The Candle Story (part 2)

 

Easter morning came and I was so excited to get this little piece of the Triduum and bring it home. I got to Saint Joseph church early. I assumed it was a private Mass that we could not attend, so we planned to get there before it started. When Luke and I arrived at the sacristy Father Chris was there preparing for Mass and he gave us the candle and assured us that it was lit from the fire from the night before. Luke and I took the candle gingerly and started to leave, joyful to share the light, but mournful at being so close to the Mass, but not part of it.

Father Chris stopped us and asked if we would like to stay for Mass!!!

GLORY HALLELUIA! YES YES YES! It’s an Easter Miracle! We jumped at the chance! We hadn't been physically to Mass in a solid month or more and hadn't received the Eucharist in what felt like forever. We found a spot in the church half way back, and incredibly distant from the five or six other people who were present in the church. Luke and I were SO THANKFUL to be LIVE and IN PERSON for Mass. We set the candle down on the floor and prayed like never before. When it came time for the Eucharist, we were scrambling to find the prayer of Spiritual Communion that we had been accustomed to praying instead of receiving “for real”. I looked up and to my surprise the other people in the church were going forward to receive communion! I nearly shoved Luke out of the pew, and we scurried to the front of the church to receive the Blessed Sacrament! My heart was beating out of my chest!  It was beyond satisfaction.  It was beyond feeding HUNGER or quenching THIRST.  It was like the feeling that I had when my sons returned from active duty in the military. My heart has returned! What a Eucharistic Homecoming! The one I love has returned to me!!!  I was made whole again.  I had no idea then how long it would be until I would receive the sacrament again, but at that moment, it didn’t matter.  I was home. That communion carried me through a lot of dark days, and so did that light. Now to get it home….

 

  “All the darkness in the world can’t extinguish the light from a single candle.”-St. Francis of Assisi

 

After Mass, I was terrified that the wind would blow out the candle.  No, that’s not quite right.  Carrying that candle, I was like a first-time Mother carrying her newborn baby over a tightrope extended over the Grand Canyon… in the wind. This flame was my connection to its sister flame burning in front of the tabernacle inside the church, indicating that God’s presence was truly there. For me, it represented so many things: God’s presence, the hope of our return to Mass and my own faith life. Its survival felt linked to mine, spiritually. We got home and carefully carried the candle into our home.  It was very emotional. I was overjoyed to see this light, which represented the Light of the World, our Lord Himself, in my very own home.  I placed it on the kitchen table… Looked at it… and realized I had no idea what to do next.

First, I had to find a place to keep it that would allow us to see it, but wouldn’t get knocked over, bumped, or in any way catch the house on fire. I created a home for it in the prayer corner, the perfect spot. Safe and visible. 

Then I realized how COMPLETELY unprepared I was for my fiery little guest. I mean, it doesn’t seem like keeping a flame burning is a difficult thing to do. Pretty much you just keep a candle under it. I hadn’t made an actual plan for those candles. In hindsight, that would have been a great idea. It doesn't seem like it would be difficult to just get more candles, BUT…  we were early in the pandemic and deep in “unprecedented times”. Just like everything else about the pandemic, nothing was simple, so I’d have to make it up as I go along. So many stores were closed. Even when the stores were open, my doctor ABSOLUTELY FORBADE ME from being around other people. I'm not an extreme person, however when my doctor tells me that I should be living life in a hamster ball because I would surely die a slow, suffocating death if I got COVID, I tend to listen. Yes, the level of panic was exactly that real. Even those who didn’t have health conditions were told to “shelter in place” and stay home unless ABSOLUTELY NECESSARY!!!  Running out to the store to purchase more candles (at least at that point) was not an option for me, and I wasn’t willing to send my family into that danger either.  I considered my options.

“FrankenCandle” was the brainchild of necessity and creativity. ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­Doesn’t everyone have a drawer full of bits and pieces of random half-spent and broken candles? I turned to that drawer in my time of desperation to find the fuel that would keep my faith light lit.   

I had some glass jars that were the “Ghost of 7-day votives Past” and an eclectic variety of taper candles, so I got to work melting the stumps and broken pieces that I had been saving for years.  It’s funny, at the time I saved them I didn’t really know why I couldn’t just throw them away like a normal person. Even hoarding candle bits can serve God’s purposes, I guess.

I layered the melted wax and the smaller chunks into the jar, let it cool a little, then pushed a taper candle down into the middle of it.  Within a few hours I had created the craziest looking pillar you’ve ever seen. The candle bits were a mixed bag, so you never really knew what scent you were going to get. It could smell like a fruit salad, sometimes smelled like Christmas and roses had a baby, and sometimes smelled like cotton linen with some pumpkin spice mixed in. It reminded me of a Red Green quote, “If they don’t find you handsome, they should at least find you handy.” It wasn’t handsome, but it was effective. It kept the light lit and taught me that mixing scraps and bits and pieces together can carry you through some dark times of deep need. I did the best I could with what I had.  The light of that flame didn’t burn any less bright, although it did threaten to go out several times.  Frankencandle offered an opportunity for growth and grace.  Even when I may have only scraps and bits of my life to offer, God can transform it into something unique and interesting, maybe even beautiful.  Old Frankie gave off a different scent than any other candle in existence.  Sometimes, that’s us. WE are the collection of the chunks of our parents’ lives and grandparents’ lives held together with our own molten, liquid hopes, dreams, and purpose, creating in us a new and different being.  Whatever it looks like, it is called to carry that beautiful flame that has been passed down from generation to generation.  We’re called to hold up our blobby, melty, jar of mismatched wax and borrowed wick and say, like He did, “This is my body”, and to give our entire selves to him.  We are called to carry the light of Christ’s love, and to give our wax and wicks to feed it, until our wicks are burned out and the paraffin that made up our lives has fed the flame that we have shared with the other Frankencandles of the world.   

Every time I saw the flame, I was reminded to pray for my people that I couldn't be with, that I couldn't see, that didn't have anyone to be with them. I was committed to keeping it alive as long as it took, although, like the pandemic, there was no solid “end date”, I just knew I was in for the long haul, so I’d better make a better plan. 

I started to look online to see what candles were available that I could have delivered to my house. There were lots of options online to order, but most of the manufacturers were closed because it wasn't safe for their employees to work there. Finding candles was going to be a major undertaking. I made a lot of phone calls, sent a lot of emails to businesses, and discovered that the dollar store near me had quite a selection of candles. The big question was “am I willing to go get them?” The answer for some time was no. then I started feeling a little desperate. We were getting down to the last of the FrankenCandles, and the jar candles that I had around my house were running low. Desperation hit me, so I masked up, put on layers of clothing, and drove to the dollar store. They didn't have many jar candles left, but I bought what they had. This was a total of about five candles. These jar candles were advertised to last a week each. They really lasted about three days. Sometimes four. I was burning through candles pretty quickly, without much hope that more could be found. 

I found one online store that said that they were still open and that they were still shipping so I ordered a case of candles from them and waited ... And waited ... Aaannndddd… waited.  I received a shipping statement that said they were on the way. I was over the moon excited to get them!!! They didn't come… Not right away.  When I called the manufacturer, she said that because the people who make their candles are developmentally disabled adults, it wasn't safe for them to be in the building, so they didn't know when they would have candles to ship. But they would ship them as soon as they had some available. GAHHHH!!! Curse this rotten Corona PANDO!!!! (I wish they had told me they weren’t available to begin with, honestly.)

Waiting for candles was excruciating.  So was every single thing about not being able to worship together. Actually, so was EVERY SINGLE THING about the pandemic. We waited. It's what we did. We waited for things to get better. We waited for things to be safe. We waited for a vaccine. We waited for things to open up. We waited and hoped for a return to some semblance of normal. And while we were waiting, I held on to that candle. The light didn't go out as long as I kept it burning, and there was hope in that. It was a reminder that one day the light would return to the whole world and the people in darkness would see a great light and we would be free.

