Frank and Ralph show up again!

By John Pearring

https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/092521.cfm
Zechariah 2:5-9, 14-15
Luke 9:43-45

I was startled by today’s first reading because I am writing a book about Frank and Ralph, two angels, who are cited in today’s reading. Or, so I believe. The following are early paragraphs in the first chapter of my book. The book’s beginning includes the subject of measuring Heaven, which is as impractical as this effort described below by Zechariah.

“I, Zechariah, raised my eyes and looked:
there was a man with a measuring line in his hand.
I asked, “Where are you going?”
He answered, “To measure Jerusalem,
to see how great is its width and how great its length.”

Then the angel who spoke with me advanced,
and another angel came out to meet him and said to him …” (Zecharia 2:5-6)

I stop the scripture’s next words in order to lead into my story, as told by Ipomoea, a writer from Heaven charged to explain angels (the two fellas mentioned in that last verse) so that humans can grasp the significance of our holy creature friends.

Delight & Danger:
Harken the Angels 

A single crystal-faced etching, among billions of variously fashioned carvings and plaques, sits mounted on Heaven’s Honor Wall. Two angels’ names grace this space. Jesus calls them Frank and Ralph, though their given names are much more delightful to hear. Unfortunately, humans cannot pronounce or spell an angel’s forename. We are left with a nom de guerre,  a dubbed trifle of the original. Poor translations—like Gabriel, Raphael, and Ariel—only hint at an angel’s grand name. So, too, with Frank and Ralph. We must settle on their christened aliases, which is rather exciting. Frank and Ralph are the first two beings nicknamed by our incarnated redeemer, just months after his birth. 

You can see Frank and Ralph’s honorarium to the left of Heaven’s main entry gate to the City. At the gate, lean out, look a hundred yards to your right, about when letters are indistinguishable to a Heavenly soul’s squint, then count twenty carvings up the wall, midway. 

Or, just walk the hundred yards and gaze upward. Just there. Frank & Ralph. These two celestial creatures helped me write this book. 

Frank and Ralph deserve to be on the Honor Wall like other honored angels. They accomplished feats great and wonderful. No other angels, though, shared their lives so willingly with me, an unheralded man charged with a research project for a distant future. I doubt that any other angels could have provided the insight I needed to understand the angelic realm. Angels don’t easily, or eagerly, converse with humans. 

Frank and Ralph, though, thought for only a second or two before agreeing to help me. They’re very different sorts. They revealed with normal prodding, like that of a young student asking a wise teacher, the intricacies of angelic personality, perspective, and Godly nature. All which awakened the odd kinship we have with angels. They are quite old. Myself, at approximately three thousand years of my time on both earth and in Heaven, am much younger than they.

Two thousand years of queries, shocking tales, and muffins have formed our friendship, a most uncommon trio of pals. Zachariah chose these two as friends, as did Lot, and others. The Son of God has loved them since the beginning of time. Mary taught them the royalty of humans. I, perhaps, have spent more time with them. My reasons to like them, other than their willingness to help me, has turned into love. More honestly, though, they're not as dangerous in their ministry to us as regular angels. 

I was not a short man when I lived on earth. At 5’2”, though, much of Heaven towers over me—especially the angels. They stand not as tall they truly are, and stare for long periods of time at invisible spiritual landscapes. I really have no idea what they are thinking. I still have much to learn. 

Frank and Ralph, as angels do, stick with a physical size for eons but adjust their bodily presentation every few hundred years. Ralph stands about 6’3”, bends his back and shoulders forward, knees slightly bent, and left foot forward. No other angel does this that I know of. Akin to a boxer’s pre-fight stance, he carries his two overly hairy appendages at the ready, which he necessarily covers in long-sleeve shirts. 

Since he began wearing slacks in the 19th Century, cuffed and creased, Ralph centered on mahogany coloring to match untucked red plaid shirts. Not a trend setter, but he likes it. He often grips his left pants pocket with his thumb, a stylistic bad boy stance that's not far off the mark. 

Ralph recently added staccato movements with his right hand as he talks. He emphasizes words with a tap of his right thumb, pinched with the pointer finger, making hard thrusts in midair. He has difficulty mastering affectations like this, annoying Frank in his persistent attempts to match human quirks with his cranky angelic demeanor.

Ralph believes his look is timeless. He said the same thing, though, about the rough woolen red scarf he wore in the 15th Century, which clashed with his 5th Century sage gray robe and linen white outfit that both angels wore in the days after the Ascension.

“I blend well.”

“Of course you do,” said Frank. “Blending is your moniker.”

“That’s more of an intent than a moniker,” I correct Frank. I am a self-trained, obsessive linguist, and often remark on their use of words. Besides, actually blending in is more of a hope than a reality for Ralph.

“Yes, of course, dear Ipomoea,” Frank said to me. “Thank you for the clarification. Ralph intends, indubitably, to blend and wants dearly to do it well.”

“Oh, cut it out,” Ralph said, chopping his pinched fingers too late. I don't think he'll ever get the hang of it.

