In response to the international request for worldwide unity and prayer, The First Church of Christ, Scientist, held its first outdoor church services on the plaza beside its reflecting pool on September 19. Under a bright noon sun and again under the finest sliver of an early evening moon, the services included readings from the Bible and Science and Health, prayer, music by a brass quintet, and spontaneous comments from the congregation. After the evening meeting, hundreds of attendees tried to light candles in the brisk wind. This is one churchgoer's account of a moment of flickering union between strangers.

It was the glow in their faces. Yes, there was inspiration in the reading, the hymns, the comments at the outdoor church service. But mostly, it was the glow in their faces I'll remember.

After the service, church representatives with long-nosed butane lighters tried and tried and finally successfully lit my little candle. The wind would have nothing to do with that. We tried again and failed.

A young Hispanic woman saw me standing there alone in the dark with my extinguished taper and approached me with her two friends. The only thing we seemed to have in common was our four dark candles. She offered to light mine and proceeded to dig around in a big purse she had slung across the front of a big, baggy sweatshirt—through brushes, cigarettes, makeup—to find a little lighter. Mine was the first candle she tried to light. The wind continued to argue. Her friends came in closer to try to shield us.

Eventually, after none of us could successfully maintain our individual flames, we were pulled closer until the wicks of our individual candles touched. Only together could we sustain any of our flames. We worked in a huddle, at first tentatively: one dainty hand with a small lighter; one large, masculine hand, cupping the light; a more mature, manicured hand trying to avoid the hot wax; the youngest hand holding a candle with the paper collar carefully molded into a tiny funnel. Gradually each of us realized our arms worked best encircling a neighbor. Open sweater and jacket spread like a sail, arms around each other's shoulders, we enfolded as much of us as the fabric would allow and smiled to realize that only by keeping our wicks together could we hope to maintain our flame.

"This is how it's supposed to be," said the girl.

The fellow I found my arm and sweater around smiled and agreed that this was why we were supposed to have come here tonight. As I looked at the light literally dawning in these young faces, the shyer of the two young men wondered out loud what would happen if people realized that this was how it was supposed to be—the increased brilliance of united flames, the importance of working together. "See how other people are noticing how bright our candles are. It's like a torch, and they're coming to us to light their candles, too," he noticed.

The imposing look of the large, rugged, older boy belied a tender heart. As he shook his ponytail back, I could see his face lit as if from the inside. Almost as if surprising himself, he announced he was going to take his candle stub home so he could remember this moment. "If everyone would work together," he said, "think what a difference it would make in our neighborhood ... and the whole world. I just wish I had a jar to cover this, and it could burn all the way home."

The youngest of the trio proclaimed, "Ours is the brightest because we're together," as he encouraged a little girl to avail herself of our "homefire's" glowing success.

It was a chilly night, but no one seemed to notice. Entwined by the wind, we seemed attached to one another—our hands literally glued together by the paraffin drippings. Our union escaped no one's attention. There was even an attempt to capture it on film. But the flash didn't cooperate.

We agreed to keep it in the camera of our minds instead.

None of us seemed to want to pull away, and staying until the last candle was too small to hold, we were the last to leave. My candlelight buddies seemed eager to return, drawn back by an awesome sense of the "agape" (deep Christian brotherly love) mentioned by one of the testifiers. There was no doubt for any of us: Our moment of flickering union might not have been a burning bush, but it was certainly holy ground.

We finally went our separate ways with heartfelt farewells, walking slowly in opposite directions, into separate worlds that somehow weren't so separated anymore.