrow. We are a little uncertain. Have there been any births today?”
Not only did she have three strangely dressed foreigners standing before her, their question was almost equally as absurd as their presence. To mollify them, the nurse said there had been several births that day. When these three strangers asked to see the babies, the nurse, at first, said it was impossible. But since they were persistent and she began to lose her fear of them, she told them they would have to wait until an orderly was free to accompany them.
After about an hour they were escorted up to the maternity ward. Standing in front of the plate glass window and staring into the room with the small, individual baby beds, the three visitors were somewhat taken aback. They had not expected to see the babies separated from their mothers. Disappointed they realized that the child they were looking for, the family in Isma’il’s vision, would not be found in the hospital.
Thanking the orderly and the nurse, Ani, Appar, and Isma’il left the hospital feeling frustrated and lost. They had not gone ten feet before a young woman, bundled against the cold, ran into Appar. Both were surprised and stopped. The woman started to apologize, when she saw who was standing in front of her. She stopped in mid-sentence and then continued, “Who are you? What do you want?”
Without really thinking about what he was saying, Appar answered the woman’s question. “My name is Appar. I am travelling with my friends. We have come a long way and are looking for a couple with a newborn baby.”
Anna was speechless. What does this all mean?, she thought to herself. Regaining her composure, she said, “I have just come from a couple with a newborn. They are in an empty lot about a fifteen minute walk from here. I would take you there, but I am already late for work. Just go in this direction two blocks, turn left until you get to North Glenwood Avenue. They are one block down.” Having said this, Anna ran into the hospital.
Following the directions given them by Anna, 20 minutes later they saw the empty lot on North Glenwood. Despite the cold and the desolation of the surroundings, looking at the couple from a distance the three weary travellers felt a sense of serenity and peace emanating from this family huddled by the fire. Each one knew that this was who they were looking for. They had arrived.
Jose and Maura sensed their presence and watched as the three strangers approached. They had experienced many wonders in this night, but these visitors were, without a doubt, the most unexpected. As Ani knelt down to see the baby better, Isma’il spoke, “We have travelled far from eastern lands to see you. Each of us have had a vision about you and your child. We do not completely understand what this birth means, but each, in our own faith traditions, have seen that this child is of great importance. We have come to see the child, speak to you of our knowledge, and leave with you small tokens of our esteem.”
Having spoken, Isma’il reached into his white robes and pulled out a small pouch. Reaching into the bag he removed a roll of money. Looking at Jose and Maura Isma’il said, “Here is $1,000. Our great prophet Mohammed said, ‘If you go to bed with a full belly and your neighbor goes to bed with an empty stomach, you are not a Muslim.’ In this world, if you have food and money you are like a king. May this gift bring with it many blessings.”
Bowing, Isma’il handed Jose the money.
Appar, who had been leaning forward to better see the child, pulled the cord that had been holding a small bottle around his neck over his head. Handing the bottle to Jose, he said, “This bottle contains water taken from the River Ganges. In our faith tradition this water offers healing to those who suffer from illness. We believe the River Ganges water can dispel all sorrows that life can afflict on one. I fear the child will need this.”
Ani, who had been stroking the child’s cheek, reached into her robes and pulled out a piece of rolled up paper. Handing the scroll to Maura, Ani said, “This is a birth chart. I have studied the stars, planets and other important signs. They tell me that your child is destined for a task of great importance. In my faith tradition, this chart helps to guide us on our life’s journey. May it serve your child well.”
Appar, curiosity over-coming him, asked, “What is the child’s name?”
Jose and Maura replied, “Her name is Hope.”
There was a long silence as each one gathered near the fire thought about the appropriateness of this name. Ani was the first to break the silence. “The immigration agency in Chicago requested that we report in, telling them of our location and about the child. But I am afraid, if we tell them about you and the child, they will be inclined to take the child from you. Therefore, we will plan to return to our homes from another airport.”
Jose spoke first. “We, too, will be moving on in the morning, as we do not want to draw attention to ourselves or Hope. Thank you for your visit and your gifts. We will treasure them always. When Hope is of age, we will tell her of all that has happened this night.”
Then Maura said, “Thank you. Thank you for the gifts, but even more for your journey here. Your coming takes away some of the uncertainty of our situation and will strengthen our resolve to care for our child.”
After bowing deeply, Isma’il, Ani, and Appar walked back toward the hospital, hoping to catch a taxi back to the bus station. As Maura watched them leave, she reflected on the events of the last nine months, thanking God for the wondrous gifts of support and guidance, and pondering what the future held for Hope.
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RI Future serialized Rev. Bill Sterritt’s 26-page short story throughout the holiday season. Here’s my post on the Amicable Congregational Church’s nativity story and scene.
This is my Christmas present to everyone who has ever been overcome by stress during the holiday season and also to all the progressives who works so hard at making Rhode Island a better place. George Bailey got the holiday blues too, and he even doubted his own tremendously beneficial influence on Bedford Falls.
Happy holidays and I hope you enjoy the movie … it’s my all-time favorite.
George Bailey’s famous speech about community:
Just remember this, Mr. Potter, that this rabble you’re talking about… they do most of the working and paying and living and dying in this community. Well, is it too much to have them work and pay and live and die in a couple of decent rooms and a bath? Anyway, my father didn’t think so. People were human beings to him. But to you, a warped, frustrated old man, they’re cattle. Well in my book, my father died a much richer man than you’ll ever be!
And his even more famous speech on the economy:
You’re thinking of this place all wrong. As if I had the money back in a safe. The money’s not here. Your money’s in Joe’s house…right next to yours. And in the Kennedy house, and Mrs. Macklin’s house, and a hundred others. Why, you’re lending them the money to build, and then, they’re going to pay it back to you as best they can. Now what are you going to do? Foreclose on them?
