God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

George Kooneman shook himself awake. He had a terrible headache and one of his eyes was swollen shut. The world was still spinning through the other. But it was slowing down, he noted gratefully. “Thank you God that I’m still alive” he muttered. “Now where am I?”

George never knew where he was gonna wake up in the morning, and many times he’d found himself in places he’d rather not linger. So the first thing he did every morning, which for him really could be any time of day, was to thank God for his life and then get his bearings. More than once he’d had to make a hasty retreat.

One time he woke to find himself inside a dumpster. Not too bad, he thought, at least it’s soft, if a bit smelly. But then he heard a loud noise which he couldn’t quite place over the pounding in his head. He felt himself being shaken and lifted. “No! No!” he yelled as the dumpster he was in was raised and dumped into the back of a garbage truck, with all the trash he’d been sleeping on now on top of him. He tried to climb his way out of the truck before it closed on him, but he was too slow, all went dark and he felt the world crushing in on him. For a moment he started to panic, claustrophobia taking over him, but when he let go and gave in to the panic he felt the pressure all around him like a warm hug. Such are my blessings he thought to himself, and he thanked God again when he felt the compactor receding and found he was still able to move. He crawled out of the truck between the gaze of two horrified workers yelling “Stop the truck!”

One time he found himself at the bottom of an overpass, sprawled out amongst the large stones. He was lying on his side and he felt like the arm underneath him was on fire. He tried to move it and felt like he’d been shot. He looked up and saw how far he’d fallen and marveled that he was still alive.

One time he found himself stretched out on a nice plush couch, wearing clean clothes that he’d never seen before. There could be worse ways to wake up, he thought. He said Thank you out loud, as he always did, and not God’s but a woman’s voice answered him saying “Who are you, and what are you doing in my house?” “I don’t know” he slowly replied, then ran for the door before she could call the cops.

But on this morning, the eve of Christmas, he woke up in his own house, which was really just a stall in an old barn that some friends let him use. He kept it warm with a small ceramic space heater, which everyone knew was going to burn the place to the ground eventually. But for all his forgetting, he was very careful with his little heater, one of his few prized possessions. The room was piled floor to ceiling with boxes full of dirty clothes and stuff that he’d collected but never used. There were more empty cans and bottles in there than there was anything else, and he often wondered how he could afford so much alcohol. I must be a thief, he thought, but he didn’t feel like a thief.

His breath smelled like something had been drowned in whiskey and died, and it was filling up the little room, choking him with it’s fumes. He opened the door to let the morning sunlight and fresh air in. The world outside was frozen and sparkling. He loved it when he was able to wake up in the morning. He put on his boots and walked over to the ditch next to the stable to relieve himself. He felt oddly refreshed today, and the cold air sobered him up. I have a new lease on life, he thought. Today is a new day.

He went back inside and found a half full bottle of beer, chugged it with a grimace and changed into something that smelled like it’d only been worn a week instead of a month. He rolled himself a cigarette, with stable hands, he was happy to note, and sat down on a bucket to breathe in the morning air. “Merry Christmas” he said to himself, “Merry Christmas” he replied.

*

Natalie Tindale woke up every morning and said her prayers too. She also had a formula, a ritual. Like George she said the same words everyday, but her prayers went well into the ten to fifteen minute range. She lived alone, in a nice house left to her by the passing of her father a few years before. After he died she became so steeped in the rules of religion that it consumed her. God was righteous and Holy, and she had to be that way too, if she wanted to spend eternity in Heaven with her Heavenly Father. She knew her dad wouldn’t be there, sinner that he was when he died.

Natalie hated Christmas with a passion that bordered on insanity. It was a pagan holiday, and the people who celebrated it were worse than pagans, especially the Christians, who were fooled into thinking it had something to do with Jesus.

Natalie woke up Christmas Eve with a sour taste in her mouth. It was ten o’clock in the morning. She’d stayed up late last night with a group of friends. They were out walking around old town praying for people, and trying to convict the people coming out of the bars at two am of their sins. Someone had to do it, after all. But the taste in Natalie’s mouth wasn’t from alcohol, it was from knowing that when this day was over, just about everyone she knew would be celebrating a pagan holiday, or, essentially, worshiping satan. She found a half empty cup of water and chugged it with a grimace. Merry Christmas, she thought with disgust.

*

George spent the day cutting spruce branches and tying them into neat little bundles with scraps of leather. He loaded them into a bike trailer and pinned a cardboard sign to it that said Christmas decorations, $5. He rode into town and parked his bike in front of Ten Thousand Villages. He went inside and helped himself to a cup of their free sample coffee, offering them a swag bundle in exchange, which they politely refused. George went in there often to fill a large, handmade mug that someone had given him a long time ago, and was only once turned away. Outside he set up his trailer with the bundles of swag neatly displayed on an old sheepskin and sat down to enjoy his coffee. He wrapped his gloved hands around the mug and admired the steam. After about an hour or so he'd made $20. Not bad for a day's work. He took a little break and went and bought himself a bottle of cheap vodka and a deli sandwich.

