A candle against the gale...

As we gathered in the dusk of a windy evening, we knew we were in trouble. My friend, a fellow minister in the Methodist tradition, looked at me as she tried to light one of the candles we had brought for our candlelight vigil. There was no way that thing was going to either light or stay lit in the strong south wind. Here in Oklahoma, holding an outdoor candlelight vigil is a roll of the dice against big odds.

We had gathered at an outdoor park to hold a vigil for health care reform in conjunction with many others across the country. We had our sound system, our candles, our lighters, our notes...we were ready. As it reached time to start and there were just a few seats filled in an amphitheater made to hold a couple of hundred we delayed for a few minutes. But that was the crowd...

So we looked at the flickering flame, barely able to last a second in the unrelenting wind, and we counted the number of people who could make it to the hastily assembled vigil and for a moment we might have both had some reservations. What are we doing? We did throw this together at the last minute and weren't able to advertise or get much participation because people were already scheduled. What were we expecting?

The cool darkness of the evening, the small number of participants and the complete lack of any candles - a pretty crucial part of a candlelight vigil - might have been enough to completely deflate us. Yet there we stood. We had a single newspaper reporter to cover our story and no hint of a TV camera. There was just a few of us in the driving wind with no candles at all to stand against the approaching darkness.

Yet there we stood. We stood together. We stood even though we knew it was a small gesture against the torrent of opposition. We stood knowing that we were holding a rally in support of reform that none of us expect a single one of our representatives in the House or Senate to support. Yet we stood at least knowing that we weren't alone. Maybe that was why we were there. Not to be a grand showing of half of the city, or to raise a thundering cry of outrage, or to be the lead story on the evening news. Maybe we were there, in the way that we were there, just to be our small group. Maybe we were there, just like those candles were going to be symbols, to represent all of the people who think that health care is a human right. Maybe we were there for all of those people who just couldn't make it for a million different reasons, or who didn't think it would matter, or who can't speak out because of what it might cost them.

What I think is that it did matter, though maybe not for the reasons we had intended. God often works this way, foregoing our intentions and the lure of numbers we so often are beholden to in order to teach us something else. Maybe God was trying to tell us that while we may never feel like a majority, we are not alone. But it isn't the numbers that make an impact...after all, even Jesus never had more than 12 disciples.

It can be a lonely thing to be a progressive faithful person in Oklahoma. I often feel very alone as a person who wants a world oriented more towards justice than judgment, love over righteousness and grace over greed. It was nice that cool evening to feel a different kind of warmth...not the heat of a candle burning next to me, but the warmth of hope from deep inside, stirred by the presence of my fellow travelers.

And thank God for that.