 Your voice is for a moment or two as we join together in centering silence when our voice is in song once more with our in-gathering hymn number 224. And so good morning and welcome to the First Unitarian Society of Madison, a community where curious seekers gather to explore spiritual, ethical and social issues in an accepting and nurturing environment. Unitarian Universalism supports the freedom of conscience of each individual as together we seek to be a force for greater good in the world. I'm Michael Shuler, the senior minister, and on behalf of the congregation I'd like to extend a special welcome to any visitors among us this morning. We are a welcoming congregation, so whoever you are and wherever you happen to be on your life's journey, we celebrate your presence among us. You are invited to stay for our fellowship hour after the service and look for people who are carrying those teal stoneware mugs, FUS members who are knowledgeable about our programs and our community life and they would look forward to speaking with you this morning. And you can also stop by our information table outside the library where you can find more information about upcoming events and programs. In this lively acoustical environment it can be difficult for those in attendance to hear what is happening in our service, although that shouldn't be much of a problem this morning. But in any case, we do have a child haven and a commons area that are excellent places to retire if anybody in your family needs to talk or to move around. The service can still be heard and seen from those areas. We also have hearing assistance devices, they are available and our ushers would be very pleased to help you if you would need one of those devices. This would be talking about devices a good time to turn off any other devices that you brought with you, which might disrupt the lovely music this morning. These guides are generally available to get building tours after our service, but when I was looking at our scheduler this morning I did not note that anybody had signed up to be a guide. But in any case, the guides usually do meet over by the windows to my right and if you are interested in a tour we can probably accommodate you because there are a number of people here who are knowledgeable about our facilities. I'd now like to acknowledge those individuals who help our services to run smoothly. Our ushers this morning are Brian Channis, Paula Ault, Bob Ault and Chuck Evanson. Our greeter upstairs was Joe Kramer, the president of the society. Our sound operator is Maureen Friend, hospitality, coffee and other little goodies available for being prepared by Sandra Plisch and Biss Nitschke and Helena Mugevna. Our book table should be open this morning as well so you might want to stop by there and look at the wonderful selection that we have for sale. You just might find a holiday gift for somebody special. Please note those announcements in your red floors insert which describe upcoming events of the society and provide more information about programs that are coming up in the next week or so. So again, welcome. We hope today's service will stimulate your mind, touch your heart and stir your spirit. For Diwali, menorah candles flicker, Christmas lights glow, all the candles, all the glimmering lights to drive away the darkness of cold heartless winter. Light your own light, burn as only you can burn. I invite you to rise and body and spirit for the lighting of our chalice. Our affirmation is responsive. Please join your voices in reading the italicized sections. May the light of joy we kindle this morning brighten our lives. May the light of morality teach us the right. May the light of freedom burn more purely in our hearts. May the light of hope give us high vision. May the light of Hanukkah and the holiday season never be extinguished in our lives. And in the spirit of that ever-present light, please turn and exchange a warm greeting with your neighbor. Please be seated. In this Hanukkah Advent season, may we be blessed with visions of peace. The peace of the dawn in all of its stillness, the gentle snow falling ever so softly, the world slowly reawakening from its deep December slumber. May we be at one with winter's hard but gentle peace. May we have knowledge of peace, the peace of meaningful tasks well performed, of good works accomplished, of generous giving and grateful receiving. There is a peace born of honest labor and selfless endeavor that gives strength to our spirits and courage to our lives. Let us have knowledge of this peace. May we enjoy feelings of peace, the peace of love, of companionship with those whom we trust and cherish. Whether at work, play, or as we sit in silent company, may we find comfort and reassurance in their familiar presence. May we cultivate the peace of love. And may we harbor aspirations of peace. The peace of nations, races, religions. A peace that sometimes seems oh so elusive, so improbable, so unattainable. But as we enter the holiday season, may we dream peace, wish for peace, create peace. May we be the peace that we wish to see. Now on a somewhat quieter note from my colleague in the Unitarian Ministry, David Rankin, who says that I refuse to wish away winter. It is a glorious season of the year and not simply a prelude to spring. The winter air is pure and refreshing. The winter sky has a clarity and brilliance at night. The winter trees are penciled into the dawn and the sunset, and the winter birds give shows of strength and endurance. The winter fields hide rare and mysterious truths, and the winter winds sweep friends and family together. The winter