 

Finally, I received notification that the candles were shipped FOR REAL and just in time, since I was down to my last 2 candles. I lit my last candle and said a little prayer hoping that the shipment of new candles would come in before it burned out. That candle lasted five days. It was down to the gooey stuff under the wick holder when the new case of candles showed up at the door. I was BEYOND EXCITED to open the box and see 24 BRAND NEW FULL candles ready to hold my flame and to keep it going. These new candles would burn for five or six days each. I was looking at THE FUTURE! My hope was renewed right when I needed it to be. God is so good. I pulled 2 candles out of the box and immediately lit them both. I was not going to let the flame go out on my watch! I decided that burning the candles two at a time, (while it would use up the candles faster) would ensure that at least one flame was still burning at all times. And after having come so close to having my last lonely, single flame go out, I wasn't willing to take the chance anymore. My flame would always have a partner, someone to share the responsibility of keeping that flame fed, and someone to relight my spark if it should go out. In my faith life as well, there were times I felt alone in practicing my faith and growing my love for God. It doesn’t work!  I can't make this journey alone. We weren't created to worship alone. We are a community of saints, some already created, and some in the making. Our God is a community of persons, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. We are made in the image and likeness of that community of persons, so we weren't created to be alone. The candles wouldn’t be either.  

 As I watched the candles burn together, I started to notice that when a candle gets lower and has less left to burn, the flame would actually appear brighter! Likely because there was not as much wax to get in the way of the light and an interesting thing happens when the candle gets to the bottom of the jar. There’s nothing left but a tiny bit of wax and all flame. I hope that my life is like that. I hope that when I get to the end of my life I’m ALL FLAME. I hope that I have lived in such a way that I’ve burned off all of the wax of my life. I hope I’ve spent  I’ve spent the whole thing and all that’s left is the fire of God’s love.

 After those initial candles, I started to stagger lighting the candles, so I didn’t light them both on the same day. One of them would be a few days ahead of the other and it was beautiful watching them glow together and watching how the flames would change and interact with each other and how two flames were obviously brighter than one, but they seem to work together. I really enjoyed knowing that the candle that was lower, was lit by a candle that is no longer burning. The candle that contained more wax, the newer candle, was lit by the candle next to it that was more spent. It was beautiful knowing that when the lower candle was finished, the next new candle would be lit by the same fire, by the same beautiful flame that had been passed from wick to wick to wick, and that’s the same as our Christian faith has been passed on. It’s been passed from person to person. It’s been passed from father to child, disciple to disciple, believer to convert, for decades, for centuries, and for time to come. I could see its future, I could see its past, I could see the path that it was on… and it was beautiful.

More to follow… 

 

The Candle Story (Part 1)

 For the last five years I've wanted to share this story.  It's a true story that I've shared with some friends and they have encouraged me to share it with you. I've made it into installments so it's not such a chore to read.  I hope you find something within it to grow your faith.  

To GOD be the praise, 

To Him be the Glory.

He is the author 

of EVERY great story. 

In March of 2020 the whole world shifted. Do you remember? A new kind of sickness, a coronavirus known as COVID-19 was spreading worldwide, and the CDC was trying to get a handle on it. The whole world became gripped with a crippling fear of catching or spreading this deadly virus and people were encouraged to avoid each other LITERALLY “like the plague”. This threat quickly reached pandemic proportions and drove everyone indoors. Schools shut down. Businesses closed and many employees had to learn how to work from home, except for those deemed “essential workers”. Medical staff, food service workers, and many others continued to go to work in person to try to keep the world running.  Our familiar way of life quickly became uncharted territory as we learned how to navigate life in these “unprecedented times” without making actual physical contact with each other. We wiped down our groceries before bringing them into the house, changed our clothes when we had been around other people, and wore masks EVERYWHERE when we had to leave the house. People kept a “social distance” of 6 feet apart. We were all going to have to get creative to get through this pandemic.   

