One of the things I miss during lockdown are class visits from primary schools. Often we’ll have 60 fidgeting five-year olds squashed into the pews, wide-eyed and excited by a trip out of class. Vanessa and I talk to them about what they can see. They’re always curious about the old pulpit, the brass eagle lectern and that strange machine in the corner with all the tubes sticking out of it.
We burn some incense, which provokes a lot of theatrical coughing, and explain how smelly congregations used to be in the old days and that incense was a way of sweetening the atmosphere. We show them the churchwardens staves, not much used these days, but historically used to keep order in church or prod awake the odd snoozing parishioner during the sermon — a practice I’m all for reviving! We’ll gather around the font to talk about baptism, pouring water while we do so. And then we sprinkle them, to much uproar and a lot of delighted squeals.
And we’ll talk about candles, which are lit before their arrival. We explain how necessary they were in the days before electric light. Many churches kept them afterwards, not just because they’re pretty, but to remind us of something important about Jesus, the light of the world, who leads us through life’s dark patches and shows us the way to live. Or as the old man Simeon in the temple put it when presented with the Christ child, “A light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel” (Luke 2.32). Happy Candlemas.
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