'The Wounded Angel' by Hugo Simberg, a Finnish artist whose 1903 painting is set in Helsinki.  The landscape would have been recognisiable to viewers, who would have known that adjacent to the park were homes for blind children and for children with physcial disabilities.  Two healthy boys carry a girl angel with bandaged eyes, using a simple stretcher type device.  The angel holds a small bunch of snowdrops - a symbol of healing and rebirth.  The artist offers no interpretation of the painting, leaving that entirly to the viewer.

I think what strikes me most is the accusative expression on the face of the boy looking out of the painting.  That it is somehow my fault that he has been forced to assist in carrying this wounded angel through the park.  Am I, somehow, responsible for her injuries?

If angels are God's messengers - human, animal or supernatural (bear with me!) - then what injury arises when we fail to listen to, receive or heed their messages?  Does our cynicism, scientific rationalism or other sophistication bind, cripple or otherwise hinder those who bring good news?

And, if the angels can no longer see or walk, who will be conscripted to carry them to a place of safety and welcome? Who will take up their song, or pass on their message?

Lord God, have I, in my sophisticated, scientific certainty wounded your messengers?

Wounded Christ, have I, willingly or otherwise, been chosen to carry your messenge?

Gentle Spirit, show me how I, in my own woundedness be carried to safety, renewed and made whole

Amen.

Yesterday, as part of morning worship, we had a quiz that included a round with angels in art... that gives me five images to share this week!

Tobias and The Angel, by Andrea del Vorrochio, is a 15th century altar piece, now displayed in the National Gallery in London.

The painting is inspired by a rather strange story from the book of Tobit, that expounds the healthgiving properties of fish gizzards!! 

The young man [Tobias] went out and the angel went with him; and the dog came out with him and went along with them. So they both journeyed along, and when the first night overtook them they camped by the Tigris river.  Then the young man went down to wash his feet in the Tigris river. Suddenly a large fish leapt up from the water and tried to swallow the young man’s foot, and he cried out.  But the angel said to the young man, ‘Catch hold of the fish and hang on to it!’ So the young man grasped the fish and drew it up on the land.  Then the angel said to him, ‘Cut open the fish and take out its gall, heart, and liver. Keep them with you, but throw away the intestines. For its gall, heart, and liver are useful as medicine.’  So after cutting open the fish the young man gathered together the gall, heart, and liver; then he roasted and ate some of the fish, and kept some to be salted.

The two continued on their way together until they were near Media. Then the young man questioned the angel and said to him, ‘Brother Azariah, what medicinal value is there in the fish’s heart and liver, and in the gall?’  He replied, ‘As for the fish’s heart and liver, you must burn them to make a smoke in the presence of a man or woman afflicted by a demon or evil spirit, and every affliction will flee away and never remain with that person any longer.  And as for the gall, anoint a person’s eyes where white films have appeared on them; blow upon them, upon the white films, and the eyes will be healed.’

Whatever we may make of the story - and it is weird - the painting is worth spending time with, to enjoy the colours, to note how the young man's cloak emulates the wings of an angel, to see the dog trotting at the angel's feet, to wonder at the total lack of visual perspective, to wonder what any of it means...

What I love best, I think, is the way the two have linked arms, and the angel walks slightly ahead, drawing the young man onwards.  There is a look of absolute trust in the face of the young man as he steps into the unknowable, unknown.  I wonder who I, who we, trust like that?

Lead me Lord, lead me in thy righteousness, make thy way plain before my face.

For it is thou, Lord, thou Lord only, that maketh me dwell in safety.

Advance posting - Sundays are very full on at the moment.

As part of my 'research' I bought four of these angels, the fifth (the one that lights up) was a gift.

I'm enjoying having them sat on my desk.  Their cheery faces (those that have faces), diverse shapes and sizes, and, in a couple of cases, messages brighten up even the dullest moments.

In a small way - since all these angels as caucasian and we are all-ethnicities - it's a bit like church.  People of all shapes and sizes, personalities, nationalities, each adding something special to the community of which we are part, and each with the potential to be an angel, a messneger from God, of hope, love, peace, joy, and so on.

By the time this appears, we will be at worship once again - alert to whatever messages God might have for us in scripture, song, story and silence. 

According to the #CatsofTwitter today is #Caturday a day on which they post pictures of themselves and/or tell the world how they are spending their day!  Being owned by two such, I thought that maybe an 'angel cat' might be appropriate today (and also because  I am snowed under with other things to do).

The image was shared with me three years ago when Holly Cat died.  As it happens (I had to double check) today is indeed the anniversary of her death, so maybe it's OK to choose this image, or maybe I was 'prompted' to, who knows?

I like the sentiment of the image, that even as we grieve the loss of our loved ones, in some way, seen or unseen, God draws very close to us, to share our sorrow, and offer comfort.   Someone once told me they knew someone who believed that all cats are angels, not least because they tend to choose us, rather than we them.   Whatever you make of that thought, I think it has an echo at least of prevenient grace and divine love, that is there before we even know that we might seek it, and seeks us out when we least expect it.

God of all life, of all creation,

We can never fathom the mystery or the means of your grace

We can never comprehend the depth, height and length of your love

So all we can do is be grateful that your grace, mercy and love are from everlasting to everlasting

And can be brought to us by angels, who may, at least sometimes, look rather like cats...

What do you see when you look at this image?

A wet day in a city centre.  Something has been left on a bench.  An onlooker, arms folded - perhaps in disgust - stands nearby...

In monochrome, a person lies huddled up, under a blanket on a bench.  Another person, hood up against the rain, arms folded across their chest looks towards them...

A newly installed sculpture, 'the homeless Jesus', located at the back of St Geroge's Tron Church of Scotland, in Glasgow.  A young man stands silently studying it...

Jesus, cold and alone, sleeping on a park bench, watched over by an unlikely angel...

Yesterday, with two folk from church, I went to look at this newly installed artwork.  We paused on the corner opposite, and I snapped this photo - not great composition, it'd never win any prizes - but I was struck by the intentionality and intensity of the young man's study of the statue.

We walked over, and started to observe it for ourselves.  Other people passed by, some stopping to look at the sculpture, others hurrying on their way.  The young man, unbidden told us it was Jesus.  He shared with us a little of his own story, of homelessness and vulnerability, and how he now had a home (on a very fragile basis) where he was enjoying learning how to live independently.  He told us about the Bible study he attended in the church.  He told us how someone had asked to meet him at a nother nearby church with a very similar name, and that by mistake he'd come to this one, where he found welcome and acceptance.  We all shook hands and he headed off to his Bible study, and we to enjoy lunch in the Wild Olive Branch Cafe inside the church.

If angels are messengers from God, this man was an angel.  He brought us good news, of his own redeeemd and renewed life, of his love of Jesus, of the worth of the little we are able to offer.  I don't know his name, I didn't think to ask, but as he strode purposefully on his way, on a wet Thursday afternoon, I knew he was my 'angel' of the day.