‘Twas the Saturday after Epiphany

‘Twas the Saturday after Epiphany,

and there in the church,

up front by the lectern,

looking left in the lurch,

stood the Advent Wreath,

high on its brass perch.

Saturday’s service was going,

we were singing a hymn,

I glanced at that Wreath,

saw the candles were dim.

Not lighted they were,

the acolytes were right:

this was a new Season,

no need to blame them.

But as we were singing,

the Wreath looked forlorn,

somehow so grungy

with no candles a-goin.’

So I looked for some matches,

and found them right quick.

Now time to fire up

each waiting little wick.

But none would catch fire;

not even a flicker.

“I’ll use this big lighter,

it’ll go much quicker.”

The lighter itself offered no help at all,

no flame would get going,

not even one small.

While people kept singing,

I chuckled and shrugged,

and wished that those candles

were merely unplugged.

Not one could I light,

so the service went on,

and we had a fine time on this Saturday night.

Sunday in worship

I tired to explain

My Advent Wreath saga

Of lighting in vain.

And during first service

The other pastor, too,

Tried to light those same candles,

but had trouble anew.

— See you back here tomorrow

for more about this. —