Angels: memory, trauma, and hope.

Introduction

To speak of angels is to speak of how the people who wrote the Bible imagined God’s closeness amid human vulnerability. They are not figures created to populate a distant heaven or to satisfy curiosity about the supernatural, but literary expressions born of a deep desire to affirm that, in life, human beings are not alone, that suffering is not invisible, and that divine justice continues to act even when reality shows the opposite. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted” (Psalm 34:18, NIV). As Pablo Andiñach (2012) reminds us, angels are literary figures that express God’s active presence in human history, especially in moments when fragility becomes most evident.

Angels function as a symbolic language that allows us to name the loving presence that accompanies us, the word that illuminates, and the justice that breaks through the darkness. They highlight God’s presence in everyday life without seeking attention.  The Hebrew Bible, apocalyptic Judaism, and the New Testament do not present a uniform doctrine on this subject; rather, they offer a way of explaining how a people sought to understand God’s relation to humanity amid fragility, oppression, and hope.

Although the Hebrew Bible frequently mentions heavenly messengers, only two are given proper names: Gabriel, associated with the interpretation of visions (Daniel 8:16; 9:21), and Michael, presented as the protector of the people in contexts of imperial conflict (Daniel 10:13, 21; 12:1). This nominal sobriety contrasts with the abundance of names that will appear later in Jewish apocalyptic literature, revealing that the identity of angels was not central, but rather their function as mediators of the divine presence.

The representation of angels with wings does not arise from a literal description, but from an effort to translate into images the experience of a presence that bursts in with speed, freedom, and transcendence. In the ancient world, birds were regarded as creatures that moved with incredible speed and could cross borders inaccessible to humans; therefore, wings became a natural symbol of the promptness of divine messages and of God’s ability to reach places beyond human reach. More than celestial anatomy, wings represent the mobility of mystery, the lightness of grace, and the possibility of the divine word crossing deserts, walls, and inner distances. As the iconography of the ancient Near East shows, this imagery does not seek to describe real winged beings, but rather to communicate the freedom and promptness of the divine presence (Keel, 1997).

In each era, angels were reimagined to answer the deepest questions of the human heart: Where is God when things get tough? Who upholds the dignity of the when the world despises it? How does hope remain alive when injustice seems to triumph? From a hermeneutic of love and justice, angels become symbols of accompaniment, dignity, and resistance. They are presences that recognize the voice of those who suffer, affirm their freedom, honor their capacity for relationship, and never impose themselves as forces that nullify human responsibility.

From a noble relational perspective, angels reveal that the divine presence does not control or dominate but instead accompanies, sustains, and liberates. Furthermore, from the wisdom hermeneutical method—reading, analyzing, living, and reflecting again—angels become invitations to a mature, humble, and profoundly human faith. A faith that does not seek absolute certainties, but rather paths of discernment. A faith that does not surrender to unjustified violence but imagines a world in which justice is possible.

As Justo L. González (1996) reminds us, reading the Bible is not a unilateral exercise; the Bible is not only read but also reads us, reveals us, and confronts us. This hermeneutical dynamic illuminates how angelic figures function as mirrors that expose our fragilities, our longings for justice, and our searches for meaning. In this dialogue between the text and the reader, angels emerge as symbols that not only communicate the divine presence but also reveal the human condition in all its complexity.

I. Reading — The Hebrew Bible and the Reconfiguration of the Divine World

The story of angels in the Hebrew Bible does not begin with wings or heavenly songs, but with a deep, silent conflict, like the gestation of a dangerous idea in a world saturated with divinities. Mario Liverani explains that the ancient Middle East was populated by complex pantheons, in which each city and empire organized its life around multiple deities that legitimized its political and social structures (Liverani, 2005). In that context, asserting that only one God deserved loyalty was not a spiritual conviction but an act of cultural and political resistance. The uniqueness of Yahweh emerged in response to the historical experience of a small, vulnerable people, often subjugated by foreign powers, yet with a great ambition to be recognized and acknowledged.

The biblical authors could not erase the existence of other heavenly beings from the collective memory. The religious imagination of the people was filled with stories in which the gods of the nations acted, intervened, and protected. Therefore, as Richard Nelson points out, the transition to monotheism did not involve denying the existence of other divine beings, but rather relocating them within a new theological architecture (Nelson, 2007). The ancient gods were reinterpreted as messengers (angels); the members of the divine council became workers of the one God; and the celestial figures that previously had autonomy became part of a court subordinate to Yahweh.

The oldest texts retain traces of a pantheon, but Israel’s literary and theological evolution transformed that pantheon into a heavenly court in the service of Yahweh (Smith, 2001). In this process, cherubim and seraphim occupy a unique place. They do not represent “classes” of angels in the later sense but rather symbolic expressions of the divine presence in its most intense and mysterious form. Cherubim, hybrid guardians in neighboring cultures, were reinterpreted as custodians of sacred space, underscoring that life in the face of mystery requires reverence, justice, and truth, as Othmar Keel (1997) demonstrates through iconographic analysis.

Their presence above the ark signifies not distance but protected closeness, a space where mercy and justice meet. The seraphim, enveloped in fire, do not appear as fearsome creatures but as symbols of the transformation that occurs when human life is exposed to holiness. Their song reveals that divine glory does not crush but purifies, heals, and sends forth. Cherubim and seraphim, understood in this way, are not heavenly hierarchies but poetic languages that Israel used to speak of a God whose presence is close and ardent, protective and transformative.

The Hebrew Bible portrays angels as appearing in moments of vulnerability, crisis, or transition. In the story of Abraham, the messengers arrive as weary travelers, and the patriarch’s hospitality reveals their identity. In the story of Hagar, the messenger appears in the desert to see her, acknowledge her suffering, and affirm her dignity in a world that had discarded her. “The Lord has heard your affliction” (Genesis 16:11, DHH). In Daniel, angels sustain hope amid imperial oppression, reminding the people that history is not abandoned to the violence of human kingdoms. “From the first day that you set your mind to gain understanding… your words were heard” (Daniel 10:12, NIV).

The messenger figure (angel) symbolizes divine communication in a world where human language is insufficient to name the mystery (Yarbro Collins, 1996). Angels represent the possibility that human life may be interrupted by a word born not of fear or power but of love and justice. In Zechariah, angels serve as interpreters who accompany the prophet in understanding complex visions. This indicates that revelation concerns union rather than imposition (Zechariah 1:9; 4:1–6; 5:5–11).

The reconfiguration of the heavenly world can also be read as a form of symbolic resistance to empires that claimed divine legitimacy for their power (Segovia, 1998). In a world where kings claimed that their gods guaranteed their rule, Israel responded with the belief that the one God was not at the service of any empire and that heavenly beings were not guarantors of political power but witnesses to justice and mercy.

Sociologist Aníbal Quijano reminds us that the coloniality of power not only organizes economies and social hierarchies but also shapes imaginaries and ways of interpreting the world (Quijano, 2000). Reading angels from this perspective means recovering their power as symbols of resistance against systems that seek to control the imagination and discipline spirituality. Angels are not remnants of an archaic past, but expressions of a world in which the sacred is intertwined with everyday life and justice is imagined from below.

Ultimately, the angelology of the Hebrew Bible is not a set of doctrines about heavenly beings but a profound narrative about human dignity, divine justice, and the loving presence that sustains life. Angels signify that heaven is not indifferent to earth, that human history is not alone, and that life has a value no power structure can destroy.

II. Analyze — When historical trauma generates new heavenly languages.

Apocalyptic Judaism emerged between the third century BCE and the first century CE as a response to the historical trauma of successive imperial domination—Babylon, Persia, Greece, and Rome—and to the sense that divine justice had been delayed too long. It was not an escapist movement but a form of symbolic resistance that reinterpreted history from a perspective of hope and faithfulness. Its writings depict a world divided between forces of light and darkness, not to promote a rigid dualism but to denounce imperial violence and affirm that God continues to act, even when visible reality seems to contradict this. In this horizon, angels and heavenly figures become mediators of revelation, interpreters of collective suffering, and bearers of the promise that evil is not absolute and that human history can be read from the perspective of the justice that is to come (Collins, 1998).

