All of us are aware to some degree of the story of Hanukkah, of the victory of the brave Maccabees against the Greeks and of the miracle of the cruse of oil that burned for eight days instead of one. Yet upon closer examination, the early history of the holiday of Hanukkah is not clear, and the story is not so simple.
The common version is worth a brief review before we examine its sources in detail.
In the fourth century B.C., Alexander the Great with his Greek armies conquered the Near East including Israel. After his death, his empire split apart.
The land of Israel, after a period of struggle, came under the control of the Seleucid dynasty, which ruled the region of Syria. In the year 167 B.C., the king Antiochus Epiphanes decided to force all the peoples under his rule to Hellenize.
The practice of Jewish rituals such as the Sabbath and circumcision was outlawed. The worship of Greek gods and the sacrifice of pigs replaced the traditional worship in the temple. Some Jews eagerly flocked to the gymnasium, symbol of the Greek emphasis on the beauty and strength of the body. Others resisted Hellenism and died as martyrs.
One day the Greeks came to the village of Modi'in and set up an altar. They commanded the Jews to bring a pig as a sacrifice to show obedience to Antiochus's decree.
Mattathias, an old priest, was so enraged when he saw a Jew about to do so that he killed him. He and his five sons then fought the Greek detachment, retreated to the mountains, and began a guerrilla war against the Greeks and their Jewish allies.
Before he died of old age, Mattathias passed on the leadership to his son Judah the Maccabee. Judah led his forces against a series of armies sent by Antiochus, and through superior strategy and bravery he defeated them all.
When Judah defeated the Syrians and re-reentered Jerusalem, he ordered the temple cleaned and rededicated. In fact, the word Hanukkah means, "re-dedication."
This involved rekindling the eternal flame and sacred oil--which was most likely very fine olive oil, had to be prepared as fuel for the flame. But it would take eight days to prepare the oil.
According to tradition, a small amount of sacred oil, sufficient for one day, was found hidden in the temple. So the lamps was kindled and, miraculously say some, it continued to burn for eight days--long enough for a new supply of oil to be prepared.
So it is that the Hanukkah candles are kindled, an additional candle each night, for eight nights
This morning let us observe the coming of Hanukkah with our own adaptation of the traditional candle lighting. Later in our service we will be singing a hymn with words by Peter Yarrow of the folk group Peter, Paul and Mary. Each verse of the song begins with a common refrain, "Light one candle" and the words go on to say:
Light One Candle...
for the Maccabee children
give thanks that their light didn't die
Light one candle...
for the pain they endured
when their right to exist was denied!
Light one candle...
for the terrible sacrifice
justice and freedom demand!
Light one candle...
for the wisdom to know
when the Peacemakers' time is at hand!
Don't let the light go out
it's lasted for so many years.
Don't let the light go out
let it shine through our love and our tears!
Light one candle...
for the strength that we need
to never become our own foe!
Light one candle...
for those who are suffering
they withered so long ago!
Light one candle...
for all we believe in
let anger not tear us apart!
Light one candle...
that binds us together
that peace is a song in our heart!
During the days of Hanukkah we all have an opportunity to re-dedicate ourselves to sustaining our individual understanding of what it means to be actively involved in this world and to continue the small acts that really matter: caring for one another with sensitivity, pausing to appreciate our daily sustenance, and loving life in a way that will provide each of us with strength for all the days of our lives.
So, this morning let us observe the coming of Hanukkah with our own adaptation of the traditional candle lighting.
We begin by lighting the servant candle. It is called the Shamus and which in Hebrew which means to serve.
As one candle may kindle many others and yet lose none of its own light I light our shamus this morning with the fire from our own chalice.
Our congregational chalice that was made by Bob Pigeon, Naomi's husband, who turned the clay by hand, glazed it and baked it in his kiln and presented it, and the bowls that hold our candles for our joys and concerns, to our church many years ago.
Just as the candles of the menorah are lit in remembrance of events long ago, so our chalice is lit on Sunday mornings in remembrance. It is lit in remembrance of weddings and child dedications and the memorial services that are the story of this congregation.
So it is only fitting and proper that we use the flame from our chalice to light this first candle to remind us is lit to remind us of our better selves and that this world is ours to make and remake in a vision of justice, equality and compassion and for all the long held, shared values that make up Unitarian Universalism.
I light our second candle for all children. The well known child advocate Marian Wright Edelman writing in her book The Measure of our Success reminds her own children , "As you have grown toward adulthood, you have become increasingly aware that your educationally and financially privileged lives are not typical of other children in this world, nation, or even our own city.
We live in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods of Washington, D.C., while thousands of children ten minutes away are living in a war zone that imprisons them in fear and near--Third World poverty.
