Candlemas

Our friend Noah with his candle.

Today is the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord—or Candlemas, as it has been known since the Middle Ages, when people began to bring their candles to the church to be blessed on this day.  I wonder if, since candles were their main source of light, they carted them to the big stone churches in wagons—all the candles to be used in a year to light the way for household meals to be made and eaten, games to be played, clothes to be sewn and mended, and for prayers to be prayed.  Or maybe, they brought only a few of their candles, as we do now, to symbolize their gratefulness for this gift of God.  For the very first words spoken by God in the Book of Genesis, in the darkness of the unformed Void, are, “Let there be light” (Genesis 1:3). 

In Fall and Winter the days become shorter and shorter leading up to winter solstice, until December 21^st when the sun seems to be a distracted visitor who shows up late and has to leave before tea time.  In Alaska we notice the change dramatically—though in Southeast we’re lightweights (no pun intended) compared to the inimitable darkness experienced by those further North.  And though I ’ve suffered through my fair share of SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder), I think there is something to learn from the flux of the seasons—something to gain from being attentive to this melancholy brought on by the lack of light.  For we only know the full power of the light in the midst of the most overwhelming darkness.  My family discovered this on a summer trip to the Carlsbad Caverns in New Mexico when I was 10.  Deep within the caves, our guide turned off all of the artificial lighting (after instructing all parents to grab hold of their children) and then, after a moment of darkness so black it was hard to know if you still existed, a single match lit up the cave like a firecracker and there we all were again. 

Ani & Jess helped to light everyone's candles before Mass began.

The Feast of the Presentation celebrates the moment when Mary and Joseph brought the baby Jesus to the Temple to be consecrated to the Lord and for the ritual purification of Mary, 40 days after giving birth.  Upon entering they were met by Simeon, a man whom we are told is “righteous and devout, awaiting the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him.”  And Simeon saw in this baby born of peasants “a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and glory for your people Israel” (Luke 2:32).

Today our family brought our candles to the church, not a cartload, just the last eight white tapers I could find at Foodland Super Drug.  This year, we’ll light them before dinner most nights, even if we’re just having leftovers, even if I’m cranky or Jackson’s refusing to eat his asparagus, or Jeff’s out of town, or the girls are stressed out about homework and music practice and wanting to play outside with their friends.

We’ll light our candles, hold hands and remember we are on holy ground in the church of our home, where Christ the Light of the world, dwells in ordinary and extraordinary ways.