Lighting the First Lamps

Lighting the first lamps was my favorite part of the evening.  Soon the nave would be filled with the sweet smell of incense and the sound of choir voices lifted in song.  Penitents would bend and scrap before the alter with their heads bowed low and the shuffle of sandaled  feet would rasp beneath it all.  But right now, I had the church to myself.  Silently, reverently, I awoke the chapel.  One at a time, I touched my flame to the wick and watched the gentle light spread and take life.  There were one hundred and fifty four candles through out the chapel.  It would take me the better part of an hour to trim and light each wick.  I did not begrudge this time I spent.  It was my meditation.  My place of prayer.  My moment before God, alone in His house, with His ear bent to my lips.  Sometimes I recited my favorite Psalm.  Other times my thoughts were a litany of pleas for healing for parishners, blessings for my brothers, requests for guidance.   Tonight, my mind was at peace and my soul rejoiced in His majesty and my heart sang His praises.  I had to have everything set for the evening call  to pray.  There, the last candle had fluttered to life.  Before I extinguished my candle, I paused on the alter steps and looked about me.  Shadows danced across the stained glass and across the alter.  I could almost hear the hum of the flame.  Satisfied that all was prepared, I blew out my candle and walked slowly down the aisle.  I took comfort in the fact that His eye followed me and I thought, just for a moment, that I felt His approval as I opened the church doors to welcome those who would seek Him tonight.