Whistling Badger Blog

The other day, a hospital aid saw me reading a book on Christian spirituality, and asked me if I prayed to my angels. I sort of laughed and said, no, I just pray to God and let him sort out the details. It's so much simpler that way. I take a fairly utilitarian view of angels. The Bible says they are ministering spirits, sent to take care of the saved. The word itself simply means "messenger," with no particularly spiritual connotation. Other than a small number of rather enigmatic, extremely intriguing mentions, not much else is said about them in the Bible. So, as usual, I am fine not trying to articulate what God has chosen to leave a mystery. But if you change that word "angels" back to the word "messengers," you start to see them everywhere--God speaks to us in many ways, after all--and they really aren't that mysterious or fascinating anymore. Or are they? ***Warning: Long, overly-detailed ramble follows. But stay with me, if

While waiting with my beloved wife to endure her latest painful round of tests the other day, it occurred to me with great force: I think I know why the light died when Jesus was on the cross, why the earth shook. For the past month, I have sat by watching and listening as my wife suffers through a truly horrifying series of painful illnesses, and the sometimes even more painful treatments for them. I have listened to her cry out in pain, seen her experience all the indignities common to hospitals, listened to her beg for relief when there was no more relief to give. And I have been here, offering support and encouragement, but there has been nothing I can do to stop it. Almost three weeks ago, I held my son in my arms and watched him die. It took almost three hours. I gave him my love, of course, but when it came to the dying, there was absolutely nothing I could do to stop it. I just had to watch. Around two thousand years ago, God watched his son die a horrific death. It took