A Messenger from Nephelokokkygia

A Pyre by Christmas

Chapter 5: A Pyre by Christmas

That bird forever feathered,

Of its new self the sire,

After aeons weathered,

Reincarnate by fire

--Countee Cullen, "That Bright Chimeric Beast"

The last day of November was a Sunday, and her mother's turn to take Grace to church. The week before, Grace attended her Grandmam's church, and would presumably be back there next Sunday. The alternating system worked well enough for the adults, but Grace herself could hardly tell much difference between the two places. The Bible that priests read from was the same, the rituals were equally odd, and while the congregations' appearances varied, they still dressed the same. Even if you spent the rest of the week in overalls, you legally had to wear your best clothes to church. Her mother and Grandmam agreed a blue-checkered dress was the best thing the girl had to wear. Grace just found it itchy.

At her mother's church, Christmas was an especially important time, one celebrated the whole month. While the requisite manger scene would be displayed later for the outside public, it had been assembled indoors on Thanksgiving. Presently, statues of baby Jesus, Virgin Mary, Joseph, three wise men, and various barnyard animals including a llama found a home in an alcove to the left of the pulpit.

Reverend Stuff pointed all this out. "I bring this up not merely because the ladies of the committee spent hard work lugging the pieces out of our basement and would be furious if they didn't receive a moment of acknowledgement," he paused for a laugh that must have been running late, "but to also mention that of the three gifts our little Magi brought, two are authentic. Sorry, it's not the gold. What we have is frankincense and myrrh. Can't y'all smell it from here?"

Perhaps the prayers Mrs. Tatters, Ol' Hoary, and the corvids made to the Morrigan had been fulfilled. Perhaps another holy trinity listened in. It did not much matter to Grace, because directly in front of her sat the rare substance sure to fix her phoenix friend's injury. She started to grin, but quickly dropped it as Stuff continued preaching.

"Going near enough to smell these sticky, gummy incenses make it that much easier to imagine the people who lived two thousand years ago. Simply close your eyes. The birth of Christ is rightly the event we celebrate most, but there are other things worth remembering, things everyone here can relate to. Remember there were plenty other children in Bethlehem, innocents senselessly slaughtered on Herod's orders. Victims of authority, laws bent not to safeguard communities, but to punish some for being born. Those poor babes of Bethlehem are tragically nameless to us, but they had families, right? Surely they were loved?"

This being a rhetorical question, the congregation was not expected to answer. Good thing, because they had none. Reverend Stuff continued.

"We can't change the past, no matter how we might try to forget its worst experiences. We can keep similar crimes from happening here, now, so brazenly done because we're expected to look away. Yes, even at Christmas, so many of our fellow beings go unseen. Invisible martyrs suffering while we are distracted by glittery lights.

"Hey, I love trimming the tree, too! Even with the pine needles. But we can also watch over those in our community who are vulnerable, helpless, and damaged. Even small sacrifices mean something, especially when those in power prove so terribly unhelpful. If we, the meek, fail to give what aid we can to those in even greater need, do we rightly merit forgiveness ourselves?"

Mrs. Grundy, who insisted on sitting in the same pew as Grace and her mother when plenty others were available, wrinkled her nose. "Well, that was needlessly depressing. What's merry about dead kids?"