This development responds not only to spiritual or pastoral needs but also to broader sociopolitical dynamics. As the sociology of religion has shown, celestial hierarchies often mirror the administrative and political structures of the ancient world, projecting onto the heavens the order one seeks to legitimize on earth (Berger, 1967; Durkheim, 1912/1995). This symbolic projection risks sacralizing inequality and turning the celestial imaginary into a device for normalizing power. From a decolonial perspective, this evolution requires careful reading that avoids conflating the literary organization of heaven with a divine mandate for human organization.

In this context, angels become figures who interpret history, reveal the hidden meaning of events, and sustain hope for a different future. Paul Hanson explains that apocalypticism arises when the prophetic promise—which announced restoration, justice, and peace—appears to be contradicted by historical reality (Hanson, 1979). When the visible world contradicts God’s faithfulness, revelation requires mediators to explain the mystery, translate suffering into meaning, and accompany the prophet in understanding the incomprehensible.

These heavenly beings do not appear to replace human responsibility but rather to offer a symbolic framework that helps process collective suffering and sustain hope (Yarbro Collins, 1996). In apocalyptic texts, angels accompany the seer, strengthening and instructing them amid visions that reveal the world’s fragility. Their presence is both therapeutic and pedagogical, helping to emotionally integrate the experience of trauma and transform despair into resistance.

Aníbal Quijano explains that systems of domination control not only bodies and territories but also ways of knowing, imagining, and interpreting reality (Quijano, 2000). By introducing angelic interpreters, apocalypticism breaks with the imperial rationality that seeks to monopolize truth. Angels thus become symbols of epistemic resistance, figures that enable us to imagine a world different from the one imposed by the empire.

Furthermore, from a psychological perspective, the creation of interpreting angels fulfills a deeply human function. The psyche (the soul, the intellectual capacity) needs images that embody care, protection, and presence, especially when life feels fragile or threatened. Angels serve as internal figures that sustain hope, expand the capacity for adaptation, and allow the person to experience a form of companionship that does not invade or control but rather accompanies and strengthens. In relational terms, these imaginary figures help integrate experiences of comfort, security, and recognition that may not have been available in personal or collective history.

Apocalyptic angels also serve as a hermeneutical function, teaching us to see the world differently. In texts such as Daniel, 1 Enoch, and Zechariah, angels not only explain visions but also teach us to distinguish between appearance and reality, between power and justice, and between violence and truth. This heavenly pedagogy reveals that apocalypticism is not a genre of escapism but a school of discernment.

In Jewish apocalyptic literature, especially in works such as Jubilees and the Qumran texts, angels acquire more defined names, functions, and hierarchies. In addition to Michael and Gabriel, figures such as Raphael, associated with healing; Uriel, a guide and interpreter of visions; and others, including Raguel, Sariel, and Remiel, who perform judicial functions in the universe, appear. This proliferation of names reflects the need for a more complex symbolic language to interpret historical trauma and affirm that divine justice continues to act in a world dominated by violent empires.

Furthermore, apocalyptic angels reconfigure the relationship between heaven and earth. In the Hebrew Bible, angels appear sporadically; in apocalyptic literature, they become constant. This proliferation reflects the conviction that heaven is deeply involved in human history. When the visible world becomes opaque, heaven draws closer. Angels are signs that history is not abandoned, that divine justice continues to act, and that human life remains worthy of accompaniment.

Studying apocalyptic angelology reveals that these heavenly beings are not products of abstract speculation but of the historical, spiritual, and political needs of a people seeking to affirm that God remains present in a fractured world. Angels are the language that emerges when visible reality is no longer sufficient to sustain hope. They symbolize accompaniment, revelation, and resistance. They affirm that, even in the darkest times, history can be reinterpreted from the perspectives of justice, dignity, and love.

