Against the storm

By John Fischer

When my children were younger, we lived in a small Massachusetts town where we developed an unusual family tradition around the Christmas Eve service at our church. Since the church was only two blocks away, we would always walk to and from this service, regardless of the weather. The cold night air and the Christmas lights all added to the festivity of the evening. Of course if snow was on the ground or in the air, that just made it even more special.

The service always ended with a candle-lighting ceremony accompanied by the singing of “Silent Night.” For this, each person received a small, hand-held candle as he or she came in, and at the appropriate time, the church was darkened and the pastor would light one candle on the front row, from which the whole room would soon be glowing as the flame was passed on from person to person.

What made it especially unique was the fact that the pastor’s candle was lit from the advent candelabra – whose flame had also passed from candle to candle representing the weeks of advent, culminating in the large Christmas Eve candle in the middle that was lit at the beginning of this service. So you could trace this flame back from the beginning of advent.

This is where our own family tradition took over. We wouldn’t blow out our candles at the end of the service as everyone else did. We figured that if the light had lasted that long, it deserved better treatment. So we would keep our candles going after the service and all the way home to light our own Yule log that was waiting in the fireplace. It became very symbolic. From advent candle to living room fire – from spiritual fire to home fire burning – this light always started our Christmas hope.

I remember the year the wind was so cold and strong that we all had to huddle tightly to keep our candles from going out – slowly inching our way against the storm, lighting and relighting from whoever had their flame still burning, our backs to the wind, and our faces barely glowing in the flickering wick. We had a couple close calls that year and it was our 7-year-old Anne who for some reason kept her candle going for the rest of us.

I’ve always cherished this memory as a picture of faith and fellowship – how we pass the light of faith on to each other and how when we stick together, everyone is important. Sometimes the smallest and weakest keep the light burning.