Candle Lite

At the small American casern I was stationed at, near Nuremberg Germany, we had a candle lighting ceremony on Christmas Eve at midnight; to welcome the Christ birth celebration. The Pastor would light his candle, then light his wife's and then the rest of his family's.  He would then stretch out his candle and ignite the one held by the congregations organist; who in turn would light her husbands and their nearby children. On and on the fire serpentine would silently progress.  Pew to pew, row to row. Midway through the solemn ritual the heating fans of the sanctuary came on and the downdraft was so strong it effectively extinguished every flickering candle. 

   No matter the efforts to shield with our hands, the gushing dosed every candle in the room, leaving us to stand in silent stillness of the soft pale moonlight filtering in the windows by the seasonal full moon.  The congregation stood, hushed by this unexpected event. The Pastor, without hesitation, pulled out his lighter and while flicking the flint softly said,
   "Let’s try this again."

From my vantage point, I could see the silhouettes of all the parishioners lean forward with their candles ready for the flame.
There were no arguments, or discussion, just the collective and universal act of desire for light.

That episode revisits me every time I am confronted with being in an unknown, unfamiliar situation.  It's been well over twenty years since that ceremony, but some days it seems like just last night.
   My resolve was forged that night to be like that lit candle where and when I am able.  Share my light readily and expansively. On those occasions I may be extinguished, lean forward confidently to where I know there is a source; then be rekindle.  There is an essential truth in this action, a natural tendency; a quiet commitment to our shared heritage…our sacred legacy.