*

Natalie went into town to meet up with some friends and pass out tracts explaining why Christians should not celebrate Christmas. During her morning prayers she'd gotten the distinct impression that God told her to expect a miracle today, and she was a bit distracted as she kept looking for it everywhere she went. So it was that she didn't notice George as Micheal, her brother and one of her only true friends in the world, handed him a $5 bill in exchange for a beautiful swag bundle.

“Wait!” she grabbed Micheal's hand just as George reached out to take the money. “You can't give him money!” and then she whispered loud enough for everyone to hear “He'll buy alcohol with it.”

Micheal was taken aback, “Uhh...” he started, and pulled his hand back just before George could grab the money.

“He's an alcoholic. A sinner. The Bible says drunks shall not enter the Kingdom of Heaven” Natalie was clearly upset, “If you give him money you're just helping him sin. You're condemning him to hell. He's drunk already, look at him. We have to go.”

“She's right” George said, pulling the Vodka out of his pocket and taking a drink. He screwed up his face and then offered the bottle to Natalie with a smile?

“I don't think so” she scowled.

“Well, I like to give people a chance” said Micheal, “What if he promises to only buy food with this money?” he asked no one in particular.

“What I do with my money is none of your business” George told him.

“No he can't promise it” Natalie interrupted, “He's a liar and a thief. You need to repent George, and you need to do it now. Come on, let's go.”

“Merry Christmash!” George bellowed out as they walked off.

*

“We should stop and pray for guidance” Natalie said, after they'd left. It was dark now and all the trees were covered in white lights, like stars come down to Earth. There was a group of carolers dressed in Victorian outfits standing in front of the fountain singing Oh Holy Night. She wouldn't admit it but she liked this song, and this frustrated her. “This is not the night Christ was born” she said, “He was probably born in summer, while the sheep were out in their fields.” She pulled Micheal under the overhang of a Tibetan store that'd closed for the night and they bowed their heads and prayed. “Heavenly Father please guide us to the miracle you promised, lead us to where You want us to go. I know You're faithful to keep Your promises. If there's anyone who needs healing, let us walk right up to them. Thank-you.”

“I got nothing” said Micheal, “what about you?”

“I clearly heard the word Aggie.” Natalie said.

“Well, there's Aggie Liquor and Aggie Theatre.”

“Aggie Theatre,” Natalie thought out loud, “let's go there.”

“Ok.” said Micheal, and off they went, passing out tracts along the way.

*

George, upset now and feeling the cold and the vodka, packed up his last remaining Christmas bundle and started off towards the liquor store for a bottle of wine and a pouch of Prince Albert. While the clerk was turned around getting the tobacco George deftly slipped a pocket sized bottle of Gin into his coat and withdrew his money all in the same motion. His rational mind didn't even see him do it, and he paid for the wine and tobacco with a clear conscience.

He went outside and sat down on a bench and rolled himself a cigarette. Cracking open the bottle of Gin he took a couple of sips and felt the warmth roll down his throat, into his belly. He could hear a Salvation Army bell ringing from the Safeway just down the way. With his cigarette rolled and lit he got up and walked down the block to the Aggie, an old theatre with live music playing every night. The Aggie was an old brick building with no insulation and if you sat close enough to it you could hear the bands playing pretty well. There was always a group of hobo's and people who couldn't afford tickets sitting out front of the theatre listening and having their own little party. Maybe they'll let me in, George thought, it’s Christmas Eve.

There was a band inside doing hip-hop renditions of Christmas songs. I think I’ll stay outside, George thought, and he sat down on a bench outside the theatre and had another sip of Gin. He sat next to an old American Indian lady chanting in another language with her head bent down, praying maybe. She finished her chant by lifting her head and saying to everyone, “we are here, there, and everywhere.” Her voice sounded like she ate gravel and washed it down with gasoline. Underneath the bench was a man he'd never met before, snoring peacefully.

There were a few other people he recognized sitting around. One of them was a little round man in a Santa hat pounding on the sidewalk with a pair of drum sticks and singing loudly. He kept switching back and forth between the choruses of classic rock songs and popular Christmas carols. Jukebox Jones, George knew him well.

George took out his bottle of wine, opened it and had himself a nice long drink. “Merry Christians everybody” he said, and passed the bottle around.

Jukebox Jones looked up with a smile and switched to Jingle Bells.

*

Natalie and Micheal were just about to round the corner of the Aggie when they heard someone yelling, and saying over and over “he won't wake up, he won't wake up.” Natalie’s eyes lit up, this must be the miracle God promised, she thought. She rounded the corner and saw the Indian lady bent over the man under the bench. “Help, Somebody help. He won't wake up.” Jukebox Jones and the other guys were standing clumsily around, not knowing what to do. George had gone off to get another bottle of wine.

