OUR CANDLE

February 1, 2026

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"A light for revelation to the gentiles and for glory to your people Israel” – Luke 2:32

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Today is the Sunday nearest February 2nd, which is traditionally known as Candlemas, a celebration of dedication, of purification, and of light. Occurring 40 days after Christmas, the day marks a threshold moment. The last remnants of the Christmas season are passed, and the new year is now fully underway; yet its direction may still be unclear to many of us.

 

Candlemas has long been associated the lighting of candles, and the candle itself becomes a powerful image for the kind of life Jesus taught us to live. A candle is small, as we are called to be meek and to not elevate ourselves. It is steady, continuing to give light even if it sometimes flickers. It is illuminating, shedding a gentle light on everything around it without being overwhelming, as we are called to be a gentle witness. And a candle is ordinary, not rare or dramatic, just as Jesus called ordinary people into lives of service, thankfulness, and meaning.

 

In Luke’s gospel, the story begins with Mary and Joseph bringing their child to the temple in Jerusalem, acting “according to the law of Moses.” Luke repeats this phrase to emphasize that what unfolds here is grounded in the religious customs of the people, a prescribed communal practice. Jesus entered the story of the gospels not apart from first-century Jewish life, but fully within it.

 

The rituals Luke references come from long-standing traditions. Leviticus describes a period of purification following childbirth: not a moral judgment, but a restoration of ordinary communal religious life. Exodus speaks of the redemption of the firstborn, recalling Israel’s shared memory of deliverance and belonging. These practices are not done for their own sake but root communal faith in remembrance and responsibility.

 

Mary and Joseph appear simply as faithful participants, carrying out the traditions entrusted to them. Through their actions, we see that Jesus was formed within a living faith before he ever spoke in his own voice. Faith, the story says, is practiced more than it is proclaimed.

Luke adds an interesting detail that grounds the scene even further. The offering Mary and Joseph bring is not a lamb, the default offering, but two birds: the provision allowed for those who could not afford more. This isn’t explained, but it matters. It places Jesus’ family among the ordinary working people of their time: neither destitute nor wealthy, certainly without flocks of livestock or other excess. We do know, however, that Jesus later functions as a rabbi, which implies education, training, and communal support, yet nothing here suggests privilege or abundance. Even so, the act of faith is the same. The ritual is no less meaningful because the offering is more modest. Spiritual depth, Luke suggests, does not depend on abundance or advantage, but on faithfulness practiced as life allows.

 

Luke tells us that among those present in the temple that day was Simeon, a man shaped by years of devotion and attentiveness. He represents the voice of a lived faith, someone who has spent a lifetime reflecting on what God’s promises might look like when they take shape in an ordinary life. When Simeon speaks, he names what this moment, the dedication of Jesus, means to him. Drawing on the language of light, Simeon desires a hope made visible, a faith meant to be seen and shared: “a light for revelation to the gentiles and for glory to your people Israel.” These words affirm something meaningful has come into view, something that’s clearly seen, worthy of trust and attention.

 

The reason this event is remembered with a candle is because the image Simeon offers is not of a blazing sun or commanding light, but illumination itself. Candlelight does not force attention or demand agreement. It simply reveals what is already present, making the immediate world more visible and more navigable. In this way, light becomes a fitting image for the life Jesus would later embody. His teachings do not compel by force, nor coerce by rhetoric; they clarify how to live with integrity and compassion. The example of Jesus makes faithfulness visible in human terms: through care for others, attentiveness to the overlooked, and trust in the slow work of love. The newly dedicated light allows recognition, inviting people to see more clearly and to walk more carefully in the world they share. It also teaches us to shine our own lights gently but steadily. As the old saying goes, “Do not shout at the darkness; light a candle.”

 

The setting of this event at forty days after Jesus’ birth also matters. Forty days is a symbolic span in the biblical literature. It marks a span of time long enough for beginnings to become real, for novelty to give way to formation. Later in the gospels, Jesus fasted for forty days. The end of forty days is not really a moment of arrival, but of readiness. Faith often works this way as well. It takes time for meaning to settle, for hope to become visible, and for light to be recognized rather than merely proclaimed. Many of us live in this in-between space, on a kind of forty-day journey, carrying what has been given to us while still learning what it asks of us. Seen by the light of Jesus’ teachings and example, this season becomes an invitation to take that leap into readiness.

 

Candlemas, then, comes to us not as a declaration to be defended or an obligation to be fulfilled, but as an invitation we may receive. It reminds us that faith is lived through presence, care, and attention to the world around us. And we see that world by whatever light we choose to “turn on.” Not only that, if we shine a gentle, generous light, we can help others see the world in a positive way. We are not asked to overwhelm the world with blinding brightness, but to remain steady and faithful where we are placed. Like a candle, a life shaped by love does its work simply by being lit: by showing up, offering gentle clarity, and making space for others to take their own journeys toward seeing clearly. As we move forward from this threshold day, may we tend the light entrusted to us with patience and humility, allowing it to be nourished by the teachings and example of Jesus. Even a small flame, if we keep it faithfully, can illuminate the path ahead.

 

“The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?” – Psalm 27:1a

 

Rev. Brian J. Kelley

Director of Ministry Resources, Unitarian Christian Church of America (UCCA)