THE CANDLEHOLDER & THE CANDLE

Imagine a candleholder composed of a mosaic of glass. It's like a little stained glass window. Our lives are like that candleholder. Each piece of glass represents something different. One tile might represent our work and careers. One might represent our hobbies. We have wealth and resources and talents. We have the enjoyment of food and drink. Another tile is our friendships. And another the romantic relationship we may have with a husband or wife. Let us not forget nature and entertainment: The beauty of a sunset … The way a good work of art or a symphony can stir our hearts. Each one of the tiles represents something with the potential for good in our life. Each tile is a gift from God.

Because of our fallen nature—our sinfulness—each one of the tiles also has the potential to become corrupt. Maybe you never found the career you were hoping for, and now you find yourself the victim of endless, mundane work that you have come to despise. Maybe you've become obsessed with one tile in particular to your own detriment: Perhaps you eat too much, drink too much, work too much, watch too much TV … and your lack of balance and self-control has crowded out other important things in your life. 

Our Search for Meaning & Satisfaction

When you look at the different tiles in your life, perhaps you recognize a little of each of these things: the blessings, the corruption—the good and the bad. And perhaps you've struggled to make sense of it all. I think we've all asked the question at one time or another: What is the meaning of life? And more important than that: What is the meaning of my life?

In the midst of King Solomon's quest for meaning, he said, “Come now, I will test you with pleasure to find out what is good.” But that also proved to be meaningless. “Laughter,” I said, “is madness. And what does pleasure accomplish?” I tried cheering myself with wine, and embracing folly—my mind still guiding me with wisdom. I wanted to see what was good for people to do under the heavens during the few days of their lives.

I undertook great projects: I built houses for myself and planted vineyards. I made gardens and parks and planted all kinds of fruit trees in them. I made reservoirs to water groves of flourishing trees. I bought male and female slaves and had other slaves who were born in my house. I also owned more herds and flocks than anyone in Jerusalem before me. I amassed silver and gold for myself, and the treasure of kings and provinces. I acquired male and female singers, and a harem as well—the delights of a man’s heart. I became greater by far than anyone in Jerusalem before me. In all this my wisdom stayed with me. I denied myself nothing my eyes desired; I refused my heart no pleasure. My heart took delight in all my labor, and this was the reward for all my toil. Yet when I surveyed all that my hands had done and what I had toiled to achieve, everything was meaningless, a chasing after the wind; nothing was gained under the sun. (Ecc 2:1-11)

For all the pleasure that King Solomon sought, for all the work he accomplished, for all the wealth he gained, in the end he had still not found true satisfaction. He tested all the tiles and found them to be lacking. None of them had in themselves the meaning that he so desired.

“And what does pleasure accomplish?”

In our society (the United States), we place a high emphasis on entertainment: Books, Music, Television, Internet—all of these things can enrich our lives. They can provide an escape from the chores of life … But what happens when we live for pleasure and entertainment alone? Have you ever sat around and watched television for hours? Or maybe you played games. Or surfed the web? Read the entire contents of facebook? Entertainment can be a much needed outlet to counter a life of work. But have you noticed that it only satisfies for the moment? At the end of watching ten hours of television you'll find yourself no more satisfied than if you'd watched for only one hour. It's never enough just to see one movie or to read one book. All things are wearisome, more than one can say. The eye never has enough of seeing, nor the ear its fill of hearing. (Ecc 1:8) Ultimately, entertainment doesn't satisfy—it accomplishes nothing. 

“I undertook great projects”

Many people think it is their achievements that bring meaning to their life. We place great emphasis on jobs that are deemed to be “important.” It is human nature to want to be successful, but what is it that makes a person so? Is it having a high IQ and a college degree? Is it having a job that earns a lot of money? Is it being fashionable? You can mold yourself into someone you think society will like and still not be happy if you are flying in the face of who God created you to be. The janitor who enjoys his work and makes the most of it will live a more satisfied life than the businessman who drives himself towards some unreachable goal, only for the sake of being who he thinks other people want him to be. 

