Light One Candle

A sermon delivered at the Unitarian Universalist Congregation (Blacksburg, VA), December 2, 2007, by the Reverend Christine Brownlie.

I grew up in St. Paul Minnesota, in a community that was quite diverse in terms of religion. I would guess that about 60% of my classmates were Jewish. The rest of us were from the great assortment of the Christian denominations: Catholics, Protestants and even a few who were Greek Orthodox. Our Jewish next-door neighbors, the Smiths, were very willing to share some of their holiday customs with us, and so the celebrations of Chanukah and Passover became a cherished part of my childhood memories. I still make time for Chanukah, and in a few days I will light my menorah and recite the blessings. I will sit and watch the candles burn themselves out and think about this very ancient holiday, and the stories that speak of treacherous villains and brave heroes as the candles slowly burn to tiny nubs of wax.

Chanukah, like Christmas, probably has its roots in the time-before-time solstice celebrations that mark the great turning of the seasons and the upward path of the sun. The story that is told for this Jewish holiday is not found in the Torah, the accepted Jewish scriptures. If you want to read it for yourself you’ll probably need a different bible that the one that you have in your bookcase now. Look for a study Bible that includes a section called the “Apocrypha,” which means “writings of dubious authenticity.” You’ll find the story in I Maccabees. (The link takes you to a copy on the Web.)

The story begins with a short history of the descendents of Alexander the Great and an introduction of the villain, Antiochus Epiphanes, who began his reign in the year 137 BCE (Before the Common Era). When Antiochus took power, some of the Jews decided that it would be a very good idea for some of the leaders their community to pay the king a call and see if they could work out some sort of an agreement that would help everyone feel more comfortable. Apparently things had not been going so well lately between the Jews and their Greek neighbors, and so these Jews decided that if their community just stopped making such a big deal about being JEWISH and pushing their differences, life would be more pleasant. So they went to the king and negotiated a deal. The Jews would accept some of the Greek customs and traditions, and they’d be allowed to worship their god and keep their temple.

One of the first things they did was to build a wonderful new fitness center right there in Jerusalem, where the Jewish men could exercise with their Greek friends. You might recall that the Greeks believed that exercise and sports should be done in the nude. This created another problem for the Jews to solve. All their men had been circumcised as a sign of the covenant between Yahweh and the people. This would be an obvious mark of difference, and worked to defeat the purpose of this very expensive building that was to foster a sense of community and getting along. What to do?

It seems that they some of the surgeons came up with a procedure that would — and I’m quoting scripture here “remove the marks of circumcision.” I’m not at all sure what this involved; we don’t need to go into that. What’s really important is that by doing this, the men were sending the message that they had abandoned the Holy Covenant. This was deeply offensive to those who believed that such an action would cause a great rift between the people of Israel and their God.

Things were going pretty well for Antiochus, and since he had the funds for it, he decided that he would enlarge his kingdom. He invaded and plundered Egypt. Then in 147 CE, he attacked Israel and took Jerusalem. He plundered the temple, robbing it of all its gold and treasures, and then went back home to Syria. This was a great shock to the Jews, and they mourned and lamented. But the worst was yet to come. A second attack too place in 167 BCE. This time Jerusalem was torched, women and children were take as captives, and troops were garrisoned right there in Jerusalem. One again the sanctuary was defiled.

But the worst was still yet to come. King Antiochus decided that everyone in his kingdom should live as one united people. Enough with these little cults and fringe groups!! We’re all going to worship the same gods and follow the same customs. You Jews will set aside those weird rules and regulations that your ancestors haven’t been able to keep since who knows when.

And to make sure that the people got the point, the soldiers began to slaughter unclean animals in the most sacred parts of the temple. The books of the law were torn to shreds and burned. Those who continued to keep the law were put to death.

Many Jews did what seemed sensible. Who could blame them for wanting to survive? They gave up the religion of their ancestors, forsook their covenant with the God of Israel, and assimilated. But there were some who refused.

Mattathias and his sons were in this group of faithful Jews. Even when they were ordered point blank by the king’s soldiers to offer sacrifices to the idols in exchange for wealth and honors, they refused. When a man came forward from the crowd to comply with the soldier’s offer, Mattathias drew his sword and killed him on the spot. Then he and his sons fled to the hills, where they would be safe from the king’s troops

Over time, they were joined by others who shared their faith in the God of Israel. As their numbers and strength grew, they organized an army and began to make raids on the towns and settlements, re-establishing the old ways of Israel and the covenant — by force, if necessary. Mattathias died and his son Judas became the leader of this rebellious little community.

Now Judas was a courageous and clever military leader. Time and time again his little army was able to overcome the superior forces of the king. Finally, Antiochus had enough and sent a massive force to put down the rebellion. Judas prepared his army of three thousand for the battle, and even though they lacked the armor, chariots, swords, and horses of the king’s troops, the men of Israel beat them and chased them back to their own land. Other attacks and battles followed, and each time the victory belonged to the Jews. Finally the Syrians gave up and there was peace.

Then came the truly heartbreaking work of restoring the temple and the altar. The scriptures don’t say how long this took, but it must have been many months and even years. Finally everything was ready, and the people rededicated the temple. The scripture tells us that a sacrifice was offered according to the law, the lamps were lit, and the celebration lasted for eight days. More work was done on the décor of the temple until it was completely restored. Judas and his followers proclaimed that the rededication of the temple should be remembered and celebrated every year for eight days.

And it still is, but not for that reason. Most of us have heard that Chanukah is about the miracle of the oil. We were told that when it came time to light the eternal flame, there was only enough sanctified oil to last one day. Despite this, the lamp was lit. The flame continued to burn for a total of eight days, which was enough time for new oil to be pressed, and made ready.

