A Thousand Hills

Epiphany in the Snow

(I wrote this story for a contest, and here it is, in two parts. Jesus appears to us in the most unlikely places, in unlikely ways. It's up to us whether we recognize Him or not.)

The Reverend Simeon MacGregor was about to snuff out the last candle on the altar when a muffled knock thumped on the church door. 

So late? And tonight, of all nights? 

He shuffled to the entry and opened the door to a flurry of icy air, and in the candle’s glimmer, huddled a man, a cowboy, his slicker pulled up around his neck. Icicles hung from his mustache, like gleaming ivory, and he carried a sodden bundle in his arms.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Reverend, for the late hour, but I saw your light still shining. I’d be much obliged if I could warm up this little fella.” Snow slid from his shoulders with wet splats and dripped from his brim onto the heap in his arms. 

“Come in.” Reverend MacGregor was hesitant. A creature in God’s house? And a cowboy, possibly a scoundrel? 

Spurs jingling, the cowboy followed Reverend MacGregor to the potbelly stove that served to heat the tiny, isolated country church. He knelt, settling his burden on the floor and removed his sodden slicker.

“I been followin’ a cow since early mornin’, a late calfer. I found her, ‘bout half mile west, in the bush, strugglin’ to give birth. I pulled this little duffer, but his mama was a goner.” An icicle dropped from his mustache. “I can’t take a dead calf home to the boss.”

While he spoke, the cowboy was rubbing the wet calf with his soaked slicker. Reverend MacGregor peered into the flickering shadows, already knowing the only suitable thing in the church was the linen altar cloth. Setting aside candles, he removed the embroidered fabric from the altar.

“Here, son.” 

“Why, thank you, sir.” Together, they massaged the little beast with the precious cloth. Wisps of steam wreathed the cowboy’s shoulders.

“So, Reverend, what’s kept you at church so late?”

“We had a candlelight service before the storm struck. It’s Christmas Eve, son.”

“So it is.” A light danced in cowboy’s eyes for the briefest moment. “If you don’t mind, Reverend, there’s something I need to do. This little guy’s mama is lyin’ out there, and I need to get some milk ‘fore she stiffens up. Sorry, sir,” he said, seeing the appalled look on Reverend MacGregor’s face. “Could you keep warmin’ him while I’m gone? Oh, and I have nothin’ to fetch the milk in.” 

The Reverend ran his fingers through his silvered hair. He hobbled to the altar.

“This is all I have.” He turned, and the cup in his hands glinted in the candlelight.

“That’s a mighty fancy cup, Reverend.”

“It’s the communion chalice. You’ll take care?”

“You can bet on it.” The cowboy pulled on his slicker, nestled the chalice in a deep pocket, and disappeared into the blizzard.

To be continued . . .