A person can do nothing better than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in their own toil. This too, I see, is from the hand of God, for without him, who can eat or find enjoyment? To the person who pleases him, God gives wisdom, knowledge and happiness, but to the sinner he gives the task of gathering and storing up wealth to hand it over to the one who pleases God. This too is meaningless, a chasing after the wind. (Ecc 2:24-26)

“I amassed silver and gold for myself”

Have you ever caught yourself thinking, “If only I had this or that—then I would be happy?” If so, then maybe you've noticed that as soon as you have “this or that,” there is something else you feel you need to have in order to be satisfied. Wealth and material goods are certainly a gift from God, but if we fall into the trap of thinking that they have, in themselves, the power to satisfy us, then we are deceived—trapped in an endless cycle of greed in which we feel we need to have more and more: Whoever loves money never has enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with their income. This too is meaningless. (Ecc 5:10) 

Money can't buy happiness or love or peace or joy. It can only satisfy when it is put in its proper place as a blessing from God and when we remain content with what we have; For, to be discontent, is to be dissatisfied. The satisfaction we get from material goods comes when we are grateful for what we have, accepting these things as blessings from God—not when we spend our lives striving to have more and more as though we could catch the wind. 

Deception

I hope you are beginning to see—or are having a fresh revelation regarding—the truth of this matter. Each tile is a gift from God, but no tile alone can truly bring meaning or satisfaction on its own. It's true that a person may find temporary satisfaction—even life-long satisfaction—in these tiles, without recognizing the true source of the satisfaction, which is God. The tiles of this life are available to all people, regardless of whether they recognize the Source or not (Mt 5:45). Don’t be deceived, my dear brothers and sisters. Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. (Ja 1:16-17)

When we fail to recognize God as the source of all goodness, and chose the gifts over the Giver, we become like the prodigal son (Lk 15:11-32): There was a man who had two sons. The younger one said to his father, ‘Father, give me my share of the estate.’ So he divided his property between them. Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had, set off for a distant country and there squandered his wealth in wild living. After he had spent everything, there was a severe famine in that whole country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to a citizen of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed pigs. He longed to fill his stomach with the pods that the pigs were eating, but no one gave him anything … 

The prodigal son received the gift and then cut himself off from the Giver. He made the mistake of believing that the gift alone could sustain him (see Ps 3:5). But just as a branch separated from a tree cannot survive on its own (Jn 15:5), so we cannot survive and thrive without God (Is 42:5). Even Christians can fall into the trap of taking God's gifts—and therefore, the Giver—for granted. We need to remember that it is God who has given us our lives and talents (see Ps 139) and even our ability to earn a living (Dt 8:18). All of the true successes we experience in life have been worked out by God (Ps 127:1-2); and, ultimately, it is He who provides for all of our needs (see Mt 6:25-33) and satisfies all our desires (see Ps 103:1-5). God's beauty and goodness—His glory—is all around us (Ps 19:1-6). 

The bottom line is this: When we look to the tiles for satisfaction and sustaining power in our lives, ultimately we come up empty. Chasing after meaning and fulfillment apart from God is like chasing after the wind. So whatever we have in life, whether resources or talents, careers, good friends, family … Or things like faith, love, joy, and peace—and even 'our' accomplishments—we need to remember that all these things come from God (see Dt, esp. 8:10-20 and 6:4-12).

Idolatry & Misplaced Trust

How we think of the tiles in our lives is very important to God. When the tiles become too important, they replace God in our minds and we fall prey to idolatry. God takes idolatry very seriously (Ex 20:3, Dt 4:23-24) and so should we. We may not think of ourselves as idolaters—you probably don't have golden statues to which you bow down and pray. But what do you rely on to get you by in life? Many times we use the tiles as crutches, leaning on them for strength. This is misplaced trust. Whenever we do this, we run the risk of falling, because the tiles are not really able to prop us up. They may make us feel secure, but this is a false sense of security. For our own safety, God likes to knock these false supports out from under us in order to teach us that He is the only source of support and strength we truly have. 

Thirteen years after Abraham tried to work out God's plan in his own strength (through Hagar and Ishmael), God came to him and said, “I am El Shaddai [God Almighty]. Walk in my presence and be pure-hearted” (Ge 17:1, CJB). Although “El Shaddai” is generally translated in the Bible as “God Almighty,” it could also be translated as the All-Sufficient One. Wrapped up within this name we see God's ultimate power both to sustain and to destroy. He is everything: This is what the Lord says—Israel’s King and Redeemer, the Lord Almighty: “I am the first and I am the last; apart from me there is no God. Who then is like me? Let him proclaim it … Is there any God besides me? No, there is no other Rock; I know not one.” All who make idols are nothing, and the things they treasure are worthless. (Is 44:6-9)

I think sometimes we have the mistaken impression that we only really need God for salvation. We 'accept' Jesus, and then we go on and try to live our lives in our own strength. We eat our food and forget that God provides it. We do our jobs and forget that all our talents and abilities have come from Him. When we have problems, we go to our friends and ask their advice. We go to doctors to fix our ailments and, sometimes only later, do we go to the God who enables those doctors to be of any value. What did Jesus have to say in this matter? “I am the vine; you are the branches … apart from me you can do nothing.” (Jn 15:5)

