Angels of Redmire

In the grounds of St Mary’s Church at Redmire in North Yorkshire is an eighteenth-century gravestone. Upon it are some words of obituary or doggerel, doubtless sharing the occuptant's particulars or advising the reader to prepare for his own death, but the stone has flaked away, and the sentiment goes unread. More interesting are the three angelic heads carved above the text, with a couple of trumpets held by invisible hands under their feathery wings. Here is evidence of vernacular stone carving, and it is thoroughly charming, even down to the angelic hairstyles, two of which have fringes combed forward. Their expressions, however, cannot be described as merry. They are expressionless, their mouths literally tight-lipped. Whether this was beyond our masonic friend’s abilities (“I can’t do smiles. If you want smiles, you need to go to so-and-so in the next dale.”), or whether he truly pondered the options of angelic emotion at the last trumpet, I cannot tell.

Will the angels be pleased to see us when we arrive in heaven, or Christ returns? Will they regard us like the prodigal’s elder brother, baffled and bemused that these fallen and ignorant fools should be the recipients of such magnanimous and utterly undeserved divine affection? We are told that they rejoice when a sinner repents, so I suspect they shall be pleased to see such ones finally enter the paradise Christ bought for them. Their fallen brethren hate us with a passion, but those who remained faithful will, I think, share their Lord’s joy and pleasure at sharing their home with those who were made lower than them, but whom grace extols to the highest degree.