III. Living: The divine presence in human frailty

The New Testament inherits the complexity of apocalyptic Judaism. However, it transforms it through the experience of Jesus of Nazareth and the lives of early Christian communities that sought to follow his path in a world marked by imperial violence. The vision of an “upper world” and a “lower world” is not an escapist duality but a way of affirming that visible reality does not exhaust the world’s mystery and that human history is intertwined with a deeper dimension in which divine justice continues to act. John J. Collins notes that Second Temple apocalypticism did not disappear in early Christianity but was reconfigured to express the conviction that a new era had begun with Jesus, even as the world remained marked by injustice (Collins, 2004).

In this context, angels play a role that is not ornamental but deeply theological. They accompany, interpret, announce, and sustain the mission of Jesus of Nazareth and his followers. In the birth narratives, angelic presences do not seek to impress but to announce peace in a world saturated with violence. The Lucan scene in which the angels proclaim “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests” (Luke 2:14, NIV) is not a naive song but a political statement in an empire that proclaimed its own peace through military force. The accounts of Jesus’ birth can be read as narratives of resistance that confront the imperial ideology of the Roman “gospel,” which proclaimed Caesar as the bringer of peace and salvation (Schüssler Fiorenza, 1983).

During the ministry of Jesus of Nazareth, angels appear as discreet presences that strengthen and accompany. In the account of the temptations, the angels do not intervene to prevent conflict but to sustain Jesus after his confrontation with evil. “Then the devil left him, and angels came and attended him” (Matthew 4:11, NIV). This scene reveals a theology in which divine presence does not eliminate struggle but sustains faithfulness amid it. This role of angels as companions reflects the conviction that Jesus’ mission does not unfold in a spiritual vacuum but in a world where visible and invisible forces seek to influence history (Yarbro Collins, 1996).

In the Gospels, angels also appear at moments of revelation and transition. At the empty tomb, the messengers do not explain the mystery of the resurrection; rather, they announce and interpret it. “Why do you look among the dead for the one who is alive?” (Luke 24:5, NIV). Their function is not to solve the puzzle but to open a space for faith. This dynamic reflects the noble relational mode in which angels do not impose truth but recognize the freedom of those who listen, inviting them to embark on a path of discernment.

In the book of Acts, angels become agents of liberation. The scene in which Peter is freed from prison by a heavenly messenger is not read as a magical intervention but as an affirmation that the community’s mission cannot be stopped by imperial violence. “Suddenly, an angel of the Lord appeared, and a light shone in the cell. He woke Peter by tapping him on the side and said, ‘Hurry, get up! The chains fell from Peter’s hands. The angel said, ‘Put on your clothes and sandals.’ He did so, and the angel added, ‘Put on your cloak and follow me’ (Acts 12:7-8, NIV).” In this sense, angels do not legitimize passivity but remind us that freedom is a gift that must be lived responsibly.

This political and spiritual dimension of the angelic world is deepened when read in light of Walter Wink’s (1984) proposal, which argues that “angels, principalities, and powers” should not be understood solely as invisible beings but as the spiritual interiority of institutions, systems, and social structures. From this perspective, every institution, whether an empire, a church, or a community, has an “angel,” that is, an internal vocation that can be faithful to justice or become corrupt and oppressive. This reading shows that the New Testament’s struggle is not against ethereal entities but against the concrete ways power is organized, spiritualized, and experienced in human life. Integrating this vision reveals that angelology does not evade history but interprets it critically, inviting us to discern the spirit that animates our institutions and to work for their redemption.

The Apocalypse of John presents New Testament angelology in its most complex and symbolic form. Here, angels are not only messengers but also figures who reveal the world’s true nature, denounce imperial violence, accompany the seer on his visionary journey, and announce the arrival of a new order. “After this I saw another angel coming down from heaven, and he had great authority, and the earth was illuminated with his splendor” (Revelation 18:1, NIV). This scene encapsulates the revelatory function of messengers in Revelation, illuminating what the empire hides, exposing the fragility of its power, and announcing that its dominion is not eternal.

Revelation is a deeply political work that uses symbolic language to confront Roman imperial ideology (Blount, 2009). In this context, angels are not distant beings but narrative agents who help the reader see what the empire tries to hide: that its violence is unjust, its power precarious, and that divine justice continues to unfold in history. The angels in Revelation function as interpreters of the world, not as executors of violence. Their primary role is to reveal, not to destroy (Yarbro Collins, 1984). They help the seer understand that human history is inscribed within a larger drama in which divine justice will be fully manifested. This vision is not an escapist fantasy but an affirmation that visible reality is not the last word.

