Looking back with gratitude - a meditation for the year end on Psalm 147

"Hallelujah! 

How good it is to chant hymns to our God; it is pleasant to sing glorious praise.

The Lord rebuilds Jerusalem; He gathers in the exiles of Israel.

He heals their broken hearts, and binds up their wounds.

He reckoned the number of the stars; to each He gave its name.

Great is our Lord and full in power; His wisdom is beyond reckoning.

The Lord gives courage to the lowly, and brings the wicked down to the dust.

Sing to the Lord a song of praise, chant a hymn with a lyre to our God,

who covers the heavens with clouds, provides rain for the earth,

makes mountains put forth grass; who gives beasts their food,

to the raven's brood what they cry for.

He does not prize the strength of horses, nor value the fleetness of men;

he has no pleasure in the strength of a man; but the Lord values those who revere Him, those who depend upon His faithful care.

O Jerusalem, glorify the Lord; praise your God, O Zion;

For he made the bars of your gates strong, 

and blessed your children within you.

He endows your realm with well-being, and satisfies you with choice wheat.

He sends forth His word to the earth; His command runs swiftly.

He lays down snow like fleece, scatters frost like ashes.

He tosses down hail like crumbs – who can endure His icy cold?

He issues a command – it melts them; He breathes – the waters flow.

He issued His commands to Jacob, His statutes and rules to Israel.

He did not do so for any other nation; of such rules they know nothing.

Hallelujah!"

Psalm 147 - Jewish Study Bible

The poet Rainer Maria Rilke wrote, “Walk your walk of lament on a path of praise.” I find in this a beautifully succinct summary of the Psalms – which are songs of both lament and praise, some leaning more towards expressing sorrow and anguish, and some leaning more towards expressing admiration, but all with a firming foundation of giving thanks. The Psalms express the divine marriage of transcendence and immanence beautifully, and in Psalm 147 we hear the intimate experience of a loving, caring, personal God, and the experience of cosmic awe and wonder at the Creator of the Universe and His Creation. 

The Psalm begins with an affirmation of how good it is to praise God. The first thing that the Psalmist praises God for is rebuilding Jerusalem, gathering in exiles, and healing broken hearts. These words led me to think of the current conflict in Israel and Gaza, all the broken hearts there, and the healing needed, for the wounds there which are both new and very old. I acknowledge my own feelings of broken-heartedness and give thanks for the healing I experience in the love of God through the compassion of other people. I give thanks for everyone working for peace and justice. 

The Psalm then goes on to praise God as the Great Provider for the earth – bringer of fertilising rain and food for all creatures, who gives “the raven's brood what they cry for.” This led me to think with gratitude of all the nourishment I receive from the earth, to be grateful that I am able to afford sufficient food and shelter, and to give thanks for all those who are working to relieve hunger and poverty.

The next passage affirms that God values us not for our strength, but for our recognition of our dependence. I find this a great comfort, to feel that I am loved not because of my strengths but because of my vulnerability, my physical and emotional dependence on those around me and on the source of life itself. 

The Psalm then says, “He endows your realm with well-being, and satisfies you with choice wheat.” This led me to think with gratitude of good food and good company, of the well-being found in sharing and caring community.

The next passage speaks of God's power in nature – snow, frost, hail and ice. I remember times I experienced awe at the power of nature. I give thanks for the beauty of all the seasons of the circling year.

The Psalm ends with God choosing Israel to receive his commandments and rules. I thought about whether I had lived this year according to my own rules and the commandments I consider sacred. I remember with gratitude times that I felt I had known wisdom through my conscience, by listening to the still, small voice within, and following its guidance. I give thanks for everything this year has taught me. 

A Prayer for the Year End

As the year draws to a close, let us give thanks for all we have been given:

For times of peace, silence, and stillness

For the people and places that have sheltered us and kept us grounded

For all the ways in which the earth has nourished us

For everything we have learned

For all our insights and awakenings

For the ways in which our perception shifted

For creativity and innovation 

For what has energised and motivated us

For the ways we have cultivated our passions

For the times we experienced joy and felt truly alive

For all the changes we have experienced and the ways in which we have grown with them 

For the ebb and flow of energy 

For our emotional highs and lows, our experiences of connection and companionship, of loss and loneliness

For love, compassion, and forgiveness

For everything we have drawn from the deep well waters of wisdom

May we give thanks for all the joys and challenges of our experience in this year.

In the words of John O'Donohue, 

“We bless this year for all we learned,

For all we loved and lost,

And for the quiet way it brought us

Nearer to our invisible destination.” 

Amen

Birthing the Holy: A Reflection for Advent

The time of Advent (meaning 'coming') in the Christian calendar is a time of preparation in expectation of the birth of Jesus Christ, incarnation of God.  The incarnational theology that speaks to me is that of James Martineau, Unitarian minister and theologian (1805 - 1900), who wrote, "The incarnation is true, not of Christ exclusively, but of Man universally, and God everlastingly." I believe that each one of us is the incarnation of the divine in the world. 

