It’s been a while since I have been to a formal worship service but as Christmas draws near is has me deep in my memories. As a kid, the best part of Advent was going to church. We had an Advent Wreath. If you do not know what it is, it’s basically a giant wreath set on a table with five massive candles placed in it. Four on the actual wreath and one in the middle. Every Sunday some poor family would have to go up in front of the entire congregation and nervously read some scripture and light the candles. Since I feed off of awkwardness it was always a fantastic treat, unless my family got called up there.
Church’s use a lot of candles during Christmas. Candles in the window, candlelight services, Advent Wreaths. At our church, a mystery happened every year after the holiday season. The candles disappeared. Were they thrown away? I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a Southern church but nothing is thrown away. Ever. So where did they go? I am certain that question was asked multiple times a year by the clergy when another use for candles would roll around and there were none to be found.
I’ll tell you where they went. They all ended up in a hall closet in my house. Every single year after Christmas my father would sneak into the church, gather them all up, bring them home, and put them in that closet. I do not know if the original function of that closet was for linens or what but in our house it was known as “The Candle Closet” and looked like something right out of an occult superstore.
Why? Why would someone do this? I’ve mentioned it before but I’ll say it again. This man was obsessed with fire. We were known to have a fire going on the hottest days of summer just for the sake of having something to look at. He was also obsessed with being able to light a fire with a single match. “More than one match then you’re cheating.” But that is a very difficult task sometimes given the moisture content of the wood. That’s where the candles came in.
Once a year he would gather any child that was willing to help and we would have a “fire starter party”. He was a carpenter by trade and would save every bit of sawdust he made during the year in garbage bags as well as every single empty egg carton we used. Then he would take all the candles out of the candle closet and meticulously melt them down on a camp stove while us kids were directed to scoop piles of sawdust into the pot. Then he’d use a ladle and dip the goo out of the pot and into the egg cartons. The resulting mixture sort of looked like someone ate a bunch of crayons and coconut and vomited on a pack of eggs.
When the wax was cooled we’d break apart the separate egg cups from the carton and that was the fire starter. It really only took one match to get those things going, even in the pouring rain. I am going to guess that some years we came out with about 2000 individual fire starters. “Imagine all the prayers those firestarters have in them.” He would say.
As I look back to those days, sitting in that church, watching the candles being lit I can remember my father lustfully looking up toward the alter. To any normal person looking at him looking upward, sort of breathing heavy, you would think he was thinking about one of the ladies in the choir. My brothers and I knew the truth. He was imaging running his hands up and down one of those Advent Candles, just picturing it melting into sawdust and settling into egg cartons.
That church may not have had candles after Christmas but one thing is for sure. Most of the congregation never had to use more than one match to start a fire as long as he was around to steal them.