“Did anyone call an ambulance?” Micheal asked. Everyone looked around, shaking their heads, confused and concerned looks on their faces.

“What happened?” Natalie asked.

“He was sinner” somebody yelled “He was a sinner and God punished him. Just like He’s gonna do to all of us!”

“Have some respect you idiot. Another man yelled.

“He was snoring real loud” Jukebox Jones told her, “then he just stopped.”

“He's not breathing. Wake up damnit wake up.” The Indian lady sobbed and dropped her head onto his chest, then let out a howl like a coyote. “He's dead. Oh my God he's dead.”

Natalie bent down with her and grabbed his wrist to check for a pulse. She felt nothing. She tried the neck, but felt nothing their either. “It's gonna be ok” she told the Indian lady, “God told me to expect a miracle today. I'm gonna pray for his healing. Micheal, come here.” she said.

Micheal knelt down with her and the Indian lady pushed him away.

“Please” Natalie said, “we need to lay our hands on him to pray for him.”

The Indian lady seemed to accept this and Let Micheal and Natalie put their hands on the dead man's chest and pray for him.

“Father God” Natalie prayed “Heal this man. In the name of your Son Jesus bring this man back from the dead.” And to the dead man she said “In the name of Jesus I command you rise up from the dead. Rise up now. In the name of Jesus stand. Stand now. Satan release your hold on this man. In the name of Jesus.” Natalie's voice was rising with each command. She didn't understand. This was supposed to be working. God had clearly told her to expect a miracle.

All at once there was a sound of breaking glass and lights flashing. “Wash happening?” a voice said. It was George, he'd seen the ambulance pulling up and heard Natalie commanding someone to rise up at the same time. Naturally he dropped the wine.

“Get out of here!” Natalie yelled when she saw him.

*

After that it was all one big mass of confusion for awhile. The paramedics asked what happened and everybody started talking at once. The Indian kept howling like a wolf. Natalie kept saying she was a healer and everything would be ok. George bumped heads with one of the paramedics as they both bent down to check on the man, and in the process spilled the rest of the bottle of Gin on Natalie.

Micheal seemed to be the only sober one there and he grabbed Natalie and pulled her back so the paramedics could do their work. She was shaking and confused. “This is your fault” she accused George. “You gave him alcohol. You killed him. You're going to Hell.”

The paramedics pronounced him dead and went to get a blanket to cover him up. They said no one was to move the body until the police arrived. At the mention of police a few of the guys quietly dispersed. Only Jukebox Jones, George, Natalie and Micheal stayed.

“This is bullshit!” George bellowed out, his face red with tears, “It's Christmas Eve.” He fell down next to the man, shoving one of the medics out of the way in the process. “It's Chrishmas!” he yelled up at the sky. “How can you let a man die on Chrishmas!”

Natalie watched with loathing as a tear fell from George's face and landed on the man's uncovered cheek. George's head slumped onto the man's chest and he sobbed. One of the paramedics went to move him but the other held him back. “Give him a moment.” he said. George calmed down and placed his hand over the dead man's heart. He looked up to the sky and muttered something no one could hear.

“He's alive!” Jukebox Jones yelled. “Hallelujah he's alive!”

Everyone stared and sure enough, warm breath came out of his mouth and he started coughing. The paramedics quickly rolled him over on his side and Natalie whispered “No, it can't be. Sinners can not perform miracles. Drunks do not raise the dead.”

The man sat up and looked around. “What happened?” he mumbled. George jumped up like he'd seen a ghost and backed right into Natalie and Micheal, who steadied him. The Indian lady came out from some bushes she'd been hiding in and fell on the man, weeping loudly and hugging him. It seemed no one could stand up. The paramedics were as confused as the rest of them, they just knelt there where they were, looking at the man. “Do you have somewhere warm to go tonight?” one of them asked him. “Of course I do” he snapped. “What happened? Why is everybody crying?”

“You were dead” Jukebox Jones yelled, “That man raised you from the dead!” Jukebox's faces was pure light as he pointed at George with his drumstick. “Wha? I uh...” George stammered.

“He didn't do anything but get this man drunk” Natalie yelled, “God healed him. Praise God. This man had nothing to do with it.”

Micheal laid a calm hand on her arm “We saw what we saw” he told her, “You got your miracle. Come on, let's go home.” Natalie stared at George for just a moment. When George smiled at her she turned around and walked off. “Merry Christmas” he called out.

Just then the group of carolers came by, carrying a tray full of steaming mugs. “We saw the whole thing!” one of them said, “Hot chocolate for everyone!” and another passed out the steaming mugs. Jukebox Jones knelt down and tapped out a few beats on the sidewalk, and soon the police walked up to find a crowd of people, paramedics included, singing God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen.