Angels and Demons
I wish those angels and demons would finally get off my back. One’s trying to take a piece of me, the other to heal the hurt . . . Night and morning you’re in my head.’ Singer Peter Andre may be reflecting on his own troubled life when he wrote these words for his recently-released CD – Angels and Demons.
When I was small I could have written those words too. On my left shoulder, I was told, there was a nasty demon whispering bad things in my ear. On my right side a holy angel was whispering good things. This went on for years and when I was old enough to go to confession it brought me even greater misery.
This tug-of-heart goes on in all of us, as though two people were living in us. One is the negative, vain, seductive ego. The other is the more open, wise and discerning self. Lent offers a chance to tune in to, and discern the source and value of both voices.
In The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, Sogyal Rinpoche writes, ‘As the voice of your discriminating awareness grows stronger and clearer, you will start to distinguish between its truth and the various deception of that other voice, and you will be able to listen to it with confidence’. The more often you listen to this wise guide, he councils, the more easily you will be able to ignore the false guide.
St Paul was only too familiar with both voices. He bemoaned the fact that he did not choose the good he was attracted to; instead he did what he knew was wrong (Rom 7:19). Even Jesus, Luke tells us as Lent begins, was deeply disturbed by the urgency of the demon’s voice before the angels in his soul came to the rescue.
This inner work may break our hearts. It broke the hearts of saints, mystics and spiritual writers as they struggled with the intimate whispers of their fragile, complex souls. The confusion, tension and then the discernment of visionaries such as Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, Therese of Lisieux, Thomas Merton, Henri Nouwen, Catherine de Hueck-Doherty are well known. They all struggled, sometimes desperately in the dark night of their souls, to identify the voices that constantly plagued them.
Jesus’ own heart was worn out after the duel with his demons in the desert. It was tormented again, as we will soon be reminded, when, broken and bleeding in the Mount of Olives, he heard one voice urging him to ‘refuse the chalice’, the other persuading him to accept it (Lk 22,42). And on Good Friday, limp and vulnerable on the cross, when the deadly voice of despair whispered that his father had abandoned him, the voice of faith empowered him to trust – ‘Into your hands I commit my spirit’ (Lk 23,46).
‘What or who is the source of the inner voices you listen to every day of your life?’ This is a real Lenten question. Are they from your false self or your true self, your ego or essence, your demon or angel? Each small example of how we respond is a mirror of our bigger decisions. How we decide about anything is how we decide about everything. Those daily choices disclose our fundamental option. Each fleeting opportunity to choose is an occasion of grace. Redemption offered in every nano-second.
We’re stuck in Stirling railway station on a cold Friday afternoon. The relief train has just arrived and we’re all crowding around the door. I’m texting Kinnoull Retreat Centre with the news that I’ll be late. ‘Hey you! Get out of the blasted way.’ The words exploded in my ears like a fire-cracker. The red mist descended. Without pausing to make that subtle space for grace, I hissed back ‘Oh! Shut up’. I was shocked at myself. And then found myself sitting next to that man for the rest of the journey to Perth!
I partially forgave myself for my impulsive and shabby reaction. But what still hurts is this: during the thirty minutes to Perth I knew I had time to heal the situation – say sorry, shake hands, smile as we parted. But I did not. The man left without a word of peace from me. A chance of redemption for us both was squandered forever. The nasty, revengeful, infantile voice had won the day. And I was on my way to guide seventy trusting, lovely people about ‘Choosing Life’.
Judy Cannato wrote in her Field of Compassion, ‘Life to the full is possible, but not without our choosing it one small action at a time’. Examples of these glimmers of grace abound in daily life. There is the moment you decide to forgive someone for a past hurt and then, the following day, it all comes back to you again, and you change your mind. In a moment of inner freedom with a real friend you feel the urge to reveal an old secret that has held you hostage for ages, and then the voice of fear drags you back to silence. ‘It is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities’, said Dumbledore to Harry Potter.
Angels and demons inhabit everyone’s heart. No heart is full of angels alone, or demons alone. From his own experience, Jesus knew this. ‘Let the weeds and the wheat grow together’ he said (Mt 13:30). Even in the holiest humans one cannot exist without the other. The greater the light, the greater the shadow. What is important is that we listen to both intently. And no matter how mindful we may be, discerning their message is never easy. Why is this?
Because the voices of the heart are ambiguous. Maybe they have to be. Messengers of mystery wear many masks. Soon, in the Exultet we’ll be singing ‘O happy fault; O necessary sin of Adam!’ When dealing with our demons we are often ‘entertaining angels unawares’ (Heb.13:2). Persian mystic Rumi reminds us to keep an open mind:
This human being is a guest house;
every morning a new arrival;
a joy, a depression, a meanness –
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
. . . Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond.