Candles, Rainbows, Grief

and Compassionate Friends

Photo by Zach Lucero on Unsplash

There’s something about staring into the flame of a candle that you are holding that is both mesmerizing and searching. The same is true at a campsite, gathered around a fire. It’s impossible not to remain fixated on the flame. I don’t know why, but maybe it is because it seems alive and, when needed, can provide warmth.

My religious heritage does not utilize the lighting of candles, as some do. I think, in a way, there is some comfort in lighting a candle in the name of someone you care about. That is especially true when it is someone who is no longer with us. The flame continues to burn in an elongated time of prayer and recognition. The connection of flame and smoke and prayers is more than what we see before us physically.

The smoke of the incense, together with the prayers of God’s people, went up before God from the angel’s hand. - Revelation 8:4

Every second Sunday in December, for 26 years, The Compassionate Friends sponsor a worldwide candle lighting. In case you are unfamiliar, The Compassionate Friends is a support group for those who have lost their children, grandchildren, and siblings. I’ve been a part of that organization for 14 years, and it has been a lifesaver for me. That is largely due to the bereaved parents gathered in our local chapter. They are an impressively supportive group and have taught me much about allowing our own grief to teach us how to care for and support others.

Locally, the candle lighting takes place at Grace Episcopal Church. During the ceremony, we have poetic readings and songs, and we light a candle and say the name of our children. The readings are not from the Bible, nor overly religious, though there are many people there who have found comfort in the Lord. The loss of a child can do a lot of damage to faith and we welcome everyone to these gatherings. This includes those who are still trying to find a pathway to God through their pain and those who want nothing to do with Him at this point. In an evening of togetherness, wounded and broken people find solidarity. And maybe a little peace.

The poem I read this year was called Look For Me in Rainbows. It was a song, music and lyrics written by Conn Bernard. There isn’t much information about Mr. Bernard to be found. On IMDb, he is listed as providing music on a couple of television shows in the UK in the 1960s. The poem received some attention with a well-known backup singer in the UK, Vicki Brown, recorded it as a song (Youtube Link). Ms. Brown died of breast cancer at the age of 50, in 1991. This song/poem is read often at funerals, and I think it is appropriate at an event like our candle lighting.

Look For Me In Rainbows

Time for me to go now, I won’t say goodbye;
Look for me in rainbows, way up in the sky.
In the morning sunrise when all the world is new,
Just look for me and love me, as you know I loved you.

Time for me to leave you, I won’t say goodbye;
Look for me in rainbows, high up in the sky.
In the evening sunset, when all the world is through,
Just look for me and love me, and I’ll be close to you.

It won’t be forever, the day will come and then
My loving arms will hold you, when we meet again.

Time for us to part now, we won’t say goodbye;
Look for me in rainbows, shining in the sky.
Every waking moment, and all your whole life through
Just look for me and love me, as you know I loved you.

Just wish me to be near you,
And I’ll be there with you.

Photo by Jorge Fernández Salas on Unsplash

If you haven’t lost someone you love, that might sound kind of sappy. Maybe it is. But when you are living your days looking forward to seeing someone you loved so much once again, you won’t mind some sentimentality. I managed to keep my voice under control, for the most part, while reading this poem to a room full of broken hearts.

That was last Sunday night at Grace, a beautiful and worshipful sanctuary. Up front was a table with picture after smiling picture of those we miss so terribly, especially near Christmas time. One poem after another, a few songs, a lot of hugs, and a litany of voices speaking their children’s or grandchildren’s or siblings’ names while they light their candles. Some could barely whisper, it just hurts to speak the precious name. But it’s a holy moment and we trust God is near. I mostly stared at one particular picture on the table.

I’m so grateful to French and Marilyn Smith, James and Lu Ann Butler, and others who put this together and make it happen. Out of their pain, they help us to cope with the days and years ahead. I’m grateful to you if you’ve read this far.