Christmas Revelations
By Danii
Summary: On Christmas, Xander's thoughts turn to his faith, a thing he had almost forgotten.
Ships: Bit of B/X.
Disclaimer: I own no one. Don't sue.
Distribution: If you want it…go ahead.
NOTE: This deals with religion. Please understand that I respect all religions. I don't intend to insult anyone, but if in some way I do, please don't get hurt.
And now:
It was rather cold for southern California in December. True, it was winter, but Xander Harris couldn't remember a Christmas which had been quite so cold. Even when it had snowed a couple of years ago, there had been a warmness to the air, but this was cold. The kind of cold that seemed to creep into the bones like a parasite, sucking the very warmth from the heart.
Or perhaps the cold was there already, he thought.
It was entirely possible. He'd never been one for the Christmas season. For him, it had just been another time for abuse…another time for crushed hopes and broken dreams. A lonely night of slumber out on the porch in his raggedy old sleeping bag, while his parents and other assorted relatives got smashed (both by drink and by each other).
In fact, the only time he'd ever found any joy from Christmas was the times he had spent with Willow and Jesse, all three of them sitting around Jesse's TV in the cozy little living room of his house as they watched "A Charlie Brown Christmas", "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer", and, of course, "The Grinch Who Stole Christmas." Those were the only happy Christmas memories he had, the only times he'd felt like he was a normal kid, surrounded by love on the most joyous of days. That, and his recollections of the Christmas services with his grandma.
That was something he'd never been able to explain. Logically, he, as a young boy with a large mouth and far too much energy, shouldn't have liked such a quiet and peaceful time. But as he looked back, he remembered those hours in church fondly.
The decorations upon the pillars of the church, the holly leaves placed at the end of each pew. The smell of the church, one which he'd never been able to find anywhere else, and the feeling of peace and simple joy. Those things he remembered, and he remembered them with pleasure.
Most importantly, he remembered the candle ceremony.
With crystal clarity, Xander could recall the priest, old Father Brogan, handing out the candles to each one of the congregation members. Small white candles, poked through a small disk of plastic to prevent dripping, some newer looking, others seemingly as old as the church with their burn marks and droplets. And he could remember the light…that beautiful, small, flickering light as it spread from one person to the next, not to mention the splendorous glow that seemed to fill the church when the lights were finally turned off.
It was then he liked to look around. Not in fear, but in joy. For as his gaze scanned the church, he would see the faces of all those people in the candle light, gently illuminated in such a way that it almost seemed that you could see into their hearts. And perhaps, he had thought then, that meant that God was there. Perhaps.
His memories of those times, those simple times when all he'd had to fear were purely human evils, brought a warmth to his heart, and a smile to lips.
But those times were passed. That simplicity of belief, that plainness of fear. They were gone, never to return to him. He couldn't sit in a dark room and not feel fear of lurking evils. He couldn't rely on such a small flame to remove the darkness. He couldn't…believe.
It was a problem that he faced everyday, but on Christmas, it seemed to be ten times worse. His faith…he wasn't even sure if he had one anymore.
Sure, he would hold up a cross to ward off the vampires…but did he believe in its power? Did he believe that two crossed planks of wood could ward off evil?
And if it did, why did Willow's spells, prayers to a Pagan goddess, work? If there was a God, why would such things function?
And furthermore, if there was a God, why did He let the Hellmouth exist? Why did He let it kill and destroy the lives of his Children? Why would He let it hurt so many in so many different ways?
Why would He allow a child to be brought up in a home where the parents hated him? Where the child was put through pain and agony in ever shape and form? Why?
Strong faith is shaken by such questions. Xander's, which had been in the beginnings of weakening at the time of the Hellmouth revelation, had crumbled and died.
Maybe that was why he hated himself. Maybe that was why he'd never made it to college. Maybe that was why the one person he loved above all others would never love him.
Maybe that was why he'd never amount to anything.
It was at this point that Xander looked up from the ground and realized something.
He was not at his apartment.
Instead, his feet had taken their own path, which had led him directly to a large gothic-style church whose lights gently trickled through the complex stained-glass windows he knew so well.
Saint Teresa's.
He was at Saint Teresa De Avila's…his old church. The one his grandmother had taken him to when he was a boy.
His mouth open with surprise, Xander stared at the building he hadn't seen for more than ten years. It hadn't changed that much, at least not in the ways that counted.
There were still the same gargoyles on the sides that he remembered, and the very same scenes depicted in the stone panels of the church. The large wooden door was familiar as well, as was the antique black handles which were mounted on each gigantic piece of wood. The steps were perhaps a little more rounded and used, but all in all, it was the same place. The same place he had been every Christmas until the age of eight, when his grandmother had died.
