Steven LaChance Blog

What do I believe? That question has haunted me for years. Angels. Guiding beings. Protectors. Light. Love. The word itself carries a kind of warmth, does it not? But what if we have been looking at them all wrong?

During the Screaming House haunting, something strange would happen. The phone would ring, and on the other end, a voice would begin reciting the Lord’s Prayer. Calm. Steady. And then, silence. The line would go dead. It was never the same voice twice, never from the same number. At the time, I wondered if it was some kind of prank or interference. But then I started to think. What if it was something else? A blessing for whoever the haunting tried to hold on to. A counterweight to the darkness. A voice sent to steady the balance.

In so many traditions, angels are described as messengers. In Hebrew, malak simply means messenger. In Greek, angelos. But messages can come from anywhere, can they not? They do not always bring comfort. In the Bible, every angelic visitation begins with the same warning. Be not afraid. That alone should tell us something. Why must we be told not to fear unless there is reason to?

Ezekiel’s angels were not the gentle figures from Renaissance paintings. They were wheels within wheels, covered in eyes, turning through fire. Isaiah’s seraphim were burning beings that spoke in smoke and thunder. In almost every ancient text, from the Book of Enoch to Sumerian carvings of winged Anunnaki, these beings were radiant, terrifying, and not entirely human.

Maybe that is why I have always wondered if they are not spiritual at all, but something else. Something older. Something that observes us more than it interacts. The idea of celestial watchers goes back thousands of years. The Book of Enoch calls them the Grigori, angels who fell in love with human women and taught forbidden knowledge. What if that knowledge was not forbidden at all, just misunderstood technology? What if these were not fallen angels but entities from somewhere else, visitors whose light our ancestors could not comprehend, whose presence burned the sky and made the air hum?

People today call them aliens. Others call them gods. We keep changing the name, but the experience stays the same. A bright light. A voice that knows too much. A visitation that shifts the world around you. Maybe angels, aliens, and gods are all the same phenomenon seen through different eyes.

But what if they are not benevolent? What if their concern for us is no concern at all? If we are ants crawling across a vast experiment, our wars and prayers and pain might mean nothing to them. What if they see us as a species of noise, an infestation in their laboratory? The difference between a guardian and a destroyer might only be a matter of perspective.

And yet, when I think of that voice on the phone, reciting the Lord’s Prayer in the middle of the night, I cannot help but feel there was compassion in it. Not warmth exactly, but intention. As if something beyond the veil was trying to steady us in the storm.

Maybe angels are both things at once. Light and terror. Scientists and saints. Maybe the truth has always lived somewhere between faith and fear. We look up and call them angels because we need to believe in mercy. But if we could see them as they really are, if we could see the machinery of their wings and the cold precision of their gaze, we might call them something else entirely.

Still, when the phone rings in the dark and a stranger prays for you before vanishing into silence, tell me, what else could you call that but divine?