Michael, row that boat right on over here!
I don't care if he is a Scientologist in real life. When I finally get to see an angel face to face, I hope that he is like John Travolta's Michael from the movie of the same name.
I just watched that film for the umptiumpth time and it never fails to delight me. I love the zesty, human, earthy Michael. I love that we meet him when he is shuffling down the stairs for breakfast, scratching himself, wearing boxers, his wings dragging along behind him.
There is something so right in his smelling like everyone's favorite comfort food - vanilla cookies, or pie, or whatever soothes. Who could not adore the scene in the roadhouse where, when he starts dancing to "Chain, Chain, Chain -- Chain of fools...", every woman in the place is drawn to him and starts dancing with him.
I love his sacrifice to bring a dog back to life, his fascination with all things earthly.
I like to think that God's emissary would be like this, passionate about the world that God made, enchanted with how we love eachother and want eachother.
Physical, unabashedly physical, our Michael. And heartful.
No plaster cast mollycoddle piece of frippary is he. He has substance and one hell of a pulse.
What is it with the American urge to make cute things into Holy things? The angels on Christmas cards, for example. If they are not trumpeters, they are usually little kids with round faces and blonde hair. What is up with that? I want strong angels and old angels and feisty angels. Gray haired angels, bald angels, overweight angels, skinny angels, big footed angels, angels who can polka.
Too often we mistake the all things serene for all things Holy. Sometimes they are; sometimes they are not. Sometimes they are just serene.
Look at Jesus -- sure he calms the storm, but he walks on the stormy waters, too. He gets royally angry at the moneychangers in the temple. He chews out his friends for not keeping their word. He withers a fig tree out of season. He loves a good foot massage, makes water turn to wine at a party with his family. Oh, and how he loved us.
Michael gets that message. It's in his walk, the slight swagger of a walk with wings concealed beneath a trench coat.
That is the angel I love, an angel who knows the Christ I turn to -- full of life and passion and love.