Stanford Candlelight Service

As a lapsed Catholic, I carried mixed feelings while visiting so many grand Catholic cathedrals during our recent Italy trip.
It brought back my old emotions and an old ritual I had almost forgotten. When I lived in Korea, my family had a quiet year-end tradition: attending Christmas Eve Mass. We only went to church once a year, on that night. After the service, there was always Baekseolgi (the white steamed rice cake Koreans eat for birthdays). That might have been the main reason for the visit, which I cannot totally deny. Though it felt ceremonial, it was almost holy in its own way. That memory has stayed with me.

This year, something similar pulled me back. Last summer, we stepped inside Stanford Memorial Church and were stunned by its scale and beauty: the size, the beautiful facade, the luxurious interior, and most of all, the real mosaic ceiling. So when we learned there would be a Christmas Eve Candlelight Service there, it felt like the right moment to return.

Christmas Eve arrived with heavy rain. It was not just rain, but a near storm in the evening. The service was scheduled for 8:00 pm, with doors opening at 7:10. We showed up around 6:00, worried about lines, and found only about ten people. By 6:30, the official line had formed with 40 to 50 people. I think 6:20 to 6:30 pm was the sweet spot, because by the time the service began, the church was full.

I assumed it would be a Catholic Mass. The church’s interior certainly suggested it: angels, saints, biblical scenes, the weight of centuries of tradition in stone and color that I had been used to. But when the pipe organ began boldly, almost rock-like, and then I noticed the priest was a woman, I knew something was off. Catholicism has grown more open over the years, especially under the late Pope Francis, but women priests? I had never heard of that.

The key word I had missed was in the event’s official name: Ecumenical Christmas Eve Candlelight Service. Ecumenical means bringing different Christian traditions together, Catholic, Protestant, Anglican, and more, into one shared service. Once I understood that, everything made sense.

The structure still felt close to a Catholic Mass, especially the homily. The choir leaned more Protestant in style. But, there was no dancing, no theatrics—it was restrained but still powerful.

Then came the candlelight. As everyone began singing Silent Night, Holy Night, the lights dimmed. One by one, candles were lit from the first row to the next, left to right, right to left. The glow spread slowly through the vast sanctuary until the space felt suspended between darkness and light.

After the event, we found the storm outside had disappeared. Later, we learned that the traditional Catholic Midnight Mass would still be held at 12:00 am. Maybe next year. But this was enough for the holy night.