The medieval mystic Meister Eckhart wrote, “What good is it to me if Mary gave birth to the Son of God fourteen hundred years ago and I do not also give birth to the Son of God in my time and in my culture? We are all meant to be Mothers of God. God is always needing to be born.” 

These words have prompted me to consider how I might give birth to the holy, the sacred, in the world this Christmas season. My meanderings led me to Singing the Living Tradition, the Unitarian Universalist hymn book, and its beautiful revision of 'O Come, O Come, Emmanuel', with its exhortations, “Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come within as Love/Truth/Light/Hope to dwell.”

Emmanuel (God with us) shall come within as Love, Truth, Light, and Hope, only if I make space for them, in the pregnant darkness of Advent. In the pagan wheel of the year, this time between Samhain and Yule, the Winter Solstice, is also all about gestating the seeds of future growth in the rich fertile soil of darkness, as we await the return of the sun at Yule and the rebirth of the light within.

In nature, winter is a time of rest and rejuvenation. Winter invites us into less doing, more being. As we approach the solstice, I am trying to accept nature's invitation to listen to my body and slow down, to deepen into silence and stillness, to embrace a simpler existence. 

This year I am drawn to resisting the expectation to be always happy and smiling and full of Christmas cheer, to focus only on the positive. I want to give space to honouring my pain and grief at the violence and cruelty in the world. Our pain and grief are holy too, for they are born of compassion.

As the year draws to a close, perhaps our thoughts are drawn to review the year gone by, consider its lessons, and begin to set intentions for the year to come. In this season of pregnant darkness I intend to spend more time in contemplation and reflection, to try to identify and loosen unhelpful attachments, and to focus on nourishing my inner light, with gratitude for the small, simple things in life, like good company and good food.

I feel that it is an act of counter-cultural resistance to kick against the intensity of the busyness of the pre-Christmas present buying frenzy and the rush of preparations for the perfect Christmas spread. Instead, I want to be able to gift others with my presence rather than presents. 

In this Advent season, I hope that we may all be able to make space to spend some time deepening into the seasonal stillness and silence, so that we can hear the still, small voice of Love, Truth, Light and Hope within, and allow their seeds to emerge into the light and be born anew in the world.

Please accept the gift of this Advent blessing from me to you: Psalm 129 from Psalms for Praying by Nan Merrill

"Lift up your hearts to the most High! 

Let the earth ring with songs of praise! 

Be glad O people of the Light! 

Let your life be impregnated by Love's gifts. 

Discover in the Great Silence the mystery of who you are, 

and be true to your Self. 

For wherever you dwell, there is beauty; 

Infinite Love is everywhere. 

Know that the beauty hidden within your soul, 

is seen by the eyes of your heart. 

Let the still small voice of the Beloved 

guide you by day and comfort you by night; 

Then you will be blessed and, in turn, 

you will be a blessing to the world."

Hanukkah: The Whole Story?

"We gather in the chill of winter, finding warmth from each other, nourishing hope where reason fails. Grateful for small miracles, we rejoice in the wonder of light and darkness and the daring of hope. Holy One of Blessing, Your Presence fills Creation. You made us holy with Your commandments and called us to kindle the Hanukkah lights. Holy One of Blessing, Your Presence fills Creation. You performed miracles for our ancestors in days of old at this season. Holy One of Blessing, Your Presence fills Creation. You have kept us alive, You have sustained us, You have brought us to this moment."

Hanukkah Lights by Congregation Beth El, Sudbury, MA [based on the blessings said over the Hanukkah candles]

I thought I knew the story of Hanukkah. It seemed quite simple. It was a story about religious freedom – the right to practice one's religion without being dictated to by the state – many resonances for Unitarians, with our emphasis on exercising freedom of conscience, throughout our history. I thought it was pretty obvious who were the 'goodies' and who were the 'baddies' in the story of Hanukkah, a story of resistance to tyranny. 

Then I came across an article by Rabbi Rami Shapiro, founder of the interfaith One River Foundation, who describes himself as a Jewish practitioner of Perennial Wisdom, the mystic heart found at the core of all religions. Rabbi Rami writes, 

“Hanukkah marks the military victory of a fundamentalist Jewish movement led by the Maccabees over progressive Jews and their Greco-Syrian allies who welcomed Hellenism (Greek culture) and sought to integrate its best ideas into Judaism. The story of a single day’s oil miraculously burning for eight days thus allowing the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem after the defeat of the Seleucid (Syrian) military, while ancient, has come to replace history, and, in so doing, rob Hanukkah of its deeper meaning and importance. Hanukkah isn’t about lighting candles, clogging your arteries with fried food, playing dreidel, exchanging presents, or eating cheap chocolate in the shape of faux ancient coins. Hanukkah is about choosing sides in an endless and ongoing culture war between traditionalists and liberals. The question that should be at the core of every Hanukkah celebration is this: Which side are you on: the traditionalists or the liberals?”