The New Testament also presents angels as figures who affirm human dignity. In the letter to the Hebrews, it is stated that God has made human beings: “For a little while you made them lower than the angels, but you have crowned them with glory and honor” (Hebrews 2:7, NIV). This statement does not seek to establish hierarchies but to affirm the greatness of the human vocation. The early Christian community sought to create spaces of equality in which the dignity of each person was recognized (Schüssler Fiorenza, 1983).

However, the subsequent reception of these images did not always uphold this dignifying orientation. In various contexts, the figure of the angel—and its demonized counterpart—reinforced the human tendency to externalize evil, attributing internal conflicts and fractures to external forces and thereby reducing the capacity for personal and communal self-criticism. This externalization, widely documented in moral psychology, weakens ethical responsibility and fuels the friend-enemy logic, which hinders reconciliation and reparation. A responsible reading of the New Testament requires resisting this drift and recovering the relational and ethical dimension of the angelic presence as a call to assume historical responsibility and cultivate practices that restore human dignity.

This tendency is compounded by another pastoral risk: an obsession with the “world above,” which can divert attention from the urgent needs of the “world below.” When the heavenly becomes the exclusive focus of religious imagination, earthly justice becomes secondary or even irrelevant. This spiritual evasion, present in various traditions, can lead to ignoring realities such as the climate crisis, structural poverty, and unjustified social violence, under the illusion that what is truly important occurs on a higher plane. A responsible angelology must resist this flight into the ethereal and recover the biblical conviction that the divine presence is discerned on earth, in vulnerable bodies, and in concrete struggles for human dignity.

Ultimately, the angels of the New Testament are figures who accompany the mission of Jesus of Nazareth and his followers. They are not beings who replace human responsibility but presences that sustain hope, interpret mystery, denounce injustice, and announce the coming of a new world. Read through a hermeneutic of love and justice, these angels become symbols of the divine presence that accompanies human life in its fragility and greatness. Moreover, read through the sapiential method—reading, analyzing, living, and reflecting—they become invitations to live with dignity, freedom, and a hope that does not surrender to the world’s unnecessary violence.

IV. Reflecting Again—Toward an Integral Understanding of the Angelic Presence

The literary creation of angels in the biblical tradition cannot be understood as an isolated phenomenon or as a simple doctrinal development. It is the result of multiple historical, symbolic, and theological processes that intersect in the experience of communities seeking to interpret their world amid political tensions, social crises, and religious transformations. Reflecting again on angelology involves examining these processes analytically to understand how celestial images were configured and the functions they performed within the life of communities.

On a literary level, angels serve as narrative resources that articulate complex human experiences. Richard Nelson notes that angelic mediation responds to the need to translate mystery into forms that are understandable without reducing it to human categories (Nelson, 2014). This literary function appears in stories as diverse as the visit to Abraham, Hagar’s experience in the desert, and Zechariah’s visions. In each case, the angels do not explain the mystery but make it accessible, interpret it, and place it within a horizon of meaning.

From a psychological perspective, the creation of angelic figures responds to the human need to symbolize experiences of accompaniment, protection, and recognition. The psyche turns to images that embody care and presence, especially in contexts of vulnerability. These figures do not replace human responsibility, but they expand the capacity for adaptation and sustain hope in times of crisis. Angelology, understood in this way, is not escapism but a symbolic resource that allows the integration of profound emotional experiences.

Reflecting again on angels, then, does not close the argument but opens new questions: How do these figures reveal the relationship between power and hope? What do they tell us about how communities interpret suffering? How do they articulate the tension between transcendence and human experience? What possibilities do they offer for imagining more just worlds? Angelology, when read analytically, has become a hermeneutic laboratory in which history, literature, psychology, politics, and spirituality converge.

Conclusion

At the end of this journey, biblical angelology is not a closed doctrinal system but a symbolic framework that communities of faith have developed to express God’s closeness amid human vulnerability. From the Hebrew Bible to the New Testament, angels appear as figures that help us articulate the experience of mystery without reducing it, and uphold the conviction that human history is not abandoned to violence or indifference.