Curious and slightly afraid, Xander walked up the worn steps towards the doors he recalled so clearly and pulled on the handle. Not surprisingly, it was unlocked. The young man looked at the door for a minute, and considered his options, but then chose to step inside the church.
As he made his way in, Xander saw everything just as he remembered it. The holly, the stars, and candles burning all around. True, there were no people around in that it was far too late for such things (especially in Sunnydale), but otherwise, nothing had changed.
"Hello, Alexander…" came an elderly, yet hearty voice from his side.
Startled, Xander jumped and looked toward the voice, and there he saw someone he hadn't expected. Father Brogan.
"Fa-father Brogan?" he asked, unsure and afraid.
The voice laughed as its owner stepped out. "Indeed, young Mr. Harris…"
As the priest made his way into the light, Xander took in everything about him and compared it to what he recalled. It was indeed Father Brogan. The same receding hairline of fine blonde-gray hair…the same bright smile…the same gleaming hazel eyes, so full of warmth. The same large, rough hands jammed into the small pockets of his black pants.
"Father Brogan."
"Yes, we've established my name, son…" the priest chuckled merrily, "Let's move on, shall we?"
"Yes, sir…" Xander said, falling back into his old habits of immediate 'yes sirs' and obedience to the old clergyman.
This made the other man smile. "No need for that, my boy. You're old enough to just be calling me 'Father' now, okay?"
"Okay, si-Father." The dark-haired young man replied quickly, a small smile gracing his own lips. That was the one thing he'd always liked about coming here. Father Brogan could always make him smile.
The priest took in Xander's state, then grabbed his arm firmly and pulled him to a pew. There, he sat both himself and the younger man, and began to speak.
"So, my boy…long time no see…"
"Well-"
"Well nothing." The priest said with a grin, "You've no need to make excuses for me. I know it wasn't your fault. And I'd rather one not come if they don't have their heart in it."
"But Father, I-"
"No buts…" Father Brogan said sternly yet gently, "I don't intend to get on your case. All I want to do is to say hello and see how you're doing…"
After this, Xander proceeded to tell the priest the entirety of his life story since the age of eight, carefully omitting the more supernatural aspects so as not to frighten the Father. When he finished, the father looked at him once, and his face took on a serious expression.
"Let's try that again, son…" the priest said with just a hint of a smile…just enough to tell Xander he was serious while still remaining merry, "And this time, include all the crazy things you took out so as not to 'upset me'. Like you're being friends with the Slayer, maybe?"
Xander sat back at this point in shock. How did Father Brogan know? How did he-what did-how-what-why-
"How?" was all that came out.
This set the old priest into another set of laughter, while the younger man watched in confusion and shock.
"Oh, Xander…do you think that I, as the keeper of this church on the Hellmouth, wouldn't know about all that happens?"
He didn't answer.
"Do you have any idea how many people come into this church at night to keep safe from the demons that roam the streets, from the vampires, from the evils that this town attracts? Do you know how many come here after being attacked for protection?"
Xander mutely shook his head.
"A lot, Xander. A lot." The priest answered, "And all those people tell me about how they were saved by your little Slayer…and they also tell me about the young man who fights besides her…a young, dark-haired man who tends to make jokes…who fights with all of his heart despite the fact that every time, he gets his sorry little backside kicked."
The priest took a deep breath, and then looked at Xander.
"I've kept tabs on you, boy…" he said, "I look out for my congregation…even when they don't come to church."
Xander couldn't speak. He couldn't do anything. To think…Father Brogan had known all along…and he wasn't paranoid. He wasn't…freaked. And he'd been looking after him…checking up on him. It was mind-boggling. So Xander nodded.
"But the one thing I'd like to know…" Father Brogan said tiredly, "Is why you decided to come in tonight of all nights. You look troubled…and I'd like to help. What troubles you, young man?"
It was at this point that Xander got his voice back. It was timid and low, but he could speak. It was just painful, that's all.
"I…I don't know what I believe anymore, Father." He said simply, each word stinging, as if a small pin was being stuck into him as they left his lips, "I mean, it's all so confusing…and I wish I was a little kid…I mean, I wish I could believe like I did as a kid, but it's so hard now, and I don't know what to think anymore…it's all such a blur, and…"
The words came out quickly, and it seemed to dull the hurt to have them out in the open. But he did wonder what the father was going to say when he actually caught up to what Xander had said. The young man put his head down, as if awaiting punishment.
But there was no punishment to be dealt. The priest instead took the boy's chin in his eyes, and looked his straight in the face with those loving hazel eyes. Those eyes that were filled with such amazing peace and caring.
