Roy

Painting by Johan Angus

I can’t remember exactly how he was born. He arrived years ago like dew in the night – one day Roy was there. I do recall that it was during one of the most difficult and confusing periods of my life. Since then he stayed. He might be silent for weeks, but never do I have the feeling that he is far off. He is ever present in the wings.

The origin of his name is a mystery too. It was not as if I decided to call him that. I met him as Roy.

The same goes for his appearance. He is slender, with thin, flat hair. In his thirties, usually wearing a golf shirt and a pair of overall trousers. Mostly he sits. Not as if he’s lazy, more as if he is waiting and content in the knowledge that what needs to be done is being done.

We meet each other in my journal. As I’ve said, he might be quiet for weeks and then, on any particular morning, he’ll be there on the page. On such an occasion my journal entry takes the form of a conversation:

Roy:	I see you’re struggling with the old fears.
GA:	Roy, you devil! Where have you been?
Roy:	I’ve been here and there. And as to your form of address – I’m from a different department.
GA:	Oh please! You know what I mean.
Roy:	Just pulling your leg. But about your fear. For a long time it hasn’t surfaced. What triggered it now? Was it that unsuccessful work tender of yours on Monday? Since then I saw it slowly raising its head again.

And off we’ll go with this conversation that carries on for pages. He has a way of picking up on a subject as if we were talking about it a moment ago. Always on cue and more informed and knowledgeable about my actions and inner workings than I am. He cuts through all my hogwash and is totally honest, even blunt with me. But I am always aware of an immense love and concern he has for me. I matter to him and very much so.

We’ve had our scraps. At one stage, going through a very rough patch in my life, I went in a rage because I felt that he, as my guardian angel, was not delivering. Often sitting, as I mentioned before. I said I didn’t like his attitude and that I am going to complain higher up. I demand service and I’m requesting a replacement.

I didn’t lodge the complaint. I thought about what he has said during our argument. His observations were such that I realised my holy indignation somehow revealed more about my shortcomings and touchiness than his laziness. I also had the feeling that on going to head office, I would probably have found that there wasn't any job description or signed agreement to be discussed or sorted out in any case.

During our next conversation a few weeks later, I hesitantly told Roy that I felt ashamed about my previous behaviour. Apologized. In the most loving way he picked up where we left off and used the whole episode so brilliantly as spiritual foundation and guidance that I came out the better for it. He never ever shames, or blames, or tries to tame me. He listens and comforts and understands and gently guides me. He knows me inside out and still loves me deeply. I’m his, even though at one stage I didn’t want him.

His sitting stems from an age old angel tradition I think. The angel that told the women on that Easter Sunday morning that Jesus wasn’t in the grave any more also sat on the tomb stone (Mat 28:2). Now that’s holy leisure if you ask me!

Initially I struggled with categorizing or labelling Roy exactly. Was he an angel, indeed my guardian angel? What is the appropriate way to address him? I do not come from a religious tradition where much guidance was given on this subject.

Gradually I thought more of him in the line of the Holy Spirit. He had all the attributes that we studied at length in Dogmatics: not a power but a person, the Comforter, the listener to our prayers and the one who actually prays with us, a guide.

I do realise that to the orthodox eye and ear this borders on heresy or blasphemy. Many might say: “You can leave out the ‘borders on’.”

But the longer I am on this contemplative journey the lighter the weight of the “musts” and “shoulds” and “ought to’s” and “musn’ts” and “should nots” become. It fades into the background. Rumi puts words to my experience:

Out beyond ideas of rightdoing

and wrongdoing
There is a field.
I will meet you there.

It is in that field that Roy and I meet. And it doesn’t really matter whether he is angel or Holy Spirit.

In writing the Dogmatics exam I might have gotten 86% for adequately naming the Holy Spirit’s attributes. And then? Somehow, the mere theological know-how does not translate into a deeper experience.

What I do discover in spiritual direction is that it is important to develop in our own unique relationship with God (or whatever you call the wholly Other). To discover our own unique images and vocabulary through which God relates with and speaks to us. And unique, creative and personal they are. God is an artist and a lover.

I could therefore say I have a guardian angel, that I experience the Parakletos, the Third Person in the Holy Trinity...

I could. But I prefer to call him Roy.

~ v ~

My brother Johan is a painter, living and working in Simon’s Town in the Cape. I told him about Roy and asked whether he could paint him for me. He did and got him just right. After all, Roy is a sitter. For a painting too I suppose. I’ll ask him about it.

George