 Zen, yes, there we go. It is broadcasting. Good morning. Welcome to the first Unitarian Society of Madison. This is a community where curious seekers gather to explore spiritual, ethical and social issues in an accepting and nurturing environment. Unitarian Universalism calls us to work for love, equity and justice, as together we seek to be a force for good in the world. My name is Vicki Jones, and on behalf of the congregation, I would like to extend a special welcome to visitors. We are a welcoming congregation, so whoever you are and wherever you are on your life's journey, we celebrate your presence among us. As we gather in this time and its place, let us remember that we are all visitors in this life. We come together to find meaning and hope with all the other visitors in this life. And let us join our hearts and minds together as we celebrate life together. Now is the perfect time to remind you to quiet your devices, as I invite you to join me in a few moments of silence for contemplation, meditation, prayer as we settle in and come fully into this time and place together. Let us rise in all the ways that we do and join our hearts and voices together on hymn 57. All beautiful, the march of days I see, the hand that shaped the rose I've wrought, the crystal of the snow, hath sent the whole earth sealed at the sight. As we continue with the opening words remaining standing for our chalice lighting, let us reach the place of self, the place that is not alien to truth. Let us wash over with peace and serenity, with fears longing for light and heart, with living strength flowing in our veins bringing ourselves into fearlessness and into trust. May we join our voices together in the chalice sliding words written by Leslie Takahashi as together we say, All that we have ever loved and all that we have ever been stands with us on the brink of all that we aspire to create. A deeper peace, a larger love, a more embracing hope, a deeper joy in this life we share. I invite you to turn to each other and offer a warm greeting. Good morning. Glad you're here. Thank you, Vicki. We're invited to come forward for our time together. Come one, come all. Anyone who wants to come up? Good morning, good morning. This morning, we are going to begin the second day of a new month, December. This month's theme is peace. And we are also honoring various holidays and holy days. And today, thinking about the various ways that we can make them more meaningful. And one of the things that often happens on any day, but especially days with lots of plans, is that plans don't go exactly as we think they will. And so there are different ways that we can take that on. Here is a story of a Hanukkah celebration that did not go exactly as planned. But still, let's see what happens in the story Hanukkah Bear. Old Bear awoke from his winter sleep. He poked his nose outside his den. What was that? Something to eat. Old Bear's empty stomach rumbled. He shook himself all over, then lumbered out of his den to follow the delicious smell. Bubba Braina took the last potato latke from the pan and put it in the oven with the others. Bubba Braina was 97 years old and did not hear or see as well as she used to. But she still made the best potato latkes in the village. Every year at Hanukkah, all of her friends came to her house on the edge of the forest. How they loved those latkes. Bubba Braina always made plenty, but tonight she made twice as many as usual. Tonight was special. Tonight the rabbi was coming. Bubba Braina hurried to get everything ready. Just then she heard a thump on the door. She opened it. Rabbi, you're here early. How nice to see you. Grrrr. Grr. Grr. Grr. Grr. Grr. Grr. Grr. Grr. Grr. Grr. Grr. Grr. Grr. My, how thick it is! Bubba-braina tugged at the old bear's fur. Old Bear growled, Brrrrrr! Oh, you want to keep your coat on? Well, that's alright. It is kind of chilly in here. Old Bear's nose twitched. Mrooomph! Thank you, Rabbi. How kind of you to say that. The latkes will taste even better than they smell. Old Bear followed his nose to the oven. Rawr! Rabbi, I'm surprised at you. You know we don't eat until we light the menorah. Grr! That's all right. I know you were teasing. I'll light the candles. Will you say the blessing? Rumpf! Bubba Braina struck a match and lit the shammas candle. Then she lit the one for the first night. Old bear muttered and growled. Rumpf! Grr! Grr! Who kept us alive and sustained us and enabled us to reach the season. Oh, Rabbi, you say the blessing so well. Bubba Braina sat down at the table. Old bear sat beside her. Let's play dreidel. We'll use these nuts. Old bear cracked one with his teeth. Rabbi, you won't have any nuts for the game if you eat them. Rumpf growled Old Bear. Don't worry. Don't worry. I have plenty of nuts if you need more. Bubba Braina spun the dreidel. It stopped on the letter Gimmel. I win! Bubba Braina swept the nuts into her apron. Grr! Old bear growled. Don't be angry, Rabbi. It's only a game. She tossed him a nut. Old bear begged for more. No, Rabbi, no more nuts. It's time for dinner. Bubba