What Light

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

I open the door expecting to be overwhelmed at the sight of my handsome Christmas Eve date. Instead, Caleb wears a too-tight sweater of Rudolph’s huge face, pulled over a purple button-down and khakis. I cover my mouth and shake my head.

He opens his arms. “Well?”

“Tell me you didn’t borrow that from Heather’s mom,” I say.

“I did!” he says. “I really did. It was one of the few that she had with sleeves on it.”

“Okay, while I love your spirit, I will not be able to focus on the service if you’re wearing that.”

Arms held wide, he looks down at his sweater.

“You apparently have no idea why Heather’s mom owns that,” I say.

He sighs and then reluctantly tugs the sweater over his chest, but it gets stuck at his ears and I have to yank it the rest of the way off. Now he is dressed like my handsome date.

It’s a crisp winter evening. Many of the houses along the way kept their Christmas lights on late. Some look like their roofs are ringed in glowing icicles. Some have white-lit reindeer grazing on their lawns. My favorites are the homes that glimmer with many colors.

“You look beautiful,” Caleb says. He lifts my hand as we walk and touches his lips to each finger.

“Thank you,” I say. “So do you.”

“See? You’re getting better at taking compliments,” he says.

I look over at him and smile. Blue and white lights from the nearest house reflect off his cheeks.

“Tell me about tonight,” I say. “I’m guessing it’ll be packed.”

“They do two services on Christmas Eve,” he says. “The earlier one is for families, with a pageant and a million four-year-olds dressed like angels. It’s chaotic and loud and pretty perfect. The midnight mass, the one we’re going to, is more solemn. It’s kind of like Linus’s big speech in A Charlie Brown Christmas.”

“I love Linus,” I say.

“That’s good,” Caleb says, “because otherwise tonight would stop right here.”

We walk the rest of the way, up the gradually rising roads, hand in hand in silence. When we reach the church, the parking lot is full. Many cars are parked at the curb and even more people walk in from nearby streets.

At the church’s glass doors, Caleb stops me before we enter. He looks me in the eyes. “I wish you weren’t leaving,” he says.

I squeeze his hand, but I don’t know what to say.

He opens a door and lets me walk in first. The only light comes from candles flickering atop tall wooden rods mounted to the sides of each pew. Thick wooden beams along the walls on either side rise up, past tall windows of red, yellow, and blue stained glass. The beams touch at the center of the peaked ceiling, giving the effect of a large ship tipped upside down. At the front of the church, the edge of the stage is lined with red poinsettias. Stepped risers are already filled with a choir in white robes. Above them, an enormous wreath hangs in front of a set of brass organ pipes.

Most of the pews are packed shoulder to shoulder. We slip into a pew near the back and an elderly woman approaches us from the aisle. She hands us each an unlit white candle and a white cardboard circle about the size of my palm. In the middle of the circle is a small hole, and I watch Caleb push the top of his candle through the hole. He slides the cardboard a little more than halfway down the candle.

“These are for later,” he says. “The cardboard catches the drips.”

I poke my candle into the circle and then set it in my lap. “Are your mom and sister coming?”

He nods toward the choir. Abby and their mom are both on the center riser, smiling and watching us. His mom looks so happy to be standing next to Abby. Caleb and I wave at the same time. Abby begins to wave, but her mom pulls her hand down as the choir director now stands before them.

“Abby’s always been a natural singer,” Caleb whispers. “She’s only practiced with them twice but Mom says she blends right in.”

The opening carol is “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.”

After they sing a few more songs, the pastor delivers a sincere and thoughtful talk about the story of Christmas and what the night means to him. The beauty of his words and the gratitude in how he presents them touches me. I hold on to Caleb’s arm, and he looks at me with so much kindness.

The choir begins singing “We Three Kings.” Caleb leans over and whispers, “Come outside with me.” He takes the candle from my lap and I follow him out of the sanctuary. The glass doors close behind us and we’re back in the cool air.

“What are we doing?” I ask.

He leans forward and kisses me softly. I reach up and touch his cold cheeks, which make his lips feel even warmer. I wonder if every kiss with Caleb will feel this new and magical.

He turns his head to the side, listening. “It’s starting.”

We walk around to the side of the church. The walls and the steeple loom over us. The narrow windows above are dark, but I know they’re made of stained glass.

“What’s starting?” I ask.

“It’s dark in there because the ushers went around and snuffed out the candles,” he says. “But listen.”

He closes his eyes. I close mine, too. It’s soft at first, but I hear it. It’s not just the choir singing, it’s the whole congregation.

“Silent night… Holy night.”

“Right now there are two people at the front of the church holding lit candles. Only two. Everyone else has the same ones as us.” He hands me my candle. I hold it near the bottom, and the cardboard circle rests atop my closed fingers. “The two people with the flames, they step into the center aisle; one heads to the pew on the left, and the other goes to the right.”

“Holy infant, so tender and mild.”

Caleb pulls a small booklet of matches from his front pocket, tears out a match, folds back the cover, and strikes it. He lights the wick of his candle and then shakes out the match. “The people in the first two pews, whoever is closest to the aisle, they tilt their candles to the ones with fire. Then they use that flame to light the candle of the person beside them.”

“Glories stream from heaven afar.”

Caleb moves his candle toward mine and I tilt mine sideways, holding the wick to his flame until it begins to burn.

“This goes on, candle by candle. It moves back row by row. The light spreads from one person to the next… slowly… creating this anticipation. You’re waiting for that light to reach you.”

I look at the small flame on my candle burning.

“With the dawn of redeeming grace.”

“One by one, the light is passed and the entire room becomes filled with the glow.”

“Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth.”

His voice is soft. “Look up.”

I look to the stained glass windows. There’s now a warm glow coming from inside. The glass shimmers in reds, yellows, and blues. The song continues and I hold my breath.

“Silent night… Holy night.”

The lyrics are sung all the way through one more time. Eventually, inside the church and out here, there is total silence.

Caleb leans forward. With a soft breath, he blows out his candle. Then I blow out mine.

“I’m glad we came out here,” I say.

He pulls me close and kisses me softly, holding his lips against mine for several seconds.

Still holding each other, I lean back and ask, “But why didn’t you want me to see this from inside?”

“For the past few years, I never felt as calm as the moment my candle got lit on Christmas Eve. For just an instant, everything was okay.” He pulls himself close, his chin on my shoulder, and whispers into my ear, “This year, I wanted to spend that moment only with you.”

“Thank you,” I whisper. “It was perfect.”