Tuesday, October 28, 2025


Five Surprising Ideas About Angels from a Forgotten 19th-Century Book

When we think of angels today, the image is often a simple one: serene figures with white robes, halos, and feathered wings. They are symbols of protection, purity, and otherworldly perfection. This popular image, however, can obscure a much deeper, more intellectually rigorous tradition of thought about what these beings might actually be.
Recently, a fascinating glimpse into this older tradition came to light from a rare 19th-century book on Christian dogma titled Meditations on Christian Dogma, written by Father James Bellord. The text was shared by Sister Mary Claire, who received the volume as a treasured gift from an elderly nun in County Kilkenny, Ireland. This old book, far from offering simple platitudes, presents a vision of angels that is complex, mysterious, and cosmically vast. Here are five surprising ideas from its pages that challenge our modern assumptions.

1. The Great Unknown: The Creation of Angels is a Profound Mystery
In our era, which often demands scientific certainty, it is startling to encounter a historical religious text that openly embraces mystery. Father Bellord’s work begins not with definitive answers about the angels' origin, but with a profound admission of what we cannot know. The text states that fundamental questions about their creation are simply beyond human comprehension.
The specific mysteries listed are immense in their implications:
• Whether angels were created in time, like our universe, or outside of it in a state of eternity.
• Whether their creation was an instantaneous act or a process that unfolded over immense periods, perhaps even "numberless millions of years."
This willing acknowledgment of the unknown is compelling. In a departure from rigid dogmatism, it prioritizes humility and wonder, framing the nature of creation as a subject of awe rather than a settled fact. In an age like ours, this 19th-century embrace of the "impenetrable" feels like a radical act of intellectual humility.
Here are wondrous treasures of science, impenetrable to us now, but reserved for our knowledge in the kingdom of God.

2. A Separate Universe: Angels Might Be a Distinct Order of Being
The text explores two competing theories about the fundamental nature of angels, one of which dramatically expands the scope of creation. The first, more conventional idea is that angels are "a component part of the cosmic system," created alongside our material universe and having functions connected to it.
The second theory is far more staggering. It proposes that angels belong to a completely "higher order, supermundane or supernatural," constituting "another universe of being." Their connection to our world is secondary, a result of assigned duties rather than a shared origin. But the text adds a crucial layer to this idea: this angelic universe would be "intermediate in order and character between the infinite productive activity of God within His own being, and the external material production of our universe."
This is a profound vision of a multi-layered reality. It suggests that God’s creative acts are not monolithic, but are tailored to different orders of being—a purely internal divine life, an intermediate spiritual creation of angels, and an external material creation of our cosmos. The scope is breathtaking, presenting a universe far more vast and complex than a single material plane.

3. Not Perfect Yet: Angels Were Created in a State of Trial
Perhaps one of the most common modern assumptions is that angels are, and always have been, static, perfect beings. Bellord's text presents a far more dramatic reality. It explains that while angels were created in a state of supernatural grace, they were not created in their final state of perfection, known as the Beatific Vision (the ultimate state of seeing God directly in all His glory).
Instead, their initial existence was a "state of trial" that came with "possibilities of failure." This was a genuine probationary period where their ultimate fate was not yet sealed. The proof of this trial is central to the Christian story: it was a fallen angel who tempted Adam. This fact demonstrates that the trial was real and that some angels indeed failed it. This concept transforms angels from unchanging symbols into active participants in a cosmic moral drama, whose perfection had to be earned.
This last constitutes the state of reward and confirmation in grace, and is incompatible with the state of trial and its possibilities of failure.

4. An Infinite Reflection: Vast Numbers and Varieties of Angels
Why were angels created? According to the text, their primary purpose was "for the service of God, and for glory and happiness in His presence." To fulfill this purpose, they were not created as a monolithic group but in "vast numbers" with a "great variety of endowments and powers."
The reasoning behind this immense diversity is a beautiful theological concept. This variety was intended to "represent the divine attributes and glorify them." How can a finite creation reflect an infinite Creator? The text’s answer is through scale and diversity. God, it suggests, created a nearly infinite array of beings to "increase by multiplication the exhibition of His perfections." This paints a picture not just of a single mirror, but of a celestial hall of countless unique mirrors, each reflecting a different facet of divine light, their combined glory offering a more fitting tribute to an infinite source.