"Xander," Father Brogan said slowly, as if to a small child. "Tell me what you believe."
The dark-haired young man was about to protest that he didn't know, when the priest shook his head.
"Not about God, not about anything you're unsure about. Tell me what you believe. Tell me why you go out every night to fight the forces of evil. Tell me why you live like you do…"
This gave Xander a pause. But he knew the answer. It was something he'd always known, always thought. It was something he thought about late at night, when he was tired and couldn't fall asleep. It was the one thing he knew.
"I believe that humanity, the ability to love and care, is the most wonderful thing in the world. I think that, above all, it's the one thing I have to work my hardest to protect. Humans…people…all the wonderful things that make up humanity.
"I mean, people are so complex…so complex and so simple. And so wonderful. I mean, if a person lived in one room for their entire life, doing nothing but breathing, they would still be the most interesting thing. I mean, what color would the room be? What food do they like? What position are they in? Do they like Twinkees? And if they had to choose between the Beatles and the Monkees, which would they pick?
"And people…people…humanity, makes such wonderful things. I mean, if you took the universe and ground it up into tiny particles, you wouldn't find an ounce of love, or a molecule of mercy, or even and atom of justice. I read that once. That's because humans make it…humanity, the ability to care and love, to have emotions…they make it. They make life worth living. And they are worth protecting.
"And that's why I fight. I fight because someone has to protect them. Someone has to protect the innocence I no longer have. Someone has to try and make sure that they don't have to fear…to hate…to live like I had to. Live a life which takes part of being human from you. That's why I fight…and that's what I believe."
Xander sighed.
"It doesn't make much sense, does it?" the young man with a sigh. "I mean, it sounds better in my head…I didn't put it right exactly, but if you-"
"I understand perfectly…" the priest interrupted gently, "And what you said, what you meant, what you do, and the person that YOU are…they give me hope for the future. What you said makes more sense than what would be said by many people who come to my church every Sunday…And I respect it."
"But" Xander said with a gasp, "You're a priest. You're supposed to be all 'believe in God' and all that!"
Father Brogan shook his head and laughed. "You know me better than that. I'm not going to preach to the converted."
"What? I'm-"
"Even if they don't know it yet."
This left Xander quiet. And the father continued.
"But I will tell you this. Remember that the person who made all of humanity…who shaped it, gave it a home, gave it the capacity to love…was God. And the person who protected it from harm, from hell, from death…who showed them how to love again…was Jesus. And that the wonderfulness, that the love, that humanity…is one of the faces of the Holy Spirit."
The priest said all of this slowly, and Xander listened raptly. Then he blinked once.
"That's all I'm going to tell you, Xander…the rest you have to figure out yourself…" Father Brogan said, "You have to find your faith for yourself, or it will have very little worth."
"But-"
The father interrupted him again.
"But I've given you a candle. A very special candle…a Christmas candle. Like the ones I used to hand to you as a child. A candle to light your way…wherever it may lead."
And with this, the priest handed him one of the familiar candles and disappeared into the darkness of the church as Xander watched. Then he blinked again, and got one of the biggest shocks of his life.
There was no church. There were no stained glass windows. There were no pews. There wasn't even really a door. There was just a small frame of wood, charred and nearly rotted with neglect, and the remains of a building. And a small gold cross that Xander remembered seeing at the top of a pole being held by an acolyte. Not to mention the candle. He spun quickly, and blinked several more times.
"Father Brogan? Father Brogan!" he shouted in confusion as he ran to the street to get a full view. Where was he? What was this? Where had the church gone? Where-
"Oh my God…" Xander said, and for the first time in a long time, he meant it, "The fire…in the paper…Father…"
He remembered. Dear God, he now remembered why he hadn't been back. It had completely slipped his mind (or, he thought suspiciously, it had been slipped from his mind FOR him). The church…it had burned down years ago, shortly after Buffy had come to town. And Father Brogan, at age 64, had burned with it while he tried to save a young woman who had been praying in the back of the church.
Dear God.
Then Xander's mind stopped.
"Yeah," he said with a bit of pleasure in his voice, "Dear God. DEAR GOD."
Then he looked at the charred ruins…and the small gold cross that sat in the middle, still glittering in the light of the moon. Then he looked down into his own hands, at the candle that still had some melted wax on it. And he took it. He took it all in, into his heart and mind and soul.
"Well, thanks, Father…" he said finally as he made a decision. "Thanks for everything…"
Then he walked into the night, his heart just a little lighter, and perhaps changed for all time. And in his hand, he kept the candle…as a reminder. As a reminder of Christmas light…
The End
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