I live with Angels.
Angels galore
Angels have not been central to my faith, always seeming to me flights of fancy. However, as I begin to grow in my understanding of the range of ways in which people find symbols, narratives, music and images to express the richness of the relationship between man and God, I enjoy rather than dismiss them. Logic is a dead end in the spiritual life.
Angel Tolondrado
Also I live in Madrid in an appartment full of angels. These are sculptures and paintings created by Pilar.
Angel Maternal
They appeal a lot to her grandchildren and nearly all angel-lovers. Some express desires:
Angel of Abundance
The abundance is in the flowers. Others are surprising and amusing like the angel who tripped up – not a fallen angel!
The Angel who tripped up
Angels, everywhere!!
Angels on Bayonne Cathedral.
Less than a month after I finished the Camino de Levante in 2011 I began a Pilgrimage of Reconciliation. My relationships with my family and some others had broken down in various pieces over many years. Although, at this stage, I didn’t acknowledge much responsibility for these ruptures, I wanted to do what I could to empty myself of any remaining resentments. Pilgrimage can be a wonderful way of emptying all sorts of contaminants from within us and I’d already been given the opportunity to clean out quite a lot on my Caminos to Santiago. However, some thoughts that the other person was at fault lingered within me, and I had one big resentment which kept returning.
I began the Camino on May 3rd, in Loyola the birthplace of St. Ignatius, in the Basque Country. Only a few days into the pilgrimage I passed Bayonne where the 19th C spires of its great Gothic Cathedral stand above the town. They signal its presence to anyone who looks towards the Atlantic while roaring down the Autoroute while passing the city. I was walking at 3 km per hour so I had time to notice some angels high up on its roof.
Angels on Bayonne Cathedral
I took this photograph for Pilar. It is less well defined, well composed or informative than I would have liked, but it would do. I had no wish to pause in Bayonne other than for a bit of a prayer inside the Cathedral. The most refreshing places on a pilgrimage are churches.
That night I slept in a house for pilgrims in Soustons, a holiday village on this flat low-lying plain in the SW of France. My route northwards was along the Chemin St. Jacques which follows the coast and joins the Camino del Norte in Irun. This meant that I had an infrastructure of lodgings for most of my journey through France. Before falling off to sleep I looked through the day’s photos and when I came to the angels I thought, “And I don’t even believe in angels.”
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My morning reading was about the stoning of St. Stephen (Acts 6.8 – 8.1). I was really struck by his looking up to heaven and seeing the Father with the son at his right hand. For some reason, this looking upwards and seeing the Father with arms open and welcoming seemed comforting and I could disolve into it at that moment. The image stayed with me as I walked around the large lake of Soustons, to the little village of Azur. I was hungry and looking forward to finding a Boulangerie, which I did.
Boulangerie, Azur. No daily bread.
It was doubly shut, being both Monday and the annual holiday for the baker. I was without food and the next town was Castets at 16 km. Part of any Pilgrimage is trusting and accepting. I began to work on accepting that I would have no food for most of the day when I spotted what seemed to be a market in a square ahead on my route. As I approached, I saw a church with an electricity cable coming out of it, going to a white parked van which I imagined sold charcuterie. A few yards from the steps to the church, a well-dressed young man emerged and I approached him, wondering if he had been inside to connect the cable.
The strange stranger.
This man smiled warmly and I asked him if he was connecting the cable because I hoped this was a market. I as yet didn’t know what was going on because there were few people about and the van was blocking my view of the square. “No,” he said, “I’ve just been looking at this church.”
“Oh!,” I replied,” But is this a market?”
“Yes, it’s a small market, just a couple of stalls. But the church is worth a visit. It is most unusual to see the Father right up there over the altar, the Son, and with them the Holy Spirit.”
I was very surprised when he said this since his decription of the Father had been the very centre of my meditation that morning. I was keen to go in and see for myself. I have rarely met a stranger who begins speaking to me this way without first sounding out that I am on the same wavelength. Then, more normally, he asked, “Where are you going?” “I’m on a pilgrimage to Iona, in Scotland,” I said. I explained where it was and that it is a sacred isle.
He inquired if I had a special reason and I explained about my desire for reconciliation. “I’m Michael”, he said offering me my hand. “John,” I replied.
Then he lifted his arms high and began praying for me and my family and friends out loud inpublic. He ending with a blessing. I was very moved indeed and asked him if he was a priest. No, he assured me, nothing of the sort. “I’ve come today from Lourdes and I’ve really got to get back now.” Lourdes has very special significance for me and is a long way from Azur, about 200 kms.
He embraced me strongly, smiled and went off. I have no idea where he went because I turned to enter the church, looked back and he was gone.
The church in Azur.
The market did not have bread, nor a charcuterie. I bought a few apples (about 2kg) from the one person selling food, local produce. That had to do and was welcome. As I walked on that day, the meeting with this young man felt inspiring, as if I had been launched on the pilgrimage with a proper blessing. Then I recalled how the night before I had been so sure angels didn’t exist.
Maybe there are some and they don’t all have wings. I, anyway, can believe I met one.
Peace on my way to Castets,