The Paschal Light
“In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the
earth—
and the earth was without form or shape, with darkness
over the abyss and a mighty wind sweeping over the waters—
Then God said: Let there be light, and there was light.
God saw that the light was good.” (Genesis 1:1–4a)
Thus begins all of Scripture. Is it not fitting that the first element God would create would be a reflection of the divine Self? Why did God give us light? The reasons, if they can be discerned, would be endless. God wanted us to experience the gift of creation in a way that would delight us and open to us the possibilities of putting his gifts to great benefit for all. God also wanted us to experience a foreshadow of the beatific vision of God, that of light, of warmth, of peace.
Light has, of course, become a great symbol and constitutive part of our Catholic celebrations. As with other symbols, the Church took the pagan use of fire and gave it a Christian meaning, thus in every liturgy we experience the use of flame as a reflection of the light of Christ in our lives. That presence of Christ is made real for us once again each Easter Vigil with the blessing of the new fire and the lighting of the new candle with the light of Christ present. How fitting it is that, out of the darkness of the tomb on Holy Saturday we are led by the light of Christ himself.
To me, one of the most beautiful symbols we experience all year is that of the flame from the Paschal candle lighting up the entire church as that flame is passed from one person’s candle to the other. How beautiful it is that a light, when shared, does not diminish but grows. It is thus with love, which is God’s very essence. As love—as God—is shared, love grows, unlike earthly possessions. And the beauty of that action is even lauded in the Exsultet, the Easter Proclamation of the Vigil:
“But now we know the praises of this pillar,
which glowing fire ignites for God’s honor,
a fire into many flames divided,
yet never dimmed by sharing of its light . . . ”
Okay, time for a few anecdotes. These are a few horror stories for those of us in liturgy, but I really experienced each of these situations. The first was a parish whose pastor did not like wax dripping on the carpet of the church. The liturgy committee agreed with him that it was no longer a good idea to give candles to the congregation because of the dripping wax and because of the fear that some child might set someone’s hair on fire. (I’ve never actually heard of that happening, have you?) One committee member said that she felt the sight of that one flame in the midst of the darkened church would be just beautiful. Argh! Despite my protestations it went forward that way. How difficult it was, when proclaiming the Exsultet, not to sing (in the former translation): “Accept this Easter candle, a flame that should have been divided and yet undimmed . . . ”.
The second horror story was at a parish where the temporary administrator (who later became pastor) decided that we had enough of a candle that we need not buy a new one that year! How I came close to singing: “Once again, accept this same Easter candle, a flame again divided but as yet undimmed . . . ”.
Finally, a parish who, like many others, had a plastic Easter candle (I can’t really even call it that) that only needed to replace the oil lamp in it as needed. Thankfully, the next pastor had the good sense to replace it with a beautiful candle stand and real candle each year. Unfortunately, the founding pastor had an electric sanctuary lamp installed, and that awaits replacement. Yes, you heard me right! Which leads to my final point for today . . .
I fear I will never see this in my lifetime, but there is something woefully undignified and pointless about the way we light and use candles in our liturgies. Now before you start throwing things at me, hear me out. Go back to the Easter Vigil. Once that light of Christ, that sacramental presence is made real, all the candles in the sanctuary are lit during the Gloria from that Paschal candle. Thus, all candles, all natural light in the sanctuary is the presence of Christ, and especially the sanctuary lamp, which stands guard of the tabernacle. The presence of Christ in the tabernacle is announced with the light of Christ, not some flick of a Bic. Now, here is what is supposed to happen: From then on, for the entire year, all candles, all lights, are to be taken from the sanctuary lamp. The sanctuary lamp, for its part, is never to go out, but its light is to be taken from its dying candle to a new one each week or so. (Remember, the sanctuary lamp, like the lamp of the Ark in the synagogue, is never to be extinguished.) Every time a liturgy is celebrated, the light of the sanctuary lamp is to be used for the candles. Thus, the light that is used for the entire year is taken from that one Paschal flame first lit at the Easter Vigil. Why does this never seem to happen? Well, it takes an incredible amount of vigilance and work. Would it be worth it? I believe so, but there are those who feel it is a minor thing and thus not worth the effort, for who would even notice.
