While Still Dark: An Easter Message

Easter rituals begin by lighting a Paschal candle. Lit from a small fire in the darkness, then carried into church, it is kept burning all year. The Paschal candle keeps watch over consecrated elements and reminds pilgrims who cross this threshold of God’ never failing presence

People can walk in afraid or burdened and see candlelight dancing and feel the glow of God’s love.

Once a year, on Good Friday, we blow out the candle and remember what it feels like to sit in darkness without assurance or warmth. Good Friday is the day it appears that love is in ashes, snuffed out by political violence, fear, and brokenness. Then three days later, before the sun rises, we ignite a new Paschal flame, celebrating that love didn’t fail on Good Friday, it was love’s crowning achievement.

The story of the Resurrection begins with the words, “While it was still dark.”

The shadows of the cross were still long as the sun rose over Jerusalem that Sabbath. Mary Magdalene headed out with grief guiding her to Jesus’ body. Her first steps, like a single candle, push aside the darkness, leading her towards a place where she can see angels in an empty tomb and behold her Lord. 

That glimmer was enough for someone who had experienced much on the streets. It was enough to carry her all the way to where her Lord was lingering for her. That glimmer of hope was enough for her to be the first preacher in the world to say to the disciples, "He is risen!"—and to say, "Love rises from the ashes.”
 
Magdalene bears witness to the truth that love is the strongest force in the world.

Almost thirty years ago a small community was opened for women survivors of trafficking and addiction. 

Today, Thistle Farms is a global movement for women's freedom. But we began with just one house in Nashville, Tennessee. Early on I realized that while women were doing amazing work in forgiveness and healing, they were still dirt poor, leaving them vulnerable to violence and dangerous relationships. As the average age women of Thistle Farms were on the streets was age fifteen, securing jobs as an adult was proving impossible.  

We decided to begin a company and call it Thistle Farms. We named it after the notorious but beautiful weed that grows on the alleys and streets where the women walked, and through the chain link fence surrounding the Tennessee Women’s Prison. We named it to remember grace even in brokenness and darkness.
 
So we started making candles, and now we're the largest justice enterprise in the United States, run by survivors, hosting the largest network for long-term, free beds for survivors.

And every time we light one of our candles, we say, "We light this for the woman on the street and the woman trying to find her way home.”

Women do find their way home in the darkness before dawn hits.

One of our original candlemakers, Ty, was on the streets as a teenager and spent more than a decade of her life in prison.  She tells the story of trying to figure out which car was safe to get into while other girls her age were picking out a prom dress. 

Ty oversees the making and distribution of more than 50,000 candles a year at Thistle Farms today. She has built her own house. She is married. She trains new employees and bring peace and joy to so many more women.

Ty says she finally understands that love is able to change a candle into a house—and that if we could sell another 50,000 candles, there would be more houses for more women.  

I imagine the flames dancing from the candles we produce at Thistle Farms as descendants of Magdalene’s single candle, flames that keep us moving and provide hope, even while it is still dark.

The miracle of this candle is not that we light it. The miracle is it hasn't gone out for three decades.

It hasn't gone out in economic hard times. It hasn't gone out when the flood came our way, when the tornadoes barreled on us or when strong winds have blown through. 

The candle stays lit.

I love thinking about that light. I love thinking about Magdalene's light and that it doesn't mean death has lost its sting. It doesn't mean we still don’t fear the dark. It doesn't mean we aren’t afraid sometimes of what's happening around us. It means we keep walking and heading together towards something beautiful and hopeful.

A humble candle can carry us through the wilderness to the garden. 

I love thinking that this candlelight is a symbol for Easter. It denotes the presence of God as it burns but does not consume like a burning bush.

I love thinking about Pentecost, and candle flames on the heads of the disciples, and how this was the beginning of sending them out into the world in love. Easter is the spark that says, "We're not done loving the world yet, and our hope is not in vain. We have faith in this light that shines."

We have faith that the beloved live on in the memory of God. You and I can travel with shaky steps holding a single candle from the wilderness to the garden and trust that we can make our song at our own Easter morning.

-- Becca Stevens

While Still Dark: An Easter Message

While Still Dark: An Easter Message

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