Angels, Good, Bad and Ugly

After introducing you to St. Uriel the other day, I think it only appropriate to dispense more esoterica from my mental treasury of Angelic lore. Particularly the story of the Council of Rome that lead to Uriel's temporary excision from the calendar, as well as the more permanent removal of several other angelic figures.

While I have a great love of obscure and arcane scraps from the realm of Catholic legend, the trouble with angels is that their seizure by various occult groups has made most tradition about them difficult to sift through, as sometimes the source of many of these pious traditions is somewhat murky. Even a dictionary on the subject written by the usually-trustworthy Catholic Matthew Bunson (of Our Sunday Visitor and well-known for his eclectic encyclopedias on the Papacy, vampirism, Agatha Christie and Sherlock Holmes) too readily dips into dubious sources. For example, I discovered in his book the other day that someone had identified the angel "who encamps around those who fear [the Lord]" from Psalm xxxiv as Midael, a high-ranking officer in the heavenly army. Unfortunately the source of this was Francis Barrett's 1801 work The Magus, whose name alone sounds toxic.

Still, with a watchful eye, one can sift the folklore from the pseudo-magical nonsense. St. Uriel, having been rehabilitated from his condemnation and a constant in all lists of the seven archangels, is a good place to begin. His name means "fire of God" and some have called him both a member of the Cherubim and Seraphim, one curiosity of some of the archangels being their apparent ability to belong to several choirs of the heavenly host simultaneously. Other accounts call him the heavenly choirmaster, angel of music, and regent or prince of the sun.

St. Uriel's personality in legend and literature is one of great submission to the Divine will. He'll endure just about anything. Milton, in Paradise Lost himself praises his sharpness of mind and sight, while the apocryphal Apocalypse of Peter reports that such was his devotion to God's will that he was able to watch over Hell without flinching, thus keeping an eye on the devil's machinations. The Sibylline Oracles report that on the day of Judgment he will shatter the gates of Gehenna and call out its inhabitants to their final condemnation. He also seems to have been the cherub who guarded the gate of Eden and the angel who wrestled with Jacob.

But what about his companions? We know there are seven archangel, for sure. Beyond that point, it gets confusing. The Catholic Encyclopedia also names Sariel, Idzikiel, Hanael, Kepharel and Jeremiel or Remiel as possible candidates. At Palermo, in addition to Uriel, Michael, Gabriel and Raphael, Shealtiel, Jehudiel and Berachiel are commemorated on April 20 as yet more members of the Seven. Consulting lists compiled by St. Gregory, pseudo-Dionysius and other theologians throw in even wilder names such as Chamuel and Zadkiel and further bury us under a confusing angelic morass.

In that morass, there's a few fun tidbits. Jeremiel, for example, may act as bailiff on Judgment Day. Chamuel might have comforted Christ in the Gethsemane and wrestled with Jacob (though he will have to fight St. Uriel for that legend). Zadkiel spared Isaac on Mount Moria and seems to be in charge of the choir of Dominations.

Now what happened to the other de-comissioned extra-scriptural Angels I spoke of previously? On October 25, 745, a synod was convened at Rome by Pope St. Zachary, who feared that the devotion given to many of these angelic figures was growing wildly out of proportion, and that their role in faith had to be further defined. Given the modern-day manias concerning Angels and auras and spirits, perhaps this does not seem as paranoid as it might at first glance. The result was to re-ground the faithful and set the stage for the golden age of Angelology which would come under such commonsensical individuals as St. Thomas Aquinas. This is not to say that there weren't a few interesting legendary casualties along the way. On the whole, though, excepting St. Uriel, the most interesting thing about the rest of this de-haloed crowd are their names.

The angels, besides St. Uriel, who were removed from the calendar in 745, were Tubuas, Inias, Simiel, Raguel, Sabaoc (or Sabaoth, misspelled by me as Sadoc) and Adimus. On the whole, most of these names have little legendary associated with them.

With a few exceptions. Raguel seems to have been the angel who took Enoch to heaven. Where, a preposterous Hebrew legend relates, that patriarch was transformed into the "Lesser YHWH," the ridiculously powerful angel Metatron. Yes, I know, metaphysically impossible. I don't know, I just work here. Raguel himself, the "friend of God" has a few tales associated with him, being in charge of watching over his fellow angels' behavior like a sort of one-man Internal Affairs Department, as well as being in charge of the motion of the Earth. He also is known as Rasuil, Rufael or Akrasiel, which is doubtlessly very confusing for him. Pope St. Zachary had his suspicions and had him axed from the calendar, and he would know, wouldn't he?

Besides him, legends are pretty sparse about the outcasts. Inias (not "Sadoc" as I thought earlier) is known in popular folklore for his reaction to his demotion, not for anything he did before. He was the one whose "means of striking back is to disturb the sermons or profound speeches of churchmen by performing a loud and particularly obnoxious episode of flatulence."

So maybe we didn't lose too much but a handful of funny names and some methane. St. Uriel is respected and back on the calendar and still a big deal in parts of South America. And he's about the most interesting one in the bunch. Though maybe invoking Inias might come in handy after going to a Mexican restaurant. On the other hand, doubtless his duties have been taken over by St. Bean the Great of Mortlach.

I'm sorry I have to part after leaving that image in your head. Never mind.