It is Christmas Eve, and I just turned on my kitchen lights. I spent the afternoon at the adoration chapel, often alone this Sunday. Then, at around 3:30, people began arriving, in preparation for the 4PM Christmas Eve mass. It would be hugely crowded, and so I left to come home to prepare dinner. I will go to celebrate Christmas mass tomorrow morning. I was surprised at the Sunday afternoon lines of cars at the traffic lights, and then I realized it was people from around the city going to various Christas Eve church services. That made me feel good; people still celebrate His birth.
When I got home the skies were darkening. Sunset and the beginning of Christmas Eve were generally considered as occurring at 4PM, hence the many church services and traffic jams. When I arrived home, on my kitchen table, in the dim light, was a single candle, nearly burned down. I gently transferred the flame to yet another 8-day candle, as this one would shortly be going out --- but I would not let the flame go out. The flame originated from the flame which burns in Bethlehem over the site of Jesus’ birth. The flame was transferred from one candle to another across the ocean and to various churches, as it is now done each year, during Advent. It is a reminder of His birth, and the Light that He is in the world. And now His light was in my home.
I watched the flame of the original candle in the dark, as it burned down to its final minutes. I turned on my computer and began reading old December posts in my blog, posts of the last 15 years. Some brought me tears, as I also listened to Andrea Bocelli’s beautiful voice singing Christmas carols as only he can. At about 4:45, when people in the Catholic churches were likely receiving Communion, the flame of the original candle softly dimmed in front of me and went out. Seeing it reminded me of the moments I sat near my mother’s face as the light went out of her eyes. And, like the flame I transferred to another candle, her light didn’t go out either, but assumed a new location.
I turned on the kitchen lights and began writing this short Christmas Eve posting. I’m alone here, but I’m not. A light went out, but it didn’t. Belief comes down to faith in things we no longer see. Jesus, God, was a man. He worked countless miracles, seen by countless people. He rose from the dead, seen by many hundreds. Many millions have died for believing in Him even though they personally never saw Him. And today many people don’t believe the truth, because they didn’t see it. Seeing evidence, like my burned out candle wick, wouldn’t convince them that it was ever lit.
And so, they are alone. They are in the dark and, like the blind, can’t imagine what light might look like, or feel like. I feel bad for what they might be missing in the future, but much sadder for what they are missing now. Tomorrow they will celebrate a “holiday season.” But like the blind person, just because they can’t see the light, never saw the miracles, does not mean thy do not exist.
Tomorrow I will celebrate the birthday of Jesus. His light didn’t go out, and I often feel His warmth in my life, and am reminded of it in so many ways, even by a flame now sitting on my table. He is here, in so many ways.
I hope you have a joyous Christmas celebration, and remember to say ‘Happy Birthday’ to the birthday Boy. I’ll drop by the chapel tomorrow afternoon to spend some time with Him, and perhaps if we are alone, I’ll sing happy birthday to Him. I just hope He doesn’t laugh out loud.
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