My hubby has started blogging every Monday. He writes his reflection on the upcoming sermon passage, then lets it percolate until Friday when he writes the final draft. He may do stuff intermittently, but I don’t know.
So I now receive his blog, and, low and behold, I find that I have a blog, too. One long abandoned as work and other things carried my attention away. I think I only started this blog because I wanted to comment on his, and having a WordPress blog made it easier.
His toes are much clearer now.
How I am like church. I am a re-maker of broken things. I am a therapist. In the lives of used up, worn out people I see the seeds of potential, the germ of hope. People are like jar candles, they never burn evenly. They get off center, leaving behind, often, a huge chunk of wax, unconsumed. At home I gather up the bits and pieces of odd wax, full of blackened match heads and unused wick–then remelt, merge and recast new candles. For wicks I take a plain white emergency candle, or half of one, and set it down through the just cooled, soft wax.
Oh how that is like God. Sometimes I get all fired up–my heart angry at the way church claims righteousness at the exclusion of others. And then, as my ardor and anger cool, God slips a new wick of life into this burnt out old mess of ego and love.
For I do love. Imperfectly, but in great abandon…
When I am not too tired.
When I am not too afraid.
I open my eyes, open my ears, and see God’s handiwork.
And my candle wax, in a simmering water bath on the stove, previously burnt out debris sinking to form a black, crusty sediment at the bottom of the jar–is the church–bits and pieces of potential light all thrown together, simmering in Your love and grace, mingling colors and textures, awaiting the essential oil of your grace and the insertion of an emergency candle to again give light to the world.