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The furniture was gone. The movers had packed it all onto a truck, turned left out of the parking lot, and headed north toward Woodstock, New York. I had spent five years in Greenville, NC, but it was time to move to a different call and to a different location.
As I walked one last time through the first house I had ever owned, I ran across a puddle of wax on the floor. The puddle of wax was caused by the candles that dripped through the boards of the farm table that served as my dining room table. As I ran my fingers over the waxen fingerprint, tears finally began to fall. It was time to grieve.
The backstory . . . we had established a supper club. Each month, eight of us would gather in different homes to hang out. Since all of us were either clergy or served as church musicians, much of our conversation involved sharing the stories - both beautiful and outrageous – of church life. Some of the hosts would make their dinners formal with multiple courses – some would serve tacos – some would introduce us to different cultures. Most importantly, though, around that table, we were able to release the pressures of work, act silly, and laugh. All the while, wax dripped, and God said, “This . . . this is good.”
Two people who were a part of that supper club died during COVID. Their welcome and their embrace were foundational in the life that Matthew and I were building as a clergy couple. Even now, we talk about Matt and Lisa. We remember them, and, we laugh with them.
Maybe, during this season of Lent, you will not only light candles, but you will let them drip. There’s something holy about candle wax, reminding us that God was there – is there.
Gracious God, Creator of the Universe; you give us food to nourish our bodies and friends to nourish our souls. For these, and all thy many blessings, we give you thanks. Amen.
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