The truth is: A nonbeliever can live quite a contented life without God. Perhaps in this case the blessings become a curse, for the recipient of the gifts does not realize how much they need God because of the provision they have received from Him in this life. Ultimately, however, separation from God becomes a separation from every good thing. In light of all this, let us not be like the prodigal son who turned his back on his Father and despised relationship with Him. Instead, let us be like little children who—in spite of loving the gifts their parents give—also long for intimacy, connection, and relationship with them. Let us be careful not to chase after life's tiles and be deceived into thinking that in so doing we can sustain ourselves. Instead, let us heed the words of the prophet Zephaniah and Seek the Lord [inquire for Him, inquire of Him, and require Him as the foremost necessity of your life], all you humble of the land who have acted in compliance with His revealed will and have kept His commandments; seek righteousness, seek humility [inquire for them, require them as vital] … (2:3, amp) 

Conclusion

From all of this, there are two points I'd like to drive home: First of all, God is the Source: Every good thing we have comes from Him. Every need we have can only be met by Him. Therefore, a relationship with Him is the one thing we should seek above all else. Secondly, and this thought naturally follows from the first: Even amidst the sins and sorrows of life, God is there. Even among those who have failed to recognize Him, God is present and His goodness touches their lives, whether they know it or not. His presence now is the little touch of heaven that awaits those of us who, by God's grace, have come to realize that He is the only one who can truly satisfy all our needs and desires. 

And, for those who reject God—who refuse to acknowledge Him—they will eventually come to understand that the beauty and satisfaction of those mosaic tiles was never in the gift, but in the Giver as He shone through them. The candleholder represents all of the good gifts that we have received in this life, but God is the candle—the light. Even in this life, though our sins have separated us from God, we see His light shining all around us. Without Him, everything is meaningless and everything is dark. We won't take our candleholder with us when we die. What then is left for those who, like the prodigal son, have chosen to leave the Candle behind, and who have failed to realize—because of God's grace and provision in this life—what darkness truly is? The total absence of God's touch and presence—that, I think, is what hell is. 

Ecclesiastes 12:

Remember your Creator

    in the days of your youth,

before the days of trouble come

    and the years approach when you will say,

    “I find no pleasure in them”—

before the sun and the light

    and the moon and the stars grow dark,

    and the clouds return after the rain;

when the keepers of the house tremble,

    and the strong men stoop,

when the grinders cease because they are few,

    and those looking through the windows grow dim;

when the doors to the street are closed

    and the sound of grinding fades;

when people rise up at the sound of birds,

    but all their songs grow faint;

when people are afraid of heights

    and of dangers in the streets;

when the almond tree blossoms

    and the grasshopper drags itself along

    and desire no longer is stirred.

Then people go to their eternal home

    and mourners go about the streets.

Remember him—before the silver cord is severed,

    and the golden bowl is broken;

before the pitcher is shattered at the spring,

    and the wheel broken at the well,

and the dust returns to the ground it came from,

    and the spirit returns to God who gave it.

“Meaningless! Meaningless!” says the Teacher.

    “Everything is meaningless!”

Now all has been heard;

    here is the conclusion of the matter:

Fear God and keep his commandments,

    for this is the duty of all mankind.

For God will bring every deed into judgment,

    including every hidden thing,

    whether it is good or evil.

THE MAN

I don't recall the first time I saw the man, but it was sometime in my childhood. I remember one instance in particular in which I was playing on the playground and a bunch of kids came up to me and started making fun of me. There was no one there who stood up for me. At last they left, and I found a small enclosure beneath the playground equipment in which to hide. I thought I was alone, but then I looked out from my cubby and saw the man. He walked over and knelt down in front of the opening. His smiling face cheered me, and I could see the love in his eyes. As I wiped the tears from my face, he told me not to worry or be upset and promised that he would never leave me. I soon rewarded him with a bright and youthful smile that reflected the change he had brought about within me. In that simple way, he seemed to have picked up and reassembled the pieces of my young, wounded heart, restoring my dignity. He helped me to see myself the way he saw me. And I looked up to him. 

Time went on and I grew up. I saw the man from time to time, mostly from a distance. I no longer looked up to him—he was no taller than I. And I was no longer that insecure child that needed constant reassurance—but when I saw his face in the crowd, still I would smile. Sometimes I didn't see him for long periods of time. Maybe because I stopped looking for him amongst the crowds and chaos of life. Even so, I sometimes sensed his presence—his loneliness—but I rarely saw him. 

