Pops, I wonder if you intended your ultimate creations to always be at war somewhere on the planet. There's always a war somewhere in Africa. There's one in the Ukraine. The wars in the Middle East have never stopped. Did you mean for your religions to be at each other's dogmatic throats? The Christians fighting the Catholics fighting the Protestants fighting the Jews fighting the Muslims fighting everyone?

Everything is part of your Great Plan, I know, I know. But somewhere, Pops, it all went wrong. And I may be the Archangel with a kick-ass sword, Heaven's Major General, but I have a brain and eyes and intuition.

The Universe, the worlds - they all reflect you. In their design, their state of existence, be they highly developed or just getting started. And looking back over the unending stretch of millennia, I see what I believe is the point at which things started to unravel. I've discussed it with Raguel, who – although he doesn't vocally agree with it – he doesn't dispute it, either.

I'm sparring with Spartacus, in the Coliseum. I decided to blow off some existential steam before confronting Lucifer. Because I know that just seeing him there, free and welcomed back by all my angelic brethren, will set me off. Lilith, well – it's next to impossible to get mad at her. She is who she is, Pops, and because she was imperfect in your eyes, she made her own choice and left. I think you never got over that.

Spartacus feints, I miss skewering his hip, and he trips me, jumping and landing on my chest. He's pinned me to the ground, grinning that sexy grin. If I were human as well, we'd probably be screwing our brains out right now. As it is, we kiss and he laughs, returning to the gladiators' quarters.

But just as I'm about to leave, two familiarfigures land in front of me. And surprise, surprise – Chamuel has somehow foundJophiel. Sexiest most beautiful angel in all Creation, Pops. You outdidyourself when you made him. Them.

Of course, you never bestow a gift without a catch. Something few humans ever learn. Jophiel is asexual and aromantic. Friendly and kind beyond measure, yes. Deeply intellectual and a stimulating conversationalist, yes. Sex partner or boyfriend, no.

They tell me about their finding Mary and Joseph in Jerusalem. I'm surprised that she called Pops a schmuck and got no heavenly response, like thunder or a lightning bolt or an earthquake. What that suggests, though, is that Pops must agree with her assessment.

I agreed to seek out The Son. I'm truly stunned when they tell me about Pops' charade. It raises as many questions as it answers. It's quite the white lie! If the truth were ever known, it would be devastating. I agreed that I should be the one to check out his 'special spot.'

He'd once asked me about a place where he could be alone, but not completely alone. It might surprise you to know that The Son was, at heart, a people person as opposed to a divine snob. Knowing what I know now, it makes perfect sense. He asked for a place where it would be unlikely for him to bump into rank-and-file angels – who, being curious and eager to know the Son, would always seek him out and observe him from a distance, as if he couldn't sense their being nearby.

I chose a bath house – better known as a hammam to my Islamic brothers – which had a nice mixture of the wealthy, middle and poorer class citizens. After all, every man is equal when naked, right? Social status -wise, I mean. I knew he'd go there whenever stressed, and believe you me, in those last years he was plenty stressed. Chamuel and Jophiel returned to heaven, and I flew to just outside Jerusalem.

It looks so very different from its glory days. Roads have replaced the foot and hoof-trodden paths that merchants, travelers and armies used to travel on. Garish billboards appear like clusters of date and palm trees. There's often smoke billowing from small fires far off in the distance, a constant reminder of unrest.

The baths appeared from my memory, superimposing their own reality over the one of today, and allowed me to see souls from the past who were spending afterlife time in a favorite location. I climbed the stairs to the second floor, where there are private pools in cubicles looking down at the main one below. And reclined in one of them was Jesus. Sitting with him was John, relaxing with his head thrown back on The Son's shoulder.

I remembered then that he'd always called John 'the beloved disciple' – and the truth of that innocent, simple term of endearment was suddenly heavy with unexpected implications. They both heard me approach, but neither moved.

I knelt, saying, "My Lord, forgive my intrusion. You have been absent from Heaven for two plus centuries, and we Archangels are worried. Pops hasn't returned, and Mary is happy in her Jerusalem. The World needs a divine hand to bring some sanity and kindness to inspire them. Won't you lend them your aid and love?"

The Son picked up a shell comb from beside the pool, and brushed John's long locks. When he stayed quiet, I inclined my head towards John.

"Hello, John."

"Mike, you seem frustrated. I thought there wasn't any problem that you and the Arcs couldn't handle? Why do you need Jesus' help?"

The Son replied, "There's a new angel that got her wings before she accepted them."

"I don't see the problem," John innocently stated.

"She rejected them, John. Outright, without a thought. She was released from Heaven, and the wings followed her." His eyes grew wide.

John stood up from the water, shaking droplets away. "I...I don't understand. It's...that's impossible."

Jesus stood, and draped a white cotton robe over John, then donned a purple one for himself. "It sounds like Father's doing. Is that why you and the Arcs are so rattled? Because I don't think Mr. Know-It-All anticipated that she'd reject the wings, did he? Does he ever think before he does anything? Did Mary tell you the story behind my early death? Can you guess what it was that set him off so badly that he reacted by arranging that?"

He placed his arm around John's shoulders. "He changed everything, including his deal with Mary – all because he didn't anticipate that I wouldn't want to sire a never-ending line of 'divine' prophets by having a son before I was crucified?"

He was openly weeping. "How is it He tolerated your predilection, and hated me for mine? I know – he doesn't know it all. He knows more than anyone, but he doesn't know everything. Yes, he apologized. Two thousand years later. You still want my help? From his 'imperfect impostor' of a son?"

I stayed on my knees. "Yes, yes we do. You know that you possess powers that we don't. The humans..."

"They killed me, Mike. Nailed me to a cross and watched me die."

I produced the cell phone from my leather tunic, told it to play the news clips of the Vuelda shootings, and handed it to The Son. "They're doing this to children. Innocent children. They don't need punishment. They need understanding, and love, and most of all they need hope. Heaven is still echoing with the cries of those kids." I took the phone from him.

"Michael, I had no idea...Still, I won't...I mean, that was pure evil..."

I didn't wait for him to finish. Looking away from Jesus and John, I begged them, "Heaven is hurting, its uncounted souls in need of a divine presence other than angelic. Jesus, Lord, my friend, please – for the family, those of us that have never forsaken you – return, if only for a short while." And left.