Angels We Have Heard. O My!

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When I awoke this morning, I had taken only two hours of rest. I stumbled into the shower and did all that morning stuff—plus some, as I was preparing for a job interview. Imagine my surprise as I enter into my morning prayers, finding a note scribbled in gold lettering on parchment of purest white:

Kevin, Basil, Robert, Sinner:

Whatever you’re calling yourself these days. I can’t keep up anymore. I wanted encouragement to you. Sorry, Anglo is not easy for bodiless power. I am your guardian angel. My name is too long and is in language you could not speak. You may call me Cherumishaelohim.

Please post note this on your—what you call it?—well, that computer thingie.

This to all your detractors: You all say my ward foulmouths his priest. I can assure you this is not so. I have seen foulmouths. Arius was a foulmouth. I cheered when struck on the mouth he was by the holy bishop Nicholas. Cheered. I have seen my ward through much—he has much he could say in hurt, in anger, in sinfulness. He does not. He remains silent. There is much blackness in his heart that I pray for daily. But foulmouth his priest he has not to do yet.

Prick his conscience I do often, and I think silence may be good. I am fond of technology not so much; I still like chisel and stone myself. The Almighty One preferred intercourse with your kind in the flesh to words, as words and technology no power to save have they.

So, leave him alone, I say. For I am Cherumishaelohim. I almost had a speaking part in the Scriptures, you know. But, at the last minute, Gabriel was relieved from his previous mission and sent to Zacharias and Mary instead. And what did I get? Third row in the choir at Christmas! Foulmouthing? Talk to me not of foulmouthing.

But I will prick him more about the silence.

As it turned out, I did not get to interview today. It was a total washout.

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