I should probably explain something about March in Michigan. In March, it's cold, dark, and wet. It is winter’s last hurrah, and the last bits of spending 4–5-months indoors. It's the final few weeks of hibernation and the people inside the house are chomping at the bit to burst back into life.  However, in March of 2020, “shelter in place” was the name of the game. Instead of the usual five months of being indoors, interspersed with outings for celebrations and basketball games, shopping and visiting friends, we were just… waiting. With our own people. Really…  really…  really… together. It was the tail end of winter, cold and dark, still indoors… and in 2020, it seemed like it would never end.

On March 19^th, our Bishop Paul Bradley of the Diocese of Kalamazoo, Michigan, sent a public letter, which included the following.   

 “I must admit that this is the most difficult challenge and heart-wrenching decision I have faced, not only as your Bishop, but in my life as a priest. Never could I imagine that I would be faced with such a need to restrict our people from coming together to celebrate this greatest act of worship that Jesus has given to us in the Eucharistic Celebration of the Holy Mass, especially as our Diocese is observing our “Year of the Eucharist”…

However, in cooperation with the directives of the Center for Disease Control and the Governor of the State of Michigan, and in concert with my brother Bishops throughout the Province and our country, beginning on Friday, March 20, 2020, all public celebrations of the Holy Mass are suspended until at least April 5, 2020…”

Lent began on February 26^th that year, so this pandemic started right smack in the middle of it. There were things we had all given up, and the running joke was that Covid was what everyone WANTED to give up for Lent this year. It was like the whole world was given this external Lenten penance. A new era was being born.  If you wanted to be Catholic, you had to BE CATHOLIC, intentionally finding ways to live your faith. There was no more just showing up at a church on Sunday morning for an hour. If you wanted that connection, you had to work for it.  Masses were offered virtually on Zoom, Skype, Facebook live, and a variety of other platforms. If you wanted to worship, you had to PLAN for it, SEEK IT OUT, and we did.  We went to outdoor Eucharistic Adoration. We attended drive-up confessions, we did our very best to stay Catholic, but one thing was missing.  

I missed the Mass. That is a MASSIVE understatement.  It had been several weeks since I had been able to attend Mass in person, and with 2020 being the “Year of the Eucharist”, I hungered and thirsted for it.  “As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God.” (Psalm 42:1 NSRV) Okay, that doesn’t seem strong enough to express my need and desire for the actual body and blood, soul and divinity of my Lord and Savior in the flesh, but I’ve also never been a thirsty deer, so maybe it’s spot on. They say you want most what you can’t have, and I was STARVING for the Eucharist.                                       

Easter Sunday was April 12, so there was still some hope that we would be back in person in time for celebrating the Easter Triduum (Three Days) that is the Superbowl of Catholic worship. As days and weeks stretched on, it became clear that this year’s Triduum and Holy Week would be nothing like what we were used to.  There would be no worshipping together with all our friends and family. There would be no choir. No lights. No dressing up to celebrate. There would be no Friday stations of the cross, or soup and bread dinners. There would be emptiness like the silence of the tomb. The depth of my sadness caught me by surprise.

On Good Friday, all the lights in the church are extinguished. Every single candle. It is a vital part of the Triduum. The light of the world is unavailable, then when all seems lost, a new fire is lit on Holy Saturday evening. That light dispels the darkness of the grave and begins our Easter celebration as first one candle is lit from a new fire outdoors, and then the flame is passed from candle to candle, held by our brothers and sisters, friends and family, until the entire church is aglow with HIS light!  It’s so BEAUTIFUL! Seeing the candlelight spread and the joy in everyone’s hearts, and the singing begins, and the grand, glorious EXULTANT Halleluia is sung and the WHOLE STORY IS TOLD, and people are getting baptized and joining the church and we’re all REVELING in the VICTORY that Christ has won for all of us! 

But it was 2020… and, well… COVID. 