First world privilege and third world deprivation and rage are struggling to exist not only in our nation's capital but all over an America that has the capacity but not the moral commitment and political will to protect all its young."
May the flame of this candle honor all of those young people whose lives are cut short by acts of violence and tragedy.
I light our third Candle in the hope that in our lifetimes the world will become a far safer place. Our hunger for peace is inextricably bound up with the universal human need for security. In too many parts of the world just the simplest of daily routines such as the procuring of food and the necessities of life can be death defying acts of bravery.
In communities around the world people are unable to work, study, obtain medical care, or walk the streets of their towns out of fear.
The depth of suffering in places like Iraq offers us a stark reminder that, far from increasing security, military action only destroys the safety of individuals, families, and communities. "Real human security," Writes Rabbi Arthur Waskow, "depends not on military force, but on the strength of civil society; the integrity of education, health, and social services; and the possibility of normal community life."
I light our fourth candle for a peaceful future.
In these frightening times, it takes courage to rededicate ourselves every day to the vision of peace, justice and equity in the world. What other "candles" can light the way to peace? Every step we take is right as long as it is a step in the direction of peace. Every act that builds community and brings relief to those who suffer is a peaceful act. Every day our lives do not diminish the lives of others is a day dedicated toward building peace. A well-known Jewish folk tale recounts the story of two people, each lost in a forest. When they meet and ask for directions out of the woods, they agree on this:
"The way I came from is not the way. The way you came from is not, either. So let us join together, share our search lights, and seek the way out together."
I light a fifth candle for the environment and our physical world. "Do you have a sense of beauty in your life?" asks the Indian writer Jiddu Krishnamurti. "Have you any relationship with nature, with the birds, with the water? What is your relationship with all that--with the trees, with the birds, and all the living things that we call nature? Aren't we part of all that? So, aren't we the environment?"
I light a sixth candle for all of our stories. We come together on Sundays and other days to share the deepest and most meaningful times of our lives. A colleague used to say that congregations are vessels into which people pour their lives and their memories and that each of us has a responsibility to keep the vessel strong so that those who come after us will still have a place where life passages are honored and uplifted.
There is a power in our stories offered with no objective other than sharing the insights which we've been given. Here in this sanctuary we aren't trying to convert anybody. We aren't testing dogma or orthodoxy. Instead, we offer those stories that speak to life and our making our way through it with the people we love. There's a lesson here for us, I think.
Perhaps we should worry a bit less about being on the right side of every argument, and worry more about being lovingly open and sharing our stories of faith and doubt.
I light a seventh candle for holiness: the holiness that is nature, the holiness that is felt whenever we truly connect with another. The holiness that is present in both the very young and the very old. Whenever we live our lives so as to maintain a sense of wonder and awe we can make all of life something that is deeply moving and a sacred gift.
Finally, this morning I will light our eighth and final candle for the miracles in our lives. For the miracles great and small that in their way relieve our burdens and light our way through life's often dark passages.
Miracle. The word is one of those that when we hear it or use it probably means something different to each of us. There are the extraordinary miracles like the stories of old such as Moses parting the red sea, and the ultimate miracle of creation as described in the book of Genesis.
There are the miracles of the natural world like sunsets and sunrises; macaws and snow leopards; the Grand Canyon and the sky scrapers of New York. There are the miracles of how life begins and how it ends. There are the miracles that are atoms and universes.
Yet there is another order of miracles--the miracles that are with us every day of our lives. Perhaps they are the miracles that matter the most and yet we give them the least attention.
Listen to the words used by Walt Whitman in his poem Miracles to capture his understanding of the word.
Why! who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the edge of the
water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love--or sleep in the bed at night with
any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with my mother,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive, of a summer forenoon,
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds--or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sun-down--or of stars shining so quiet
and bright,
Or the exquisite, delicate, thin curve of the new moon in spring;
Or whether I go among those I like best, and that like me best--
mechanics, boatmen, farmers,
Or among the savants--or to the soiree--or to the opera,
Or stand a long while looking at the movements of machinery,
Or behold children at their sports,
Or the admirable sight of the perfect old man, or the perfect old
woman,
Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial,
Or my own eyes and figure in the glass;
These, with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring--yet each distinct, and in its place.
To me, every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the
same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same;
Every spear of grass--the frames, limbs, organs, of men and women,
and all that concerns them,
All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles....
So this Hanukkah may we be aware of the miracles in our lives and be grateful for them.
As we enter this season of darkness may we be mindful of the miracle of the Maccabbees oil that burned for eight days and brought relief to a hurting people.
As we approach the season of darkness may we be reminded of the spark of existence that gives light to our spirits.
And in the days ahead may each of us light one candle for the unexpected surprises in life.