The Preacher Loved Candles

 

The Preacher Loved Candles

(“One of them will fill his hand with the fine flour of the grain gift, with its oil and all the special perfume that is on it, and burn it on the altar to be remembered as a pleasing smell to the Lord.” Leviticus 6:15)

The preacher loved candles, the tiny vulnerable flames
that reminded him of the offerings of his heart,
barely seen by the outside world and often extinguished
by the first breezes of doubt. But he
loved they way they dotted the darkness and drew his
eye and drew his soul to silence.
He lit them often in the shaded sanctuary; in window ledges,
on altar, piano and organ. When the evening sun
breached the westward window, he would close the blinds
to know the flickering moments better.

The preacher loved candles, the way the wax filled the
air when lit and the ash filled the senses when pinched at
the end of his meditations.
Married with incense and perfume, vanilla and sandalwood,
fruit and ocean breeze, the scents swirled in a sacred matrix
of golden memory and sensual aroma that took him in and
outside of the world.

Each candle was a Christ candle from tea to taper and votives
with a million prayers cast into the night. Some were newly bought
from Walmart, chosen random in a quick shopping trip. Others
survived hundreds of evenings like this, new wax applied to the old
before the column disappeared. He thought of them as Christ indeed
and every birth, every baptism, every friend in need. When he
closed his eyes
the candles remained like angels dancing on the walls.

So, he decided on a Sunday morning, to light the room for
everyone who worshiped, to share the quiet radiance that
brought him peace and presence. And as the last song was sung,
the people between lunch and reverence, he saw two, then three,
with tears in their eyes. Certainly, the Spirit had been there
with her holy invitation.

But alas, greeting his friends, he discovered, they, unlike him,
were allergic to the scents that had been his personal salve.
Their voices were gentle, but their tears had been histamine.
And still the moment was holy.

He kept his private candlelight vigil alone.