Wax

There is wax spilt on the floor of the chapel. I will need to get down on my knees and scrape it up. Or leave it for someone else to get down on their knees and deal with. I can only speculate over who spilt it, but I can do so one way, or another. Perhaps they were oblivious, careless in their action. It is of no matter to them that someone else will have to come along behind them and deal with the mess. Or were they aware, but in a hurry - unable to wait until the wax hardened and could be dealt with? Or were acutely embarrassed but, to their perceived shame, did not know where to lay hands on the necessary tools to do the needful task? I can allow myself to be irritated by this unknown person; or I can hold them before God today, as my brother or my sister, one as oblivious, as careless, as hurried, as spoilt by shame at their own lack as I am in turns?

Let the wax be my teacher. May it bring me to my knees before my God, there to look into the eyes of another. And may even our shortfallings leave a trace of our devotion, of the light we choose rather than cursing the darkness.

Blessed be you, o wax, for you have pointed me to Christ who reigns in heaven. And blessed be you, o Christ, for you have melted my heart.