In Praise of Altar Candles

Lights burning like a little choir, each singing their part in a hymn to exalt creation; this lot radiates light and heat, giving their very selves in this expression of praise.

Singing and dancing, they sway to and fro, never in discord with their purpose, but existing as they should. Their praise and burning is exactly as it’s meant to be, just as natural as the falling rock seeking the ground; undeviant.

Little light, singing your life to this chapel, what do you see? Please tell me.

Oh, the beauty of creation is all around us, and we are in it. My hymn and sway are not separate from this beauty, but are in accord. In my song, I sing forth my very self. The next bit of life waits in me as waxy potential, actualized in praise through my fiery song.

Looking upon you, I am filled with admiration, and I wonder at my own light and song. I too burn, and I too owe my light to the Eternal Light, myself not separate from this beautiful creation, but see how I differ from you: my own potential is made actual through choice.

Unlike you, little light, I don’t always fulfill my nature. You burn as the rock falls, perfectly, without deviance, always according to the law you were made by. But me, little one, I have often sought out my own good apart from that law which is the most permanent fixture of reality. In this self-will, I thwart nature, and the very law that sings as light in me. Little light, how do you burn so evenly, without fail?

Yours is to be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect. Even your capacity for choice is in His image. Virtue is free, and happiness is your end. Freely it’s been given and yours is to sing a hymn to the Creator of this life and all life through Him.

Certainly these faculties are a gift, reflecting His Mind, yet choice enables pride and a deviance from the law. Outside of Him is naught. The ways of life are good. What exists has life by participation in You, Eternal Order. Wisdom, you guide everything through its proper course to its proper end, and how generous a gift, you are reflected in us.

I look at your feet, little candle. You are now shorter than you once were, burning and singing off your very life. And can I not see the end of your wax? Can I not hear the end of your song?

My choices, too, will cease where my light runs out; at the burning of the last wax, in the last radiating light, a last decision, a last action of a last potential.

Little candle, I need to prepare. I need time to orient myself to the good, and take these logs from my eyes. I am insufficient. Let me wait. Surely I can wait and spare myself from His vision. I will cease burning, as you can.

No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house.

What fool would put the lamp under a bushel basket, and not blow it out, saving the risk of a fire? I seek to save myself from this burden of choice; of actualizing my life’s potential. Out, out.

And here I remain.

I have prepared myself to wait, to fall into a silence like the sleeping candle, but here I remain.

Our flame cannot be turned quiet, and it is a sorry and mistaken person who lives under this misconception. Trying to shield himself from the burden of being and choice, his light is burning. His indecision is decision.

Nothing that is done in darkness will remain in darkness. Be tried in the furnace of affliction — there is none else. Do not approach with a divided heart. Let the chaff burn off in union with the Eternal Orderer, and be seen in the light.

Avoiding life, I would sentence myself to death. So far as I am, life is inescapable. It’s happening now and all the time. We’re abiding in the beautiful created world through the Word, He, the light of our lives.

Let, then, our life burn in praise of the Source of our light. Let our use of reason and choice too be praise as we live in and through and with Him. Thanks be to God.