Walk into an Orthodox church and you’ll see them everywhere. Candles flickering before icons. Candles on the altar. Sometimes people standing in the narthex lighting thin tapers, making the sign of the cross, whispering prayers.
They’re not just atmosphere.
Candles in Orthodox worship are prayers made visible. When you light one, you’re making an offering that accompanies your petition to God. The flame continues your prayer even after you’ve taken your seat, even after you’ve driven home down I-10 past the refineries. It keeps burning.
Light and Prayer
There’s deep theology here, not just pretty tradition. Christ called himself the Light of the World in John’s gospel. Every candle we light points to that reality. The flame reminds us that he enlightens our darkness, that his light shattered death itself when he rose from the tomb on Pascha morning.
The candle also represents your own prayer rising to heaven. Psalm 141 says “Let my prayer arise in thy sight as incense.” We take that literally. The flame ascends. Your words ascend with it. It’s physical prayer, something you can see and smell, because we’re not disembodied souls. We’re humans, and humans need to pray with their bodies.
When you light a candle before an icon of St. Michael or the Theotokos, you’re asking their prayers too. The candle burns before their image as a sign of your request, a little beacon saying “pray for me.” It’s the same as leaving a note on someone’s desk asking them to remember you. Except the saints never sleep and never stop interceding.
The Practical Side
You’ll usually light candles when you first arrive, before the service starts or during a time when things are quiet. Don’t light them during the Gospel reading or when the priest is censing or during the sermon. There’s a rhythm to learn, but nobody’s going to scold you if you get it wrong at first.
Most parishes have a candle stand in the narthex or near the icons. You take a taper, light it from another candle that’s already burning (we keep the flame going, passing light from light), and place it in the sand or holder. You can make a small donation to help cover the cost. Then you pray. Some people stand there a while. Others just cross themselves and move on.
The candle burns all the way down. We don’t blow them out. Your prayer continues as long as that flame lasts.
Different candles serve different purposes. The ones you light are usually beeswax tapers or small vigil lights. The altar has its own candles that stay lit during services. Icon lamps hang before major icons, oil-fed flames that recall the wise virgins in Matthew 25 who kept their lamps full while waiting for the bridegroom. That parable isn’t just about being ready for Christ’s return. It’s about keeping your prayer alive, your attention focused, your heart awake.
What It Means for You
If you’re visiting for the first time, you don’t have to light a candle. But you can. Nobody’s checking credentials. Just watch what others do and follow along. Light one for someone you’re worried about. Light one because you’re grateful. Light one because you don’t know what else to do and you need God’s help.
The physical act matters. You’re not just thinking nice thoughts. You’re making an offering, however small. You’re participating in something that connects you to centuries of Christians who stood in darkened churches before dawn, who lit lamps in catacombs, who kept vigil through the night with nothing but flame and prayer.
Fr. Alexander Schmemann wrote about how Orthodox worship engages all the senses. The candles are part of that. So is the incense, the icons, the chanting, the taste of prosphora. We don’t try to have a purely mental or emotional experience of God. We bring our whole selves, including our eyes and hands and sense of smell.
Next time you’re at St. Michael, light a candle. Say a prayer. Watch the flame for a moment. Then go into the nave knowing that little light is still burning, still rising, still joining your voice to the great prayer of the Church.
