Light Your Candles Quietly

On the first Sunday of Advent, we lit our lone candle in anticipation of the coming of Jesus. Our Light of all Lights, come to dwell among us.

Ali and I attended the Advent Procession of Vespers at the Cathedral of the Madeleine and it was so lovely. The music, the voices of the choir, and just being with this girl who will be leaving us in March… it all felt holy to me, the strains of worship transcendent. As we were leaving the cathedral, the bells played and snow was falling. A magical first Advent Sunday.

Advent, which literally means “arrival,” can represent many things this time of year. The celebration that Jesus did indeed come, with every bit of mortality wrapped around Him in that lowly manger. The quietude, the simplicity, the poverty of it draws us in… because there is comfort in knowing He knows the mess of this broken world. Advent also symbolizes the coming of Jesus into our lives today, right now, and tomorrow. Again and again as we try to narrow our practice of Christmas and make it more about Him.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the Father and what it took to make this gift happen, what an excruciating sacrifice it was to give us His son.

“For God so loved the world… that He gave His only begotten Son.”

A few nights ago, for our Advent reading, we read in the Book of Mormon. We read Nephi’s vision of the grand tree of life. To explain the tree, an angel shows Nephi, probably to his surprise, “a virgin” who is “the mother of the Son of God.” And Nephi writes, “I looked and beheld the virgin…bearing a child in her arms.” And the angel asks, “Knowest thou the meaning of the tree which they father saw?” And Nephi says,”Yea, it is the love of God, which sheddeth itself abroad in the hearts of the children of men” (1 Nephi 11:18-23).

Nativity designed by Beth Walker.

The love of God. Perfectly and completely manifest in the gift of His beloved Son.

I love that the tree of life is Jesus himself. Condescending to an undeserving earth. His glory in the womb of a young mother.

Madeleine L’Engle wrote,

Advent is my favorite part of Christmas. I love its waiting, its unfulfilled longing for deliverance. I love our darkened windows – portals to the chill outside, reflecting our warm candles inside, as we gather to read and ponder for a few moments each night.

It’s just me, Doug, and the boys these days. Ali and Sami come home for the holiday break tonight! And we are so excited. But for the last few months it’s been much quieter than usual, a little lonesome in ways, and I don’t think I’ll ever get used to eating dinner by myself when both boys have a commitment and Doug is still at work. Last night we made popcorn, read, and the boys played with the candle wax, which is utterly irresistible no matter how many times I ask them to cease and desist.

One of my favorite quotes this time of year comes from Alfred Delp. He wrote,

“Light your candles quietly, such candles as you possess, wherever you are.” – Alfred Delp

Whatever your candles look like – however small or burnt down, light them. Wherever you are, light them. Throw up your witness of Jesus, even if it feels like it isn’t enough. Ignite whatever you have.

I posted this quote on an IG story last Sunday, then just days later, I stumbled upon something written by Father Delp and it splayed my heart wide.

During WWII, Delp, a Jesuit priest, was condemned a traitor for his opposition to Hitler. From a Nazi prison, he wrote a powerful essay about “the shaking reality of Advent.” He taught that the shaking of the earth at Jesus’ coming was similar to times, like war, when we are truly shaken – yanked out of our comfort and into great need. In that shaking, we have an opportunity to come to God.

I can only imagine the longing he must have felt for deliverance, both physical and spiritual, as he wrote the following.

“Walking up and down in your cell, three paces this way and three paces that way, with my hands in irons and ahead of me an uncertain fate, I have a new and different understanding of God’s promise of redemption and release.”

He continues, “The gray horizons must grow light. It is only the immediate scene that shouts so loudly and insistently. Beyond these things is a different realm, one that is now in our midst… Space is still filled with the noise of destruction and annihilation, the shouts of self-assurance and arrogance, the weeping of despair and helplessness. But just beyond the horizon the eternal realities stand silent in their age-old longing. There shines on us the first mild light of the radiant fulfillment to come… This is today. And tomorrow the angels will tell what has happened with loud rejoicing voices, and we shall know it and be glad, if we have believed and trusted in Advent.”

Sunrise 11.24.25.

In 1945, shortly after writing this, Delp was hanged. A martyr for lighting the candles he possessed, wherever he was.

Yesterday, in our congregational testimony meeting, which is basically like an open mic hour, we got to hear the most exquisite violin and piano duet, the most honest thoughts about journeying to and with God. And I thought, what a privilege it is to hear friends and neighbors freely share their witnesses of Jesus, whatever candles they possess. Too many times in our broken world’s history, holding up a light has cost believers their lives.

Last night I noticed a patch of golden sunlight peeking through the gray sky, just long enough to reflect on the columns and cast a few shadows before it disappeared. Sometimes our light feels that way, just peeking through, fleeting. Like our stub of melted wax can barely be relit. But it is enough that it is present. It’s enough that we are striving, seeking, wanting Jesus with us. For if we face the Son, He will pull us toward His light.

Wishes for a beautiful Advent season.

Much love,

cath