This story is not found in the I Maccabees. It comes from another text called the Talmud in the section called the Gemara: a compilation of rabbinic commentaries on the law and the scriptures. This is where we find the story of the oil and the lamp.

You may wonder why Chanukah celebrates an eight-day miracle. After all, there was nothing miraculous about the oil lasting for that first day. The miracle took place on the days that followed.

Professor Larry Hoffman of HUC gives a wonderful answer:

“Hanukkah celebrates not one miracle but two. There are the seven days that recall the intervention of God in unprecedented ways, the times, that is, when we did not give up (though we might have) and when a feeble initiative that ought to have died within a day lasted instead until we found a way to keep it going. But the miracle of the first day is more awesome still. It is the unaccountable human penchant to light a flame in the first place, to dare to hope (against all odds) that if we can just get through at least one day, the defeat we fear just might not come true … light a candle in your soul and feel God’s breath fan its flames until you find your own courage to go on.”

The miracle of the first day was the most impressive, for the Maccabees went ahead and lit the lamp knowing that there was not enough oil to last. They forged ahead, when reason dictated that their efforts were futile. Rabbi Shim Maslin writes,

“Like the Israelites who forced God’s hand by plunging into the Sea of Reeds while Moses prayed, so the Maccabees kindled that last drop of oil with the faith that the sacred light would not gutter and fade, that the prayed miracle would occur. ”

Rabbi Avi Weiss writes:

“Most people would not have lit the Temple candelabra at all. Why light when failure is certain? Why make the effort, if the effort is doomed? The miracle of the first day is that the Maccabees found the inner strength, the inner courage, to light the Menorah in the first place. They did not give up, for nothing is impossible, and in the end they prevailed. No one is immune from … moments of darkness and night. But light can remove the darkness, day follows night. The message of Chanukah is to kindle the first light: to care, to be concerned and to lift others. In the end, the Chassidic masters said, a little bit of light has the power to drive away the darkness.”

Even if we believe in the lights of this season Chanukah, or Christmas, or Solstice or Kwanzaa, sometimes it can be hard to find hope. Let me give you a quick example.

A few weeks ago I saw some ads about the worrisome issue of global warming. The ad said that none of my efforts to help to reduce carbon emissions would matter unless the use of coal for fuel was reduced by an enormous amount. That hit me hard. I’m doing a number of things to try to reduce carbon footprint, and some of these — like adding insulation to my attic — have been costly. Sure, I’ll save a little on my electric bill, but I wondered if I should keep looking for more ways to help if my small efforts are amount to so little.

As I considered the value of my efforts, I questioned myself about other things that I continue to hope for even though reason tells me that my hopes are in vain. I hope that someday when I perform a wedding for a same sex couple, I will have the honor of signing their VA marriage license. I hope that I one day I will see a huge banner headline on the front page of the Roanoke Times that shouts the good news: the Israeli and Palestinian governments have come to terms for peace and justice for all people in that part of the world! I hope that some year the grand economic news after Christmas will be about the big increase in charitable giving instead of rising or falling retail sales. I’m sure that you too hold hopes that seem far-fetched and doubtful. And you too may wonder if your hopes are reasonable and worth holding on to.

After some heavy thinking, I concluded that if I were to give up hope, then surely I would become part of the problems that are facing us. I’d rather take the effort of trying to make a difference rather than giving up and walking away. So this week, as I watch the flames of the Chanukah candles burn brightly, I will consider how I can share my hopes with others that they too will cherish their hopes despite the doubts of reason.

But this tale of the valiant Maccabees is more than a story of hopes fulfilled. As my colleague John Millspaugh writes,

“Hanukkah is a story of the physical conquest of the Jewish people, yes, but perhaps even more sinister, it is the story of the seduction of their minds and hearts. Through their public institutions and events, the ancient Greeks systematically promoted their own ends in Judea. Hanukkah in our modern age becomes a time to consider—‘How have I been hooked?’ It’s a time to become reflective, to ask, ‘Who or what has gotten hooks into me, and is cheerfully stringing me along? Who has taken over some part of my mind and heart for their own purposes, and done me harm in the process?’ Hanukkah is a time to consider how our minds and hearts and spirits have been the object of another’s conquest; it’s a time to recognize subtle invasions and full-scale occupations. Time to begin noticing if our most holy temple has been ransacked and waters poured on our holy fires, and time to begin doing something about it.”

And so this week, as I watch the candles in my menorah grow smaller in the heat of the flame, I will take time to consider if I’ve remained faithful to my deepest vision of who I am and how I want to live.

Finally, let’s not forget that the story of Chanukah is about rebuilding and dedicating the Temple, the House of the Lord. The sacred place that gave meaning and a unique identity to the people of Israel. I ask myself what it is that gives meaning and identity to our congregation, our beloved community? Is it our growing building? Our covenanted community? or our Principles and Purposes? What do we value and carry into the world? What part of our spiritual home needs repair? What might we dedicate ourselves to, as we consider the world and all the needs that call to us? This week, as I watch the flames of the candles in my menorah flicker and dance, I will contemplate our place in this community and the needs and causes that might call out for our dedication and concern.

Chanukah is considered a minor festival in the Jewish calendar. Some say that it became important largely because it falls close to Christmas. To be honest, I’m glad that there is so little fuss and marketing around Chanukah, and that for me the fuss consists of fixing latkes and sending some gelt to my Jewish grandnephews. In a few days, I’ll set the menorah you see before you on my table at home, right next to my Guest At Your Table box. On that first night, I will light one candle: a candle for hope, for faithfulness, and for dedication. And I will resolve to try to live in the spirit of Chanukah all year long.

May it be so.