Genesis 28:10-17
Revelation 12:7-12
John 1:47-51
When Jesus first meets Nathanael in John’s gospel, he promises him something extraordinary:
“You will see heaven opened, and the angels of God ascending and descending upon the Son of Man.”
Angels are all over our scriptures. From Genesis to Revelation, from Jacob’s dream to Gabriel’s annunciation, from the songs of the heavenly host to the battles of Michael and the dragon.
They are in our liturgy every single Sunday—“therefore with angels and archangels, and with all the company of heaven.” They’re in our hymns, our prayers, and on the tympanum above our door.
And yet, it seems that many of us have a hard time with angels. When asked to take angels “seriously,” images of hummel figurines and poofy feathery wings make it difficult–uncomfortable, even. In the contemporary life of the church, angels are treated as quaint, folkloric, “popular religion.” Tolerated, perhaps, but not to be taken too seriously.
It’s one of the reasons I’m glad we celebrate this day—the Church has often been suspicious of the faith and practice of the people. At different moments in our history, processions (both indoor and outdoor) were outlawed, various kinds of devotional practices forbidden on the grounds that they were “superstition.” Of course, as Dean Andrew McGowan of Berkeley Divinity School once said that the attitude is: “If it’s ME, it’s piety. If it’s someone else, it’s superstition.” And considering that the church has, for much of its history been governed and had it’s rules made by those with a great deal of class and education privilege, it’s no wonder that the practices popular with the people were seen as superstition by those to whom those people were other.
But when we dismiss something as superstition, or even as “popular religious practice,” we almost do worse than we might by condemning it, we communicate that perhaps these embarrassing devotions are best not mentioned at all. And though we have ample evidence that God’s voice speaks in silence, I don’t think we leave much room for God’s voice in our silent disdain. So when we disdain the things that “other people” do to worship God we are silencing, we are shaming, and that is not worthy of the lavish, elaborate, embarrassing welcome that Jesus calls us to.
So we should celebrate the angels and the “popular religious practice” because especially in those long years of a widely illiterate church, it is precisely in those practices—the way people told stories about the angels, learned the Bible from stained glass and statuary, processed through the streets repeating chants that taught the faithful the words of their faith, the words of their prayers, it was by these practices that faith was handed down and mystery made tangible. This not to discount the directing of the church, the training of the clergy, and the great theological thinkers, but the bread and butter, the everyday domesticity of passing down the faith is chilling children’s bones with Daniel in the lion’s den, it’s invoking the patron saint for assistance, it’s the guardian angel.
Though it’s not like angels only belong to the people, great scholars from Origin of Alexandria, through to Augustine of Hippo down to the 20th century Karl Barth have written many heady treatises on angels. But I do wonder how many mothers who tucked their children in, as a friend of mine’s did, “May the angels watch over you” were heavily influenced by those thinkers.
But whether it’s the theologians or the moms, to speak of angels is to speak of mystery. The author of Revelation tells us even more fantastical things, battles in heaven and dragons slain. And those stories can sometimes seem a little… well… aye thar be dragons, stay away.
But let me take this phrase way overseriously for a moment. There be dragons: we use the phrase for that which is out there, beyond whatever is our own personal pale. Put another way, there be dragons is where mystery lies. And no amount of rationality has eliminated mystery. We may use sometimes “mystery” to mean simply something we don’t know: for example, it remains true that the workings of Calculus are a mystery to me. However, Calculus is known, Calculus is knowable. There be not dragons. There be math class.
Leaning into mystery is an important part of the life of faith. I had to learn to stop shying away from the book Revelation because to shy away from Revelation is to shy away from… Revelation. It is to deny that in the contemplation of mystery, both something new may be revealed and that mystery will persist. Denying mystery is not worthy of the life of prayer that we are called to.
As we celebrate St. Michael and all angels, as we join our voices with Michael and Gabriel and the hosts of heaven as we sing Holy Holy Holy, we celebrate the lavish, elaborate, embarrassing hope we share in the mysterious communion of the saints and angels who pray for us, who slay dragons for us, who reveal, who remain mysterious.
And let us be bold enough to say that the dragons—those forces of destruction, despair, cruelty, and violence—are real. And that with the angels we are called to slay dragons. The God who calls us to prayer and worship has also sent angels to guard us, fight for us, and lead us deeper into the mystery of divine love.
So let us enter that mystery with joy, with courage, and with thanksgiving.
For the angels are with us. The saints are with us. And God is with us—always.