The sapiential method that has guided this study—reading, analyzing, living, and reflecting again—reveals that angelology is not a set of statements about heavenly beings but a hermeneutical process that accompanies the human search for meaning. Reading allowed us to hear the ancient voices within their own horizon, recognizing the complexity of the divine world that Israel inherited and transformed.

Analysis helped us understand how historical trauma, imperial oppression, and the need to sustain hope produced new celestial languages capable of interpreting suffering and opening horizons of resistance. Living showed how early Christian communities experienced angels as presences that strengthened, liberated, and announced an alternative order amid violence. Reflecting again helped us integrate these dimensions, revealing that angelology is a space where history, politics, psychology, and spirituality converge.

Along the same lines, Justo L. González (1996) reminds us that all biblical reading is a situated act, marked by the communal memory and historical experiences of those who interpret it. This perspective shows that angelic figures not only mediate the divine presence but also call communities to remember their histories of fragility and resistance. Angelology, understood in this way, becomes a space in which collective memory illuminates the search for justice and in which heavenly symbols acquire meaning to the extent that they strengthen community life and historical responsibility.

In this framework, the noble relational mode offers a fundamental ethical key. From this perspective, angels do not act as forces that impose or replace human responsibility but as presences that honor dignity, recognize the voice, and affirm freedom. Their mode of action reveals a theology in which divine power is exercised not as domination but as care; in which revelation is not imposed but offered; in which the divine presence does not annul but sustains. This relational understanding allows us to see in angels not only literary figures but also expressions of a divine way of being that approaches human frailty with a tenderness that liberates.

However, it is important to recognize that angelic imagery has not always affirmed human dignity. Throughout history, the same categories that symbolized accompaniment and justice in the Bible were reinterpreted to degrade, exclude, or demonize those deemed different. The contrast between “angels” and “demons” sometimes served as a rhetorical device to justify violence, legitimize hierarchies, and dehumanize entire peoples. Therefore, recovering the original meaning of biblical angelology also entails dismantling its oppressive uses and restoring its role as a language of dignity, justice, and accompaniment.

This logic of absolute opposition is not innocent. As Maldonado-Torres (2007) warns, coloniality produces “ontological enemies,” people defined not only by their actions but also by a supposed essence that places them outside full humanity. When the angelic imaginary is used to draw rigid moral boundaries, it can contribute to dehumanization by shifting historical responsibility onto supernatural entities and justifying the exclusion of entire communities. Recognizing this mechanism is essential to deactivating the oppressive uses of celestial language.

From this perspective, angelic symbols can be experienced in two ways: by imitation, when they promote dignity, recognize power, and protect freedom; or by contrast, when they are used to justify control, uncritical obedience, or inequality. This ethical criterion helps us discern which aspects of the heavenly imaginary to embrace and which to resist, remembering that theological fidelity does not consist in reproducing ancient images but in assessing their impact on the concrete lives of individuals and communities.

Through this noble relational method, the voice is recognized, and angels are understood not as fixed entities but as communicative events that erupt when truth destabilizes the established order. Furthermore, power and freedom are recognized; angelic images that manipulate or replace the human capacity to choose are rejected, whereas those that occur within the realm of justice are affirmed. The capacity to relate is also recovered, remembering that hospitality and encounters with other people, especially those who have been marginalized, are the spaces where angels “occur.” This reconstruction does not eliminate the symbol but reorients it toward practices that honor dignity and strengthen historical responsibility.

Ultimately, biblical angelology invites us to contemplate life with a broader, deeper gaze. It reminds us that mystery is not explained but lived; that hope is not imposed but cultivated; and that justice is not an abstract ideal but a horizon toward which we walk with firmness and humility. “What does the Lord require of you? To act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God” (Micah 6:8, NIV). In their discretion and closeness, angels reveal a mode of presence that seeks not prominence but relationship; not control but liberation. In their luminous silence, they invite us to live with nobility, to discern with wisdom, and to imagine a future in which human dignity is fully recognized.

 

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