The Candle

            The darkness of the black out was pierced by the ray of a candle that was lit in the midst of the child-like moment of panic washed over me. I admired its light and thanked God silently for its security in the middle of the dark unknown. Its flame was fascinating and I found my eyes transfixed in a sort of awe of the condensed tongue of fire that lived and breathed; they remained glued to its captivating beauty until they were too dry to remain open. Even after blinking they immediately returned to the blaze without hesitation and even attempting to hasten the passing of the momentary darkness of closed eyes. When the power finally came back on, I had to blink several times to reorient myself and adjust to the sudden brightness that filled the room. The light given off by the candle appeared miniscule now that the electricity was restored; it was now unnecessary to leave burning so I covered it with a lid to smother it while I watched it flicker and die slowly. I was then nearly overwhelmed by an unexplained sadness for having choked off the very light that had kept me strong in the darkness.

            In my time of need I had clung to the only light available to me; a primitive and instinctual desire when fear threatened to overwhelm me. Yet somehow when the fear was released I was eager to be away with the security that had kept me captivated in the darkness. I realized that this flame was very much like my faith; only valued when desperately needed but an annoyance when unnecessary. In the darkness I had been content with my small light but when the rest of the fear was dissipated I wanted more modern light and stifled what had sustained me through the hard times. As the world came crashing back around me in all of its brightness I adjusted myself to its intoxicating qualities slowly lowering my gauge on my morals until they final become so low that they level out with the world’s. A slow dose of poisoning conformity that consumes me and I become like everyone else. Only when the lights go out again do I long for the warm protection of the small flame that would be there should I ever choose to spark the blaze again.

            The world is full of cultures that see a candle’s flame as insignificant claiming they can make the light bigger and brighter; yet when there is a disaster that thwarts their intelligence again they resort to their instincts and turn to God. Haiti for example, they claimed their independence and in the midst of their man-made light they continued to have to lower their moral standards until they hit rock bottom. When the world betrayed them they were left bare and helpless in the ruins of their cities and reluctantly they turn their eyes back to a God who they had defied for generations. Their eyes are now transfixed to the small flame of hope that burns bright, clinging to the only light that never forsook them.

            The man-made light that the world depends on, now that technology has surpassed the need for nature has made the God-given gift of fire obsolete and it hides the flicker of hope in plain sight from the rest of the world. Although the flame of hope remains visible it does not captivate as it was meant to. Instead the world reduces its importance by increasing its own light thereby smothering it in the most subtle way possible. They disguise light with light and in doing so forfeit the peace that the small hope in a big world can offer. Only when the lights go out and they are left in their darkness again will they glimpse at the light they tried to conceal. The constant that does not depend on man’s intelligence but on faith alone it will burn forever even if no one will acknowledge its presence.