Wow! This seemed to shed a completely different light on the story and so I investigated further. 

Hanukkah is the only Jewish festival which does not stem from a story in the Hebrew Bible. The events of the Maccabean revolt are recorded in the Books of 1 and 2 Maccabees, part of the Apocrypha. There is no mention of the miracle of the oil in these books – that became attached to the story in the Talmud, 600 years later.

In 175 BCE Antiochus IV ascended to the throne of the Seleucid Empire, calling himself Epiphanes (meaning God Manifest). Many others, however, referred to him as Antiochus Epimanes (“The Madman”). Antiochus IV decided it was in the interest of his own empire to become a fully Hellenistic society and he set about achieving this by suppressing other cultural groups, including Jews. The Jewish community at that time was split between a more conservative faction and those who were more loyal to Hellenistic culture and politics.

Antiochus IV replaced the conservative high priest at the Jewish Second Temple in Jerusalem with a political ally, Joshua, who changed his name to the Greek Jason. Jason encouraged Greek cultural activities at the Temple, including many that were offensive to the more conservative Jews, such as the construction of the gymnasium (where men exercised in the nude) within the Temple precinct. Jason gave Antiochus IV money from the Temple treasury to help fund his army. When Lysimachus, one of Jason's associates, robbed the Temple of several holy objects, there were riots among the Jewish people.

As a result of the riots, Antiochus IV outlawed Judaism, including the practices of circumcision, Torah study, and kashrut (keeping of kosher dietary laws). He placed a statue of Zeus in the Temple and ordered the sacrifice of pigs (a non-kosher animal) in the Temple.

According to the Books of the Maccabees, a group of Greek officers came to Mattathias, a well-regarded Jewish leader. Mattathias was offered political benefits to desecrate the Temple further through pagan sacrifices; Mattathias refused and killed both another Jew who attempted to obey the command and one of the Greek delegates from the emperor. Mattathias then fled to the mountains with his friends and five sons .

For the next three years, Mattathias and his sons led a series of battles against the Seleucid army. Judah, one of the sons of Mattathias, was given the name Yehuda HaMakabi or "Maccabee," meaning "The Hammer," a biblical reference to his ability to destroy their enemies. In 164 BCE, the Maccabees and their followers retook the Temple of Jerusalem and began rebuilding the Jewish state. 

Modern scholarship, however, suggests that the Maccabees and their followers were battling, not against the Seleucid Empire, but against the Hellenized Jews, and Antiochus IV was intervening in a Jewish civil war on the side of the Hellenists, who were the majority group within the Seleucid Empire.

As a result of my meanderings through the story of the Maccabees, several cliches came to mind, that, while cliches, are nevertheless true – there are always two sides to every story; things are rarely black and white. In future, might I stop to consider what other stories do I accept at face value, without thinking about whether I have heard the full story, whether there is another side? It is always clear who are the heroes and who are the villains or might there be more shades of grey than first appearances suggest in most cases?

It also started me thinking about religious identity, in particular, my Unitarian identity, and what is central to the practice of my Unitarian spirituality. The Maccabees and their followers were willing to kill and be killed for their distinctive Jewish identity, the right to follow Jewish law, to practice circumcision and keep kosher. What do I feel is distinctive about Unitarianism and how far would I go to defend these things? What aspects of Unitarianism do I consider essential to our worship? How would I feel if someone outlawed the lighting of our chalice or banned the use of our hymn books? Questions worth considering.

Back to Hanukkah - as fascinating as I find the historical intricacies of the Maccabean revolt, they have no bearing on how Jews celebrate Hanukkah today. Hanukkah is almost universally celebrated by Jews today, even Rabbi Rami, who, while acknowledging that he would most probably have been on the side of the Hellenists, against the Maccabees, at that time, still finds meaning in the festival. He writes,

“The Talmud (the anthology of ancient rabbinic teachings) instructs us to place the hanukkiah (Hanukkah menorah) so that its light can be seen from the street (Talmud, Shabbat 21b). The idea, as I understand it, is to make your home a beacon of light in a time of darkness, natural (winter solstice) and otherwise. So I urge everyone—not just Jews—to set their streets aglow with hope by lighting a hanukkiah of their own as an act of resistance to the despotism, fear, ignorance, violence, and illiberalism arising at home and around the globe.” 

Let us be aglow with hope in these festive days.

"Our festival is here again to lift the darkening year, and celebrate the Feast of Lights 'mid glow of Christmas cheer. For not alone was Jesus sought by wise men from afar: the joy of other hallowed births glows with the wondrous star. And Hanukkah is freedom's shrine to all 'neath tyranny; the lamps are lit within our hearts, for faith can make us free. Joy to the world, these festival days; nowhere may hope be dim; and as the gladsome spirit glows, sing carol, song and hymn!"

These Festive Days by John Irving Daniel