Three Lights: A Parable

There was once a grandfather who worked diligently to make a gorgeous paper lantern to hang in front of his house for a festival, to welcome his family home. Years of experience had taught him how to set the dimensions just right, so the small flame inside would not be near enough to light the vibrant sides on fire. He handled the delicate paper with equal care, fastening it without a wrinkle or tear. And when the happy day came and his lantern was illuminated, his relatives stood near it and remembered happy celebrations of the past.

There was once a glassblowing artisan who decided to attempt a particularly exquisite (and incredibly challenging) design. If successfully completed, it would yield a wonderous top for a wedding gift to his bride: the chimney of an oil lamp for their new chamber. He applied all the skills he possessed, but just as the work in progress was reaching a most critical formation point, he saw a vital part beginning to slip. In a split-second, going on instinct, he knew he could save it if he used his hand…but that using his hand would likely mean a severe burn–or worse. Yet, he didn’t give it a second thought. His hand shot forward to save the piece, a sacrifice which eventually yielded the perfect result. Two months later, when the chamber was softly illuminated and he led his sweet lady into that space for the first time, she spied the lamp and joy radiated from her smile. The artisan’s heart turned over, and he felt the fresh scar at the base of his hand, knowing he would do it again for her.

There was once a potter who made humble lamps of clay and some fine pottery besides. One day, as he was walking to his shop, he came across some boys who were playing in a trash pile. They had picked up a large bowl with a lovely blue and gold pattern on it and were throwing it on the ground repeatedly, smashing the chunks into smaller and smaller pieces. He chided them for the destruction and disruption they were causing and drove them away. When he looked down at the fragments now littering the ground, he recognized the piece; he had made it on commission for a woman in the neighborhood years before. It crushed his heart to know that someone would crush one of his most intricate pieces, for no other reason than just the sake of a temporary thrill. But then, he had a marvelous idea. He gathered up what bits and slivers he could find, and he carried them carefully back to his shop. Then, after forming a new lamp from fresh clay, he pressed the broken pieces into the sides of the lamp to form a mosaic pattern. And later, when that lamp was ready to be used, he decided not to sell it. Instead, he took it home and set it on the dining table. When it was illuminated, the family gathered around to enjoy sweet fellowship. And they all exclaimed over how the dazzling reflection of the light off the gold flecks in the broken pieces made it the most beautiful lamp they had ever seen.

In truth, the grandfather and the artisan-husband and the potter are all the same person. And the work they have made and remade will always bear their mark of beauty when illuminated.