Angels for Believers and Not
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- Created on Sunday, 18 December 2011 14:06
- Written by Elaine Beth Peresluha
Angels are mythical beings in the Hebrew and Christian Bibles and the Quran. Supernatural messengers from God, angels are charged with protecting and guiding human being. From what I read, most often, their message is “Fear not, Fear not.
It seems that all angels are not equal. God apparently endowed certain angelic beings with power and authority above others. The highest order appears to be the cherubim, a special order of angelic beings with a unique role. Satan - was a cherub, before he rebelled. Seraphim from the Hebrew term for “burning ones” are the most passionate order of angels. You can recognize cherubim and seraphim, the really important angels, because they have wings–some up to six pairs of wings! I am imagining Victoria Secret’s models, great big fluffy wings on the runway marketing the new perfume line. Angels, scantily clad, big wings–really big wings. How do angels get to have wings like that? What about us flesh and blood do-gooders, not endowed with large wings?
Archangels – no wings, like Nicholas Cage in City of Angels, no wings, feet dangling over the edge of the rooftop, 100 stories up waiting to swoop down to rescue Meg Ryan. Archangels have the hard jobs like passing on very disturbing news, “Mary. Fear not, you are pregnant. Fear not. The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. Therefore, the Holy One who is conceived in you will be called the Son of God.
According to Matthew, an unnamed angel also appeared to Joseph, who is pretty upset with Mary’s announcement. He’s contemplating breaking off his engagement with her after finding out she is pregnant. The angel lets Joseph know that Mary's pregnancy has been divinely orchestrated, and that he is not only to marry Mary, he is to name their son Jesus, which means “the LORD saves” — a fitting name, since, as the angel tells Joseph, “[Jesus] will save his people from their sins.” Meanwhile, Gabriel is still working on reassuring Mary.
We love the angels in the story. Angels are such comforting and beautiful creatures bring that sense of sacred and divine connection, heaven to earth, people to God. Messengers, deliverer angels, invisible or visible amongst us. It is a comforting thought, yes? Fear not, fear not. Really, are there angels, invisible, walking amongst us, sitting on rooftops waiting... watching.... Do we earn them? Deserve them? Some of you have felt them, others, not. Some are angel believers, some not.
On Saturday mornings I listen to Scott Simon and the weekend edition of All Things Considered. Yesterday, Scot Simon interviewed singer-songwriter Cam Penner. He asked him, “Do you write a song every day?” Cam answered, “Yes, actually, I guess I do.” Cam is a janitor somewhere, mopping, dreaming, writing and sweeping and I could hear the jingle of his keys against the side of his leg, striking the rhythm of one of his songs, Flesh and Bones: “We’re only flesh and bones, just water through the stone, living life the way we should, try, leaning towards the good as we make our way.” There are those who walk among us, no wings, some visible, some not, who are truly flesh and bone angels.
One of the guests who came often to Open Table died last week. He had struggled for years with addiction to drugs and alcohol and finally, his disease ended his life. One of the other guests remembered him last week at Open Table, remembering his goodness to her, his generosity when he had so little, and told his story, in gratitude for what he had given to her, kindness, support, a gracious ear. This man’s brother was developmentally delayed, unable to care for himself, and every day, no matter what, this man got his brother up, fed him dressed him, and got him to his daily program. Every day this man showed up at his own job, regardless of how his addiction gripped him or distracted him. In spite of his illness, he was an angel.
Teachers. Those who see the hard work, the effort, the struggle of some to get C’s sitting next to those to whom A’s come easy, offering just the right word, just the right response so that the student feels their worth, the accomplishment of their effort. She feels like somebody. He feels seen and affirmed. Some teachers are angels.
Admissions officers who read through the piles of applications, weighing one against the other. One special student against another open to their hearts, to finding the one, the one in whom they see something special, something worth valuing, something no one else could see and for no other reason than an instinct, comes “Yes. This one.” Yes, you will get into Princeton or Harvard, and a life is changed forever. Angels take the time to look beyond a transcript to see a life.
