Perhaps you'll remember (Lent 2020) we reflected here on a number of paintings which comprised Duccio de Buoninsegna's MAESTA (Majesty) which was created for the Cathedral in Siena in 1308-1311. The great image had as its centerpiece the Mother of God enthroned among angels and saints. There were additionally forty-three smaller scenes of the Childhood of Christ with Prophets, the Life of the Virgin Mary, and the Life and Passion of Christ.
In 1771 the feckless cathedral clergy had the five-meter tall masterpiece roughly sawed up, and sold off. Money is such a spoiler — especially of spiritual life. In 1956 many of these paintings were collected and are now housed in the Duomo Museum adjacent to the cathedral. Other pieces remain scattered around the world in European museums and in the United States.
Originally there were twelve archangels across the top of the MAESTA altarpiece. The whereabouts of only four are known today. One is found in the Mount Holyoke College Museum in Massachusetts, another in Brussels, another in a private collection and one in the Philadelphia Museum. I made my own pilgrimage to see the Philadelphia angel when the museum re-opened after the worst of the Covid epidemic.
I thought I'd find the angel in a special place, much like Duccio's Madonna and Child at the Met in New York City, but it's not. (You might want to scroll back to the post and prayer of that visit — January 29, 2019). Instead, while looking for the angel on the museum map, I accidentally passed it. Bumping into the wall at the end of the long and out-of-the-way corridor, Turning around and retracing my steps, I finally discovered it between two large paintings. Here's the photo I took with my phone camera (from the side to avoid glare).
I'm thinking of that sweet prayer the Catholic child used to learn by heart: "Angel of God, my guardian dear..." Then I thought I'd honor the Duccio angel, composing my own prayers — one for each day of any week. Of course you can add your own. But whatever prayer you may offer, let it grow out of silence.
Sunday
Angel of God,
mixed in with everything else
along the marginal museum corridor —
then suddenly,
as if you had been waiting for me —
in joy,
in gratitude and surprise,
I greet you.
Divinity discovered in what's little —
the little coin,
the little seed,
the little field-lily,
the little bit of bread,
the little yeast,
the little flock of Jesus' teaching —
I see you!
Monday
Billions of dollars spent
trying to communicate with Mars,
yet we can't communicate with
each other down here —
divides deepening,
obstruction solidified
good will dissipating,
ignorance celebrated.
The very idea of communicating
with an angel —
a laughable absurdity —
Angel of God,
we need your teaching.
Tuesday
Bright one,
were you with Gabriel when Mary was saluted?
Were you a Nativity night-sky songster,
who ministered to Jesus in his desert fasting?
Was it you who sat on the Easter tombstone,
an Ascension angel
who instructed the apostles, Stop looking up?
Were you the one who freed Peter from prison,
of the untold number who sing Holy, Holy around the throne?
As I stand before your image,
don't hold back,
but from this silence,
whisper the good word I need to hear.
Wednesday
Originally you were of a community of angels,
twelve,
all winged,
dawn colored,
divinity sparked.
Then the foolish priests,
with money on their minds,
wildly sawed up your assembly —
only four of you surviving.
I imagine you forgave them long ago
as we need to forgive our own today —
spoilers and destroyers,
waste-rs,
heart-breakers.
Angel of God,
train me to wish everyone well —
to love people as I encounter them
or as they may become.
Thursday
Sunrise angel,
wrapped in red
of holy love,
wise servant —
share some of your mind
with us
in need of warming.
Angel in blue,
your power,
your faith —
searching,
questioning,
wondering —
give us the courage
we need to get
out of bed each morning —
here,
in this country,
at the end of Mary's October,
470 mass shootings!
Can you touch us —
heal our anti-everything
with the wand God has
put into your hand?
Friday
Can you teach us how
to contemplate,
desire
that other world,
where there is no
guzzling,
no hoarding,
no yammering self-advertisement,
no mindless chatter.
Protector,
strengthener,
divine-knowledge-sharer,
angel woven in silence,
looking deeply into hearts
do you find only a little love?
Saturday
Sleepless angel
you see our illness,
our withering,
our distress,
our frailty,
the narrow corridor of our thinking.
Light-dweller,
open-eyed,
outwardly gazed,
other-referred Angel,
penetrating the boundaries
we prefer to stay the safe side of —
may I encounter you,
not on the museum wall,
so much as in my inner room.
May I see myself clearly —
not so self-assured.
Touch hearts,
so they may be clean
like your own,
who stands before God
rightly.
Sunday
Angel of searching sight,
whose gift is vision,
of peaceful countenance,
of spiritual perception,
of epiphanic presence,
of still intimacy,
that I may be preserved in goodness,
upheld in hope.
I want to be luminescent too!
