I don’t want to count how many years ago now, back during a very extended flight, I was “handed” my next packet of study. And there before me for my internal, eternal eye to see was a board table. Board as in board of directors. A large, wooden table set out for twelve places. This didn’t make sense to me, essentially, because I was there in the room. I was not one of the twelve, so where was I supposed to sit?
God. Harrumph.
I guess I’ll just stand. (Perhaps there’s a stool I could use in one of the closets.)
Around the table sat people I knew each representing what I was being taught were the realms of healing.
For a long time I thought this meant that these were the realms on Earth that will bring healing to her. And, in some ways, they are. But over time I came to see that they also represented those areas of life that NEED the greatest healing in order to, in turn, bring healing to the Earth.
First you. Then me.
First you get healed. Then you heal me.
In all honesty, I could never remember the twelve realms. So, as a good English major, I made myself out an index card (my daughter was always charmed that I carried a bunch around in a pocket of my purse, just in case) with the names of the realms on it. And so, if I found myself thinking on this matter, I could just whip out the card and see which ones I was forgetting. I was always forgetting certain ones, like vowed religious and the homeless.
But I start today with cathedrals mostly because I feel a rant coming on and I might as well get it over with as keep it stuffed inside me for a few more days.
My rant today is about angels.
Yes, that’s right.
Angels.
I’ve ranted a bit about them before now, how when you go into a cathedral gift-shop you may find stuffed angels in the children’s section, along with dragons and unicorns, and, you know, all those other NOT REAL things.
In a Christian cathedral. You know, Christianity. The religion that has in its book all those stories of angels. Not fluffy little green people who peek out from under mushroom caps and squeal in delight and run away.
No. Angels who wrestle with you and break your leg. Or come and let you know that you’re going to have a baby “mythical” style. Or are the one to make sure that you come out of the hottest fire without even a singed hair.
Yeah. Those guys.
Agents of God.
In Heaven. And on Earth.
And what do we as good Christians do about these intermediaries from God? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Or as close to nothing as could be mistaken for nothing.
But here is the deal: cathedrals are built for one specific purpose on Earth by God. They are the rookeries for angels. It’s not that angels are not here all the time, everywhere we go. They are. But we, for the simple reason that our bodies do not like contact with otherworldly beings, keep them beyond the shimmering that separates the seen from the unseen.
We keep them way out of eyesight.
But, if we are to usher into time the actual time of great healing on this planet, then who we are going to need most are the angels. Bare feet and scrubby manes and all.
The angels are the direct expression of the Holy Spirit. And the Holy Spirit is the harbinger of this potential time of chaotic healing.
Without the angels, we will not have the force of the Holy Spirit that we need to get done what we will be faced with getting done.
(I told you I was in a rant mood. My sentences are curling around themselves and chewing on their own tails.)
One way to look at what was happened when the fissure of an earthquake ran under the National Cathedral in Washington, D.C., is that it was an acknowledgement that angels were beginning to roost there. Because, you see, once angels take up residency, what they will do is attract evil. And, it seems, according to my visions, evil found the angels in our nation’s capital and shook them out of their nests.
But this isn’t just an expression of evil having its own way. It is also an open-for-all-to-see expression of what it means when angels do not have the staff around them to care for them and see to it that their nests are protected.
This is this planet’s greatest danger: that as we decide to be cool and turn our faces away from the orthodox expression of our faith, those that we are meant to take care of and who are meant to take care of us are left essentially ignored.
In addition, we are doing absolutely nothing to teach ourselves how to perceive and tolerate their presence in our lives. Not like little, old ladies (such as myself) going around saying to children, I see a nice little angel sitting on your shoulder. Isn’t that nice?
No. In real terms. In terms of real life.
I have always been one to shy away from assignments that had to do with the fringe of perceived reality. But my study of angels has been extensive enough to resolve any qualms I may have felt about the relationship between reality and angelity (angelism?).
(And while I have really kicked hard against studying things such as dragons, I have come to somewhat enjoy the study of the “dragon” soul. This is not the soul of a dragon, but the soul of a person who contains within him the force and rage of a dragon. Anyway.)
Cathedrals need to be scrubbed from top to bottom as often as possible, and even have a “cleansing” service performed every morning. New-fangled, unorthodox “clergy” (aka, women) should be excused from duty at cathedrals. And all effort should be made to have services going throughout the day throughout the cathedral.
If anything attracts and pleases angels, it’s chanting. The sound of a melodic low hum of words praising God.
Because you see, that’s what cathedrals are meant for: the praising of God. Continuously. You know, angel-like.
Get it? Angels praise God continuously. Where on Earth we praise God continuously, angels will come. And as they come and congregate, and we are there (praising God continuously), we will learn to perceive them.
And perhaps they will learn to let us perceive them in reality.
Wings and all.
Let’s hope they learn to keep their feet clean.
Amen.