St. Michael’s Victory over the Devil, by Jacob Epstein, at Coventry Cathedral.
Years ago, Andrew and I watched “Scandal,” a smart, gritty television show about a political “fixer” named Olivia Pope. Olivia solved problems for hapless politicians who had gotten themselves into hot water. I haven’t watched “Scandal” for many years now, but I expect it is almost quaint by comparison to our current political misadventures.
In one memorable scene, the White House Chief of Staff, a world-wise political operator named Cyrus Beene, is speaking with contempt about members of the opposition. He condemns them as brutally as he can, finding a particularly devastating insult to throw at them: “These people,” Cyrus says, “These people actually believe in Angels.”
What fools. They believe in Angels?! Fluffy, feathery winged beings of indeterminate gender who flutter about, invisibly, in the clouds. And the clouds are dotted with harps, most likely. And there’s St. Peter, right out of a New Yorker cartoon, standing behind a lectern next to the pearly gates, reviewing poor souls to decide whether they’ll get into heaven.
“These people actually believe in Angels.” How ludicrous!
But as I watched the show, I realized I actually like Cyrus Beene. He’s a wretch, a snake, a crook. But he is always more than one thing. He’s a gay man in a straight world, and if I remember the show correctly, it turns out he actually loves his husband, and is able to express that love. Cyrus harbors contempt for kind people, weak people, and stupid people. He doesn’t suffer fools. And since I am (I hope) much kinder than Cyrus, and I have several personal weaknesses, and I make my share of dumb mistakes, I surely would be one of the people he disrespects, and not just because I believe in Angels. Still, somehow, I like him.
But as surprisingly likable as he is, Cyrus is wrong about something: belief in Angels makes good sense. Belief in Angels helps us look at ourselves differently. Belief in Angels helps us cope with this troubled world, and make this world better. And, Belief in Angels even helps us look differently at, feel differently about, and relate differently to that awful man himself, Cyrus Beene, and all the other Cyrus Beenes out there right now.
But first, a quick sidebar about belief, about believing in things, and about your possible suspicion that this church needs you to believe in things. You may already know this, but you are currently sitting in a church that does not begin with belief. We don’t require you to sign on to a complex theological system before you can approach the Table. No. We begin with practice. So I don’t need you to believe in Angels; more importantly, God doesn’t need you to believe in Angels.
All you’re invited to do today is join us in our practice of prayer, singing, and contemplation; our practice of drawing alongside our neighbors in solidarity; our practice not of merely looking forward to an angel-filled afterlife, but rather our practice of celebrating the astonishing beauty of our physical, mortal lives in this wondrous world, and in that celebration, finding — and bringing about — God’s heaven right here, saints and Angels and all.
So let go of the dreary question, “Do I believe in Angels?” It’s not the right question, and anyway you probably do believe more than you think you do. Let’s ask this question: “Do we trust that God’s messengers are here, and do we trust that they are active, whether they’re angelic or human?” “Angel,” after all, is a Hebrew concept that only means “messenger of God,” not necessarily a surreal flying humanoid creature beyond our sight, and often enough beyond our belief.
Angels — God’s messengers — run vital errands, representing God to God’s people. Angels were – and this is as reductive and dismissive as I’ll get, when talking about Angels – Angels were a way for the ancient Hebrews to see and relate to the one God who is not visible, and whose image must not be carved in stone or drawn on wood. Angels speak with God’s inaudible voice. They appear on behalf of the invisible God, the ultimate One, the One beyond our comprehension, the one we cannot see or fully understand.
Are Angels winged creatures, like John Travolta in the starring role of the film called “Michael”? No, or at least they don’t have to be. Neither do they have to be the terrifying monsters described in the book of Ezekiel, with countless eyes and wings. The ordinary person sitting next to you right now may not be an Angel, but she might be, well, she might be angelic.
An Angel is someone real but always a little beyond our grasp, someone of ultimate importance who escapes our full understanding.
I’ll say that again: An Angel is someone real but always a little beyond our grasp, someone of ultimate importance who escapes our full understanding.
But Angels — and that wondrous human being sitting next to you — these aren’t the only beings or things that are real but beyond our full grasp; ultimately important, but impossible to fully understand.
