Scottish Catholic Observer

One of my earliest memories of Advent is of attending Mass by candlelight in my home parish. Even as a little boy, I appreciated the gentle beauty of the church illumined by the flickering lights which lined the walls and the radiant glow which emanated from the altar.

The candles we held in our hands, meanwhile, offered plenty of scope for altar server mischief. We quickly discovered that, by angling the candle in a particular way, you could set fire to the cardboard holders, which would dramatically erupt in an exhilarating burst of flame.

Now, as a priest, I’m being given a taste of my own medicine. At the door of the church last week, one of our youngsters informed me with delight that, bored of my preaching, he had kept himself occupied during Mass by setting fire to his fringe. His long-suffering mother seemed somewhat less delighted.

‘Out-of-control tealights’

More seriously, the following week, during the Gospel, I was momentarily distracted by one of our pass-keepers running down one of the side aisles, fire extinguisher in hand, to deal with some out-of-control tealights by the altar where the relics of St Andrew are kept.

Unfortunately, from my position on the sanctuary, I couldn’t tell if the sudden ‘whoosh’ which followed indicated that the problem had been effectively dealt with or, rather, that I was going to have to explain to Archbishop Cushley that an irreplaceable piece of our nation’s heritage had gone up in flames.

Thankfully it was the former: further investigation revealed no lasting damage to the Cathedral patrimony, and the pass-keeper was delighted to have had the opportunity to put his fire extinguisher training to the test.

These minor (!) incidents aside, our candlelit Masses have been a great success. Parishioners of all ages have come out in great numbers and have been effusive in their enthusiasm for what has now become an annual tradition in our parish.

Deep roots

It’s a tradition with deep roots. In the Middle Ages, Mass was celebrated in the candlelit darkness before dawn in honour of the Blessed Virgin. These came to be known as ‘Rorate Masses,’ after the first Latin words of the Entrance Antiphon: ‘Drop down dew from above, you heavens, and let the clouds rain down the Just One.’ (cf. Is 45: 8).

There’s a profound symbolism here: Advent, at least in this part of this world, is celebrated in the darkest month of the year. The Christ child is born in the midst of the thick darkness of night. As St John puts it, He is ‘the true light who was coming into the world… the light who shines in the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it.’ (Jn 1: 5, 9).

The ultimate victory of the light is celebrated, of course, not at Christmas but at Easter. In that moment, the Easter Candle is solemnly processed into the darkened church, gradually spreading until the whole building is illuminated, as the choir sing the angels’ hymn of praise to God’s glory.

As the Gospel of the Resurrection is proclaimed, the words of Isaiah are at last fulfilled: “Arise, shine out! For your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you!” (Is 60: 1).

Light of Christ

A lighted candle was given to each of us on the day of our Baptism, symbolic of our Easter Faith and our mission to bring the light of Christ into the world through our own life of witness. At our candlelit Mass last week, at the moment of the consecration, I looked up from the altar to see what looked like a great crowd of gathered lights, each one, to my mind, symbolic of the Faith of the person who carried it: fragile and wavering, perhaps, but still shining in the darkness in spite of the storm raging all around. It had a powerful effect on me.

I’m not alone in this experience. The other day I heard the testimony of a young woman from Glasgow by the name of Natasha who had a powerful experience of conversion at a World Youth Day prayer vigil of Eucharistic Adoration.

She said that, after a somewhat underwhelming experience of church life as a child, she found herself at age 17 in a field in Krakow at twilight, holding a candle, surrounded by two million other young people. She says that, as she looked at ‘all these little lights shining brightly against the backdrop of the dark sky, I realised that Jesus was real, that He loved and cared for me and that He was truly present in the Most Blessed Sacrament.’

I hope that, fire extinguishers and burning hair aside, the people who attended our candlelit Masses this year have gone home with a deeper love for Jesus, enlightened not by the glitzy glare of our shopping centres, nor even by the multi-coloured bulbs which adorn our Christmas trees, but rather by the light of Faith which is His gift to us and the assurance of His continued, dependable presence in our midst.