Taharial's Struggle
Celestial Justice #4

Excerpt

Taharial entered the small, domed space of the sweat lodge somewhere in the American Rocky Mountains more hesitantly than he should have. As the angel of purification, he was supposed to be pure and innocent, but his mutinous thoughts about the futility of some of the rituals he presided over made him overly conscious of his own lack of enthusiasm. The fire in the shallow pit at the centre of the lodge had already nicely heated the stones placed at the four cardinal corners, and the small group of meditating humans encircling the flames looked serene.

All Taharial could think was how much he hated the heat. Why his celestial body became susceptible to human sensations when he spent prolonged periods on Earth was beyond him. Surely, the Big Guy could have come up with a better way of doing things? Taharial sent a quick prayer of apology into the ether, hoping his supreme boss would forgive him for the blasphemy. He was supposed to be supportive and accepting, not critical of the way the universe worked. His mutinous feelings would get him a severe reprimand, most likely, if the judicial panel or any of the other overzealously pious members of the human division got hold of him.

Of all the human purification rituals, the ones involving actual physical contact with some substance thought to have purifying properties had always struck him as the oddest. They made him feel uncomfortable, pulled him out of his celestial body, and made him want to be more than an angel. Different from an angel. Not an angel at all. Whatever!

He had been called to supervise this sweat lodge ceremony, so he had no choice. The heat inside the small domed space was stifling. Not for the first time, he wished there was no need to get involved in the human side of the physical plane when he did his job. It may have been easier for him to be the purifying presence if he managed to become the link between earthly and celestial energies, but it was also more draining.

The sweat leader, an old man of mixed Native American heritage, dipped a small calabash into the wooden bucket of water next to him and poured it onto the hot stones. This produced the steam that was such an essential part of the ritual. After all of the four cardinal directions had been symbolically recognized by their own dip, he commenced the traditional prayers and chants that would guide the three other men and two women in their effort to cleanse themselves of the hatred they had accumulated. Working for the oil company that was in charge of constructing the pipeline across Alaska may have provided them with jobs, but their hearts were not into destroying so much of their ancestral lands to accommodate the new construction. Their spirits were down and they desperately needed to purify themselves.

Once the prayer was spoken and they were well on their way, Taharial faded into the distance. His presence, having made the required connection, was no longer required.

* * * * *

The next job was a little more challenging. A small country church, decked out in beautiful flowers and filled to the last pew, was about to become the center of an ugly scene. Festively dressed worshippers stood in a protective half-circle around the two women in front. The mother clutched a tiny baby boy to her chest, her sister looking on.

"You people need serious help." The angry father wearing the rumpled suit raked his sparse hair as he stopped right before the altar. He pointed at the child in the baptism outfit and stepped even closer. "I'm not going to let you put my son through this ridiculous ceremony just to have him become part of a church that is most likely going to abuse him. I want him to wait for baptism until he is old enough to know what is happening. Baptism needs consent, after all, and should not just be an empty ritual that is used to get more members for a church that is losing them in droves."

The two women stared daggers at the intruder and the rest of the congregation made hissing noises.

"Please lower your voice, sir. Your remarks are blasphemous. Everyone knows it is right to baptize children at birth, to ensure their souls are--"

"You are so wrong! The proper ritual has to happen later in life, so it actually means something." The father fisted his hands.

"I am sorry, sir, but you are not correct. We have come here in peace and would like to continue with the ceremony. You are welcome to watch, but please do not interrupt." The priest stood up straight and looked down his nose at the clearly outnumbered father. The priest sounded calm, his eyes and facial expression spoke volumes.

Taharial sighed and extended his wings, trying to spread calm and serenity amongst the irate humans. It was always difficult when parents belonged to different churches that sometimes held opposite beliefs. Why did these humans insist that one type of baptism was better than another? Why had they made up so many different rules around a ritual that was meant as a symbol of welcoming a life into the Big Guy's circle of beings? Did they not realize they were already part of it from the moment they were conceived--ceremony or no ceremony? Taharial was so tired of all this senseless fighting between different religions.

His efforts to make peace between the feuding factions were in vain. He was only the angel of purification, after all, not a bringer of peace. Silently requesting support from his brothers in the diplomatic section, he faded away. These fights just made him sad.