The hope of now and of next year

Lessons from Hanukkah TEXT VERSION

Lessons we can learn from celebration of Hanukkah

I’m spiritually indebted to Jewish traditions, such as Hanukkah. This year, Hanukkah begins at sunset next Sunday, Dec. 22, and runs until Dec. 30.

The word “Hanukkah” comes from the Hebrew verb meaning “to dedicate” and generally is translated as an eight-day festival of lights. Specifically, it refers to the dedication of the Temple in Jerusalem at the end of the Maccabean Revolt, which was a war between Jews and forces from the Seleucid Empire.

There seem to be different versions of what Hanukkah is all about, and all of them have to do with miracles. I will only mention one. The Talmud teaches that there was a small jar with enough oil to light one candle in the Temple’s menorah for one night. Instead, the oil lasted eight nights — and this was the miracle.

These days, the menorah is lit at sunset each night of Hanukkah. Candles are added from right to left, just as Hebrew is read, but they are lit from left to right. Doing so celebrates the new miracle of continued light on each successive night. The blessings that are recited include praise for the One who provides the light and continues to perform miracles.

Giving and receiving gifts is an integral part of celebrating Hanukkah. I was told the gifts do not need to be big or bought — in fact, there is some preference to the gifts being homemade — but they are to be shared with all loved ones. Oftentimes, children and adults play dreidel together. The game uses a four-sided spinning top, which has a Hebrew letter imprinted on each side; together, the four letters are an acronym for the Hebrew words referring to the miracle of the oil.

There are several songs associated with Hanukkah, such as “Dreidel, Dreidel, Dreidel” and “Chanukah, Oh Chanukah.”

And, of course, there are certain foods connected with Hanukkah. I’m a fan of latkes (but preferably with very little minced

onion). And some good doughnuts, be they jam-filled or not, are always high on my personal list.

All of us, Jewish or not, could learn much from the celebration of Hanukkah.

Here are some examples. We could all review that to which we are dedicated. Who or what gets my attention, my allegiance, my affection? Am I dedicating all I should to what I should? Or, do I need to realign my commitments with my values?

Here’s another one: How do I define what a miracle is, and what miracles have occurred around me? Maybe they were really big; maybe they were pretty small and certainly not supernatural, but still quite significant. With whom should I share the miracles I’ve witnessed?

Just one more for now: Maybe life works somewhat like the oil in the temple jar. The more we share with others, the more we all benefit.

Wilson is an ordained minister in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). Follow him on Twitter: @nathandaywilson

Lessons from Hanukkah

It’s time to find room at the inn for everyone TEXT VERSION

It’s time to find room at the inn for everyone

William Sloane Coffin said the best sermon he never preached was at a Christmas Eve service when he pastored New York City’s Riverside Church.

The poinsettias were beautiful. The people were joyful. The place was packed. It was time in the Christmas pageant for the innkeeper to deny Mary and Joseph with the resounding line, “There’s no room at the inn!”

The innkeeper role was perfect for Tim, a young man who had Down syndrome. That’s what the pageant organizers thought. That’s what Tim’s parents thought.

Tim had, in fact, rehearsed the one line – “There’s no room at the inn!” – many times with parents, pageant organizers and participants alike. He had it mastered. He was ready.

So there stood Tim at the altar of that church’s majestic sanctuary, bathrobe costume firmly belted, as Mary and Joseph made their way down the center aisle. They approached him, said their lines as rehearsed, and waited for his reply. Everyone in the sanctuary and a host of angels waited with bated breath, leaning forward as if willing Tim to remember and resound his line.

“There’s no room at the inn!” Tim boomed, just as rehearsed. But then, as Mary and Joseph turned on cue to travel further, Tim suddenly yelled “Wait!” They turned back, startled and surprised by this off-script move. “But you can stay at my house!” he called.

Bill Coffin strode to the pulpit, looked out at the congregation, and said “Amen.” He sat down. The best sermon he never preached.

Remembering this story made me, again, wonder when we individually and collectively will have the courage to stop saying so often, “There’s no room at the inn” and instead, like Tim, start saying, “But you can stay at my house.”

To the hungry and homeless, imagine the impact if we were to say collectively, “Wait! We’ll make a place for you at America’s table of plenty!”

Or to the sick and uninsured, “Wait! We won’t turn you away from the doctor.”

Or to those working hard every day trying to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads, “Wait! We will help you escape poverty and we’ll authentically analyze and act on the systems and situations that exacerbate poverty.”

Or to children who are home alone or on the streets after school, “Wait! We’ll make a safe place for you with caring adults in after-school programs.”

I’m one who believes that God came to live among us as a child – a child who cried and laughed, loved and learned, born as a vulnerable baby needing care and dying surrounded, at least partly, by a supportive community. And, between his birth and death, he challenged the cultural and political priorities of his time and stood up for the poor, the weak and the vulnerable.

It seems to me this is a good time of year for all of us, and especially those who believe in the incarnation I named above, to repent and reaffirm our commitment to building communities, a nation and a world where all can find room in our inn.

Nathan Day Wilson is an ordained minister in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). Read his blog at www.nathandaywilson.com and follow him on Twitter: @nathandaywilson.

It's time to find room at the inn for everyone -- Faith & Values, 8 Dec 2019

Ways to deal with what we don't want to see TEXT VERSION

How do we deal with what we do not want to see?

 Garfield is one of those comic strips that sometimes evokes more than a polite smile.

In the first panel of one such strip, Garfield is sitting at the table with a feast in front of him: Turkey, dressing, biscuits, vegetables, pies and more. He is obviously enjoying it. In the corner of that panel is the subtle image of Odie the dog outside the window.

The second panel is a closer view of Odie; he’s covered with snow and has empty water and food dishes.

What will Garfield do? Will he open the window and hand food to Odie? Will he invite Odie in to share the feast? How will Garfield handle his abundance alongside Odie’s scarcity?

In the third panel Garfield shuts the drapes and says, “That’s better.”

How do we deal with what we do not want to see?

I thought about that Garfield strip – one that I have in a large, disorderly folder of comic strips and poems and other things labeled “This Will Preach” – the other day when I came across Langston Hughes’ gripping poem, “God to Hungry Child”:

Hungry child,

I didn’t make this world for you.

You didn’t buy any stock in my railroad.

You didn’t invest in my corporation.

Where are your shares of Standard Oil?

I made the world for the rich

And the will-be-rich

And the have-always-been-rich.

Not for you,

Hungry child.

That poem took my breath. If it does not cause you to think or feel something, you might want to check for metabolism.

The powerful dissonance of attributing those words to God is exactly the point.

We could end hunger. Since we have not, are the hungry to conclude that God somehow wants it this way? Why else would decision makers fail to end the scandal of hunger?

How do we deal with what we don’t want to see?

One way we could deal with what we don’t want to see is to close our drapes, our minds, our checkbooks. We could reveal our inner Garfields and pretend like what we don’t want to see doesn’t exist. (News flash: It still does.)

Another option is to blame the things we want to avoid on something outside of our control. God, perhaps. Hughes is not doing this but is pointing to the absurdity of doing so.

Or we could go all anti-Garfield. Rather than close off or close out what we don’t want to see, we could intentionally and courageously open ourselves to it.

Open our hearts to feel the plight of others. Open our minds to consider creative solutions. Open our mouths to engage in authentic discussions. Open our hands to work alongside others. Open our checkbooks to support those who are creatively working alongside others. 

How do you deal with what you don’t want to see?

Nathan Day Wilson is an ordained minister in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). Follow him on Twitter: @nathandaywilson

Ways to deal with what we don't want to see