“Without a doubt we are joined together for a purpose,” said Ani. “I will study all my charts again. Perhaps with the information you have shared with me, I will be able to better understand what they are foretelling and what is expected of us. I have the feeling we should not waste any time. You two are surely very tired from your trip here. Get some rest. I will go back and study the charts.”
With that said all three stood up and left the tea room. Isma’il and Appar returned to the retreat center to rest. Ani headed to Library of Tibetan Works and Archives to consult the astrological and astronomical tables and charts. She wished she were back at the Tibetan Medical and Astrological Institute in Gangchen Kyishong, the center for the study of traditional Tibetan medicine. There would have been a greater depth of materials. She would just have to make do with what was here in McLeod Gunj.
The hours of study flew by. Ani had forgotten how much she had enjoyed her five years studying to become an astro-practitioner. Still this project was proving almost too difficult, even for Ani, who had a special talent for interpreting the signs. All her arranging and rearranging of numbers around stars and planets did nothing to lift the veil of secrecy. Just as she was about to give up, Ani remembered the new light she had seen in the northern sky recently. It had puzzled her, because she had never seen it before and because it stayed in a constant, stable position in relationship to the North Star.
Ani added this new object on the horizon to her calculations. Adjusting the charts accordingly, she began to read the results, and couldn’t believe what she saw. Bounding from her chair, quickly putting the charts and books back in their place, Ani left the library and ran as fast as she could back to Tushita Retreat Centre. Without even noticing that it was after midnight Ani began to pound on the guest room door. After what seemed like forever, Appar opened the door and Ani burst in.
“You won’t believe what I have found out!” she exclaimed. Standing and panting Ani looked into the bewildered faces of Isma’il and Appar.
Disappointed, but determined, they sat outside the embassy gate, filled out the form, and waited for the office to reopen. When the gates opened, they were ready. Appar lifted up his robe and ran ahead of the crowd to the visa office door. As the door opened, a voice said, “First!” and all three stared to enter. A gruff voice from a man in uniform followed with, “One at a time!”
Appar turned to the man who had spoken and said quietly, “We are traveling together.”
“I don‟t care,” the Marine said harshly. “The rule is one at a time, and so you will enter one at a time.”
Not wanting to make a scene, Ani and Isma‟il stepped back and waited. Appar walked to the desk in front of him. Sitting behind the desk dressed in western attire was a native of India. He looked up as Appar approached and raised one eyebrow with both an amused and bewildered look. He studied Appar for a full minute, looking him up and down, from his long, stringy, unkempt hair and beard, to his tattered, faded yellow robe with a small bottle around his neck, to his bare feet.
Appar waited. Finally the man spoke, “A sannyasin? By all appearances from southern India, I would say. You are here seeking a visa? I know your devotion is to wander, but is not the United States a bit too far? You supposedly renounced all the material goods of this world. How do you plan to pay for your travel?”
“I travel with friends,” Appar said, pointing to Isma‟il and Ani. “They are financing my trip.” The clerk looked back at the two standing in the doorway.
“Wait a minute. A sannyasin from south India in the company of an African Muslim and a Tibetian Buddhist nun. What are you doing in the north? Why do you wish to go to the United States?”
Uncertain of exactly how to explain their mission, Appar replied, “We are following a vision. We feel there is something of great importance in or near Chicago. And time is of the essence.”
“Not so quick, friend,” the clerk said haughtily. “These things take time and this is a most unusual group. We will have to do a background check. Leave your applications with me and come back in a week.”
Frustrated, the three handed the clerk their forms and left. They had been given and appointment for an interview the next week, so they would not have to wait in line again.
The week passed slowly. They wandered the streets of Delhi, looking at the sights of India‟s capital, but their thoughts were filled with the journey that lay before them. When the time for the appointment came, they arrived early, sitting on the hard, wooden chairs outside the visa office. Their appointment was for 9:30 a.m., but it was well pat 10 before they were called into the office.
The official behind the desk, an American, welcomed them, said his name was Harold, and apologized for the delay. After studying the paperwork, he looked up and considered the trio.
“This is a most unusual request, from a most unusual group travel ling together. Our background check on all three of you came back negative. Our relations with the Sudan are not favourable.” He paused, then continued, “I don‟t recall ever receiving a visa request from an Indian sadhu.
And you, Ms. Rinpoche, according to our reports, have gone through much in your lifetime. Only your request for a visa has been cleared without question.”
Harold asked them for more information about their relationship to one another and about the vision that was leading them to the United States. Isma‟il, Appar and Ani answered all his questions openly and honestly.
Closing out his interview Harold said, “It is a curious mission, but I see no danger to my country in your traveling there. In fact, listening to what you have said, I would say what you are looking for is not in Chicago.
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Check back here tomorrow for the next installment in Rev. Bill Sterritt’s modern adaptation of the nativity story. RI Future is serializing Sterritt’s 26-page short story throughout the holiday season. Here’s my post on the Amicable Congregational Church’s nativity story and scene.
Following the path through the forest from the Shugseb Nunnery to the center of McLeod Gunj, Ani Rinpoche hardly noticed the incline or the smell of the pines or the beautiful rhododendron. Even the view of the Dhauladhar range and the Kangra Valley below failed to catch her attention.She was in a hurry.
Ever since she had gotten Isma’il’s letter she knew something new and exciting was unfolding. She had read it in the stars and the alignment of the planets. Even the animal signs, numbers and spirits seemed to point to something new, but she was unable to decipher the meaning. What was certain was the great excitement and urgency intimated in Isma’il’s letter.
