Dressed in their red-and-white cassocks and surplices, they were sitting (and squirming) in the front pews at this Sunday’s visit to St. Christopher’s, Roseville: in my direct line of vision. The cute factor was off the scale as they stared up at me with my funny hat and big stick.
Mixed with the warm feeling these children of God filled me with was an incredible sense of responsibility to somehow, some way, convey to them that they were loved.
I, of course, would want to assure them that they were safe. In fact, I would do all in my earthly power to keep them — the most vulnerable and all those I love — safe. Yet, as we were tragically reminded once again last week, try as we might: safety is not guaranteed. This acute awareness drapes over us like a pall. It is our Good Friday reality.
In these dark, sorrowful moments — which we must fully embrace deep within us — there is also a small, still, Voice beckoning us to the Light. It provides us the way forward out of the death that surrounds us, out of the darkness that overcomes us, into the light: which is filled with life and love and hope.
With a frustrating realization of my capacities, I am painfully conscious that I cannot guarantee safety to these angelic children or any one of my loved ones. I can, however, with every fiber of my being, shine forth the light of Christ that is within me so they may feel the endless and everlasting embrace of God’s love.
As a testament to God’s love and grace, these little choristers are called Archangels — and they sang like it, too! It brought a whole about new meaning when we got to the Sanctus in the Eucharistic prayer:
Therefore we praise you, joining with Angels and Archangels and with all the company of heaven, who forever sing this hymn to proclaim the glory of your name.
It never sounded as sweet as it did this morning with these earthly Archangels and the new ones who have just joined the company of heaven.
May we all continue to be bearers of Christ’s light, love, and hope to the world around us.