Then one day he came to me again. I hadn't thought about him for such a long time that I was surprised to see him. And yet he looked just the same as he had years and years ago. That's when I realized that the man never aged. He smiled at me the way he always had, and I greeted him quickly, for I was an adult with loads of responsibilities and obligations. I looked at my watch, caught sight of the time, and said, “Oh, I'd better go, or I'll be late.” I had a meeting to attend and little time to spare. I hurried off and promptly forgot him. 

  I was on top of the world in those days. Everything was right. I had a career, a family, a home, and so much more. I was so proud of my self-sufficiency—so happy to be able to say that I didn't need anything from anyone anymore. I even had enough that I was able to give some of my money away to help the needy, and it made me feel like a good person. 

  And then things began to change. My kids grew up and started to rebel. My spouse and I grew discontent, and we blamed one another for the problems in our lives. There was a lot of fighting at home, and I grew bored with my career. It was the autumn of my existence. I felt as though the rug had been pulled out from under me. I became depressed at the realization that everything I'd counted on for stability in my life was shifting. “Everything changes!” I yelled bitterly, waving my fist in the air. “Change is the only constant thing in this life!” 

With the discontent at home, I poured myself into my work. I stayed late. I chased after advancement and success. It seemed to be working—but I wasn't happy. I became like an empty shell, endlessly and unsuccessfully searching for significance and happiness. In the midst of all this, my family broke apart at the seams. I observed all their selfish ways and cried, “No one cares about anyone but themselves!” And I knew it was true and believed it to be the main cause of the troubles in the world, though at the time I couldn't admit that I too suffered from this very same plight.

  When the children left for college, my spouse and I separated. We considered our differences irreconcilable. Neither of us wanted to have to be the one to change. As I sat alone in my new apartment, I felt a deep loneliness and dissatisfaction. Everything that once had brought me joy in life seemed gone, stripped away like leaves from a tree. I wept bitterly at the realization of what a mess my life had become. “I'm all alone,” I cried, “all alone in this world!” And I came to the end of myself. 

I'm glad I couldn't see myself at that moment, hugging my knees and crying. Wailing …  Screaming into the air … Flinging things across the room … For a moment I felt again like that child on the playground, except that I realized, in a moment of honesty, that I was largely to blame. I knew I had been just as selfish as the rest of them. That's when I remembered the man. I opened my eyes, still wet from crying and saw him standing near. 

Through the welling tears, he was nothing more than a blur, and I immediately considered him to be a hallucination—the distant memory of an imaginative child. In spite of this, I called out to him, saying, “Everything changes,” as I clumsily wiped the tears from my eyes. The man became sharper in my view, but still, I didn't quite see him through the veil of my own self-pity. “Everything changes,” I sorrowfully muttered. I looked up into the man's eyes, my knees still drawn to my chest in front of me, and finally I saw him. He smiled at me and said nothing, but the words I had spoken, seemed to come back to me as echoes: Everything changes … changes … changes …  

As I looked into the man's eyes, meditating on the words I had spoken, I suddenly realized that they weren't true. Everything changes—but not the man. He has never changed, I thought and then hoped, perhaps he never will. At that moment, the wells of my tears ran dry. I sniffed back the oozing sorrow and felt a wave of truth wash over me. But I wasn't quite ready to embrace it. “No one cares about me,” I complained, searching for pity. The man's smile brightened, but still he said nothing. “I'm all alone. I don't want to be alone anymore,” I whimpered, wallowing in my sorrows. At last the man spoke: “I told you once before that I would never leave you. I have always been with you, whether you saw me or not.” As he spoke, I knew his words were true.

  “Will you help me?” I said. “Tell me what to do. What do I have to do to fix this mess I'm in?” And the man's face fell. “Do? There's nothing you can do,” he said tenderly. Again, my tears began to flow. “So it's hopeless then, is it? I really am alone—and no one can help me … and no one cares.” 

  Laying a hand on my shoulder, the man said, “That's not true—I care.”

  I looked up at him with the same old bitterness in my eyes and said, “A lot of difference that makes! Why did you even come, if all you were going to do was tell me that my situation is hopeless?”

  For a while the man said nothing. He just looked at me and I at him. And as I continued to gaze at him, he seemed to absorb my bitterness and anger—and my sense of desperation—and I began to heal—and to hope. 

