One night, a winter storm caused a city-wide power outage. A woman fumbled through her closet and took out four candles. Turning to leave, one of the candles said to her, “Wait a minute.”
Startled, she took a closer look. It said, “Please don’t take me out of here.”
“What do you mean?” she asked. “You’re a candle. Your job, the purpose for which you were created, is to give light. It’s dark in here. I need your light.”
“But you can’t take me out,” pleaded the candle. “I’m not ready.”
She couldn’t believe her ears. “Not ready?” she asked.
“Yes,” the candle replied. “This isn’t a good time for me.”
The woman thought, “Well, you’re not the only candle on the shelf. I’ll use one of the others.” Just then the other three candles said, “We aren’t going either.”
Exasperated, she stammered, “But you’re all candles! Your mission, your very reason for existence, is to light dark places.”
Each of the three other candles voiced their objections and made their excuses. The last one complained, “Lighting the darkness isn’t really my gift. I’ll encourage the other candles to step up and burn more brightly.”
It then began to sing the hymn, “This Little Light of Mine.” The other three joined in. Soon the room was filled with song.
The woman stepped back and considered the absurdity of it all. Four perfectly usable candles singing about light, but refusing to provide any light.
The Parable of the Candles is an amusing story of art imitating life. But sometimes life imitates life.
Two weeks ago, the candle on the right side of the altar at my parish burned brightly all throughout the Sunday morning Mass. The candle on the left side, however, burned for a little while, but its flame died sometime before the Liturgy of the Eucharist began.
We tried to re-light it, but it simply refused to light. It appears it decided to repent this morning.
Our candles here represent Jesus. And so do we. Members of the Mystical Body of Christ. A people of light who are supposed to shine the light of the gospel in the world.
Yesterday we celebrated the Feast of the Presentation, when Mary and Joseph brought the Light of the World into the Temple out of obedience to the Law of Moses.
How do we reflect the Light of Christ? Like a candle, do we choose to burn brightly, dimly, or not at all?
When a new candle is first ignited, it only has a certain amount of time to shine its light before its life is over. If it reaches its full potential, it’s reduced to nothing. Used up. Exhausted. Completely spent. Mission accomplished.
In this dark world, with so many stumbling around trying to find their way, we can choose to be a light for them. It can happen with something as simple as sharing our faith, a smile across the room, a quick hello to a forgotten friend, or a welcome to a stranger.
Like a candle, our job, our purpose, our mission, our reason for existence is to bring the Light of Christ into a world darkened by sin.
Like a candle, we’re called to be a reflection of Jesus, “the light of the world.” He said, “Nobody lights a lamp and then places it under a bushel basket. It’s set on a lampstand where it gives light to all in the house.”
Like the candles in the parable, like the altar candles last week, producing light is a choice. An act of the will. To shine our light in this life until the very end when we’re only a burnt-out stub, maybe a melted puddle of wax, to present to the Lord when we meet Him Face to face.
May God grant us the grace to “let our lights shine before all so they may see our good works and give glory to our Father in heaven.”
Photo by Zoran Kokanovic on Unsplash
