Assisi, Italy 

The narrow streets of Assisi overflow with visitors, priests, nuns and seekers of every stripe. The town is packed with churches, chapels, convents, and monasteries—many hidden in plain sight. 

Known as the Seraphic City, Assisi is filled with angels, too. In frescoes, sculptures, mosaics, bathrooms, porticos, piazzas, on mugs and menus—so ubiquitous that you stop noticing them.  

Lauretta Hannon

Could that be why we don’t see angels in real life—because they’re so much a part of the everyday scenery they become invisible? Or maybe it’s because they act through people and situations rather than appearing to us in a supernatural way. It’s a mystery, isn’t it? 

As I joined in on a church service, the fellow in front of me caught my eye—because, well, he was built like a heavy-duty freezer. Short, stout, and with a neck any pro wrestler would covet. Black bushy hair covered him like a gorilla suit. 

Something about him was not fully human. I scrutinized his outfit for clues as to who or what he was. In addition to a simple short-sleeved button-down shirt, he wore a brand-spanking-new pair of Rustler jeans. Size 46×32, Regular Straight Leg. I know this because the tags and stickers were still on the back of the jeans and trailing down his right leg. 

As I studied him, something made me ponder: could he be one of those angels hidden in plain sight? What if the Rustler tags are their secret symbols, or a code they use to identify each other? 

Maybe he’s here to expedite delivery of our cries and supplications. To fly them true north to a God who is Love itself. I did hear a rustling. But it could have been the jeans rubbing together.  

Either way, maybe, just maybe—in the rarefied air of Assisi—I worshipped alongside a flesh-and-blood angel.