What do you think?
earth—
and the earth was without form or shape, with darkness
over the abyss and a mighty wind sweeping over the waters—
Then God said: Let there be light, and there was light.
God saw that the light was good.” (Genesis 1:1–4a)
Thus begins all of Scripture. Is it not fitting that the first element God would create would be a reflection of the divine Self? Why did God give us light? The reasons, if they can be discerned, would be endless. God wanted us to experience the gift of creation in a way that would delight us and open to us the possibilities of putting his gifts to great benefit for all. God also wanted us to experience a foreshadow of the beatific vision of God, that of light, of warmth, of peace.
Light has, of course, become a great symbol and constitutive part of our Catholic celebrations. As with other symbols, the Church took the pagan use of fire and gave it a Christian meaning, thus in every liturgy we experience the use of flame as a reflection of the light of Christ in our lives. That presence of Christ is made real for us once again each Easter Vigil with the blessing of the new fire and the lighting of the new candle with the light of Christ present. How fitting it is that, out of the darkness of the tomb on Holy Saturday we are led by the light of Christ himself.
To me, one of the most beautiful symbols we experience all year is that of the flame from the Paschal candle lighting up the entire church as that flame is passed from one person’s candle to the other. How beautiful it is that a light, when shared, does not diminish but grows. It is thus with love, which is God’s very essence. As love—as God—is shared, love grows, unlike earthly possessions. And the beauty of that action is even lauded in the Exsultet, the Easter Proclamation of the Vigil:
“But now we know the praises of this pillar,
which glowing fire ignites for God’s honor,
a fire into many flames divided,
yet never dimmed by sharing of its light . . . ”
Okay, time for a few anecdotes. These are a few horror stories for those of us in liturgy, but I really experienced each of these situations. The first was a parish whose pastor did not like wax dripping on the carpet of the church. The liturgy committee agreed with him that it was no longer a good idea to give candles to the congregation because of the dripping wax and because of the fear that some child might set someone’s hair on fire. (I’ve never actually heard of that happening, have you?) One committee member said that she felt the sight of that one flame in the midst of the darkened church would be just beautiful. Argh! Despite my protestations it went forward that way. How difficult it was, when proclaiming the Exsultet, not to sing (in the former translation): “Accept this Easter candle, a flame that should have been divided and yet undimmed . . . ”.
The second horror story was at a parish where the temporary administrator (who later became pastor) decided that we had enough of a candle that we need not buy a new one that year! How I came close to singing: “Once again, accept this same Easter candle, a flame again divided but as yet undimmed . . . ”.
Finally, a parish who, like many others, had a plastic Easter candle (I can’t really even call it that) that only needed to replace the oil lamp in it as needed. Thankfully, the next pastor had the good sense to replace it with a beautiful candle stand and real candle each year. Unfortunately, the founding pastor had an electric sanctuary lamp installed, and that awaits replacement. Yes, you heard me right! Which leads to my final point for today . . .
I fear I will never see this in my lifetime, but there is something woefully undignified and pointless about the way we light and use candles in our liturgies. Now before you start throwing things at me, hear me out. Go back to the Easter Vigil. Once that light of Christ, that sacramental presence is made real, all the candles in the sanctuary are lit during the Gloria from that Paschal candle. Thus, all candles, all natural light in the sanctuary is the presence of Christ, and especially the sanctuary lamp, which stands guard of the tabernacle. The presence of Christ in the tabernacle is announced with the light of Christ, not some flick of a Bic. Now, here is what is supposed to happen: From then on, for the entire year, all candles, all lights, are to be taken from the sanctuary lamp. The sanctuary lamp, for its part, is never to go out, but its light is to be taken from its dying candle to a new one each week or so. (Remember, the sanctuary lamp, like the lamp of the Ark in the synagogue, is never to be extinguished.) Every time a liturgy is celebrated, the light of the sanctuary lamp is to be used for the candles. Thus, the light that is used for the entire year is taken from that one Paschal flame first lit at the Easter Vigil. Why does this never seem to happen? Well, it takes an incredible amount of vigilance and work. Would it be worth it? I believe so, but there are those who feel it is a minor thing and thus not worth the effort, for who would even notice.
What do you think?
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