Without even noticing Ani passed the Om Restaurant and turned up the road, heading to where the bus from Kotwali Bazaar would drop off its passengers. She arrived at the bus stop a bit late, but the bus was rarely on time. There really was no telling how late the bus might be, so Ani leaned against the wall of a local handicrafts shop and waited. With eyes closed Ani relaxed, allowing the bustling of people and the aroma of the shops to engulf her, and, just for a moment, she had the strong feeling of being back in Tibet.
No sooner had the feeling filled her, when all the horrors of her last years in Tibet, in prison, caused her to tense up with anxiety and fear.
Opening her eyes to escape the unwanted nightmare Ani saw to her great delight the bus turning the corner and heading toward her. As usual the bus was full. In addition to the many Tibetans on the bus living in exile in Dharamsala, Ani was always surprised by the number of tourists who came from around the world to see the Dalai Lama and to learn about their ancient faith tradition. She enjoyed the diversity, but was continually disappointed that the publicity surrounding the Dalai Lama seemed to have no effect on the Chinese government’s treatment of her people.
As the bus came to a halt, Ani scanned the crowd disembarking. Suddenly, he was there, standing in front of her. Isma’il Ahmad al-Azhar. He seemed even taller than she had remembered. His long white robe in combination with the white kufi on his head added to his elegant, almost royal, stature. His dark, almost black, face with the traditional tribal scars seemed much more worn and drawn than it had been when they first met four years earlier. But his eyes still shone bright with wisdom and joy.
“Ani-la!” exclaimed Isma’il, smiling a broad smile and bowing deep. Her eyes followed him fondly. Standing tall once more, he said, ” It is so good to see you again. I hope you are well.” As he continued to speak, Isma’il stepped aside, saying with a smile, ” Ani-la, you remember Appar, do you not?”
Ani could not believe her eyes. Isma’il’s coming was hard to grasp, but to see Appar as well was almost too much. But there he was, still wearing his old, worn robes and long, unkempt hair. “Welcome, Brother Appar,” she said, and then asked, “But how is it that your wanderings have brought you back here to Little Lhasa? Have you renounced renouncing?” They both smiled and bowed.
“It was the will of Allah,” stated Isma’il firmly, but with joy. “I saw him at the train station in Jullundur on my way here. He claims to have been waiting for me.”
“I am, of course, over-joyed to see you both,” Ani said. “Come, let us go to the guest house. The weather has been exceptional for late October and the walk will do us good. When we arrive, we can have some tea and you, Isma’il, can tell us what is of such great importance that you came all the way from Sudan to see me.”
‘Things have not been good in my country’
Isma’il picked up his small bag and the three of them began strolling toward Tushita Retreat Centre where Ani had reserved a room for Isma’il. On the way Isma’il told them what had happened since they had last seen each other.
“Things have not been good in my country. The civil war continues to destroy us through its never-ending violence. The Christians in the south are using violence indiscriminately. They have found a strong ally in the West, who has been using its economic might to render us poverty stricken. My brother Muslims also grow more vicious, while hiding behind the shadow of their supposed faith. How can either side be moved toward peace, when both have a knife at their throats? I feel more than ever that my Sufi tradition is needed in my country. But no one wants to hear about meditation and the inner life, about true peace, when guns are so readily available and hatred so strong.”
Ani and Appar listened in silence. Both knew first hand the destructiveness and horror of violence. They had heard the news of the escalating violence in Sudan and thought often of their friend Isma’il. The silence was broken as Ani pointed out that they had arrived at the Retreat Centre.
“Let us go in and then we can continue our conversation over tea,” Ani suggested.
After the arrangements had been made for Appar to share a room with Isma’il, they went into a small tea room next to the retreat center. When the tea was served, Isma’il continued his story.
“About three months ago I felt a strong voice, calling me to fast and pray. Leaving my home I went out to an isolated cave. On the third night of prayer and fasting a vision came to me. I saw a couple and their child. It was dark and they were huddled together, sharing warmth, protecting one another from the cold. I knew at once that Allah was with them, that they embodied the hopes and dreams of all humanity, and that they embodied all the pain and sorrow that keep hopes and dreams at a distance.
“As I continued to pray, I felt deep within me – I don’t know why, but I felt it strongly – that I was to return to you, Ani-la. Meeting Appar on the way was not a coincidence. I don’t know yet why we are to be together, but our gathering here is the will of Allah, of that I am certain.”
When Isma’il finished there was a deep silence. Appar and Ani both knew the truth of Isma’il’s words. They too had felt the pull of newness and gathering.
Ani broke the silence first. “I had seen there was something new in the stars and in the strange alignment of planets. I did not understand it, but your letter seemed to be related to what I was seeing in my charts.”
Nodding in agreement, Appar spoke. “While lost in a deep meditation, I was shown a strange path. It appeared to be a completely new pilgrimage. Standing at the beginning of the path had been you, Isma’il. Given what you have said, my image came to me about the same time as yours. I was in southern India at the time. I immediately stood up and headed north, allowing Shiva to guide me. When I arrived in Jullundur, I understood that I was to wait for you.”
“We are together now,” Isma’il said matter-of-factly. “What we must yet discern is why we are together. I continue to be haunted by the vision of this couple and their baby. Other than the fact that they are from the West, I know nothing.”
Appar spoke. “The strangeness of the path I saw was that it ended in total darkness, but there seemed to be light and something else on the other side of the darkness.”
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Check back here tomorrow for the next installment in Rev. Bill Sterritt’s modern adaptation of the nativity story. RI Future is serializing Sterritt’s 26-page short story throughout the holiday season. Here’s my post on the Amicable Congregational Church’s nativity story and scene.
