Very recently I learned something new about the Easter season. We all know what the Paschal candle is, right? We all know that it is lit at the the beginning of the Great Vigil of Easter and then remains lit through the day of Pentecost (that would be today), right? We all know that we bring it out and light it during the year when we celebrate a baptism or observe a funeral, right? The Paschal Candle is lit during these two services to symbolize the light of Christ which the person being baptized is receiving in that sacrament, as Luke William Harper is today. The Paschal Candle is lit during a funeral, as it will be next Saturday when we honor Anita Schuck’s passing into God’s greater kingdom, because it reminds us that the light of Christ continues with us beyond this life. The light of Christ shines before us, beyond us, and most importantly within us — which is a lot of what today, Pentecost, is all about.
So what is this new thing I just learned a few days ago about the Paschal Candle? Well, it turns out that it was the custom in many churches (I wouldn’t know having grown up in one of those “snake belly low” type churches where we barely even had altar candles let alone these beautiful, and highly symbolic Paschal ones!) — any way, it turns out that in many churches it was the custom to extinguish the Paschal Candle right after the Gospel reading on Ascension Day — ten days ago. Maybe they even did that here at St. Stephen’s pre-1979 Prayer Book. Maybe some of you even remember it?
But this was completely new news to me. Imagine sitting in church on the Day of Ascension and right after hearing the story of how Jesus rose into heaven right in front of his disciples and pretty much disappeared, someone — probably a verger I would imagine — someone comes along and snuffs out the candle as the congregation watches the merest wisp of smoke rise up and then disappear.
I would have found that disturbing to say the least. But the more I thought about this the past few days the more it started to make sense to me. Because throughout the church’s year we emphasize the presence of Christ in our midst. Here with us as we gather together to worship. Here with us as we share the bread and the wine. Here with us in the cyclical stories of his birth, his life, his ministry, his teachings, his healings, his death, his resurrection. And then 40 days after his resurrection, poof — like that wisp of smoke from the extinguished wick of the Paschal Candle — poof! He’s gone. Just like that.
The past 10 days here at St. Stephen’s would not have been a particularly good time to focus on that message. The poof! He’s gone. Where did Jesus go? message. Around here all was barely contained exuberance and joy and noise. You experienced some of it last Sunday as we honored our graduating fifth graders during our Baccalaureate mass as well as welcoming back those graduating from high school and college, sending them off with pride and joy into the next steps of their lives’ journeys. The week was filled with celebrations and yearbook signings and last hurrahs and youthful joy. Hardly a time to think about whoa — Jesus is gone, where did he go? Did you abandon us, Jesus, desert us? What?
But that 10 day interval between Ascension and Pentecost, that time that even the Bible is telling us that Jesus is gone, Jesus isn’t with us, that time has come to mean a lot to me. Because which of us hasn’t at some time in our lives (probably many times in our lives…) wondered, “hey, Jesus (hey God…) where are you? Where did you go? Did you abandon me? Desert me?” That feeling of poof — nothing there but the disappearing wisp of smoke from the candle’s extinguished wick.
You can just imagine how deeply the disciples must have felt that as they gathered together in one place ten days after Jesus had left them. He had died, then he had returned to them. For 40 days he had been with them, real to them, present to them — grilling fish, breaking bread, and sharing wine with them. Then suddenly — poof. He was gone. Just like that.
They were gathered there together and, as today’s story from Acts tells us, it was the day of Pentecost. In the Jewish tradition, the Feast of Pentecost is the celebration of God’s having given the Law to Moses. So maybe they had gathered to go back to what they had known and done and observed and worshipped before. Maybe they were gathered together to observe the Jewish Feast of Pentecost — they were all Jews after all. Maybe they were thinking — well he’s gone. Now what? I guess we just go back to doing what we were doing before we ever knew him. Before he came back again, stayed with us for 40 days and then left us again.
And then bam! Something wholly unexpected happened. God came to them in a way they had never experienced God before. The language in our story today tries to capture what it must have been like and uses words like “the rush of a violent wind” and “tongues of fire.” I don’t think human words can ever fully capture the enormity of something like what was happening to them. Suddenly those followers of Jesus, gathered together in one place, suddenly they were experiencing God in a whole new way. And suddenly the words Jesus had spoken to them before he “poofed” 10 days before, words about “sending the Holy Spirit” — suddenly those words started to make sense.
And they were able to communicate this experience to others from all parts of the known world in ways that these people, too, could now understand. And that small group of Jesus’ followers who had been frightened, who, before he was crucified, had denied him and deserted him, that small group of followers who when that day had begun had perhaps been planning to back to their old way of life — suddenly these same followers were empowered to become the giants of the early church, spreading the good news of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection far beyond the limits of Jerusalem.
The article in which I learned about the church’s former practice of extinguishing the Paschal Candle on Ascension Day went on to describe something else. A few years ago the opening service of a regional conference of Lutherans, quite coincidentally, was scheduled for the afternoon of Ascension Day. Those in charge of the worship for this gathering discussed the old tradition of extinguishing the Paschal Candle. There was backing and forthing as there often is when a committee plans worship, but it was finally decided to go ahead with it, extinguish the Paschal Candle after the reading of the Gospel account of how Jesus disappeared right in front of his disciples.
But they did it with a twist: they had a dancer “bend and twirl through space, carrying a collection of little candles lit from the Paschal candle and deliver them to the members of the assembly. By the time she bowed to the candle and extinguished its light, tiny flames flickered throughout the room, even as the smoke from the Paschal candle predictably disappeared into nothing.” As the author of the article concluded: “In that moment, ascension moved from the mountain toward Pentecost, and we were the light of Christ” (Christian Century, May 28 2014, p. 20“Living the Word” by Bradley E. Schmeling).
We are the light of Christ. In those times when we think Christ has left us, we are the light of Christ.
There is a song we sing every year on Maundy Thursday. We sing it as we wash each other’s feet. It has a lot to say about what it means that each one of us is the light of Christ. The song is called “The Servant Song” and some of the words are:
Will you let me be your servant, let me be as Christ to you?
Pray that I might have the grace to let you be my servant, too.
We are pilgrims on a journey, we are trav’lers on the road.
We are here to help each other walk the mile and bear the load.
I will hold the Christ-light for you in the night time of your fear.
I will hold my hand out to you, speak the peace you long to hear.
I will weep when you are weeping, when you laugh I’ll laugh with you.
I will share your joy and sorrow till we’ve seen this journey through.
I will hold the Christ light for you…
Luke William, today you are receiving the Light of Christ. A pretty appropriate day for it too, considering that on this day the Church was born and we Christians got our marching orders. And those marching orders are pretty simple, really: receive the light of Christ and then go out into the world and be the light of Christ. This is what your life as a follower of Jesus Christ will be about. Maybe a tall order for such a little guy. But we here, all of us are here to hold that light, be that light, for each other as we make our way in this world. Welcome to your new bigger family, Luke — and happy birthday, Church! AMEN.