The Symbol of a Flame

If it’s grievance you want, you will find cause for it wherever you look. Witness the kerfuffle over the tableau vivant in the opening ceremonies of the Paris Olympics that was evocative of da Vinci’s painting of the Last Supper. Should we take offense? Was offense intended? Are we being hyper-sensitive? The entire matter seems more likely to elicit commentary than encouragement, so I will say nothing more about it!

Of greater interest to me is the question of the Olympic flame, which, it turns out, is not a flame at all, although it began as one. When the torches carrying the Olympic flame were dipped into the “basket” of the hot air balloon in the Tuileries Gardens, what was “ignited” was a contraption comprising 40 LED spotlights and 200 misting nozzles, that does, indeed, create the illusion of a flame of sorts. It makes me suspicious that the “hot air balloon” is not, in fact, a hot air balloon, either. But what difference does it make? As the press office of the Games declared, “only the symbol of a flame that does not go out before the end of the Games matters.” In many churches you will find “the symbol of a flame” in votive candles, or even in the lamp meant to indicate the living Presence of the Lord in the Blessed Sacrament - electric lights that sometime shimmer artificially, one way or another. What difference does it make?

Years ago, the late liturgist Louis Weil wrote a marvelous article called “When Signs Signify” arguing that a symbol should be big and clear in order to convey its meaning. He had in mind the size and placement of a baptismal font and the amount of water it could contain, as a way of conveying the meaning of Christian baptism. And his suggestion was that when we modern people opt for minuscule symbols, we should not be surprised that they convey minuscule meaning.

Weil’s perspective was born of the conviction that symbols matter, and that symbolic language is not a lower form of language meant to simplify, but a sophisticated form of communication, meant to express in a clear and concise way big ideas for which our usual spoken or written vocabularies are too clunky, inefficient, and perhaps altogether insufficient. What can a flame be, what can it do, and what can it signify? You could spill a lot or words trying to answer those questions. Or, you could light a flame and let people look at it, hold it, share it, spread it, maybe even douse it. Does the spirit of an athlete burn like a flame? Or does that athletic spirit give the impression of the “symbol of a flame” made up of LED lights and misting nozzles? What difference does it make?

In today’s world of alternate facts and deep fakes, I find myself wanting to express a preference for symbols that are the things they purport to be. Magic may be awe inspiring, but it remains, after all, a kind of trickery. I think the blazing balloon above the Tuileries Gardens looks terrific - but I fear it is more magic than symbol. And I think it is a bit of shame that it is not what it appears to be, not even what it professes to be. What if we replaced the eternal flame at Arlington Cemetery or Washington Square with a system of LED lights and misting nozzles? Would such a “symbol of a flame” - which is to say, a symbol of a symbol - mean very much to us?

Sometimes people are symbols too, particularly when they hold high office or practice public ministry. One of the challenges of our time is discerning whether the people who occupy important symbolic positions, people who in their service stand for something other and more than themselves, really are made of the stuff they purport to made of. A measure of sincere humility is one of the telltale marks that indicates that a person who occupies a symbolic position really is who and what they appear and profess to be. In my own life, I often occupied a symbolic position within the church community; I’ll leave it to others to determine whether I was more or less an honest symbol of the flames of mercy grace, forgiveness, and love that Christ continually keeps igniting in this world.

Big symbols speak to us and inspire us to participate in big ideas, whether a flame, or a font, or a public figure. I already knew, somehow, that we could make things look like flames that are not actually flames. What remains to be seen, is whether or not we can keep symbolic flames burning, not only the symbolic flames of the Olympic athletic spirit, but flames of mercy, grace, forgiveness, and love; flames of community, care, and connectedness; flames of justice, equality, and fairness. I think a lot of us are wondering how adept we are, in America and beyond, at keeping these flames burning, and not just rendering magical facsimiles that remind us that once, long ago, these fires burned with real heat.

There’s an old hymn by the great hymn-writer Charles Wesley, that’s built around the symbolic idea of a flame. The third verse goes like this:

Jesus, confirm my heart’s desire

To work, and speak, and think for thee;

Still let me guard the holy fire,

And still stir up the gift in me.

It’s a profoundly beautiful prayer, and I am giving thanks at the moment that God has continued to guard the holy fire within my own heart, though that flame has seemed to me to barely smolder at times in recent months. It’s a times like that, when I realize how prone to hurt and injury are the gifts we have been given, how adept is the world at quenching flames that God himself has fanned into a blaze, that I think only a real flame could inspire me, and not a system of LED lights and misting nozzles. I have a good friend who is busy fighting fires in the American west; I realize this symbolism can be tricky. But if it’s a symbol for something real and important, for something with power to change things, to transform lives and this world, then I’d say, only a real flame will do.

The Tomato Times

As I write this post, I am away from the tomatoes, which I watered before I left them. I think it is going to be a healthy crop. Stay tuned!

The photo of the Olympic flame above his by Geoffrey Van Der Hesselt through AP.