Christ wasn’t born on Christmas Day
Forget what all the carols say
Or why talk-radio makes a fuss
This time of year belongs to us
The twenty-fifth of December
Is the day kids all remember
When the real world ceased to be
And gifts appeared beneath a tree
A healthy dose of make-believe
The sweet suspense of Christmas eve
Is all about the human birth
That welcomes childhood to this earth
Wise men, donkeys, manger hay
Cannot compete with Santa’s sleigh
So bow your head and say a prayer
To mankind’s love that we all share
This had not been a particularly busy night at Memorial Medical Center, but it seemed as if Anna Schaeffer had been on the go all night. She had just finished mopping up a patient’s blood and vomit around an emergency room bed and changed the sheets. Now Anna was hoping she could take a short break.
Getting used to the night shift had been a big adjustment. Originally she had agreed to take the shift because the fifty cents an hour higher pay looked very good. It also meant she could avoid paying for a baby sitter, since the children now slept through the night and a neighbor was willing to look in on them. Still, at $9 an hour she was having trouble making ends meet.
Just off the emergency room was a consultation room; a quiet spot where doctors and nurses could meet with a patient’s family. It was here that Anna sought a place to sit in the dark early morning hours. She had no more than sat down when she heard a gentle voice say, “Hello, Anna.” Anna stood and turned toward the voice. When she saw who it was her mouth dropped open in amazement. She was rendered speechless.
“There is no reason to be afraid, Anna. I see that you remember me.”
Remember? Anna thought to herself. How could I forget? After all it was Gabe who had come to her in her darkest hour. It had been Gabe who gave her the strength and determination to survive, to start a new life – to be reborn. His sudden appearance brought back a flood of painful memories. Anna fell back into her seat, the memories and emotions overwhelming her.
How awful it had been. Growing up Anna just assumed that it was a parent’s job to punish children for being bad. As a small child, Anna had been spanked for wetting her bed or slapped if her parents thought she was too loud. There was the time all her sheets, blankets and pillows were tossed out the window from their second story apartment into the pouring rain, because she had not made her bed. As she got older her father’s spankings became more like beatings.
When she was 14 and a freshman in high school, she met Jude, an 18-year-old senior. He had taken an interest in her, listening to her troubles, offering his support. Jude seemed to be the answer to her prayers and she latched on to him, blind to warning signs of trouble – too much alcohol and a quick temper. But she was in love and her father’s abuse had dulled her instincts.
Anna was 16 when she became pregnant. With her parents’ permission she and Jude got married. Shortly after their first child was born, Anna was pregnant again. With the pressure of having a wife and children, Jude’s quick temper picked up speed and he began to lash out at his wife and children. Anna was caught again. Where could she turn? Her parents were glad to have her gone and Jude’s family, she had since found out, had a history of abuse and didn’t understand Anna’s problem.
Several times Anna had gone to the local women’s shelter only to weaken and return to Jude. One evening Jude had been in an especially foul mood. He had come home drunk and began to beat the baby for crying. That is when Anna walked out of the apartment with both children never to return.
As she walked down the street, uncertain about where to go and feeling completely lost and alone, she was approached by a tall African-American man dressed in black. It had been Gabe. Gabe’s reassuring words, “Fear not,” and his gentle manner calmed her initial fear. It was Gabe who directed her to a good shelter. The shelter gave her great support, took care of the legal paper work for separation from her husband, and provided the initial counselling that she needed. Her counsellor encouraged her to move away and start life anew, which is how she had ended up in Springfield, took the training to be a Certified Nurse Assistant, and began working at Memorial six months ago.
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Editor’s note: Check back here tomorrow for the next installment in Rev. Bill Sterritt’s modern adaptation of the nativity story. RI Future is serializing Sterritt’s 26-page short story throughout the holiday season. Here’s my post on the Amicable Congregational Church’s nativity story and scene.
Christmas may often get clouded by commercialism, but the holiday’s most popular works of fiction clearly extol the opposite virtue.
The most obvious and popular example is Charles Dickens’ classic “A Christmas Carol.” It not only gave birth to Christmas fiction genre, it also gave birth to the sub-genre of anti-corporate-greed-themed Christmas fiction.
Ebenezer Scrooge starts the story as the definitive miser – he considers giving his underpaid clerk, Bob Cratchit, a paid day off for Christmas “a poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket every 25th of December.” Later on, the ghost of Christmas present takes Scrooge to Cratchit’s home, where he learns that his employee is so poor he can’t even afford medical attention for his sickly son Tiny Tim. When Scrooge learns that he dies lonely and Tim dies young, he sees the err of his ways and gives the Cratchit a giant turkey as a bonus.
The theme couldn’t be clearer: treat your employees well and you won’t die lonely.
Only slightly less popular but far more economically complex is Frank Capra’s “It’s a Wonderful Life.” This is my all-time favorite movie, by the way. When you watch it, you will rush to take your money out of Bank of America and put it into Pawtucket Credit Union.
It’s the story of community-minded George Bailey’s epic struggle against Mr. Potter, the profit-minded bankster who sees the community only as a way to make more money.
Bailey builds affordable housing that anyone in town can own; Potter prefers people pay him rent to live in his slums. Potter tries to give people 50 cents on the dollar when the banks crash, and Bailey gives everyone unsecured loans with his life savings.
Potter eventually swindles Bailey out of enough money to put him out of business and Bailey wishes he was never born. He then sees what his town of Bedford Falls would be like if he was never there to take care of it – it’s called Pottersville and it looks, and acts, like Times Square in the ’70’s.
In the climatic ending, the entire town chips in to bail Bailey out of debt with Mr. Potter and his war hero brother declares him the “richest man in town.”
“Trading Places” might be Hollywood’s next best examination of class warfare, and it’s also a holiday movie. Randolph and Mortimer Duke, who own a Wall Street futures trading firm, make a wager that they can make a homeless man into a successful stock broker just as easily as they can make a successful stock broker a homeless man, simply by changing their lots in life. They were right, of course.
