“Maybe we are entertaining angels unaware” – Angels Unaware [Michael W. Smith]
A couple weeks back I had the invigorating experience of falling flat on my face on pavement. I was playing a game with my teen group and I was “it”. It was getting dark–the “perfect time to play,” apparently (no arguments here)–and as I came around a corner to see someone making a run for ‘home base’ I started into a full-on run.
The problem is, I forgot about the chain.
The school yard we were playing on is closed in by a chain running between posts at intervals; it hangs a couple feet off the ground. Before I knew what was happening I was flat-out wondering what the heck happened–I’d broke clean through the chain.
I didn’t think much of it–well yes, it hurt pretty good–but I got up and kept running, warding off the hoard of teens running toward me to make sure I wasn’t dead. Upon cleaning the blood off my hands I found a pretty deep gouge in my finger and a few scrapes on one hand and two of the biggest bruises I’ve ever had on my shins and knees from going over the chain. Luckily, I didn’t hit my head–I somehow managed to catch myself well enough–but a few days later I was feeling the whiplash. I kept thinking “Man, the angel that kept me from hitting my head just had to give me whiplash.” (That’s a joke Gabriel, settle down)
But the other night I was thinking about it again (because my neck is still a little sore) and I had to realize that hey, I could’ve split my head open, but I didn’t, and there’s no way I’d have the luck to catch myself like that–I just don’t have the reflexes; I should’ve hit my head.
And it kind of just hit me like a brick wall: there are really angels all around here.
I mean sure, I knew that. I know that there are angels, I believe that they are real. But the realization that there are people all around me every day I can’t even necessarily see, and they all have names and probably even personalities. Reality check. So I said, “God, I want to meet angels.”
I started wondering what the name of the angel was that stopped my head from hitting that concrete. And the name Harold came into my mind and I was like “Oh, you must’ve been there when the angels sang to the shepherds cause you know… Harold? Like hark the Harold angel…?” Okay never mind, I know it’s really only funny to me right now, but it made me smile when it came to mind.
I don’t just mean like I want to see angels or be aware of angels (which I do want) but I mean I want to know them–I want to know their names (*gasp* you mean angels have names!) and their stories and hear their worship (“I bet you have a nice singing voice,” to which the reply, “Every voice is a nice singing voice when it praises God,”) I want to get to know their personalities; there’s a whole other realm of untainted personality all around me and all I want right now is to be immersed in it.
“I saw angels fall down at the glory of the Lord … ” – Angels Fall Down [Skillet]
And I mean, what do we know about angels? They’re created beings, they have names, they have choice–God let a third of them walk off with Lucifer and I’ll bet it killed him (don’t mind the word-play) to watch them go. When Gabriel visited Daniel he appeared as a man. So the thought pervading my mind is, why is Christian Culture so disinterested in angels? I mean I look around, and around here it’s almost unspokenly silly to even believe in angels, but our God was the Lord of Hosts long before you were even a twinkle in father Abraham’s eye.
Don’t get me wrong, because I’m not idolizing here or putting angels up on some pedestal, but if someone kept guard over your home day and night, or saved your life, or even just helped you out of a tough spot…
Wouldn’t you want to thank them? Wouldn’t you want to know their name?
I don’t want to entertain angels unaware.