The Psalmist called God’s word a lamp to his feet — not a floodlight to his future. The light we are given is usually enough only for the next step, the next verse, the next page. This sonnet sits with that older, slower way of reading by the small flame we have been given.
The Sonnet
The single flame illumines one small page, No more, no less — a tender, plain accord Between the candle and the verses' age, A patience neither anxious nor untoward. I do not need to see the whole of it, The chapters yet to come, the binding's end, Only this verse, this line, this small lit bit, This sentence where the steady flame can bend. To read this way is older than the rush, A discipline that asks me to slow down, To savor what the modern noise would crush, To take the smaller, deeper, quieter crown. So let me read by lamp, and not by sun — A patient word, a tender, holy one.
Reflection
We want the whole map. We want to see the road five years out. We want the light to be a floodlight, illuminating the entire path so we can plan our way safely through. But the light we are given is usually a lamp — small, close, sufficient only for the next step, the next page, the next decision.
This is also true of Scripture. Read at the speed of information, the Bible disappoints. Read at the speed of meditation — a single verse held in the heart, turned over slowly, lived with for a day or a week — it becomes a different kind of book. The single flame is enough. The patient reading is its own kind of prayer.
Today, take one verse — just one — and carry it with you. Let it light the next few hours. You do not need to see the whole road. You only need light enough for now.