The coup de grace comes when Billy Ray Valentine and Louis Winthrop learn of the Duke brothers’ bet and pull off the greatest stock trading scam in movie history!
“The Grinch Who Stole Christmas” might not be about anti-corporate greed, but it is certainly a story with an anti-greed theme. The Grinch makes the mistake so many of us make – whether we realize it or not – and thinks Christmas is all about the stuff that goes with it … But who can forget when the good people of Whoville decide to celebrate Christmas despite have all their material possessions stolen from them?
Wiping the tears from his eyes, David finally spoke. “It’s good to see you. What can I do for you?” Somehow David knew it would do no good to ask how Gabe had found him, so he let that question go unspoken.
Smiling, Gabe said, “I need your help, David. I am sure you saw that couple in the vacant lot just a couple of blocks away. The woman has just given birth and they could use some assistance.”
“What do you want me to do, Gabe? I have very little money, I can afford only my one small room, and I am not supposed to have guests overnight,” David replied. If the truth be told, David really didn’t want to get involved or be burdened with responsibilities. Who knew what this couple would want or demand.
“David, this is a great couple and a child to die for. The miracle of birth is a power that can light up any darkness. Just stop by and say hello. You know, a kind word and a smile are also gifts we can give. I know you will do the right thing.”
And with those words, Gabe turned, walking out of the store and into the night.
“What am I going to do?” David thought to himself. But just as quickly came the reply, “What else can I do?” And with that he called out to Jack, the security guard, telling him he had to run an errand for a friend and would be back soon. Just as he was about to leave, David had a thought.
He went back to where he had been stocking the shelf and grabbed a bag of disposable diapers. After going to the cash register and paying for the diapers, he picked up a couple of flattened cardboard boxes. With the cardboard boxes under one arm and diapers in hand, David walked through the door. Spotting a shopping cart on the sidewalk, he place the boxes on the bottom of the cart, threw the diapers in on top, and pushed it in front of him in the direction of the vacant lot.
Jose heard the shopping cart’s wheels long before he could see it. As the sound came nearer, Jose stood to see what it might mean. He watched closely as the cart and the man pushing it continued in their direction. Jose and Maura stared wordless as the man and cart halted in front of them. They did not know what to think or say. Before them stood a man with long, dark, straight hair, pulled back in a ponytail. He wore a heavy plaid flannel shirt with a Walgreens vest over it, blue jeans and boots. His face had the angular features, weathered skin and smooth shaven face of a Native American.
David spoke first. “Hi, my name is David. Gabe asked me to stop by and say hi.” He wasn’t sure why he had mentioned Gabe. It had just sort of slipped out.
A shudder went through both Jose and Maura when David spoke of Gabe. “Gabe?” Jose questioned. “A tall African-American? Dressed in black?” David nodded. “You know Gabe?” Maura continued.
David shrugged. “We had met before, and he just showed up at the store a little while ago. He told me I should stop by and say hello. Said you were a great couple, with a wonderful child. He thought you might like company. I brought a cart. Thought you might be able to use it as a crib. I put some cardboard in for insulation. Also thought these diapers might come in handy.”
“Thank you!” said Maura, warmly. “You are very kind. We welcome your visit.” “What’s the baby’s name?” David asked.
“Hope.” Jose replied.
It was as if the air had been knocked out of him. David stared from Jose to Maura to Hope. Hope. In this dark, cold, desolate place, in this miserable condition and yet they name their baby Hope. He looked again from Jose to Maura to Hope. And then David understood. He was touched in a way he could not explain by this place and this birth. He felt the love that overcame the darkness and the misery.
Shaking Jose and Maura’s hands good-bye, David returned to work filled with joy. He did not know completely what it all meant, but he knew that he had found Hope.
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Editor’s note: Check back here tomorrow for the next installment in Rev. Bill Sterritt’s modern adaptation of the nativity story. RI Future is serializing Sterritt’s 26-page short story throughout the holiday season. Here’s my post on the Amicable Congregational Church’s nativity story and scene.
The hair on the back of David Eagle Wing’s neck rose, causing him to pause and look around. There was something about this night that seemed different, but he couldn’t say why.
It wasn’t the fact that he was working in Walgreens in the middle of the night. He had gotten used to living life under the glare of florescent lighting. Strange as it sounded working the night shift was not as bad as one might imagine. David had always chaffed under the watchful eye of management and there was a certain amount of independence working through the night. There was enough to do, but he could decide when to do what. Occasionally, in the middle of the night, a customer would come in needing assistance, but otherwise he could set his own pace without someone always standing over him.
On his knees now David began unpacking a large box of disposable diapers and putting them on the shelf, his thoughts were drawn back to the couple he had passed on his way to work. He had seen some desperate people and situations since he had arrived in Springfield, but this was, without a doubt, the most miserable. By the sounds he had heard, as he walked by, it seemed, unbelievably, that the woman was in the beginning stages of labor. Her cries had been filled with fear and pain.
Such desperation was not new to David, who had grown up on the Crow Creek Reservation. David Eagle Wing’s family was part of the Sioux tribe. Locked on the reservation, David’s people had always felt trapped and desperate. The land was desolate and hard. Southeast South Dakota had never been good farm land and the Sioux had never been farmers. The Sioux had had a proud tradition as warriors and hunters before the arrival of the Europeans. They had always been nomadic, following the migration of the wild animals. For many generations now his people had been left behind, lost between two worlds; unable to live by past traditions, unable, and unwilling, to conform to “the ways of the white man”.
“Hello, David.” The voice startled and frightened David. He sprang to his feet and twirled around. Standing before him was a tall black man, all dressed in black.
“Don’t be frightened, David. You remember me, don’t you?”
