Candle Light


When we were kids, we fought over who got to light the candles for family prayer. Every day. A pair of candlesticks framed our altar to Jesus and Mary and there were seven of us siblings. So, my favorite Mass of the whole year became the Easter Vigil Mass because we each got our own candle. Actually, I didn't know that was what you called it until I joined the convent. It was always the "Night of Light."

The little boy next to me was playing with his candle. He held it low, to avoid attention. He cradled it carefully in his hand, looking intently at its burning heart. Last night, I was at Easter Vigil Mass in Arlington to pray for two friends. They were getting baptized. They were teens.

Father asked everyone to blow out the candles because Scripture was being proclaimed and this was the Light of truth for our world. And also because the wax might dirty the pews. My neighbor kept his candle lit. His mom didn't stop him. I don't blame her. I didn't stop him either.

There is something different about the light of a candle.

It flickers.
It burns.
It radiates...
because its self slowly surrenders.

The light of a candle is messy.
It drips.
It's unpredictable.
It sputters when there is a draft in the room.

Over candlelight, his eyes said something to me.
I felt the question.
My heart skipped, ever so lightly.

My eyes gazed into the heart of another candle.

My favorite spot in the convent is the chapel at night. The room is bathed in darkness. The sanctuary candle glows a gentle red, it's burning heart flickering faithfully. The Eucharistic Jesus is always with me.

The Light of Night came for Denise and Henson last night.
The Light of Night waits for a little boy to welcome Him as more than just light.
The Light of Night surrenders Himself to me so that I may glow within Him.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Life with Ashes

Image
It was time to move. Goodbye to Allen Parkway and hello to Florin Wood. Our family was moving from Houston to Sacramento. This was over 20 years ago and the day comes back with ashes. And a smell. My dad had piled all our old clothes, furniture, and knick knacks into a huge heap in front of our yard. He poured gasoline generously and lighted it with a smile. My mom looked on regretfully. All seven of us kids were delighted with the dancing flames. The neighbors didn't care. We lived in what they called the ghetto part of the world and since we were not shooting at anyone, we were okay. "We're starting a new life," my dad reassured mom as our van entered the highway. "No need to hang on the old stuff." "It was pretty dinky, wasn't it?" my mom replied hesitantly. Our years in Houston were our first years living in the United States, far away from the land of our origin, Vietnam. What dad burnt was the few possessions we accumulated fro
Read more

To Die

Image
After her husband was executed, Bùi Thị Xuân and her daughter was sentenced to death by elephant trampling. Both she and her husband were skilled generals, faithful to the Tây Sơn dynasty, and the rebels waited for this moment to exact their revenge. Before the herd of elephants stampeded her only daughter's 16-year-old body, she turned and cried out to her mother. "I cannot help you in this moment. Die worthy of a general's daughter," Bùi Thị Xuân fearlessly counseled her daughter as she watched her daughter die before her eyes. After Bùi Thị Xuân suffered the same death, the soldiers fought among themselves to eat a piece of her liver. They believed she was "gan lì" which meant unwavering intrepidity and eating her liver, or "gan" would make them just as dauntless. Fr. Châu opened his homily for the Mass of the 117 Vietnamese Martyrs with this heroine story from our history books. He said anyone can die for a dream, an ideal, a vision. Yet,
Read more

Kippah

Image
" 'Do you have a kippah ?' That's what this visitor asked for." One of us pointed to our head. "Yes... yes, you know kippah is Hebrew for a head covering for men." My class and I was at the Dallas Holocaust Museum for an on-site learning experience. Or a field trip for college students. "Does anyone know why traditionally Jewish men wear a kippah ?" the docent continued. "It's a sign of respect and fear for God, acknowledging that God is above us," one of my classmates offered. "Right before your group walked in, this man asked for this. This was the first time in all these years I heard someone asking for a kippah. I think he recognizes some thing of what is here, some thing of why are here. We are in the realm of sacredness," she continued. None of us spoke much on our way back. We had been full of comments and observations on our first field trip to the synagogue. We knew we didn't have a kippah to wear. But w
Read more