Frank’s clothing contrasts Ralph, but not by much. Fashion sense escapes them both. His tastes do, though, accent his stretched height of 6’5”—sleek, regal, and distinguished. Accents, not actually accomplishes. He wears grays and beige common-man suits, nothing too posh, vaguely appropriate to every era’s standards. He prefers to fold his arms when he stands, and sits with his legs slowly crossing, one way and then the other. He favors a cupped pipe, a cigarette, a cigar … anything that produces long wisps of soft white smoke. He never inhales, which anyone can tell. When he’s not toying with some tobacco implement he twirls his fingers.

Their movements are wooden when they're self conscious, stiff parodies of human movement. In delicate or brutal engagements they're quite adept. 

Ralph talks in common pithy words, and loves the dialectic phrase of the day. He hung onto, “Gimme a break” for over seventy years. Today, he says, “Oh, cut it out” at regular intervals. Sometimes it works out, like just now.

Frank uses long words, like “penultimate,” “absolutely,” and “exasperated.” “Indubitably” is new. Since they don't fit into the angelic host network like normal angels my dear pals lack much of the smoothness of Spirit-filled beings. Their communication with God crackles, much like humans, and their memory banks are rather unorganized. Again, like us. It's probably why the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit must spend so much time with them, redirecting, prodding, and plainly keeping them close.

When walking in plazas, malls, or just on the streets of an earthen location, the three of us look like actors taking an intermission break from a Broadway play to catch a smoke and a cup of coffee. We have spent as much time on earth as we do in the realm of Heaven. It's part of their assigned task as retired angels, and important to my research.

I usually walk to their right, more bulbous physically than them, holding a satchel of my scribblings. I’ve taken to baseball caps, tennis shoes, and jeans. Because of our Spirit natures, if we’re too much of a distraction we go invisible. We lose the smells, the beating of rain and sun, and the sharper colors, of course. So we don’t do that unless we simply must.

They are the most fascinating angels in all of creation and I expect that when you meet them you’ll want to write their story, too.

The Honor Wall is a good place to start. It stands majestic, a high, lengthy fortification between Heaven’s welcoming entrance facing unlimited urban expanse and the gleaming, golden housed city. The wall runs hundreds of thousands of miles east and west. (We’ll discuss miles in just a bit.) The structure weaves almost fully around Heaven’s urban center. 

This fortress-looking wall—since no fortress function is really necessary—separates the residences of Heaven’s city folk inhabitants from the far-flung (really, really far) outlying areas. 

The pedestrian title “city folk” represents a person’s present locale, not identity. Heaven’s residents live and thrive in many places. Few are tethered primarily to the city. At any moment we can pop up elsewhere. Everyone, though, has a home here inside the Honor Wall. 

The city is so big I can’t easily represent the mapping for you in familiar terms. Though miles are a common reference up here, our miles are too random for practical purposes. Unlike meters or some other fixed length to identify a mile on earth, in Heaven lengths and spans adjust automatically. A road may widen simply when more people and animals begin to use that pathway. It shrinks back when travelers change course. Likewise, as folks gather, the distances to and from their abode and their meeting places will shrink or grow to accommodate their gatherings.

Distances in heaven worry neophytes only—those folks concerned about infrastructure and planning and codes and travel route management. Heaven operates on another level. Where infrastructure and codes are unnecessary. 

To approximate a true mile for heaven’s novices, we use the ancient measurement of an angel’s hair. Incredibly accurate, an angelic winged hair stretches very close to the British 12 inches. It’s 2/3rd the length of a cubit, 1/10th the length of a mastodon’s ear, and one inch longer than Jesus’ foot. More comical than useful.

An angel’s hair, if you wonder about that, resembles a feather. That takes some explaining, but no time for that now. Let's just say that hair which looks like a feather doesn’t change in size but everything else does. Not every angel's hair is this length, of course. But each angel has one identical length of hair. I've considered this might just be a tall tale told by the angels. We're not worried much about humiliation up here, though. So, tall tales are told primarily to elucidate, not to embarrass.

That said, Heaven’s average miles calculate at 24,000 angel hairs long. Which all goes to explain very little in figuring dimensions and calculating great distances. That's because in Heaven small to large and short to long moves in flux. We learn to adjust, accepting constant expanse and contraction. Kind of like dust in the air on earth. When the sun’s just right you can see tiny fluff. Otherwise, you know dregs float everywhere, yet they’re invisible. OK. That’s not a good analogy at all. In any case, nothing measures exactly in Heaven to anything so limiting as millimeters, inches, feet, and kilometers. And, there's no dust in Heaven.

By the way, I capitalize the word “Heaven.” Now. In Latin, we didn’t capitalize it. Inflectional languages, like Latin, have up to ten common words for Heaven which makes for confusion. That’s not important, but just in case you’re wondering, I capitalize things that really should be capitalized. 