The fear in David’s face softened to uncertainty and bewilderment. “Hel …, ah … Hello, Gabe.” At a loss for words David began to straighten his Walgreens vest, which had gotten twisted in his abrupt rising. In the moment of awkward silence, David’s mind filled with a multitude of questions. How is this possible? How did Gabe find me here? Is this really just a coincidence? What is going on?
Seeing Gabe reminded David of the feeling, only minutes earlier, of the hairs on the back of his neck rising. It was the same feeling as the first time he had met Gabe. Suddenly other memories began to fill David’s head and tears began to well up in his eyes, as the pain of those days returned. David remembered how his younger brother, Sam, had committed suicide. Sam seemed to have been filled with the disconnectedness and uncertainty, the desperation and helplessness of his people.
Like so many of his friends, Sam found the pain easier to bear with alcohol. It had been an easy slide down into the use of various other illegal drugs. David had tried to stop his younger brother’s downward spiral, but how was he supposed to convince Sam to look for hope and be of good cheer, when he himself had so little of both.
Sam’s suicide devastated David. For weeks he wandered the reservation aimlessly. He had started to drink heavily, trying to drown the pain that engulfed him. It was in a drunken stupor, as David lay on an isolated hillside, his face turned toward the starlit sky, that suddenly the hairs on the back of his neck rose. David forced his eyes to focus and there standing before him was Gabe, dressed then, as now, in black. Filled with fear, David sat up.
Then, as now, Gabe had said, “Do not be afraid.” There had been something reassuring in Gabe’s voice and David’s fears melted away. Their meeting had been brief. It was Gabe who suggested that David leave the reservation for a while and go in search of himself. So David began his own personal “walkabout,” which had brought him to Springfield, Illinois, and, for a while at least, the night clerk’s job at Walgreens. That night meeting on a lonely hill in South Dakota was the only time David had seen or talked to Gabe. And now here was Gabe, standing in front of him.
After allowing time for his few words to sink in, the stranger continued. “My name is Gabe. I saw the birth and thought company might be welcome at a time like this. By the way, congratulations.” Gabe knew the fear he was facing. He had been judged too often by the color of his skin and not by his intentions. So he remained where he was and waited for a response.
Jose was upset by this unexpected visit. He had forgotten how public Hope’s birth had been and still he was incensed that someone would invade his privacy. He stood up and in a low, menacing, but fear-filled voice Jose asked, “Who are you? What do you want from us? We have no money. There is nothing that we have that you would want. Go away and leave us alone.”
Even before Jose had finished speaking Maura had reached out to gently pull him back down. Jose heard her soft voice saying, “It’s okay, Jose. I’m sure he means us no harm. Let him speak.”
The stranger’s face turned briefly to Maura with a smile that said thank you. Then he addressed them both. “As I said, my name is Gabe. I was not spying on you, yet I could not help but see your desperate situation. Hope is a most appropriate name for this child. She comes to you in the midst of darkness and distress. She comes bringing new life, new possibilities; indeed she comes bringing new hope into a world very much in need of hope. I desire only to encourage and support you in this your time of need.”
Having said this, Gabe reached inside his coat. Once again Jose sprang to his feet and reached for his knife, expecting the worse. Instead he was surprised to see the stranger’s hand emerge with several large briquettes of coal, which he threw into the burn barrel. Jose sat in bewilderment. Maura smiled, bemused, and said, “Thank you, Gabe.”
Gratefully accepting her words of thanks Gabe said, “On such a cold night I thought these might help to warm you a little bit and would last longer than the wood you have been having to scrounge for. You have a rough road in front of you, but God is with you. Continue to place your trust in God and you will be cared for. It is time for me to go, but I will send help. Remember, you are not alone. And, fear not.” With these final words, Gabe turned and disappeared into the darkness of the night.
No sooner had he left than Hope began to cry. In the suspense of the nocturnal visit both Jose and Maura had forgotten Hope. It was clear that she was hungry. Despite the cold, Maura opened her coat and blouse, undid the front of her bra, and brought Hope up to her breast to nurse. Jose placed his arm around Maura, as she nursed, and together they slid closer to the fire for warmth.
As Hope nursed, Maura and Jose sat in silence, their thoughts captured by Gabe’s visit and what it meant. Who was he? What did he mean by “rough road”, “God is with you” and “I will send help”? But strangely enough, both knew that their fear was gone.
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Editor’s note: Check back here tomorrow for the next installment in Rev. Bill Sterritt’s modern adaptation of the nativity story. RI Future is serializing Sterritt’s 26-page short story throughout the holiday season. Here’s my post on the Amicable Congregational Church’s nativity story and scene.
As they gazed at Hope, their daughter, Maura and Jose’s feeling of calm and assurance was dispelled as a shadow passed over them. The unexpected shadow brought their attention back to the present. Simultaneously their faces turned and looked up. Standing in front of them, both in the light and crowned by it, was the imposing figure of a man.
Before them stood an African-American man, easily six feet tall, wearing a long leather trench coat. On his head was a black knit hat, covering most of his forehead. At first glance there seemed to be a hardness to his face. Maybe it was the small scar on his right cheek, barely noticeable, but a little bit pink in the cold. He wore black leather gloves. His right hand was raised breast high with palm open, thumb bent. His coat was slightly open, so they could see that he wore a black turtle neck sweater. Around the neck of the sweater was a large, gold chain with a gold cross attached. His black cuffed dress slacks and black shoes were noticeable as they extended below the hem of his coat.
Jose’s instantaneous thought was defense. He was sure that no one big and black, standing in front of him in the middle of the night, could be up to any good. Jose had seen enough turf battles in his day to be leery of strangers. Jose’s was an automatic distrust built up over the years, fed more by rumor and stories, than by personal experience. Ever since his arrival in the States he had been warned by other Mexicans to avoid the unpredictable and often violent African-Americans. With fear running through his body, Jose began to stand, preparing to put himself between the stranger and Maura.