  “I didn't come here to give you a list of things to do—I came here to give you myself. You cannot fix your problems—only I can fix your problems.” Then the man extended his hand towards me, as if to help me off the floor. As I tried to make sense of it all, I hesitated, and in that moment I caught a glimpse of the man's palm and saw within it a scar. A tinge of fear and sorrow welled up within me as I looked at it. 

  I gave him a strange look, and said, “Who are you?”

  With certainty in his eye, the man replied, “I am—”

  I waited for him to continue, and I waited, and I waited … Seeing the look of confusion in my eye, he said: “I am—I have always been—and I will always be … I was there when the Universe was born, and I know every star by name … I witnessed the creation of the earth, the shaping of man from the dust, and his tragic discovery of evil … I was there when mighty empires sprung up like weeds from the ground, and I was there when they withered away. I have seen kingdoms come and go … the raging of wars … and generations passing like night and day … I saw cities built and then watched them crumble, carried away to the sea. And I know every grain of sand upon the shore and the place from which it came. I carry them around in the palm of my hand, and they remind me of the frailty of man and of all his deeds … I have seen it all, including what remains to be seen—because I am.” 

  Again I looked at his hand, and I saw blood within the scar. He looked at me with love in his eyes and asked me to take his hand.

  In that moment I understood: To take his hand was to submit to him—to belong to him. 

  “I'm afraid,” I said. “There's so much I wanted to do with my life. I'm not sure I'm ready to give it all up. Isn't there another way?”

  The man looked at me somberly. “There is no other way.” 

  “But I don't want to give up who I really am,” I said.

  “And who are you?” the man replied.

  “I—I—” I thought about it for a second and came up empty. “I don't know,” I finally said.

The man smiled wistfully as a tear came to his eye. “I know who you are,” he whispered. “I've known you since the beginning of time: Every thought you've had. Every word you've spoken. Everything you've done. Every tear you've cried. I know it all.”

  I felt myself grow pale and my spirits fall. “Then what could you possibly want with me? You know what a screw up I am.” I studied the man's face. There was an unfathomable depth to his eyes, and I suddenly felt I couldn't take the heat of his gaze or the power of his silence. In his presence I quickly became filled with the realization of every wrong I'd ever done. The shadows hiding in the darkness of my heart were now clear as day—and they haunted me. I realized then that I didn't even know who I was—so how was I supposed to make something of myself? And what could I—a speck of dust—really accomplish in my own strength? And I came to this conclusion: I am nothing.

  Seeing again the man's outstretched hand, I was overcome with the humility of my circumstance. “I'm not good enough to take your hand,” I moaned, the gravity of this truth weighing heavily on my heart. 

  “No,” the man replied, “but I am good enough to take your hand.” Immediately my heart felt relief at the hope of his words, even as I struggled to wrap my mind around it. 

“How did you get that scar?” I asked at last.

  “That scar—that blood—was the price I paid to take your sins away. It is the price I paid to be able to take your hand and bring you with me.”

“But why would you do such a thing? Who am I to you?” I said in wonder. “To you I can be nothing but a grain of sand on the beach or a fleeting puff of smoke from an extinguished flame. In the grandness of the Universe, I am less than nothing—why should you concern yourself with me?”

  The tear that had formed in the man's eye fell down his cheek as he answered: “I do this for you because you belong to me—and because I love you. I'm the one who created you, and I made you who you are … In the grandness of the Universe, you may be nothing. But—in my heart, dear child—you are very large.” 

  I looked at his hand again, and I knew he wasn't offering to take all my pain away. Nor was he offering me an easy life. He wasn't promising to fix all my problems, though I knew that he would help me with all those things. Instead, what the man was offering was something far more valuable than every good thing in creation combined. He was offering me himself: true, selfless love. 

  I took his hand and he lifted me to my feet as though I weighed nothing. And as I looked to him for answers, he began to speak:

  “When you were a child, your father would take you by the hand and guide you and keep you safe. He gave you boundaries to protect you and food to sustain you. Take my hand and never let go—and I will keep you safe. Listen to my instruction and you will avoid many dangers. Let me be the one to sustain you in every difficulty and trial of life. Let me be the one to provide your every need. Remember that I am the only thing that never changes, so let me be your rock, your shelter, and your strength. I know you fully and I love you still. Nothing in this life can change that. If you keep hold of my hand and stay close to me, then even death cannot keep you from my love … I take your hand—and your weaknesses, faults, sorrows, and lack. You take my hand: my strength, my purity, my love, my joy. Everything I have is now yours so long as you remain with me. You belong to me now … and I am yours forever.”