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Outside my tinted office window in the November dusk, the world appears blacker than it is.
My news feed and inbox are filled with terror at home and abroad. Terrorists maddened by demonic ideology – let’s call it true – have slaughtered legions of the citizens of Paris, with hundreds more wounded. Security analysts warn that our nation’s capital is next. Others speculate that Chicago, the American president’s hometown, is a likely target.
A private message comes this afternoon via Facebook: “Found out from biopsy results yesterday that I have cancer, and not a good one. Truthfully… I am terrified. And living in a house full of others who are equally terrified. This is HARD. Something has to give… at least a little.”
Terror at home and abroad.
I don’t want to leave the circle of light in my office and venture outside into the black hole of a world full of terror. Head in hands, I ask How can I help them? What can I do?
Then the images scroll across my computer….hundreds of candles, thousands being lit in dark places across the world.
And I read these words from a writer I respect:
But the Light that shines in the darkness and defines its shape is also the Light the darkness cannot overcome. It is the revelation of the Candle, of God’s restoration of the broken covenant, of God’s reconciling the world to himself, not counting our trespasses—this is the light that calms our fears and shows us we are not alone in the universe. For God has saved a people for himself, a people who no longer know the terror of judgment and death, and who regularly gather around the gentle flickering Light to ponder and praise this mysterious grace.
“After we have sufficiently mourned with those who have mourned, in the fellowship of silent suffering, there will come a time to speak. And what we can say to an anxious world, in ways subtle but clear, is this: The candle in which you glimpsed this world’s darkness and felt the stirrings of a mysterious hope—what you hoped for is true and real and contains a deeper mystery than seems possible, that there is indeed a Light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness will never overcome him.
So I am going home. Now.
And I am lighting a candle for my friend, for Paris, for the world.
Maggie Rowe 
I read your words, Maggie, as wind is howling outside our home, rain beating against the windows, lights flickering. With just one more powerful gust, our lights may be snuffed out (for a while, at least). So symbolic of what we face today. What a comfort to know that no matter, one Light will never be snuffed. Thank you for this timely, wise, and hope-filled post.
Katherine, that howling wind must have come our way – the house was shaking outside last night. Your reply and insights are beautiful. You are so right – our lights may be snuffed or even just dimmed for a time, but the Light of the World (and the Word) will never be extinguished.
Your website looks lovely! And beautiful words of hope for a dark time.
Thanks Stephanie. A friend helped me update the site a bit even though he himself is battling cancer. And I asked Mark Galli’s permission to quote his post yesterday – a powerful reminder that the lighting of candles can be a deeply symbolic, spiritual act of hope and remembrance.
That’s beautiful, Mom.
Thank you for reading, Ma’am. In the midst of our joy over your news, we also feel the darkness so many others are experiencing. But in the darkness there is always light.
That is beautiful and so touching, Maggie.
Love you, Pat
Thank you dear Pat! What a gift of encouragement you have.
Maggie, Richard and I are going to Buffalo to spend Thanksgiving with our daughter, Kristen, who has lived there for 3 years. I know it’s Mikes home town and I’m looking for the Baptist Church. Kristen lives close to Buff State and I hope it’s within walking distance. Enjoy your bloggs. OBC has had a lot of sad changes, but God is good. I remember how we felt when you and Mike moved on ….nothing to fear, we’re in His hands. Happy Thanksgiving, Shirley >
Shirley, so thoughtful of you to read and comment. We are also driving to the Buffalo area next week although we’ll be with MIke’s parents and sister’s family quite a ways out of the city. Mike grew up in Riverside Baptist which is in Kenmore or Tonawanda, I think. We are praying for OBC in this time of pastoral transition. It is a strong, loving place – what a privilege it was to be part of the family there. Happy Thanksgiving to you and Richard as well!
I love the simple children’s sermon-like analogy of light. Darkness can never put out the light. I meditate on that sometimes.
Venita, it is such a powerful metaphor, isn’t it? So familiar and yet so profound.
Always love your words. Even when I forget to post a comment. I read them like hearing a conversation with you, dear friend. So, I am SO THANKFUL for Maggie in my life. Prayers for your friend. Loved the Galli quote too. We must keep shining, mustn’t we? Hugs to all… and keep writing! your bff
Thanks Cindy. It’s been a week of joy and sorrow riding the rails. The metaphor of light in the darkness is so familiar it can easily become clichéd, but Mark Galli’s essay resonated with me. Thanks for the Thanksgiving card too!