Maura had had few encounters with African-Americans, having grown up in a fairly wealthy area of Connecticut. For the most part those people could not afford to live in her town. Even if they could afford to live there financially, most African-Americans felt out of place, and unwanted, in such communities. So Maura’s initial reaction, upon seeing him, was to instinctively draw Hope closer to herself, attempting to protect her.
Before they could speak they heard the man, with his hand still raised, say, “Fear not.”
Jose heard the two words and almost allowed himself a sneer. Fear not? he questioned to himself. I find myself in a run-down part of Springfield, Illinois, and a stranger, a black man, tells me not to be afraid. Being afraid is what has kept me alive. Simply being approached by you, a stranger, is reason enough to be fearful.
Maura was confused by his words. But, as she studied him a bit more, she saw a kindness in his eyes that she had not expected. His words had sounded almost like a command, yet there resonated more in the baritone voice than just command. There was a kindness and a gentleness to be heard. There was also an air of confidence about him. Perhaps it was how he stood before them – so certain, so calm.
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Editor’s note: Check back here tomorrow for the next installment in Rev. Bill Sterritt’s modern adaptation of the nativity story. RI Future is serializing Sterritt’s 26-page short story throughout the holiday season. Here’s my post on the Amicable Congregational Church’s nativity story and scene.
The contractions were now less than a minute apart and each one seemed to be longer than the last. Jose let go of Maura’s hand and moved down to her feet. Gently spreading her legs wider, he checked to see how much she was dilated and if the baby’s head was close. The instant Jose had moved to look a light above him came on.
Glancing skyward he saw a street lamp he had not noticed before. As Jose moved Maura’s skirt higher, he could see the baby’s head just beginning to show.
Filled with excitement, Jose practically shouted, “Push, Maura, push. The baby is almost out.” She listened to Jose’s words of encouragement and trusted him. The pain had become so intense that Maura could hardly hear Jose, yet she pushed. She pushed, because not to push hurt even more. She pushed, trying to push the pain way. Breathing hard, unable to catch her breath, exhausted, Maura pushed. How long she pushed she did not know. It seemed like forever.
Jose reached for his undershirt and slid it between Maura’s legs. Suddenly the pain was gone. Maura saw Jose pick up his knife. Then she heard a cry; a baby’s fearful cry; her baby’s cry. Jose had cut the umbilical cord and tied it closed as best he could. Rapping the baby in his undershirt and shirt he handed the child to Maura.
“Be prepared,” Jose warned. “The placenta still has to come out. That can be very painful as well.” Not much later, Jose’s warning proved true. A wave of pain swept her body once again, as it began to push the after birth out. Pulling on the umbilical cord, Jose helped draw out the placenta and threw it into the fire. He then cleaned Maura up, as best he was able, covered her legs again, and helped her to sit up closer to the fire to keep her warm.
Maura sat with the baby in her arms. Jose knelt next to her, looking at the baby, prepared to help as needed. Both were exhausted. Both shivered in the cold. Both had just had the darkest day of their lives. Yet in this moment, with the light shining on the face of the child, a calm and reassuring feeling gently came over them both. Looking lovingly at one another they said together, “Her name is Hope.”
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Editor’s note: Check back here tomorrow for the next installment in Rev. Bill Sterritt’s modern adaptation of the nativity story. RI Future is serializing Sterritt’s 26-page short story throughout the holiday season. Here’s my post on the Amicable Congregational Church’s nativity story and scene.
When they left the hospital it was after eight in the evening. By the time they reached the shelter they had stayed at the previous night, it was full and the doors locked. They had wandered the streets looking for some shelter from the wind and the cold. As they passed a vacant lot, Maura could walk no further. Jose saw the burn barrel, some wood, and a door on the side of a building that might help to shelter Maura. They stopped and Jose built a fire in the barrel.
Once again Maura’s scream broke into Jose’s thoughts. The contractions were coming much closer together now. Jose helped Maura count through the pain, encouraged her to take a deep breath, and then he stood up. He knew that the baby would be born very quickly now. There was no time to look for help. Having made up his mind, Jose took off his coats, sweater, shirt and undershirt. He carefully folded the undershirt and shirt and laid them next to the burn barrel to keep them warm. He then put his sweater, sweatshirt, scarf, and coat back on.
Reaching into his pocket, Jose pulled out a large pocket knife. It had been given to him by his grandfather. He opened the knife and reached into the fire for a burning board. Laying the open blade on the burning wood Jose was careful to sterilize as much of the knife as he could. Thus prepared, he knelt again by Maura and held her hand. Watching this steady, careful preparation, Maura suddenly found comfort in Jose’s presence and compassion, despite the great discomfort of birth.
Maura knew, was most certain, that she was supposed to be with Jose. She would never forget the look on her cousin Beth’s face, when she told her that she was leaving with Jose. Nothing Beth or Zack could have said would have changed her mind. Being eighteen, her cousin could not legally stop her and, given how busy the business was at that time, Beth did not try.
So, after the cherries were all picked, she joined with Jose in the migratory life. Until today, she had never questioned the correctness of her decision. When the next wave of pain struck, Maura sucked in air deep and quick. Gripping Jose’s hand tight, clenching her teeth, and listening to him count, she waited for the pain to pass. She was beginning to develop a routine as the contractions came ever more frequently.
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Editor’s note: Check back here tomorrow for the next installment in Rev. Bill Sterritt’s modern adaptation of the nativity story. RI Future is serializing Sterritt’s 26-page short story throughout the holiday season. Here’s my post on the Amicable Congregational Church’s nativity story and scene.
“Jose!!” Maura’s scream was filled with all the fear, pain and uncertainty of childbirth. On this clear, starlit, wind chilled night, with her water already having broken, Maura was about to give birth.
