Lamb: the Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal

’em all” way.
    “He can’t do anything,” the angel repeated.
    “Why not?” I asked.
    “Because he may not know any woman.”
    “I may not?” Joshua said, not sounding at all happy.
    “He may not in that he should not, or that he can not?” I asked.
    The angel scratched his golden head, “I didn’t think to ask.”
    “It’s kind of important,” I said.
    “Well, he can’t do anything about Mary Magdalene, I know that. They told me to come and tell him that. That and that it is time for him to go.”
    “Go where?”
    “I didn’t think to ask.”
    I suppose I should have been frightened, but I seemed to have passed right through frightened to exasperated. I stepped up to the angel and poked him in the chest. “Are you the same angel that came to us before, to announce the coming of the Savior?”
    “It was the Lord’s will that I bring that joyful news.”
    “I just wondered, in case all of you angels look alike or something. So, after you showed up ten years late, they sent you with another message?”
    “I am here to tell the Savior that it is time for him to go.”
    “But you don’t know where?”
    “No.”
    “And this golden stuff around you, this light, what is this?”
    “The glory of the Lord.”
    “You’re sure it’s not stupidity leaking out of you?”
    “Biff, be nice, he is the messenger of the Lord.”
    “Well, hell, Josh, he’s no help at all. If we’re going to get angels from heaven they should at least know what they are doing. Blow down walls or something, destroy cities, oh, I don’t know—get the whole message.”
    “I’m sorry,” the angel said. “Would you like me to destroy a city?”
    “Go find out where Josh is supposed to go. How ’bout that?”
    “I can do that.”
    “Then do that.”
    “I’ll be right back.”
    “We’ll wait.”
    “Godspeed,” Joshua said.
    In an instant the angel moved behind another tree trunk and the golden glow was gone from the olive grove with a warm breeze.
    “You were sort of hard on him,” Joshua said.
    “Josh, being nice isn’t always going to get the job done.”
    “One can try.”
    “Was Moses nice to Pharaoh?”
    Before Joshua could answer me, the warm breeze blew into the olive grove again and the angel stepped out from behind a tree.
    “To find your destiny,” he said.
    “What?” I said.
    “What?” Joshua said.
    “You are supposed to go find your destiny.”
    “That’s it?” Joshua said.
    “Yes.”
    “What about the ‘knowing a woman’ thing?” I asked.
    “I have to go now.”
    “Grab him, Josh. You hold him and I’ll hit him.”
    But the angel was gone with the breeze.
    “My destiny?” Joshua looked at his open, empty palms.
    “We should have pounded the answer out of him,” I said.
    “I don’t think that would have worked.”
    “Oh, back to the nice strategy. Did Moses—”
    “Moses should have said, ‘Let my people go, please .’”
    “That would have made the difference?”
    “It could have worked. You don’t know.”
    “So what do you do about your destiny?”
    “I’m going to ask the Holy of Holies when we go to the Temple for the Passover.”

    And so it came to pass that in the spring all of the Jews from Galilee made the pilgrimage to Jerusalem for the Passover feast, and Joshua began the search for his destiny. The road was lined with families making their way to the holy city. Camels, carts, and donkeys were loaded high with provisions for the trip, and all along the column of pilgrims you could hear the bleating of the lambs that would be sacrificed for the feast. The road was dry that year, and a red-brown cloud of dust wound its way over the road as far as one could see in either direction.
    Since we were each the eldest in our families, it fell on Joshua and me to keep track of all our younger brothers and sisters. It seemed that the easiest way to accomplish this was to tie them together, so we strung together, by height, my two brothers and Josh’s three brothers and two sisters. I tied the rope loosely around their necks so it would only choke them if they got out of line.
    “I can untie this,” said James.
    “Me too,” said my brother Shem.
    “But you won’t. This is the part of the Passover where you reenact Moses leading you out of the Promised Land, you have to stay with the little ones.”
    “You’re not Moses,” said Shem.
    “No—no, I’m not Moses. Smart of you to notice.” I tied the end of the rope to a nearby wagon that was