5. A Mirror to Ourselves: The Angelic State and the Human Condition
After exploring these abstract and cosmic ideas, the text makes a surprising turn, drawing a direct and personal parallel between the state of the angels and the spiritual condition of human beings. The author looks past the theological complexities and speaks directly to the reader, making the angelic trial a mirror for our own.
The book states this connection explicitly, grounding the celestial in the tangible:
You are in a similar state; you have grace and divine charity; you can enter into corporal union with Our Lord in the Holy Sacrament; the Church, to which you belong, is called in the Gospel “the Kingdom of Heaven.”
This is perhaps the most powerful insight. The author masterfully bridges the gap between abstract theology and lived experience, moving from the cosmic state of angels to the sacramental reality of communion, and finally to a direct, personal moral imperative. We, too, are created in a state of grace but also in a state of trial, with the potential for failure but also for achieving a glorious end. The text closes its chapter with a solemn warning that makes this parallel inescapable:
You have been made for this noble object. Take care not to fall short of it. Every negligence towards God is so much loss to yourself.

Conclusion: A Grander Cosmos
This brief journey into a forgotten 19th-century text reveals a vision of angels that is more mysterious, dynamic, and cosmically grand than our modern, simplified images often allow. It reminds us that behind our simple symbols can lie profound intellectual traditions that wrestle with the biggest questions of existence.


If even these celestial beings were created for a journey of trial and purpose, what does that suggest about the significance of our own?

Thursday, July 17, 2025

Rest in Jesus



July 17, 1956

Dear Diary,

This morning Robert picked us up at the mailbox rock in his old pickup. He tipped his hat like he always does, and Sister Mary Claire and I climbed in, with Mini jumping into my lap before I’d even settled in. The truck made its usual rattling sounds all the way to St. Mary’s, and the windows fogged just a little from the cool morning air.

Mass was quiet and lovely. I had brought my diary with the thought that I’d write something about today’s Gospel like I’ve been doing lately. But when Father LeRoy read it, it was so short I nearly laughed:

“Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.”

That was nearly all of it. I sat there thinking, Well, that’s beautiful, but what am I supposed to write about just a few words?

But then Father LeRoy did something that surprised me—he mentioned me in his homily! He smiled and said, “Kathy here helps carry water from the hydrant every morning.” (I felt my face turn all red, but Sister Mary Claire smiled at me.) Then he said, “She knows it’s not the water that’s heavy—it’s carrying it alone that wears you out. But when someone walks up and steadies the bucket with you, even if it’s just for a few steps, it makes all the difference.”

And that’s what he said Jesus does for us. He walks beside us. He takes the weight and makes it lighter—not by removing it, but by carrying it with us.

I held onto that the whole way home. Mini rode quietly in my lap like she understood every word. Robert even said that was one of his favorite homilies.

When we got back, Mini ran to check her squirrel bush, and Robert walked us to the porch. The air smelled like cut hay and morning bread. I’ve kept today’s Gospel tucked under my pillow. Just a few words—but maybe the ones I needed most.

Love,

Kathy

P.S. I think next time Father uses me in a homily, I ought to bring him a thank-you egg. Maybe two.

Wednesday, July 16, 2025

Revealed to the Childlike

 
July 16, 1956

Dear Diary

This morning, Mini came with us as we rode to Holy Mass in Robert’s old green pickup. The gravel road was still damp from last night’s rain, and everything smelled fresh and quiet. Sister Mary Claire sat beside me, humming a little tune under her breath while Mini rested her chin on my knee.

Father LeRoy gave a beautiful homily after reading from the Gospel of Matthew. Jesus said that the Father hides things from the wise and learned but reveals them to the childlike. Father explained that it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t learn things—it just means we should never lose our wonder, our trust, or our littleness before God. He said that a heart full of trust sees farther than a head full of facts. I liked that very much.

On the way home, I looked out at the cornfields and wondered if Jesus was pleased with how I listened today. I think He was.

Evening Prayer:

Dear Jesus,

Help me to stay little in my heart so I can see You more clearly. Let me never grow too proud to be taught by You.

Amen.




Love,

Kathy

Saturday, July 12, 2025

Before the World Woke


I woke early, left Sister Mary Claire a note, and walked with Mini to the cave. The world was quiet, and the creek whispered past the grotto, like a prayer in motion.


Inside, I lit the lantern. Mini curled up on her rug, and I sat at my Underwood to begin the day the best way I know how.

Morning Prayer

In the name of God the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Amen.

Oh dear Lord, I love You so much! You’re the most high and holy Trinity—one God, not three—and You pulled me up out of the deep dark when I didn’t even know I was lost. You made me in Your image, even though I’m just a little person in this big world. And when I was far from You, You found me and saved me in such a wonderful way.

