Tomorrow is Candlemas. Isn’t that a lovely name? For me, it conjures old stone churches and ancient winter festivals. But not Christmasy – this one is different. While Christmas remind us of God’s action – God’s self-humbling and chosen birth in the stable – Candlemas is a celebration of human imagination. It commemorates the story in Luke 2:22-40 of Jesus’ presentation at the Temple. Mary and Joseph followed the religious custom of the time and brought their infant son to be consecrated and blessed. The old man Simeon held the baby in his arms and recognized him as “a Light to lighten the Gentiles and the glory of your people Israel.’
Human imagination comes into play twice in this story: initially when the law of Moses was interpreted in the Temple in Jerusalem and parents began to bring their first-born sons to be blessed, and then when, within the context of that tradition, Simeon holds the infant Jesus in his arms and recognises God’s incarnate presence in the world. In both instances, God is at work in the world. God inspires our traditions and then, in the fullness of time, meets us within the tradition and that feels like light.
Maybe the rituals and traditions of our faith are like windows in an old building. Some of them were installed when the house was first built. Others were added later when it became clear that more light was needed. The windows are essential to let in the light. But windows do not coerce the light.
It is God who chooses to participate. Our covenant God who wants to be present and active in our world.
Over Christmas, I spent some time poking around a craft market with my mum and daughter. I came home with the candle-holder you can see at the top. It’s made of a thick and lovely puck of Welsh slate. She wanted to buy one for each of my siblings, too, but then thought all that slate would be too heavy in her suitcase. But I am glad that this one came home with me. I love its weight, it solid colour that somehow shifts with the light, midnight, charcoal, atlantic, ash. I also love that it is local. Since the Romans were here in Wales, slate has been quarried from the hills for roof tiles and floors. This small disk is part of this landscape to hold in my hands and set on my table, wherever that table might be.
We’ve been lighting its candles on Sunday evenings throughout this past month, and now here we are at the beginning of February already. In many churches, it has become a tradition at Candlemas to bless the church candles. Maybe we can bring that tradition home. I pray that that the little lights in their stone ring on my table might shine brightly, softening our faces, helping us to shine, and reminding us of the Christ-light in each of our imaginations and hearts.