snow invites fun and sport and play, and the winter ice calls for skill and alertness. The winter cold inspires hugs and cuddling. The winter needs illicit gifts and sharing. The winter silence assists us in thought and meditation, and the winter kitchen has deeper smells and finer tastes. The winter fog and darkness, these stir joy and merry making, and so I refuse to wish away winter. It is a season rich in meaning and pregnant with the colossus of hope. Kabir was a 15th century Indian poet whose verses were influenced both by Sufism and Hinduism. The Lord is in me, and the Lord is in you, as life is in every seed. O servant, put false pride away and seek for him within you. A million suns are ablaze with light. The sea of blue spreads in the sky. The fever of life is stilled. All stains are washed away when I sit in the midst of the world. Work to the unstruck bells and drums. Take your delight in love. Reigns pour down without water, and the rivers are streams of light. One love it is that pervades the whole world, but few there are who know it wholly. They are blind and hope to see it by the light of their reason, but reason is the cause of separation. The house of reason is very far away. How blessed is Kabir that amidst this great joy he sings within his own vessel. It is the music of the meeting of soul with soul. It is the music of the forgetting of sorrows. It is the music that transcends all that is coming in and all that is going forth. In his book, Walk Through the Year, the naturalist Edwin Way Teo recorded his observations in a journal for every day of a calendar year, this entry from December the 8th. Wandering through the juniper clumps on juniper hill in the bright sunshine on a cold December morning, I hear the whistling of a cardinal. The clear musical sound carries from the trees along the brook. It comes over the lane, over the pasture, over the pond to where I stand. It reminds me of how in the years since we have been on this old New England farm, the cardinal, the mockingbird, and the tufted titmouse, all birds associated with the south have increased in our region. The first cardinal to visit us in winter, I recall, was extremely shy, easily alarmed. The newcomer was an odd bird out of its territory and it flew up frequently. It gleaned around the edges of the feeding areas. It gave way to other birds, especially the aggressive blue jays. Even now we notice a characteristic of our cardinals in that they are early and late feeders. In winter, as soon as the day breaks, we see them coming for scattered seed almost as early as the tree sparrows. They tend to make their harvest of food before the more dominant birds arrive, and in the fading light after the sun has set, when the larger birds are all gone, the cardinals are again active. When frightened away, they tend to remain away for a longer time than any of the other species. In the last few years, cardinals have been nesting at trail wood, and once they raised a brood in the tangle of a pillar close to the kitchen door, we see the males at mating time pick up and pass to the females plump sunflower seeds. We see the young brought to the terrace and introduced to the source of food found in the seeds that had fallen from our hanging feeders. In winter, the red of the red birds amid the snow and the clear carrying whistle of their repeated callings brings color and cheer to these days of wind and storm. For so long associated with the southern states, the voice of the cardinal is now one of the dominant sounds produced by the songbirds in our northern winters. Let's continue in the meditative mood that that song evoked. Suddenly this past week, the air became bitter cold, the wind biting. Snow fell, roadways froze for the first time since April, alerting us to the onset at last of winter. May we not rue but rather welcome this seasonal shift. For winter presents opportunities not spring nor fall nor even summer can afford. Winter was in centuries less complicated than ours. Winter was a firelight storytelling time, a time for recalling the deeds of ancestors, for unthawing old traditions before an open hearth. Winter is the fallow season, quieter, more mellow. But if the cold and dark induce depression, they also invite deeper reflection. Like the icy formations outside on roof and bow, new insights can crystallize in the stillness as the world slumbers beneath the solstice moon. Let us then invite winter into our harried lives and permit it to do what it does best. Blow us down, sharpen our senses, steady our restless spirits, preparing us as only cold and darkness can for the resurrection that will surely follow. Let us continue in a moment or two more of silent meditation. Blessed be and amen. And now it is the time for the giving and receiving of our offering. And as your program indicates, your gifts today will be dedicated in their entirety to our outstanding music program. Please be generous. As the turning year tips into December and thanksgiving memories give way to Christmas expectations, we pause once more to express gratitude for the heart's work, for seeds of faith planted with faith, for love nurtured by love, for courage strengthened by courage. We give thanks for the struggling soul, the bitter and the sweet, for that which has grown in adversity, and for that which has flourished in warmth and grace, for the radiance of the Spirit in autumn, and for all which must inevitably fade and die, for the many blessings of life recognized and unrecognized once more today we give thanks. Now I invite you to rise in body and spirit as we sing together our concluding carol number 235.