We’ve adopted primary Earth languages at varying intervals. Greek’s still popular. French is waning. My native language (the Olmec people’s communication) was a polysynthetic, aboriginal concoction. It's a rarity everywhere. We didn’t have the notion of capitalizations. Now that most of us in Heaven use English, along with our native or adopted languages, I’ve come to enjoy capitalizing. Sorry about the English language popularization. Too much, too soon to discuss, and disappointing certainly for Eastern, Arabian, Northern, Southern folk, and just about everyone in heaven. Nonetheless, the whole English standardization novelty has taken off up here also. There's no stopping it. 

With language as an example, you can see that in Heaven portioning does matter even though measurements do not. I think that makes sense. The Honor Wall, getting to my point, stands as a partition rather than a barrier. Since everyplace where you stand in sight of Heaven is within the confines of Heaven we have no need for protections.

There are no keys here. No passwords. No vaults. And no use for secrets. Consequently, no barricaded gates or locked doors exist here either. (Well, there are things you might call secrets, but that’s just because all information gets revealed eventually, just not all of it right away.)

If you’ve made it to any part of Heaven, you’re in. All is Heaven here. Urban and rural settings everywhere are reverberations which abruptly changed Heaven’s initial topography. Before humans arrived here the place housed only angels. Now, hills, steppes, mountains, deserts and so on accommodate trillions of inhabitants. 

Urban and rural are gross generalizations. It helps to use these terms for you the reader, though. In truth, earthen and other planetary neighborhoods mimic the spaces of Heaven, not the other way around. Earth only approximates the lithe eccentric depths of celestial living. That’s because no caste system, no wealthy or poor, no gated communities, and no hovels affect life here. Reward and abundance apply to everyone’s existence, reflecting the trappings and culture where all are kings and queens.

Why, then, does Heaven have an Honor Wall? We need to ask the angels. Which I did. 

I discovered that angels are big on distinctions, hierarchy, assignments, and rudimentary details. Structure and classifications like you’ve never seen anywhere else. Humans build and break and recreate their systems in creation’s battle to survive. Angels got organized billions of years ago. The Honor Wall came about as a history map for angelic endeavors. Their history, much like ours, centers on pinpointing remarkable beings.

The wall, the only celestial monument God has allowed, so far, attracts millions of daily visitors gawking and pointing. The draw of the Honor Wall comes down to the heroic stories and tales of the exceptional struggles by angels (and now humans) through millions of millennia. Humans have been around for a much shorter period of time, as you can reckon. So, story time at the Honor Wall is like a gazillion drive-in movies, all day showings at the theatre, and oodles of orchestras in the park.

Seating areas pepper the lengths left and right to the entry. I once counted the chairs located in one section. When I finished, several extra seats appeared to accommodate new folks. That was a wasted effort. I learned, though. Yes, we still learn in Heaven. Learning here is not painful; and not so disturbing as much of our learning on earth. Plus, you never forget anything gained or lost. Yes, we lose things in Heaven, too. More properly, I suppose, we loosen from things.  

I found that both inside and outside the wall’s grounds friendly clumps of artfully placed chair-shaped rocks bunch in twos and threes. They pop up as needed. You would call the bigger ones benches. You’ll see chairs and the occasional bench fashioned from all kinds of materials. Rocks are the most popular. Every seat exists to invite folks into gatherings. To chat, of course. Rocks are softer here, by the way.

Miles upon miles of grassy walkways stray among the Honor Wall’s setting. If you obsessively require a distance in calculating Heaven’s miles consider a Heavenly mile as approximately four English miles plus the length of a Redwood tree. That might help, but then in a few moments that mile might be much longer or shorter as the tree grows or gets cut down. I know. That analogy isn’t really helpful either. 

The paths seem worn smooth, but no such wearing out exists in Heaven. Grassy paths smell and feel like golf course greens, but never need to be cut. Who would do such a thing here anyway? No resident desires to inhibit growth, or feels the need to correct it. Plants, rocks, water, trees, air, and space grow as they should. 

Wind gracefully flows among scads of ponds fed by slow-moving spring water. Wind exists here, too. The water’s not really slow. It’s just the flowing way of loveliness. Then, there are the gardens. Astonishing lush plants stretch and hang with certain purpose, landscaped to point and funnel folks back to Heaven’s entrance. 

“Astonishing” describes everything in Heaven.

The space at the city’s entrance welcomes more than new arrivals. Heaven’s residents enjoy visiting here, too. We usually show up at God’s request, visiting and doing God’s bidding in a melding together. You might know what I’m talking about. When hailed by God’s call to meet someone, we are reminded about our first day at the entrance. Memories do not fade here. None of them. It’s remarkable.

Many other entrances are possible to Heaven, but only one gate. Cartographers show those other entries and provide more detail on the main gate in a separate research project. The material point of this book on Ralph and Frank centers on the background you need specific to angels. And you will need to know all this stuff. Both to grasp the startling difference of the Heavenly realm. And, to allow yourself to accept there is such a place. Otherwise, you will miss so much.