Braina opened the oven door and took out the platter piled high with steaming potato latkes. Old bear sniffed the latkes as she set them on the table. Do you prefer sour cream or jam? Bubba Braina asked. Grr! Growled the bear. Jam, I thought so. Bubba Braina smeared the five big latkes with jam and stacked them on Old Bear's plate. Old Bear gobbled them down. Bubba Braina laughed. You should use a fork. You have jam all over your beard. She wetted towel and wiped Old Bear's face. I must tell you, Rabbi, you eat like a bear. Grr! Said the bear. I'm hungry like a bear, so I eat like one. I can see that, Bubba Braina said. Old Bear ate and ate until all the latkes were gone. He felt drowsy. His head flopped on Bubba Braina's lap. Rabbi, you're sleepy. Who wouldn't be sleepy after such a meal? All the latkes are gone. It's almost time to go home. But before you leave, I have a Hanukkah present for you. Bubba Braina took a red scarf from her knitting basket. She wrapped it around the Old Bear's neck. I made it myself, she said. Grr! Old Rabbi licked Bubba Braina's face. Bubba Braina blushed. Oh, Rabbi, at my age. Old Bear shuffled to the door. Fromf, he growled as he walked off into the night. Good night to you too, Rabbi Happy Hanukkah. Bubba Braina took to washing the dishes when she heard another knock. I wonder who that is, she said. Shalom, Bubba Braina. All her friends stood at the door wishing her a happy Hanukkah. Shalom, everybody, Bubba Braina said. How nice to see you. I'm sorry I don't have any more latkes. The Rabbi came by and he ate them all. Bubba Braina, don't you recognize me? I am the Rabbi. The Rabbi couldn't have eaten your latkes. Everyone said he's been with us at the synagogue. Bubba Braina rubbed her forehead. Something strange is happening here. Rabbi, I think there is an imposter going around. He looks like you. He talks like you. He even has your beard. Just then, the children cried, look at the floor, bear tracks. A bear, and I thought it was the Rabbi Bubba Braina's had to sit down. She began to giggle. Oh, dear, that was a very clever bear or a very foolish Bubba Braina. Ah, well, let the bear have a happy Hanukkah. I had a happy Hanukkah too, and so will you, dear friends. Bring some potatoes from the cellar. Fetch my greater and bowl. Everybody has to help. Rabbi, if we all work together, we'll soon have latkes for everyone. Deep in the forest, old bear slumbered in his den. His stomach was full of potato latkes. The warm woolen scarf was wrapped snugly around his neck. Pleasant dreams, old bear, and happy Hanukkah. So, it's time for you to go off to your classes, but I invite you as you think about this month to think about how the unexpected may be part of your celebration. We will rise and sing as you go off to your class, number 221. Light one candle for the Maccabee children, with thanks that their light didn't die. Light one candle for the pain they endured when their right to exist was denied. Oh, for the terrible sacrifice, justice and freedom demand. A wisdom to niece-makers' time is an asset for some. Light one candle for the strength that we need to never become to our suffering. The pain we learned long ago won't tear us apart. And light together with peace as the song in our home lasted for so long is the memory that's valued so highly. We keep it alive in that flint. What's the commitment to those who have died when we cry out they've not? That justice would somehow prevail the burden, and this is the promise, and this is why we will not fail, lasted for so long. To our time of reflection, a reading from the writing of UU minister Jane Maldon, sort of a contrast to our time for all ages and mood, a reading called A Rose in the Snow. The year my brother died, my family tried to pretend our sorrow wasn't real, and we kept all our regular Christmas traditions. Although we were crazed with grief, we tried to fake it, and we're all miserable. Later when my father died, my mother decided we should take a trip for the holidays instead of staying home and being overwhelmed by memories. But it won't be like Christmas my teenage brother protested. It can never be like it has been before, replied my mother. Concord, Massachusetts was our destination. We checked into the historic Concord Inn on the public square and spent three days exploring the Wintry Village. We walked across the bridge from which the shot that was fired that was heard around the world. We discovered paths in the snow around Emerson's house in the Alcott house. We slid across the ice on Walden Pond. It was a wonderful adventure, but at the same time, we were all unhappy. We spent Christmas Eve in the Inn's pub, and I was not alone in crying myself to sleep that night. Early on Christmas morning, my mother and I rose at dawn, leaving my brother asleep. We slipped out for a walk. It was a frosty but clear morning. A fresh layer of snow had utterly muffled the town. For deep unspoken reasons, we headed up a hill to the old cemetery where many great authors and American leaders were buried. We were looking for the grave of poet