By Rev. Liv Larson
Leaders from our synod recently gathered for our fall Bishop’s Convocation where we share teaching, fellowship, and worship. I was (happily) in charge of leading Compline Prayer on Monday night. Not knowing the protocols of the Courtyard Marriot hotel where we were meeting, I set out beeswax tealights and lit them. Real candles. Real fire. No one stopped me or complained! Haha, success! Dancing with the breath of our singing voices, the candlelight added a prayerful magic to the day’s end and to our worship.
We are about nine weeks from the Winter solstice. In these coming weeks, daylight will shorten and shorten until we’re all going bananas because it’s dark when school lets out. But that’s the onset of winter in the northern hemisphere. And that’s the reason our ancestors in the faith made and lit candles.
Real candles.
Real fire.
Bringing the light within our homes to kindle a bit of magic and prayerfulness to the long nights.
It’s also why we honor All Hallow’s Eve by carving pumpkins and placing a candle inside. Lanterns accompany festivals honoring St. Martin of Tour. And of course, the Advent Wreath. A wheel taken from a cart, laid on its side, and adorned with candles. The message is this: we aren’t going to market. It’s deep winter. We rest and wait for the light of the sun to return.
As we work with Lutheran Disaster Relief in the long-term recovery efforts following an especially difficult season of wildfires in our synod, I was struck by one piece of advice. Don’t use candles, someone advised. When gathering to lament, grieve, reflect and pray, skip the candles. After all, fire has a darker, more dangerous meaning when your house has just burnt to the ground.
Friends, I respectfully disagree. I say light the candles.
Bishop Meggan has invited me to write liturgical texts for the season of Advent in response to deep grief and loss—from wildfire, from civic turmoil, and even from COVID. (Okay, her invitation was to pray about the fires particularly. But I think we’re dealing with all the things!) I plan to call this liturgy Kindled: Expectant prayers following grief and loss. Please watch for this resource to land in your inboxes soon! Kindled brings to mind a posture of readiness and aliveness that Advent stirs in us. Expectant prayer trusts that grief and loss are not the final word over our lives. The Spirit breathes and wonders are born anew.
This fall and into Advent, I invite you to light candles. When a sibling in faith is dying, light a candle. When a friend goes into labor, light a candle. When a child is missing after school, light a candle. When the day feels off and heavy, light a candle. On those all-too-dark winter afternoons, fill the room with lit candles. And in the dancing light, pray, give thanks, and sing.
A couple more invitations:
Join me on zoom beginning this Wednesday for a book discussion on the recent papal encyclical Magnifica Humanitas: safeguarding human dignity in light of artificial intelligence. Five Wednesdays. Tell your friends!
Then, on Mondays in Advent I will lead Compline prayer via the synod Facebook page. Please share and bring others around the candlelight to sing and pray together.
Lighting a candle as I pray for you,
Liv, your DEM