The darkness had settled as we followed our headlights and looked for a portable sign indicating where we were to turn off the highway and make our way to the Winters’ home. January, snow on the ground, the coldness of news that the pancreatic cancer was not going away in spite of months of congregational and private prayers, and here we were, making our way to the house to pray.
We arrived and parked along a long gravel lane and then joined a steady line of people walking slowly toward the house – little children with parents, older couples, a few teens. We moved slowly, not sure what to expect, heavy with our thoughts, not speaking. Ahead of us stood the pastor and the house. Arriving, we grasped thin vigil candles and passed the flame from one silent person to the next. A bit uncertain, we moved to positions around the darkened house, aware that a child was looking out at us into the dark. Our candles flickered uncertainly in the chill air, and we shielded them with our gloved hands and waited.
One by one individuals began to pray quietly. Some spoke sentence long prayers and went silent while others pled tearfully with God for stricken mother, the husband, the little children inside the silent house. The breeze snuffed flames from the less vigilant, and the line around the house darkened. We waited in the night. Above us stars shone and the eastern horizon glowed over Minneapolis. Someone began to whistle an old hymn, “Day by Day, and with each passing moment, strength I find to meet my sorrows here….” The murmur softened.
The sound of singing drew us back to the front of the house where the pastor was beckoning people to join him in a huddle, to stand with him. “I feel like a choir leader,” he said, “Come stand with me.” We moved in next to him. Those with still burning candles shared the flames, and the entire group was again glowing with candlelight. We prayed as a group, individuals speaking their hearts to God and the open sky and each other. Prayers moved from individual requests to collective behests – prayers for increased faith in desperate times, prayers for peace and comfort for the family, prayers for steadfast love for God and each other. Tears wet cold cheeks as people hugged.
Something good came from that night under the silent sky. I’m not sure I can put it into words, and I don’t know what God will do with Laurie W, but I am at peace today, after months of unrest and wavering faith. Under the sky and standing in the snow next to my wife, I thought about those candles and how symbolic their flickering and going out and reigniting is. When I was standing in the circle around the house, my flame died several times, and thankfully, my wife’s flame reignited mine. We walked back to the group with candles burning and were able to pass the fire on to others until we all stood in firelight. Alone, any one of us would have been in the dark and out in the cold. Together, we relit each other’s fires and were warmed by each other’s voices as we called out to God and sang.
A few years later, Laurie has been buried, and the family moved from our community. Life goes on, but I will always remember the candles and the people united around that house in the winter cold.