He had the sinking feeling that his child was the Messiah. Mostly, it was the indescribable air of the divine around her, but there were corroborating circumstances as well. The choir of heavenly voices that played upon her birth. Strangers showing up at the hospital with weird gifts. That sort of thing. The idea made him entirely uncomfortable. He wasn't at all sure he wanted to be the father of the Messiah. Then again, was he? His wife wasn't a virgin or anything, but isn't the Messiah God's child, not his? Or something, he'd never paid much attention in Sunday school.
He considered the fate of life as the Messiah's father. Blessed, he supposed, but marginalized. Didn't sound appealing. Then again, being the father who abandoned a major religious figure didn't seem all that smart either.
Televangelism crossed his mind. He thought of calling a megachurch to ask how they did it, but he didn't think they'd want to help. Besides, that seemed like a shortcut to becoming an object lesson of corruption in a new gospel.
Then again, he thought, who am I to decide what will be a sin in this new world? He picked up the phone.