Lighting Candles

“Better to light one candle than to curse the darkness.”

Chinese Proverb

The rector walked over to check on the church when it was still dark. A hurricane had taken out the power throughout the city, but the walk was short and he knew it by heart. Opening the front doors, it was darker inside. Stretching out his hands for something to give him bearings, he hit his leg against the back pew. 

“This is ridiculous,” he said to himself. “I should have stayed home like everyone else. It’s just too dark.”

He made his way down the center aisle, using the pews like a cane. When he reached the front, he knew there was a candle off to his right - the baptismal candle - placed up front, beneath the pulpit. His searching hands almost knocked it over. 

When he lit the candle, there was light, and it was good, he thought. Very Good. Now he could see its light reflecting on the edges of the wooden pews nearby, the pulpit, and the piano by the lectern. He could also see other candles which he went and lit, one by one. First, the two on the altar, then the ones in the windowsills. Once he was done, he could see the church again. 

Relieved and comforted, he took a seat in one of the pews and enjoyed his parish as if for the first time. There’s a sermon in what just happened, he thought to himself, but sat and enjoyed the candlelight, for now.

Instruments

“This is the pen,” the docent said proudly in front of the red velvet ropes and plexiglass case with the goose quill pen lifted and lighted like the sacred relic it was, “with which Dickens wrote A Christmas Carol, Oliver Twist, and A Tale of Two Cities.” The student in the back looked away, questioning whether it was actually the pen of the famous author. Even at his age, he knew it was never about the pen. It was the one who held it.

It’s the same with a violin or piano, a paintbrush or chisel, football or baseball mitt. On their own, they’re nothing but objects. Placed in the hands of an artist, however, they become so much more. When object meets artist, buckle up. Magic happens.

There’s a famous prayer that begins by asking God to make us instruments. The prayer reminds us that we were created to be instruments placed in the hands of the great creator. What occurs when we are held in God’s hands, used for God’s work, is nothing short of miraculous. Instruments like you and me can become instruments of peace, love, forgiveness, even grace.

Love can take the place of hate, faith push doubt aside, and hope transform despair. 

The key is to get our role right. As much as our egos will protest, we’re not the hand. We’re the pens, and that is something to celebrate daily.

All Saints 2021

I have daddy issues. I suppose that’s to be expected. When your father dies when you’re still a boy you think of him as the image and not the person, the hero and not the human. I have slowly come to imagine my father as a person like me - with fears and doubts, successes and failures – and it has not taken away the person I adored. It has only brought him closer and made my admiration shine brighter.

I think of him on All Saints Day, just as I think of countless others who have inspired me spiritually. Some of the saints I think about I’ve never known, the heroes of faith whose lives have reached across centuries and stirred my soul. Others I’ve known, and they’ve inspired me as well. Unfortunately, the word “saint” has always caused me to stumble because it’s a word laced with echoes of perfection or flawlessness. Today, I try to see beyond such distorted theological thinking and celebrate the communion of saints who from their labors rest . . . the ones who, like you and me, had strengths and weaknesses, things of which they were proud and things ashamed. What I celebrate today is the way God’s light shone through their imperfections and made their lives radiant.

Recently, I was sitting in a chapel next to my son looking up at the glorious stained glass windows high above. He pointed to one he particularly liked, the one he helped design. I was drawn not to the window but to the blurry colors smeared on the wall across from the window. Like the window itself, the colors were beautiful. With the help of the afternoon light, colors painted the grey walls. The image was blurred, but the colors still stirred my soul.

I think celebrating that is what All Saints’ Day is all about. 

Here’s an added bonus:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yJ4fK7PGhWo

“I heard a voice from heaven saying unto me: Blessed
Blessed
Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord
For they rest. For they rest. For they rest
From their labours

For they rest from their labours
For they rest from their labours
For they rest from their labours
For they rest from their labours

Even so saith the Spirit
Even so saith the Spirit
For they rest. For they rеst. For they rest

Lux aetеrna, luceat eis
Domine. Domine
Lux aeterna, luceat eis
Cum sanctis tuis in aeternum, quia pius es
Requiem aeternam dona eis Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis”