Michelmas
On the evening of 29 September every year, I light a fire in a rough-hewn shelter in the woods, and there my congregation and I celebrate Michaelmas, the Feast of St Michael and all angels. I confess it's one of my favorite pastoral traditions: the crackle of the leaves, the bite in the air, the sparks dancing upward from firelight to starlight. It is an ethereal time, when one can just begin to glimpse the form of things unseen. I have a special devotion to St Michael. I wear his image on a little silver shield about my neck, which I never take off. There he is, complete with flaming sword and leaf-shaped shield, in splendid Roman armor. And just as my shield bears his image, so his bears the image of the Cross. It is a reminder that no matter what forces may array themselves against us, the light of a single candle puts all the powers of darkness to flight. Put now out of mind the Precious Moments figures, the faeries with feathery wing. The angels of the Bible appear as giants a...