I can remember my excitement as a child holding the candle in the darkened church on Christmas eve, waiting for my father to light my candle so that I could turn and light my sister’s. Staring intently at the flickering flame as my breath threatened to extinguish it, the thin circle of paper at the bottom protecting my hand from the dripping wax.

And soon, every face in the church would be illuminated by the orange glow of each candle. All of us collectively were illuminating the sanctuary by our small light.

Now, close to 50 years later, I watch from the choir loft on Christmas Eve as hundreds of candles held in each person’s hands are illuminated once again by the light from one candle at the front of the church. The only family member I have with me now is my grown son, and I watch from a distance as his face glows with the light from his own candle.

One light into hundreds that illuminate an entire building. We take the light that is given to us and use our own light to light the space around us. The symbolism is obvious, but does it escape us the other 364 days of the year?

A light. It seems so simple. Just a light. Not a tool to change, lecture, mold, or sculpt someone else. Just a light to light the way — the one way into Heaven. Each light that we choose to hold or not, that still has the purpose to be a direct reflection of the light given to us 2,000 years ago through a child in a manger.

It really is that simple.