Take love, for example. Whatever your belief in Angels, do you believe in love? (I encourage it! I take my cue from Cher, who not only believes in love, she even believes in life after love!) But as much as I believe in love, I will never fully understand it, let alone control it. But I sure do believe in it. After all, I see love all the time: I see people practicing self-effacing kindness, one of my favorite forms of love. I have experienced passionate love, but also the heartbreak that inevitably accompanies such an intense and dangerous gift. And grief, as most of us have learned, at great cost – grief is a stinging, searing form of love.
But love evades our full understanding. It is difficult to know why we humans love so deeply, and in so many ways. It is almost impossible to understand why or whether love is worth it, given all the grief it brings. We Christians look at an ancient instrument of execution, depicted right behind me, up here, and see in that horrible image a life-giving sacrifice of love. In one of our prayers as Episcopalians, we give thanks to God for “the mystery of love.” And that’s Angel territory: the mystery of something we know about and experience, but can’t fully grasp, can’t fully understand.
But I want to go back to the source on Angels, for more insight, and to demonstrate why all of this matters today. I want to consult a direct descendent of the people who first recognized and wrote about Angels. I need help from a Jewish rabbi.
This past Tuesday I began a two-part book study on a book called The Amen Effect, by the progressive Los Angeles Rabbi Sharon Brous. This is maybe my third mention of Brous’s work from this pulpit, but bear with me. Rabbi Brous reflects on the role of Angels in the great stories of the Torah, the first five books of the Hebrew Bible. It was an Angel who ministered to Hagar and her son Ishmael after they were cast out of Sarah and Abraham’s home. It was an Angel who intervened to prevent Abraham from slaughtering his son. Angels bridge heaven and earth, as we just heard this morning, in Jacob’s unsettling dream. An Angel appears to Joseph as he searches for his brothers, setting into motion the long story of salvation that culminated in the rescue of God’s people from bondage.
For us Christians, Angels travel a bridge that stretches from our Eucharistic community into the heart of God. Jesus Christ is, for us, the keystone of that bridge.
Here is how Rabbi Brous interprets this tradition of Angels in the realm of God: “There’s a powerful through line in the angel stories that appear throughout the Bible and Rabbinic literature,” Brous writes, “from sacred text to folklore to liturgy.” She continues: “Angels, each one fueled by a unique purpose, appear in moments of great vulnerability to give us moral strength, clarity, and hope. They help us believe again. They awaken us to our responsibility to one another. They challenge us to think creatively about what might be possible. They let us know that we’re not alone. They offer protection. Connection. Inspiration.”
Brous then recounts personal stories when mentors and friends behaved like Angels in her life, guiding her, and others, offering protection, connection, and all the rest.
But later on in the chapter, Rabbi Brous gives us the compelling reason why all of this matters, why Angels matter. She asks herself this eternal human question: “Why do Angels sometimes appear, just precisely when we need them, and yet sometimes they do not?” This question looms before us in this chaotic, traumatic time. And here is Brous’s answer:
“I can only conclude that because we don’t understand the inner workings of angels, it’s that much more essential we make sure we step forward in those moments in life when we’re called.” I’ll quote her again: “Because we don’t understand the inner workings of angels, it’s that much more essential we make sure we step forward in those moments in life when we’re called.”
You don’t always believe in Angels? Okay. That’s reasonable. You’re as smart as the cynical, calculating Cyrus Beene. Probably smarter. But what’s not absurd, what’s easy to believe, is this: we are angelic when we protect, connect and inspire. We are angelic when we are more than one thing, never fully understood, and, every so often, when we are a delightful surprise to others in our lives. We are angelic when we bring God’s authentic message of hope to others. We are angelic when we go about all of this earthy — but also heavenly — work in God’s sight.
Believe in Angels if you like, with my encouragement. But I must insist that you adopt one particular, essential belief: Please, friend, please: believe in God; and believe also in yourself. God is with you, and God believes in you. You are a divine messenger in God’s graceful story of salvation.
***
Preached on the Feast of St. Michael and All Angels (transferred), September 28, 2025, at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church, Seattle, Washington.
Genesis 28:10-17
Psalm 103:19-22
Revelation 12:7-12
John 1:47-51