Henry David Thoreau. The dirt walkway up the hill was quite steep and coated in thick ice. We pulled ourselves up to the top, hand over hand, using the iron handrail. And as we reached the summit, the steam of our breath appeared to be the only lively warmth in the chilly pink dawn. After a search, we spied through Rose Grave, a large tombstone cresting out of a snowdrift. And there, to our astonishment and joy, lay a single red rose. No one else was in sight, but some lone soul had made his or her pilgrimage in the first light of Christmas Day to salute that free spirit. My family no longer does Christmas, as we once did. Each year is now unique, and I like it that way. I have fewer expectations of Christmas and enjoy myself more. I live less in the past and try to appreciate my life here and now. Let go of what Christmas should be and try to live it in your own way. You may find joys where you least expect them, a red rose in the snow. I imagine that in this space, there are many thoughts about the coming month. I do not assume that you celebrate any particular holiday or any of them. But nonetheless, this time is full of often intense feelings, a lot of events to decide what we will do with. I found over the years that it is especially helpful as Unitarian Universalists for us to spend some time thinking thoughtfully about moving into this month, being more intentional. Because certainly, there will be a lot of ways of framing December that will not be helpful to us. And yet, there is something very ancient that flows underneath this time, ingrained in this hemisphere and winter itself, and in so many ways, alive in the spirit of the holidays and holy days that are part of the coming weeks. At its very essence, there is an intent that lives that is essential to our spirits, I believe. As Max Coutts writes, when love is felt or fear is known, when holidays and holy days and such times come, when anniversaries arrive by calendar or consciousness, when seasons come, as seasons do, old and known but somehow new, when lives are born or people die, when something sacred is sensed in soil or sky, mark the time. Respond with thought or prayer or smile or grief. Let nothing living slip the fingers of your mind, for all these are holy things that we will not, cannot find again. There are important offerings in this month, and they come both from the various holidays and winter itself. Human beings have long been awestruck by the full range of the experience of winter. The ancient Romans wrote about the spiritual aspects of the winter month at Great Link. The Sufis explored the various images of the cold and how it translates into the soul in their philosophic poems. At various times, I've reflected in congregations on the substantial themes around life and death reflected in the realities and writings and imagination about winter. And yet, so many of us do as much as possible to separate ourselves from that very primal power in our lives and understandably so. Over and over again, winter's poets and creative sages have had us gazing into the distance of the dark winter in search of something. And we ultimately hope that what we find would offer transformation in new beginnings. But often, it also calls us into long, cold nights. Madeline Langel wrote, a few years ago, I went with children to the planetarium, and I was fascinated to hear the lecturers say that primitive people used to watch the sun drop lower on the horizon in great terror because they were afraid somewhere in them that one day it was going to go so low that it would never rise again. They would be left in unremitting night. There would be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, and the terror of the great darkness would fall upon them. But then, again and again, just as it seemed that there would never be another dawn, the sun would come back. Each day, it would rise higher and set later. She concludes, somewhere in the depths of our unconsciousness, we share that primordial fear. And where there is the first indication that the days are going to lengthen, our hearts too lift with relief. The end has not come. Joy is part of our lives, and so a new year makes its birth known. I do believe that somewhere in the fabric of our humanity, there is still that primal power. And as we approach winter, I think all of us have a mixture of feelings, and that is appropriate. Because winter is hard, especially in this part of the world, the snow, the ice, the cold. And the holidays are that mixture as well. Some years in particular, when our lives are difficult, it seems as if the holidays stand in bitter contrast to what we are feeling inside. And even in the best year, the busyness and intensity of this time can be overwhelming. Well, I believe that as is true with winter in the holidays, it is also true in our lives. What I believe this time calls us to do is to remember the original intent of the holy days of this season. All of our holidays that are part of this time in some way have their origin in the idea of asking us to connect more deeply with the truth