Jose panicked as reality began to set in. It was becoming almost too much to bear. “This is crazy!” he thought. “How am I supposed to help deliver a baby – here, in this cold, in this filth?!”
He had not felt this alone and scared since he had first crossed the border so many years ago. His thoughts were racing now. Why had he agreed to let Maura accompany him? This wasn’t his child anyway. Visions? Virgin birth? Preposterous!
“Yet,” he said to himself, a calmness beginning to slow his heart rate, “Maura has always been honest with me. Her faith is real. Now is not a time to begin questioning.” In fact, Maura’s faith had renewed Jose’s own. Over time her gentle manner seemed to calm Jose’s quick temper. Her daily prayers were never intrusive, never for show, never judgmental.
In the months they had been together, Jose’s relationship to Maura had changed from protecting a needy woman to wonderment, almost awe, and even, as he thought about it now, to love. Yes, Jose had come to care for Maura very deeply and he knew now for certain, what was felt but had gone unspoken before, he would accept Maura’s child as his – if she would let him.
Maura screamed again. When the pain subsided, Maura looked up at Jose with fear in her eyes. “Jose,” she said, “I’m scared. It hurts so much. I didn’t know it was going to be this terrible. What am I going to do?!”
Jose knelt beside her and, as much to reassure himself as her, said, “You are going to have a baby. We are going to have a child. I am here with you and together, with God’s help, everything will be okay.” Then stroking her forehead, he continued to speak to her in a calm, reassuring voice, trying to get her to relax a little, telling her to breathe deeply and slowly.
Jose was anything but relaxed himself. It was no longer the coming birth that was bothering him. He was struggling to keep his anger under control. Just two hours ago they had left the hospital emergency room. They had waited over four hours to see a doctor. When they were finally taken to an examining room the doctor said that Maura was not yet dilated. She told them despite the first signs of labor it could be days before the child was born. They would have to leave and come back later. Jose began to argue with her, but Maura did not want to make a scene, so they left.
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Editor’s note: Check back here tomorrow for the next installment in Rev. Bill Sterritt’s modern adaptation of the nativity story. RI Future is serializing Sterritt’s 26-page short story throughout the holiday season. Here’s my post on the Amicable Congregational Church’s nativity story and scene.
The surge of uncontrolled water flow brought Maura’s attention back to the present. Flowing down her legs and into her boots was a sudden gush of water. She looked down, frightened, and then looked frantically at Jose. Seeing her eyes widen and look down, Jose had followed her gaze. This was not his first birth experience. When Jose had first come into the country, it was not unusual for migrant women to give birth in the camps. He had, on occasion, helped.
Steadying himself, he spoke quietly, “Maura, your water has broken. The womb is open and letting out the remaining water. The baby will come very soon.” After helping her dry off, Jose placed several layers of cardboard on the ground near the burn barrel and put some more wood on the fire. He then helped Maura lie on the cardboard, trying to make her as comfortable as possible.
With the initial shock over and Jose’s reassuring presence, Maura relaxed a little, remembering the vision she had experienced. She had been in her room, quietly studying the pictures on her wall. Most young women her age had posters of their movie idols or the latest music stars. Maura had a gallery of saints, new and old: St. Benedict, St. Francis of Assisi, Hildegarde of Bingen, Mother Teresa, and, surprisingly, Dom Camara of Brazil, Gandhi, and Martin Luther King, Jr.
Surrounded by these people of vision, piety, and strong faith, Maura would spend quiet time praying, something she did every day. On one unforgettable day last April Maura saw, had experienced, was overcome by a vision, a knowing. In an instant, she perceived, heard that she was pregnant. Although she could not really describe the vision, her feelings were still vivid. At first she was frightened, but then a miraculous calmness came over her and she knew everything was going to be okay. The reassurance was so over-powering that she knew she would accept this God-given gift of new life in her, no matter what the consequences. And there were consequences.
Disbelief and shock filled her parents’ faces when Maura told them of her miraculous pregnancy. They told her to tell no one, made an appointment with her pediatrician, and started looking for a competent psychiatrist. Maura was indeed pregnant and refused any of the medical alternatives her parents, friends, and religious leaders offered. Maura’s trust in her experience and her faith in God met the wall of disbelief unwaveringly.
Maura’s pregnancy and her impossible story of conception were extremely embarrassing to her family. They felt the staring eyes of ridicule every time they walked out of the house. Her parents would not let her join her classmates in the high school graduation ceremonies. When her pregnancy began to show, her family, uncertain, and distraught, sent her to visit her older cousin, Beth, in Traverse City, Michigan.
Beth and her husband, Zack, owned a large cherry orchard and canning company. They welcomed Maura, making her feel at home, as best they could, but she had come at a very busy time of the year. It was the middle of the cherry picking season, which meant, in part, organizing and caring for the many migrant workers. Maura tried to stay out of the way. In the evenings she loved to walk through the orchard, tasting the ripened cherries that had not fallen that day.
On one of her evening strolls through the trees she met Jose. For some strange reason she felt drawn to him. They talked. He promised to meet her the next evening. Maura trusted Jose and told him about her vision and her pregnancy. She felt him react to this strange tale like everyone else, at first. But then, Maura felt a change come over him. Jose took her hands in his, telling her he believed her. No one, in all these long months, had said that too her. It was then that Maura knew she would stay with Jose.
“JOSE!!” Maura’s scream was filled with all the fear, pain and uncertainty of childbirth. On this clear, starlit, wind chilled night Maura was about to give birth.
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Editor’s note: Check back here tomorrow for the fifth installment in Rev. Bill Sterritt’s modern adaptation of the nativity story. RI Future is serializing Sterritt’s 26-page short story throughout the holiday season. Here’s my post on the Amicable Congregational Church’s nativity story and scene.
