I’ve accumulated lots of junk over the years. It’s nothing short of remarkable.
Most people confront the enormity of accumulated junk only when moving. I notice it when preparing for the holidays. When getting out Christmas decorations, I rummage through closets and drawers that have remained dormant for eleven months. I can’t believe what I see.
I’ll find grocery lists written years ago, a small bell with no clapper, a tiny shelf clock that looks like a parrot, little metal objects with no apparent purpose. I’ve found old wing nuts, ribbons, coasters, ballpoint pens with no ink and product information for appliances we’ve long since pitched. I’ll pick them up, scrutinize them, wonder why I ever kept them at all. Then I put them back just where I found them. I have trouble letting go. Sometimes even simple decisions can be hard to make.
Every year, from a junk filled drawer I unearth one small seasonal decoration. It warms my heart. It’s a little wooden figurine of the Magi, the Three Kings who, in Christian lore, followed a star to bring their gifts of gold frankincense and myrrh to Jesus. In the liturgical calendar the commemoration of the event is called Epiphany. I place these three kings on the windowsill until the feast of the Epiphany has ended on January seventh.
The decoration’s a little hokey but its sheer innocence has always endeared it to me and as I pick it up, I smile. It also reminds me of one Epiphany I celebrated as a boy, and how, on that occasion I understood more about light and how sharing it with others can make your day.
In my boyhood years I gave little thought to Epiphany until our priest initiated a rite to celebrate it. The priest told us this was the time we symbolically carried God’s message of light and love to the whole world. We were to do this with candlelight. At the end of the service, we received individual candles lit from the candles at the main altar. Our task was to carry our candles, still burning, all the way home. I almost succeeded. Franny and I left the Church after the service and with candles in our hands walked the six blocks bound for home.
Franny was one of our trio that walked together on Thursday nights to and from choir practice. Mrs. Sontag was old (younger than I am now) and Franny was about six years my senior. I had a crush on Franny. She had long blond hair. I thought she was pretty and she also treated me as if I was her age, like one of the big kids. I always walked next to her; we talked and I liked the way she smelled, like sweet lemon.
Normally, Franny and I didn’t walk home together after Sunday services. On that Sunday in Epiphany, however, Franny and I, with illuminated candles, left church together to make the trek home. We both had a good shot at getting there with candles lit since there was little wind that afternoon. Soon, however, a puff of wind blew out my candle. Franny was older and I was sure she knew more about things like this. I asked her if she thought Fr. Rogers would think I was cheating if I reignited my candle by using hers. “ No”, she said, “You’re just supposed to keep it burning as best you can.” I relit my candle with hers and when I left Franny to go the rest of my way home, just shy of my house the candle blew out again. I was sorry that Franny was not there. If she had been, I know I’d have kept the light shining until I got home. I need others to help me walk with the light.
Holiday times evoke memories. I think of memory like the closet or drawer that over the years gets cluttered with curios and bric a brac. At first memories appear as images in my mind’s eye. Some of those images, like junk, I can’t make much of. Some seem mundane, at first, like the little statue of the Three Kings. It’s as if my mind retains most all the stories of my life in small symbols and icons, as if my mind had discovered how to save space. After all, there are so many stories in a single life and new ones arrive daily.
It’s not been easy this year to walk in light. I suspect we all know at least one person who keeps us in the light. When overwhelmed by shadows it helps me to find someone who has light, and ask them, “Could you share some of it with me.” And I know they’d be delighted because Franny assured me more than seventy years ago: “You’re just supposed to keep it burning.”
Walk in the light.
Columnist George Merrill is an Episcopal Church priest and pastoral psychotherapist. A writer and photographer, he’s authored two books on spirituality: Reflections: Psychological and Spiritual Images of the Heart and The Bay of the Mother of God: A Yankee Discovers the Chesapeake Bay. He is a native New Yorker, previously directing counseling services in Hartford, Connecticut, and in Baltimore. George’s essays, some award winning, have appeared in regional magazines and are broadcast twice monthly on Delmarva Public Radio.
Julie Lowe says
“I need others to help me walk with the light”. SO true. I will take this thought with me today and, hopefully, for many days. Thank you George, for being that light to many!