Fix Your Wick
You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot. You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead, they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven. (Matt. 5:13-16)
A peculiar thing happened to me during the evening of September 8, 2011. That was the Great Blackout – a widespread power outage that affected large swaths of Southern California, as well as western Arizona, northern Baja California and Sonora. It was the largest power failure in California’s history. That evening, power had yet to be restored so I had to feel my way through the darkness into the utility room where we keep the candles for nights like this. Through the glow of a lit match, I looked in the drawer where the candles were stored and there they were – melted to various degrees by previous missions. I took my match and lit four of them, then placed them on some candlesticks.
What had been a veil of blackness suddenly radiated with a soft, golden light. I could see the washing machine I had just run into with my toe. “It’s great to have some light!” I said aloud, and then spoke to the candles. “If you do a good job here in the laundry room, just wait till I get you out where you’re really needed. I’ll put one of you on the table so we can eat, and another on the desk so I can read. I’ll give another to Sandy, and I’ll set you,” as I grabbed the largest one, “in the family room where you can light up the whole area.” I felt a little foolish talking to candles, but what do you do when the lights go out?
I was turning to leave with the large candle in my hand when I heard a voice, “Now, hold it right there.” I stopped. Somebody’s in here, I thought. Then I relaxed. It’s probably just Sandy, teasing me for talking to the candles. “Ok, Baby, cut the kidding,” I said in the semi-darkness. No answer. Hmm, maybe it was the wind. I took another step. “Hold it, I said!” There was that voice, again. My hands began to sweat. “Who said that?” I demanded. “I did.” The voice was near my hand. “Who are you? What are you?” “I’m the candle.” I looked at the candle I was holding. It was burning a strong, golden flame. It was red and sat on a heavy wooden candle holder that had a firm handle. I looked around once more to see if the voice could be coming from another source. “There’s no one here but you, me, and the rest of us candles,” the voice informed me. I lifted up the candle to take a closer look and there was this tiny face in the wax. Not just a wax face that someone had carved, but a moving, functioning face full of expression and life. “Don’t take me outta here!” “What?” I asked incredulously. “I said, don’t take me out of this room.” “What do you mean, ‘Don’t take (you) out of this room?’ I have to take you out. You’re a candle. Your job is to give light. It’s dark out there. People are stubbing their toes and walking into walls. You have to come out and light up the place!”
“But you can’t take me out. I’m not ready,” the candle explained with pleading eyes. “I need more preparation.” I couldn’t believe my ears. “More preparation?” “Yeah, I’ve decided I need to research this job of light-giving so I won’t go out and make a bunch of mistakes. You’d be surprised how distorted the glow of an untrained candle can be. So, I’m doing some studying. I just finished a book on wind resistance. I’m in the middle of a great series of YouTubes on wick build-up and conservation – and I’m reading the new bestseller on flame display. Have you heard of it?” “No,” I answered. “You might like it. It’s called Waxing Eloquently.” “That really sounds inter —,” I caught myself. What am I doing? I’m in here talking with a candle while my wife and daughters are out there in the darkness! “All right then,” I said. “You’re not the only candle in here. I’ll blow you out and take the others!” But just as I got ready to blow, I heard other voices. “We aren’t going either!” It was a conspiracy. I turned around and looked at the other three candles, each with flames dancing above a miniature face. I was beyond feeling awkward about talking to candles. I was getting mad now.
“You are candles, and your job is to light dark places!” “Well, that may be what you think,” said the candle on the far left – a long, thin fellow with an accent – “but I’m busy.” “Busy?” “Yes, I’m meditating.” “What? A candle that meditates?” “Yes. I’m meditating on the importance of light. It’s very enlightening.” I decided to reason with them. “Listen, I appreciate what you all are doing. I’m all for meditation time. And everyone needs to study and research; but you have been in here for weeks! Haven’t you had enough time to get your wicks ready?” “And you other two,” I asked, “are you going to stay in here as well?” A short, squatty, purple candle spoke up. “I’m waiting to get my life together. I’m not stable enough. I lose my temper easily. I guess you could say that I’m sort of a hot head.” All this was sounding too familiar.