of life in all of its complexity. The holidays are meant to bring us into relationship with what is, not with what we wish is true. They ask us to see ourselves in this time in all of its range. Yes, it is true that winter is difficult, and it always reminds us of our frailty and our vulnerability. But winter is also a time when deep playfulness and joy may exist as any spontaneous snow fight will show. It is also a time where we are asked to find our resilience. It is a time when the outside bitter cold makes the warmth of inside and the company of those we love all the more powerful, and therefore all the more difficult when that connection is not there. The holidays, the holy days, become a charade when we make them only about trying to find happy, happy, joy, joy. What they really ask us to do is to base our understanding of this time in what really is. Because the thing is, that is the place that will reveal the holy and the sacred to us. If we move into this time with the illusion of what we need to create, then we are going into it standing on a house of cards. But if we begin with the truth of what we really feel, which may be joy, but probably is a great mixture of things, and for some of us may be absolute dread, only by being real and honest with ourselves as the first and starting place. And the deepening touchstone of the coming weeks. Can we really let ourselves see the power of this time? Often what our culture will show us as the true meaning of the coming months is the absolute worst thing for us to really know what gifts are being offered. And the perfect way to ruin any deeper sense of connection with what the month of December may be about is to go to the mall and experience the clang of the crowd, the power of the gods of commerce. There is something deeper that is in the midst of this time that we are invited to. Our connections with each other need to begin with what is true. Maybe for this holiday, one of the best gifts you can do is to work on a relationship that is in a difficult place. Maybe for this month, instead of focusing so much on the overwhelming pressure of presence, think about all of the ways that you have experienced the gifts of your life and how you might return that generosity in meaningful ways. How is it that your heart and spirit are calling you to honor this time? It will probably require some quiet, some thoughtfulness, some conversation with people that you trust. But what if for this holiday season, you began where you really are, with what was really true in your life? So I wonder what the holy days of this month will bring to you. What difference might it make if you began where you are and if you let your life guide you through this time? I believe if you let the ancient rhythms and stories of this season speak to you as you are now, they have greater power for you than you might imagine. Beyond the noisy malls, your crowded schedules, the ubiquitous overuse of holiday tunes, there is something meaningful that is very old in this season and in the world itself, just waiting to do its work based on the truth of now and the larger truths that lead us into what matters most. What are you being called to in this holiday season? More in a moment. Most of my adult life, I lived in the Pacific Northwest. And a great deal of that time, I lived in Bellingham, Washington, serving the Unitarian Universalist Congregation there. And one of the gifts of living where I did was that I was about 15 miles from the Canadian border. And one of my favorite things to do to instantly get me out of the grind of church work was to cross the border, park in a park and ride, and get on the Sky Train. That would take me within minutes to one of the largest, most diverse, and international cities in the world, Vancouver, British Columbia. And in moments, I would find myself truly in a different world than I was in the little town of Bellingham. So one particular year, as I was making my way in late October on the Sky Train, I had made a deal with myself. It was my day off, but I had a lot of work to do. So if I let myself go to Vancouver, I would do a little bit of reading on the Sky Train. And so I had stashed in my pocket a small paperback collection of holiday stories. I was going to get a jump on choosing my Christmas Eve story. And so as I was thumbing through the book on the Sky Train, it was Monday and not very crowded. There were maybe two other people in that car. And as I looked up, the man sitting right across from me was staring at me with the strangest look on his face. And he said to me, I just have to ask, why are you reading the holiday book in October? I thought about all sorts of possible excuses that I could make. But I just said, I'm a minister. I'm doing homework for the holiday season. And he stood up and came and sat next to me. And I thought, oh, God, I wish I hadn't said that. But he looked at me with the funniest, most soft expression on his face. And he said, I know you can't use it, but I have a holiday story for you. Can I tell it to you? Well, what can I say? But go for