Our Flame
Written by Nova - Colorado, USA
It is not silent when we start, but it is certainly night. The first few notes of the hymn reverberate off the high ceilings and the now-unlit chandeliers in the sanctuary. Until my candle is lit, I revel in the feeling of raising my voice in a way I don’t anywhere else. The flames snake their way back until they finally reach my row. I am the last in my family to receive the fire, carefully tilting my unlit candle to meet my mother’s lit one. Flame in hand, I lower my voice, wary of disturbing its peace and sending it dancing, or worse, blowing it out entirely.
Fire has this unique property: dividing does not reduce it. Lighting your neighbor’s candle does not diminish the light or heat of your own piece of the fire. It doesn’t get any smaller, or more fragile, or somehow mean less. It simply is, but now it is for you and your neighbor, and then their neighbor as well.
I hold my candle close, basking in its mild warmth as I stare into the flame. For a few moments it is only me, the flame, and the music. Standing in my own world in the middle of my church, it is far from a lonely feeling. Anywhere else it might have been but the swell of voices and the light of many candles keeps the cold of loneliness at bay.
The only interruption to the peace of the evening was the short safety announcement and instructions given to the congregation before the music started, as the lights dimmed. The pastor reminded us to be cautious as we held and passed our flames. Always tip the unlit candle toward the lit one, otherwise wax might drip onto the person waiting to receive. We aren’t playing with fire, only holding it, but intention cannot alter consequences. Beautiful, warm, and entrancing, fire is also dangerous when handled carelessly, much like the messages we hear, interpret and share within faith spaces. Without regard for the well-being of others, without respect and love as guiding principles, we risk burning down what God calls us to preserve.
The fire, the music, belong to all of us. To my family whom I can hear singing beside me. To my church that has illuminated the sanctuary with a hundred stars. To the Presbyterian community whose ideals and values show me I am loved, even if I am, in some ways, different. To the Christian community, united by our God. To anyone and everyone who feels this warmth and love, regardless of what God or gods they believe in, where they live, or who they are. My flame belongs to me, to the person I am with the beliefs I have cultivated. But it came from the same fire held in the hands of every person in my church. It was started by a spark, just as every fire is. It is mine and it is everyone’s, neither aspect can be untangled from the other.
