Beliefnet presents The Christmas Candle by Max Lucado

We're sorry, but this content is no longer available on Beliefnet. You may enjoy the following related articles: Star Light in the Sky By Marcus J. Borg and John Dominic Crossan Our Lady's Juggler By Paulo Coelho A Place in Paradise By Paulo Coelho Jose's New Sandals By Paulo Coelho Rosa's Christmas Solo By Rosa G. Sanchez He leaned back in his chair and puffed on his pipe as though he'd finished the story. Indeed, he thought he had. Bea had to jog him. "Edward, tell him about the Christmas Candle." "Oh, of course. Yes, well, as Bea said, some of the details died in the river along with my father. But what I and all of Gladstone know it this. "Papa Edward had passed a bitterly cold Saturday evening dipping candles for the Sunday service. Being the night before the final Sunday in Christmas Advent, he'd made more than usual. To this day I still do. We stand them in the windowsills and give them to the choir to hold as they sing. We've always enjoyed yuletide services and large church crowds during December. Is it the same where you're from, Reverend? Why, I remember one year when Reverend Pillington arranged for a chorus from St. John's at Chadwick to join us. Bands of folks from three and four miles away came to sing the old, old songs." He leaned forward and, with twinkling eyes and a bouncing head, sang a verse: "Peace and goodwill 'twixt rich and poor! Goodwill and peace 'twixt class and class! Let old with new, let Prince with boor Send round the bowl, and drain the class!" "Edward." Bea placed a hand on his. "The candle." "Oh yes. The candle. Where were we?" "The night before the final Sunday in the Advent," Reverend Richmond aided. "Right…Papa Edward and his wife were sound asleep when brightness exploded in the room. You would have thought a curtain had been yanked opened at noonday. A bonfire couldn't have been brighter. They sat up and saw a glowing angel. They watched him touch one of the candles and then disappear. Papa Edward grabbed it, looked at his wife, and the two spent the rest of the night wondering what had just happened." "The had no idea what to think, Reverend," Bea continued. "They went to Sunday services saying nothing about the angel's visit. They feared people would think they were crazy. Before they left, however, Mrs. Haddington gave the candle away. Touched by the plight of a young widow, she gave her the candle and urged her to light it and pray." Edward picked up the story. "Each Christmas Eve church members are invited to stand and share a blessing. Well, imagine who stood first that year?" "The young woman?" asked the reverend. "She was a changed person. A generous uncle had provided for her needs, and Grandmother and Grandfather Haddington wondered about a connection between the candle and the gift, but they drew no conclusion." Edward took a drink from his glass. When he did, Bea spoke up. "Half by hope and half by obligation, they continued to hang extra candles each eve of the final Advent Sunday. Then, after a quarter of a century, the December night glowed, and an angel touched another candle. Papa Edward gave it to a shepherd who was searching for his son. The father found the son, shared the news at the Christmas Eve service, and Grandmother and Grandfather knew something special was happening." The reverend shifted uneasily in his chair. "And you credit God for this?" "Who else?" asked Edward. "You realize, of course, that these could all be coincidences." "Indeed they could," Edward conceded. "But two hundred years have passed. Every quarter of a century an angel has touched one candle. Every prayer that was offered over the candle was answered." "The Christmas Candle has become legendary," Bea interjected," and so have the Haddington candle makers. Even when the region had other chandler shops, the angel only and always came to Papa Edward's descendants. The citizens of Gladstone have anticipated each candle maker's child the way the rest of England awaits a royal heir, which brings us to the hard part of this story." She looked at Edward. "God gave us only one child, a son. He was born to us late in life and died from cholera when he was twenty." "I'm sorry to hear that. Was he married?" "That he was. His wife died several months later in childbirth." "My goodness. One tragedy followed the other." "It did. Indeed, it did." Edward noted this first ray of warmth from the reverend. His guard, for just a few moments, was lowered. "And your grandchild?" Richmond asked. Edward chose to veil his reply. "As you can see, Bea and I are alone. We're both in our seventies; we won't be having any more children." "Does that mean the angel visits stop with you?" "We assume so." Richmond began reviewing the facts, counting them with his fingers. "The angel comes once every twenty-five years?" Edward nodded. "He touches one candle?" "So far." "And that candle has power?" "No, God has the power. The candle is just the…Bea, what did you call it?" "The vessel." "Yes, the vessel." The young minster crossed his arms and looked out the window. "You find the story hard to believe?" Bea asked. Reverend Richmond cleared his throat and looked back. "It's not the type of even you hear about often." "No," Edward agreed, "far from it." "How long since the last visit?" Edward looked to Bea and let her answer the reverend. "Twenty-four years." "Twenty four? That means this is the…" "Yes, this is the year," she agreed. "Goodness. No wonder everyone's talking about the candle." The conversation ended soon after that. Nothing else seemed worth mentioning. CONTENT ENDS HERE -->