Mary Behe was an angel. Over thirty years ago she and Wells, one of Doug Baker’s teachers, saw that Diana and Doug would make a good match. They were remembered and thanked often, and most especially on those decade makers 10, 20, 30. Not 40 though. Mary and Wells both died in car accident last week. Angels passed.
There are angels on the subways, on street corners ringing bells, asking for our witness to some greater good. Occupying Boston and New Hampshire, Oakland and Kansas City. Writers and poets, musicians and janitors, angels all.
I was on the way to the Apple store Monday night heading to the Burlington Mall breaking my cardinal Advent rule of NO MALLS AFTER THANKSGIVING. Visions of fatal mobs, frantic shoppers, no parking, and endless versions of Santa Baby danced in my head. Blessed angels, there were no lines, parking was easy, the Apple staff helpful, and the iphone under warranty. New phone. Transfer data, hit the delete button on the old phone. Data cleared and I was on my way. It was not until I was exiting the mall, 10:00 PM, tired, hungry calling my daughter that I discovered it–no phone numbers. Odd, a glitch? Lots and lots of gmail emails, every one I had ever sent it seems, Back to the Apple store, staving off just the briefest hints of doom, no phone numbers, 200 plus contacts, must be in there somewhere, right? This is Apple, technological genius, wizardry. The Apple guy looked grim. His lips were moving – not good. Slow motion lips…. Soooo Soorrryyy … Data transfer failed. “Get someone older.” I said to the baby-faced geek. He complied. The older wiser person appeared, maybe 24 years of age. He repeated the explanation. Bad data transfer. “It happens sometimes. Nothing we can do.” No phone numbers, no angel, no rescue.
I went home to read through all my Christmas sermons, the letters, the words, the readings, I cam across John Buehrens’ letter to us all from 1998. We had just invaded Iraq the first time, and I thought, here we are, at the end of another occupation, a war. Maybe simply a new phase of a second invasion, and I wonder, what have we learned? Will we ever make headway against war, against poverty?
I heard the bells on Christmas day
Their old familiar carols play,
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.
Peace on earth good will to men.I bowed my head,
“There is no peace on earth,” I said,
“For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men”
How do we keep from despair, staving off cynicism? How do we look out on lights in windows, boughs, and holly, hoping, Peace on Earth good will to men?
Angels. Certainly, Nobel Peace Prize recipients Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, Leymah Gbowee and Tawakkol Karman are angels, make a difference, their non-violent struggle for the safety of women and for women’s rights. Shouts fear not, fear not, peace on Earth Good will to all. They are part of the host of angels. Flesh and bones, leaning toward the good, shouting for freedom in Arab lands, in developing worlds, standing for women, children, all human beings against great odds and seeming omnipotent powers.
The summer of 1994, while traveling with Pastors for Peace to Central America, I met many angels. One in particular comes to mind. A small Guatemalan man, Juan, a member of the teacher union hosting our delivery of material aid. A teacher's union that organized in hiding; death squads searching them out to silence. Our gathering was secured by guns, far from city lights, ears and eyes of the government. We were all in this huge warehouse. 50 or more Guatemalans, about the same number of Pastorez. Eating black beans, rice, and plantains. these poor, poor people joining all their resources to offer us food and shelter, and we danced to loud music. Juan spoke no English; I spoke little Spanish. I admired his great shirt with pencils in a fist, Educar is Liberar. His revolutionary teacher spirit shined out of his eyes. I loved the shirt. There we were dancing, and he took off his shirt, literally gave me the shirt off his back. A revolutionary, an angel.
There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow, and happiness when shared, is doubled. If you want to feel rich, just count all of the things you have that money can't buy.
Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
“God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail
With peace on earth, good will to men.”
Angels, hovering, waiting to see us. Once bright and beautiful, they beckon through the clamor of events, bringing about peace on earth. The bells toll for them. Listen. They can be heard in the stillness of the winter nights. In the quiet gatherings at home remember your angels.
Flesh and Bone angels. Living life the way they should, leaning always toward the good. Angels, nothing magical, are truly still flesh and bone miracles. Count your angels, those people who showed up, stood up for us, lent us a hand, an ear, a word, a dollar when we most needed one. And that, that made all the difference. Today, remember your angels, thank your angels, be an angel, and to all your angels passed, whisper Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas.