This Little Light...
I have a bit of a candle obsession. I love them. I burn candles every day, all year long. Scented ones for sure - but I love unscented ones too. I love tapered candles and beeswax candles. Tea lights and pillar candles. I use candle warmers in places where it is unsafe to have an open flame. I alternate spring and summer scents for fall and winter scents as the seasons change. Candles epitomize coziness for me; they invite a sense of serenity and calm that my otherwise chaotic and noisy life does not allow for. I light them with matches, rather than a butane lighter, simply because I like the simplicity of it all.
Recently I ordered myself a package of beeswax meditation candles to use during my morning prayers. Slightly larger than a candle you’d put on a birthday cake, they fit neatly into a brass candle holder, burn for a solid 20 minutes and then completely disappear - like magic. It is just enough time to pray and journal and read as I center myself for the day.
I recently came across the social media account of the Vicar of Romfor, Father Jordan, who was reflecting on the timelessness of candle use in Christian worship. He shared a story about his young son’s fear of the dark. Father Jordan noted that once his family was living in a rather large vicarage (parsonage) and it was a long walk from the child’s bedroom to the bathroom. The child was afraid of getting from their room to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Father Jordan suggested leaving the bathroom light on for his son, so that he could see his destination, but his son pointed out that he would still be in the dark all the way there.
Father Jordan reflected on the fact that, for those of us who live in the modern world, when we think about light we think about the flip of a switch - or even more modern - “Alexa turn on the lights”. But for centuries - light for most humans would have been a lit candle or lamp that they would have carried with them. For Father Jordan’s son - he wouldn’t have just had light at the destination, but it would have accompanied him the entire way through the darkness. Sure, the whole space may not have been illuminated, but he would have been able to see his next step or two as he walked the whole way there.
As you might guess, Father Jordan likens this to our understanding of what it means when we say that Jesus is the light of the world. I’m thinking of John 1:5 that we hold so dear during Advent, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overtake it.” But, I am also interested in taking it a step further and thinking about what this means for us when Jesus says that WE are the light of the world in Matthew 5. I’m quite sure that we aren’t meant to be 75w lightbulbs, or Smart Speakers turning on lamps throughout the whole house. I am guessing Jesus imagined us more like candles. Maybe even just 20-minute daily meditation candles. That we aren’t meant to illuminate the entirety of the darkness all by our lonesome. But rather all our flames flickering together - occasionally snuffing out and leaning over to relight one another - is what shines in the darkness and cannot be overtaken. We are meant to light up just the next step or two, not the whole path, not even the destination.
Right now things feel pretty grim. But the darkness is nothing to be afraid of. In fact, God does God’s best work of creation knitting together new life in those unseen places - wombs and tombs, where seeds have been planted and where yeast has been hidden away to ferment. So, let’s let our little lights flicker and shine, give warmth and glow, even as fear and unrest rage all around us. Let’s sow seeds and knead bread, speak words of hope and blessing, embody life and love even when those things feel preposterous. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overtake it.”
With abiding hope, Pastor Jessica
Rev. Dr. Jessica Margrave Schirm - Senior Pastor (she/her)
Grinnell United Church of Christ - Congregational