About Life as a Candle

An EfM classmate of mine commented that when her new priest arrived, she, the classmate, would be the tallest one at the altar on the Sundays when she was an acolyte.  Jokingly I replied that she could think of herself as another Eucharistic candle.  Her response was that she thought of herself more as a Roman candle.  It was a fun exchange but one that got me thinking about where I stood on the candle scale.

I never had much experience with fireworks. As a child I was limited to sparklers and the occasional foray with the neighbor's bottle rockets, nothing bigger. I liked fireworks for the color but the bang was intimidating. See myself as some kind of firework?  That would be a fizzler --- there's a disconnect between the lit fuse and the expected bang and flash.

I love candles. I used to enjoy making them - pouring the hot wax into the prepared mold and waiting more or less patiently to see what came out after it cooled. One year I made four fairly large pillars in purple and pink for the church advent wreath. I even scented them very lightly with a frankincense oil so they would not just look pretty but leave a very faint fragrance behind them.  They were candles I made but they weren't me.

I liked making ice candles --- pillars put inside milk cartons, then filling the carton with ice before pouring in hot wax. The ice melted but not before cooling the wax into fantastic bubbles and holes that let the candle show through.  The contrast of heat and ice was more like me but it still wasn't me.

I had a beautiful round candle holder made of bits of brightly-colored glass with leading between the pieces. Inside the holder I would place a votive candle and the light shining through the glass was like having my own private cathedral window. I loved it. It was beautiful as it was but only came alive when the candle was lit to let its real colors shine forth.  I loved the candle too, but it wasn't me.

I have a crystal candle holder, only big enough for a tea light, that has something of the same feel as the colored glass one. The candle holder is beautiful, even sitting on a bookshelf or window sill where the light can strike it. It becomes even more beautiful whee the tea light is lit, the flame dancing inside and the light flickering through the pattern of the glass. I love it, but it isn't me.

A birthday candle is a tiny thing. It is often brightly colored but once lit only lasts a minute or two before being consumed by the flame. In itself it briefly shares the spotlight with its fellow candles until being either burned out or blown out by an excited child or even a game elder.  It brings a moment of joy despite its short life. 

I can't think that I bring joy, no matter how briefly. Maybe I can bring a little comfort, a little light, a little warmth before flickering out or being put away for another time. Still, if I had to describe myself as a candle, I'd probably see myself as one of this size and use more than any other.

If I could choose my life as a candle, one I would dearly love to be is a Eucharistic one -- a tall pristine pillar, standing in a polished brass holder, representing one of the two parts of Holy Writ and shedding light on the sacred mystery taking place just next to me.  I would shed light but not be part of the mystery. I would be part of the celebration but not the celebrant or the celebrated. Still, it would be enough.

I hear the old song running through my head, "This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine..." Eucharistic candle, advent candle, ice candle, votive, tea light or birthday candle, my job isn't to draw attention to me but to shed light and warmth on what is around me. That's how I see my life as a candle. 

I give thanks for Roman candles (even Episcopalian ones!) which bring brightness and joy. I celebrate their gift to the world and rejoice in their colors and patterns.  I'm glad there's room in the spectrum for both the Roman candle and the birthday one.  God loves us all for what we are, not what we should be (or want to be.)