Smoke and Silence

I only smell candles when they are blown out. I never notice the tiny flickers, the warmth, the aroma. The instant a candle is blown out, though, I know it. Thoughts come. Suddenly an empty room becomes a family birthday party. Little children laugh, noisemakers serve their purpose. In a nearby room, the rip of wrapping paper signals a new gift.

Sugary-sweet, like the homemade icing on someone’s favorite cake, the scene lingers. Then, vanishing like the tiny puff of smoke itself, the memory is gone. More thoughts come. On one especially common occasion, a new thought comes.

Candles are no different than people. Made with a purpose in mind, each one shines its solitary light for as long as the whipping winds of circumstance allow. Then, in that indescribable moment between darkness and a room free of the smoke it left, people notice. People who have never noticed before, notice. Another memory to be had, they think of other things.

Sounded Silence

Growing up, I never paid much attention to the miracles of Jesus involving the healing of mutes. If I did, it was only to suppose the tale seemed somehow out of place among the others. Healing the crippled, the blind, the deaf, I thought, made so much more sense. What wonderful signs of the power of God they were! But healing the mute? It never seemed so great a feat.

In learning a little more of language, though, it should have made more sense. A mute, after all, sees the entire world of created things, at least as much as he chooses. The sweetest songs and most sudden calls for help can be heard, if only the mute decides to listen. Anything and everything that happens can be taken in, up to the noblest signs of God and man. Yet nothing comes out.

And in healing such a person, Christ sent out a message across time and space that even this overwhelming hindrance is subject to divine mercy. It is as if Christ knew that followers to come would carry the same burden—more than able to see the face of God and hear the words from almighty lips, yet unable to pour that blessing of truth into a dying world. So Christ healed. In a world in desperate need, and for it, Christ healed. It is a shame so few people understand the act completely, or that so few who do share it.

Holidays in Heaven

If heaven had holidays, what would they be? Surely they would be markers of spiritual events, perhaps even like some holidays here. Perhaps some of the holidays might even mark some of the same occasions. Christmas may well be a holiday in heaven, as may Easter. Imagine it.

One would be a joyous occasion, filled with hope and promise as all of creation celebrates the arrival of the king. There would be songs, services, sacred observances to commemorate the coming. Who knows? Perhaps there would even be a tree.

Then there would be the other. No less joyous, in a way, this holiday would bring with it solemn reminders of a purpose, and of a price fully paid. Celebration would come, but only after still reflection. A little colder, a little darker, this holiday would celebrate the grand design.

Imagine those two events, as many miles from earth as anything could be. Imagine the eyes and hearts of men celebrating. Imagine how long it must take to understand why holidays in heaven are so different from ones here, and how man ever got them so backward.