I had questions. Concerns, really. Maybe even a little fear. Would a new fire be coming into the Church if there was no one there to share it with? Would it all still happen, even if we aren't there to participate? I consulted Father Chris Ankley, my dear friend, and he ensured me that the Triduum would be celebrated by those priests living at the rectory together.  I asked if he would light a candle for me from that new fire. I figured having that holy light in our home would be a connection to the light burning in the church. One fire, two flames.  Father Chris said he'd be happy to light a candle from the new fire for me. He said was saying Mass at 8:00 AM on Easter Sunday morning, and I could come to the church to get it.  

To be continued…

The One That You Love

When you read a story from the gospel, put yourself in the story. Ask yourself which character you are. Are you just watching it all take place, or are you a main player in the tale being told?  Look around the scene and observe what it would look like, smell like, feel like, taste like. If you could pause the scene and talk with Jesus, what would you say? Father Chris spoke just a little about this Ignatian Imaginative prayer in Mass today, and I am all about it.  Be warned, if you are an imaginative person, it's gonna be intense.  If you're NOT an imaginative person, try to pretend someone just slipped a pair of VR glasses on you and you're suddenly immersed into this whole new scene.  Except it's in your mind.  (Imagination...) 

Try it.  The gospel reading at Mass today was John 11:1-45. It's the lengthy story of Lazarus getting sick, his sisters letting Jesus know, Lazarus dying, Jesus coming to see them, ---Jesus wept--- and Lazarus being raised from the dead "for the glory of God, that the Son of God may be glorified through it.” 

Now read it for real and live in it. Read the whole thing, then come back to the beginning with me.  The beginning of this chapter tells us who we're talking about.  These are his friends. He's spent time with them and shared meals with them.  Can you feel it?  Jesus and the guys hanging out with Lazarus and Mary while Martha makes some food. Mary rubs his feet with expensive oil and wipes them with her hair.  They're laughing and talking and Jesus is sharing the important things with them. He LOVES them. They know it. It's not because of the food or the wine, or anything particular. It's friendship. It's just... Jesus. He just loves them.    

"So the sisters sent word to him, saying, “Master, the one you love is ill.”"-John 11:3

So, using our imaginative prayer, Who am I in THIS verse? I am definitely not the Master.  I'd mess that up in a hurry.

I am sometimes the one who is ill. I do have a heart condition. It's also that time of year when the inhabitants of the elementary school where I work share every possible germ and virus, They're pickers and lickers, but I love them. (More about them another day.)  

It feels vain to say it, but I know I am the one he loves. Even so, am I fully trusting that he will help me? If his help is long in coming, or if it isn't playing out the way I think it should happen, can I trust that the outcome will be for the Glory of God? Can the Son of God be glorified through MY illness? I'm working on it. 

The only other option is to be one of the sisters. This is it. It's real and raw and sometimes brutal, but this is where I am. I don't just sense or imagine the desperation in Mary and Martha's message, I remember it. I remember being in the hospital with my mom as she was dying. I remember visiting in the hospital with Levi, my grandson, before and after his heart surgery.  In all of those moments, I remember "sending word" to Jesus in prayer.

"Master, the one you love is ill."

"Master, the one you love has cancer."

"Master, the one you love had a stroke."

"Master, the one you love is lost, broken and scared."

"Master, the one you love is fading, losing strength and hope."

"Master, the one you love has a heart that won't work right."

"Master, the one you love is barely holding on." 

"Master, the one you love is dying."

"Master, the one you love is grieving."

"Master, the one you love, I LOVE TOO, and I can't fix it."

That last part breaks my heart. As I'm sobbing over here, I am encouraged by some other words in this reading... Jesus wept. Same. 

But also, 

"Master, the one you love is encouraged!"

"Master, the one you love is redeemed."

"Master, the one you love loves you back."

   

Father Chris challenged us to ponder these words as our homework from Mass. I think you just read my homework.  I recommend you do it too! Write your own words to the Master, and remember that YOU are the one Jesus loves!