it. And so here's what he said. The Christmas in the midst of the post-divorce time was one of the worst times in my life. I really have very little memory of that holiday period. And so that next cycle of the holidays, as I moved into it and was now living alone in my bachelor apartment over Grandville in downtown Vancouver, I wanted to do things differently. But I found myself on Christmas Eve Day having done absolutely nothing to prepare myself for the holidays. I'd been in such a funk for those previous days. And so I made myself step out of my apartment and walked down the street in search of what I don't even actually know. But I found myself walking into the first store that I passed by, which was a hardware store. And noticed that there was an entire table of remainders for the holidays on special. And so almost without thinking about it, I decided to grab one of the small trees that was a tabletop tree that actually had the lights embedded in the branches itself and take it home with me to try to make a little instant Christmas. The thing is, when I got it home and I put it on my dining room table and plugged it in, I realized that I had not actually gotten any ornaments for the tree. And I thought for a moment if I was even willing to go back out into the madness of the street. When I thought about my storage unit and how there had been entire boxes that my wife had packed for me to help me get out of the house more quickly as we were trying to separate our things. So I went downstairs and looked through that storage unit. And sure enough, in one of the boxes was a collection of my ornaments from before the marriage. I went upstairs with them and pulled off the top and realized that most of them came from my college years and my first years as a young adult and a bachelor. I began to pull out some of those ornaments. From the college years, pretty much all of them were crafts made from beer cans. I had a beer can Santa and a beer can Rudolph and an entire set of garland made from the tabs of beer cans that I wrapped very lovingly around my little tree. And then there was an entire bag of young adult ornaments that I realized basically I had gone to a garage sale, picked up this bag as it was, and taken it home. And it really was the Isle of Lost Toys bag of Christmas tree ornaments, the ugliest ornaments ever created. But I took them out one by one, including this strange little pecan that was supposed to look like Santa Claus and looked really creepy. But put it on my tree and I stepped back and looked at it. It wasn't lovely yet. And I found myself thinking about what else in my apartment might go on my tree that felt right. And in the back of my mind, I had been realizing that there was a box in my closet that I had chosen very carefully to bring with me. I went into my bedroom, opened my closet door, and found that box and went back to the tree and very quietly opened that box. Inside of it were the five ornaments that my wife had given me in the last five years of our marriage. As our relationship had moved into the waning years, we looked for all sorts of things to try to rekindle our joy together. And so for those years, we exchanged ornaments with each other and marked them with the year of that exchange. And so one by one, I took out those ornaments and placed them in various places on the tree. And with each year, I thought a little bit about something about that time. And at the end of it, I realized that there was one more ornament that was carefully wrapped in the very corner of that box. And so I took out that last ornament, and I looked at it. It was the ornament that she had given me that last Christmas that we were together, that Christmas that in the midst of me going through chemotherapy, we began to realize that something had changed so deeply in our lives that we no longer worked as a couple. But that ornament that she had given me as I looked at it was such a sincere gift of love. We both knew that the coming months would be difficult for both of us. And so I unwrapped that ornament and took it to the tree. And at the very top, I put it on the tree. It was a small ornament shaped like a snow globe. And inside it was a little boy wrapped up for winter, out in the snow. And it looked like he was throwing something in the air. And floating around in the top of the snow globe was a little gleaming star. And at the bottom of that ornament was one word, and the word was hope. As I stepped back and turned out the lights in my living room, it was the strangest thing. In that light of that tree, all of those ornaments, there was something so beautiful and real about them. As he sat next to me on the Sky Train, and he told me the story, he said, you know, in that moment, almost all of my entire adult life was somehow reflected on that small tree. All of it, all of the difficulty, all of the love, all of the hope was there. As I looked at that tree in that beautiful half light, only then was I ready for my holiday to begin. What is this time bringing for you? What is the gift that is waiting to be opened that