Light All The Candles
So, this essay started in my head last week.
Those of you with ecclesiastical backgrounds know that Advent has started. And with Advent, churches dig out the Advent wreath and make the lighting of the candles a part of each week's service.
But, of course, there are rules about how you light them. Which led to this meme which I saw (and reposted) on social media:
Photo caption: "Thou shalt light but one candle on the first Sunday of Advent, and the number of candles to be lighted shall be one. Four candles there are, but thou shalt light but one, not two, nor three, but one. And stay away from the rose colored one."
For those who don't know, the scene pictured is from the movie Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and the caption is a parody of the lines being spoken in that scene.
To which, of course, I added a comment: "lighting all five is RIGHT OUT!" (a parody of the next line in the scene).
It was a fun little moment, as we all move into the Advent season.
And at the same time ... after I said that, I remembered another time when lighting all five candles was exactly the right thing to do.
Those of you who know me well know a little bit of my family history. I grew up as the oldest of two children; my sister, Cindy, was two years younger than I. Our childhood together was unremarkable; our family loved each other well.
I went off to college in September 1985, living in Mary Markley Residence Hall at the University of Michigan. Life there was exciting and stimulating and annoying and enlightening and all the things you expect college life to be.
On December 5th, 1986, I came back to the dorm after class and some shopping. As I walked by the front desk, the clerk on duty (a friend of mine) said "Hey, someone who says he's your pastor is looking for you." Well, that was odd ...
I got down to my room, to find Pastor Jim & Linda Tuttle standing there. They said "your sister is in the hospital; we need to go there now". I threw some clothes in a bag, and off we went.
Earlier that morning, while sitting at the breakfast table, Cindy had an arteriovenous malformation in her brain burst, and was unconscious moments later. By the time I got to the hospital later that afternoon, she was unconscious and on full life support, waiting for 24 hours to pass so that she could be officially pronounced as brain dead. But every one of us in that room knew it was over.
There are so many stories that I can tell about that week. God was extraordinarily kind and compassionate to us. The people of God surrounded our family with love and compassion and food and car rides and uncountable other things.
But they also surrounded our dear pastor, who somehow had to find a way to minister to us, while still leading the church --- and preparing for a funeral that no pastor ever wants to lead.
The funeral, several days later, was healing and empowering in so many ways. Walking into our sanctuary and seeing standing-room only --- when we'd be lucky to have it half-filled for a normal service --- was incredibly encouraging. The sanctuary was also filled with Christmas decorations, as the previous Sunday was the first Sunday in Advent.
But the Advent wreath had all five candles lit. Including the center candle, the Christ candle, which is only lit on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day.
Prior to the service, our music pastor, Larry Paul, left a note for Pastor Tuttle. Pastor Tuttle read it during the service.
"For the funeral, make sure to light the candles on the Advent wreath. And light the Christ candle in the center.
"Because Christ has come for Cindy."
Cynthia Dawn Huggins
It is 36 years later now. I've lived twice as many years without Cindy than with her. My memories of Cindy are good and pleasant; I don't grieve her death anymore. (Of course, Christian grief is different; it is grief, but not without hope.)
But every Advent, I am reminded that Advent carries pain for many people. Some (like me) have painful events embedded into the season. Some are discovering empty chairs at their gatherings for the first time, reminding them of loss experienced since last year. And others find it hard to reconcile the pictures of warm family gatherings we see in media with their own difficult realities.
If this is you, I have one word for you:
Christ has come for you, too.