O ne day I saw some candles in an ancient little shop where candles are sold for profit by day and burned for illumination by night—burned in a sort o f scornful independence of outside and inside incandescent marvels. Candles big, candles little, candles long, candles short, candles cheap, candles costly, candles blue, candles white, candles pink, candles red, candles green, candles yellow—all sorts of candles. Three kinds were there in the little shop. I noticed the— I. C andles U nlit There they were, these unlit candles, boxes of them, piles of them, unbesmirched, unused. The hot lips of matches had never touched them. The kin dling torch of lamp-lighter had never scorched their hearts of thread. No illuminating fire had warmed their tallow bodies. Never having burned, they had never given a ray of light to dispel any darkness. Never had they brightened the corner where they were— or any other corner. Never had they driven darkness away from any room. Never had they shown the pitfalls adjacent to any path. They had never shown the way up or the way down any dark stairway—had never gleamed from any window as an invitation to some travel-weary stran ger—had never testified by night to any prodigal that forgiving love still awaited his return. Not once. They had never thrown their beams with glad abandon into “ this naughty world.” They had hoarded themselves as a miser hoards gold. No light—ever—had they given. No darkness had they ever scattered. No sickroom had they ever cheered by night. Candles never lit, though beautiful in color. Candles never touched by fire, and never burning, though possessing splendid possibilities. Candles never burning. Consequently, candles never blessing. Candles never spending themselves. So, candles bringing no enrichment. Candles ever hoarding themselves. Hence, candles never helping. These unlit candles were like some people today —unlit and never letting their light shine in a world-house where many rooms are in darkness, where many stairways are perils, where many walls are confusion, where many attics are gloom, where many cellars are windowless, where many parlors and palaces are cheerless. Unbuming can dles in a world where dark pathways are set with traps and surrounded with horrible pits! Flameless candles in a time when some walk in darkness, talk ing nonsense on the edge o f an abyss! Unlit can dles in a world-house where thousands cry for the light—and “with no language but a cry.” Unlit candles that kindle no flame on dark horizons toward which Macedonias and Patagonias look for light. Too many unlit candles about us today! Can dles losing their lives by saving them. Candles use less because unlit, and not burning! Unlit candles with thousands of rooms in the great world-house
C A N D L E S by Robert G. Lee, D.D.
full o f darkness! Tragic truth! But I saw other candles there. They were— II. C andles P artly C onsumed There they were, these fractionally utilized can dles — smoke-stained, the cold tallow bumps still sticking to their half-used, upright bodies. Some, under the heat of burning, had become slightly bent and twisted. They had known and felt the touch of consuming fire. They had struggled against ad verse winds that would have extinguished them. They had given light while they were giving up their life, and had dispensed cheer in regions of gloom. Some had shone a little — but not much. Some had burned brightly—but only spasmodically, only flickeringly, only occasionally. Some had burned themselves sparingly — as misers pay taxes — so inadequately. Some had burned a bit—but only a little. Some had shone a while—but not long. Some, shortened by longer burning, had given more of themselves than others—but none had given all of themselves. Some had met the bare stint of re quirements—that is all. Some had shone minutes when the necessity was for hours. Some had shone one hour when the demand was for six hours. Some, feebly burning, blown to flickers by unexpected winds, had faded to lightless ineffectiveness. As were the half-burned, partly-consumed can-
D ECEM BER, 1966
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