is already inside of you? May this season help you find it and its power. As we move into our time of offering, we are given the opportunity to practice the art of generosity. And in particular, you will note that we have the opportunity to share our offering with the road home, and we are trying a little something different in how we inform you about the various recipients of our offerings. We shortened what we have in the order of service, but if you look in your red floors, there is a longer description of the organization and what it is about. We hope by trying this, it will give you a chance to find out more about the organization. As we move into this time of offering, may you be inspired by a spirit of generosity and of love through that spirit. May we now give and receive together. Our services are always a shared ministry. We would not be able to do what we do without many, many volunteers that offer their love and their time. And so we take a moment to offer our gratitude for that service. We are grateful for our sound operator, David Bryles, and our worship associate, Vicki Jones. Our lay minister today is Ann Smiley, and we are grateful for her ministry. Our greeters were Corinne Perron and Claire Box and our ushers, Liza Monroe, Dick Goldberg, and Nancy Daley. Our hospitality, especially the hospitality of coffee is offered by Blaze Thompson and Sandra Pilsch. And Dorrit Bergen is our welcome and info table person. We are grateful for all of the ways that you serve us. There is the opportunity for us to offer service to each other and to the larger world that we want to make sure you know about. Please promote the ongoing work with the Unitarian Universalist Service Committee by picking up one of our guests at your table boxes before you leave if you've not done so yet. Throughout the holiday season, it is one of the major ways that we support our outreach program in Unitarian Universalism, the Service Committee. And also, if you have not done so yet, take a moment to stop by the Giving Tree and talk about the various ways that you can make this season brighter for some of the families being served by the Road Home of Dane County and the Nehemiah Center for Urban Development. As we move into the cares of the congregation, may we take just a moment to make that a more meaningful time by allowing yourself to become fully present in this place. To let your breath call you into that presence here and by the awareness of your breath and your intention to remember your deep connection with all that is. As you breathe in peace and breathe out love into the space, we are reminded that we are all deeply connected with each other, that we each bring with us to this place joys and sorrows both spoken and unspoken. And it is by our common gathering and sense of purpose that we bring a circle of concern to all who need love and support. This week, in particular, we remember that we are grieving the loss of our adopted children's grandfather who died this week in Page, Arizona. His presence in our lives has been a gift. We hold in our hearts those in Anchorage, Alaska who experienced an earthquake, a significant one this week. And the family of Phoebe Yancey, who asks for the prayers of hope as Phoebe has her second MRI tomorrow morning. We hope with her family for another clean scan as Phoebe progresses on her journey with brain cancer. And from our recent past, we offer a celebration. We found out on Friday that former intern minister, Eric Severson, passed the ministerial fellowship committee on Friday afternoon. I know from my own experience that that is a major rite of passage. It is the last big hurdle before you receive fellowship, which is sort of the beginning of your accredited ministry time. Eric's journey has been a significant one. He was in my original congregation that I served in McGowanaga, Wisconsin. And so I am deeply honored that he has finally made it through his journey to be a Unitarian Universalist minister. In all of our joys and sorrows, some of which are too tender yet to share, may we hold them together, remembering that we are part of a larger connection that weaves us with each other. May we be grateful for all of the miracles and complexities of our life that we share and the hope that gives us the power to care, to remember, to love. I invite us to join together in singing our closing hymn, which is found either in your order of service it is not in your hymn, or will be projected up behind you, rising in all the ways that we do. Let winter come. Let winter come. And now, as we prepare to leave this place, may the truth of your life be the place of holiness for you. May it draw you into this month. May the gifts that are present become available to you, where you are. We extinguish this light, but not the light of deep wisdom, not the fire of our commitment to all that matters, not the warmth of love and compassion. These are in our lives until we gather in this place again. I invite us before we move on into our day to take yet another moment together in worship as we enjoy the gift of music.