Praise be to You forever, my sweet Savior, Jesus Christ!


Friday, July 11, 2025

Help me to be Still


Dear Diary,

My Underwood was waiting for me in its usual spot inside the cave. From where I sit and type, I can see Our Lady’s little grotto so clearly—her gentle face watching over me while I work. It always makes me feel calm, like I’m not alone in here at all.

Mini flopped down at my feet with a sigh, and Omelette nestled quiet in her sling. Shaggycoat met us near the cave entrance, sniffed the air like he always does, and then hurried back to the creek with a splash that made Mini lift her head.

Today’s Meditation was about how Jesus stood silent before Pilate. He didn’t try to explain Himself or fight back—He just stood there, quiet and loving us through all of it. That silence must’ve hurt more than words could say.

When I look at Mary’s grotto, I wonder if she stood silently too, trusting even when it hurt. I want to be like that—quiet, brave, and close to Jesus.

Dear Jesus, help me to be still and gentle like You. When I want to defend myself or speak without thinking, remind me of Your silence. And Mary, help me see things with love the way you did. Amen.

Dear Diary,

My Underwood was waiting for me in its usual spot inside the cave. From where I sit and type, I can see Our Lady’s little grotto so clearly—her gentle face watching over me while I work. It always makes me feel calm, like I’m not alone in here at all.

Mini flopped down at my feet with a sigh, and Omelette nestled quiet in her sling. Shaggycoat met us near the cave entrance, sniffed the air like he always does, and then hurried back to the creek with a splash that made Mini lift her head.

Today’s Meditation was about how Jesus stood silent before Pilate. He didn’t try to explain Himself or fight back—He just stood there, quiet and loving us through all of it. That silence must’ve hurt more than words could say.

When I look at Mary’s grotto, I wonder if she stood silently too, trusting even when it hurt. I want to be like that—quiet, brave, and close to Jesus.

Dear Jesus, help me to be still and gentle like You. When I want to defend myself or speak without thinking, remind me of Your silence. And Mary, help me see things with love the way you did. Amen.

Love,

Kathy 🕊️
r />Love,

Kathy 🕊️

Saturday, June 28, 2025

The Heart That Watches Over Me


June 28, 1956

Dear Diary

After our morning chores, Sister Mary Claire handed me something she had tucked in her missal. It was an old holy card—lace-edged and glowing with color. Mary stood among white blossoms, with her Immaculate Heart shining like fire and roses. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

The card read:

“Sacro Cuore di Maria, siate la salvezza mia.”

Which Sister translated softly: “Immaculate Heart of Mary, be my salvation.”

It felt like she was speaking right to me—me! With eyes so kind they could melt winter. I held it to my chest and whispered, “I give you my heart too, Mary.”

She must have known I needed her today. Maybe that’s why Sister Mary Claire gave me this—so I could carry Mary’s heart close when mine feels small. I placed it in the center of my scrapbook and added a note underneath:

“I entrust myself to your pure heart, dear Mary. Please help me love Jesus the way you do.”

I want to go to the chapel tomorrow before breakfast, just for a moment, and place a small flower near the statue of Our Lady. Something white, like on the card.

Love,

Kathy


Friday, June 27, 2025

Feather From Heaven


June 27, 1956

Dear Diary,

Something beautiful happened on my way back from the grotto this morning. Mini and I were walking through the dappled light when a feather—long and soft like it belonged to an owl—came spinning down through the air. But it wasn’t just falling. It was twirling, like it had been caught in a silent song. The edges of it were blurred, not in a fuzzy way but like it was moving too gracefully for my eyes to keep up.

It swirled in slow loops, turning this way and that, as if it were being carried by something gentle and unseen. Mini didn’t bark. She just watched, ears perked, like she knew it was something special. And I did too.

The feather finally came to rest right near my shoe, soft as breath. I picked it up, and right then I remembered the letter Sister Mary Claire had left for me on my little desk. The red sticker seal said, “From His Heart to Mine.”

Her letter made me feel safe and loved—like Jesus Himself was drawing me close. She wrote, “He sends you reminders of His nearness, even when the wind carries them in silence.” I could hardly believe it—because that’s exactly what the feather felt like. A reminder from Heaven. A little swirl of love that found its way to me.

I slipped the feather inside her letter and pressed the page closed so it stays right where it belongs.

Love,

Kathy

P.S. I think even if someone else found that feather, they might not see the twirl. But I did.


Five Surprising Ideas About Angels from a Forgotten 19th-Century Book When we think of angels today, the image is often a simple one: serene...