And then the last candle spoke up. “I’m just not gifted in this area.” “Not gifted? What do you mean? You’re a candle!” I said. “Well, I’m really a singer. I sing to the other candles to encourage them to burn more brightly.” And without asking my permission, she began a rendition of “This Little Light of Mine.” The other three joined in at that point, filling the laundry room with singing. “Come on, you guys. There’s plenty of time for this later. We’ve got a crisis on our hands.” But they wouldn’t stop. I put the big candle on the washing machine and took a step back and considered the absurdity of it all. Four perfectly healthy candles singing to each other about light but refusing to leave the comfort of the utility room. I had all I could take. So, one by one, I blew them out. They kept singing to the very end.
I stuck my hands in my pocket and walked back out into the darkness when I stubbed my toe again. Then I bumped into my wife. “Where are the candles?” she asked. “They don’t … uh … they won’t work,” I said. “Where did you buy those candles anyway?” “Oh, they’re church candles. Remember the church that closed down on the other side of town? I bought them there.”
In Jesus’ day, salt was a precious commodity – which is a little hard for us to grasp today when you can buy a 26 oz. container of Morton’s salt at Albertson’s for about 8¢ an ounce. But during Jesus’ time in the Roman Empire, slaves were traded for salt. In fact, Roman soldiers were often paid with salt. Ever hear the expression, “Worth his salt”? Even the Latin word for salt, sale, is the root for our word, salary.
But salt was not only precious, it was also useful. A Roman proverb, which may have been common during Jesus’ time was, “Nil utilius sole et sale.” I missed Latin in high school, but the phrase loosely translates: “Nothing is as useful as sun and salt.” So, is it just coincidence that Jesus used these two metaphors (salt and light) for his followers? And remember that salt adds flavor, too. Pure sodium chloride never loses its flavor. But some of the salt that was available in Palestine was mined from the salt flats surrounding the Dead Sea and there were a lot of other impurities mixed in with the salt. If this mixture were exposed to the elements, rain would leach the salt out leaving a pile of impurities that might look like salt, but it was a salt imposter. That pile of impurities was worthless and was used as a road agent on the pathways and trampled underfoot by passing travelers. Of course, salt also preserves. In a time when there was no refrigeration, salt was essential for the preservation of food.
But salt is essential for life, too. In fact, without an adequate amount of sodium, your body can go into shock. It’s called, hyponatremia – an abnormally low concentration of sodium in the body fluids outside the cells. Symptoms of hyponatremia include fatigue, lightheadedness, weakness, cramping, nausea, dizziness, confusion, disorientation, seizures, coma, and, in the most severe cases, death. And Jesus said that we are the salt of the earth. Precious; valuable; a seasoning influence in the world; a preserving agent in a modern-day Sodom or Gomorrah whose citizens have become fatigued, dizzy, confused and disoriented. But if we’ve allowed the elements to leach the salt from our lives, what’s left of our influence? What good is salt that refuses to be used?
Jesus said that we are the light of the world. And although we are surrounded by light during the day, very few things actually give out light. We see most things only because they reflect light. For instance, when light strikes a surface, some or all of it is reflected. Most surfaces scatter light in all directions, and all you see is the surface. But mirrors and other shiny surfaces reflect light in exactly the same pattern in which it arrived, so you see a mirror image. That’s why in John 8:12, Jesus said, “I am the Light of the World. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.” Jesus is the Light of the world, and those who follow Jesus reflect its source.
Jesus wants his light to shine through us; to bless the world through us; to dispel the darkness through us. Jesus wants to use us to make a difference in the world. But note that Jesus doesn’t say, “Make your light shine.” He says, “Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.” Our purpose is to shine so that others around us can see our good deeds – not for the deeds we’ve done but for their source of inspiration. We are like a city on a hill, or a light on a stand whose beacon draws a world of darkness into the world of Light. A city where the power outages of life cannot dim its influence, or whose light cannot be hidden. Our source is guaranteed and uninterruptable – all we have to do is flip the switch. So, let’s consider whether we’re a shining light in the inky, black sky of cultural darkness, or whether we’re simply shining in the safety of a laundry room, or maybe even a church.
Grace,
Randy
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