It’s a familiar sight on Christmas Eve—churchgoers holding candles poked through circles of paper to catch melting wax. The light passes from one person to another, row after row, until the entire congregation holds flickering candles.
Some traditions—no matter how many times we repeat them—always feel sacred.
As I sat beside my family this year on Christmas Eve, I felt a sense of wonder. I watched people pass light to one another, gently and carefully. I watched light appear on an empty candle wick—slowly at first, then growing into a steady flame. I focused my eyes on my own candle, following the swaying motion as it flickered. This light was alive, in motion. It was beautiful.
Then I zoomed out, taking in the congregation as a whole. I wondered what our communities might look like if we shared kindness the same way we shared candlelight—without reserve, with gentle care, with a mindset of abundance rather than scarcity.
As I watched the light spread, I remembered what we so often forget: when we share love with our neighbors, we don’t lose that love. We don’t have a limited supply that must be stockpiled and shared only after the utmost consideration. Instead, when we pass light to someone walking through darkness, our own flame still burns bright.
I remembered that we were never meant to keep our light to ourselves. We were created to step into dark places with our flame—no matter how small—and let the God who said “let there be light,” reach people with the hope only He can bring.
How heavy that darkness often feels. How beautiful that hope appears.
In her book, The Light We Carry, Michelle Obama says, “One light feeds another. One strong family lends strength to more. One engaged community can ignite those around it. This is the power of the light we carry.”
Her words remind me how powerful one act of kindness can be: one family showing up for hurting neighbors; one group of friends saying, “We will befriend the lonely student at lunch”; one teacher saying, “I believe in you”; one helping hand whose compassion draws them toward the hurting when everyone else looks away.
I have come to believe that these beautiful things—kindness, generosity, compassion—don’t simply fade away once they are given. I think of Newton’s Third Law of Motion: “For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.” While life isn’t quite that straightforward or scientific, I do believe kindness begets kindness.
These “passing the light” moments affect the hearts of the giver, the receipient, and even observers. Moments of connection—when we acknowledge our shared humanity and interdependence—tug at something deep within us. They pull us out of our small worlds. They quiet our noisy thoughts. They soften our hearts. And often, the interactions that follow are filled with more grace and humility because of them.
When this world feels so dark, I will remember that Christmas Eve service. All it takes is one candle. And before long, the light spreads—one person at a time.
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