In Maltese there is a saying which goes: “Darbtejn insiru tfal!” (we become children twice!) But I would dare to say that during this month we all become children again, or at least our eyes light up with true and innocent joy. It is true that the wreath used at church is blessed with solemn prayers, but, speaking for myself, I look forward each year for the blessing of advent wreaths with four candles—three purple and one rose—that the children are invited to bring with them. You cannot help smiling seeing children carrying wreaths larger them themselves! You cannot help admiring them who out of recycled or craft materials make their own wreath! The best part is when the candles start falling off or breaking in two before they are taken back home to become a visual symbol of Advent as an anticipation of Christmas rather than merely four weeks full of events and never-ending parties.
The sad thing is when you realise that the wreath used is the same one from last year … because it was brought out to be blessed and maybe used as a decoration at home. But let’s be honest: how can twinkling lights take the place of a natural flame, that slowly melts the wax as a symbol of the constant passing of time? Even in our churches, how can we, out of pragmatism, avoid the flame tunnelling the candle by using tubes filled with candle oil in different sizes, ranging from the shortest to the tallest.
This might sound a little sentimental, and undeniably it is so. But if liturgy and faith are emptied of emotions, gestures and symbols that have a deeply profound meaning, everything we do simply becomes an exhibition and a pantomime to demonstrate that we too can achieve what others can. After all, for many, what counts is posting pictures on social media or turn to sensational gimmicks that turn faith into something superficial, like the icing on a cake, that many remove because it makes them nauseous due to its sweetness. And each year we are so fussy on blowing out the candles on our birthday cake, but it’s a scandal to light a candle before a holy image because it is judged as idolatrous—as if the celebration of our birthdays isn’t a form of idolatry of the ‘I’.
A candle is a prayer that remains before God, Our Lady and the Saints who are in heaven, even after we leave the church and again face the trials of life. A candle is a prayer that flickers in the breeze that comes through the open doors of our churches. A candle dispels the darkness even if you can only see a few metres ahead of you. A candle melts until it burns out completely. And, when it burns out, it is thrown away, but its work has been done, it has accomplished its mission.
We are candles. We are not artificial lights, perfect and reusable. Nor are we oil lamps that do not emit soot. We are candles, that light up and are blown out, that struggle with the currents to remain lit in the wind and cold. We are candles that warm the cold hands in which they rest. We are candles that burnout. Apart from the colour, shape and size what distinguishes us is simple: on which altar will you choose to give your life?