Do you see? Do you hear?

“Do you see? Do you hear?”

Reflections by Rev. Dr. Jan Carlsson-Bull
for Jim FitzGerald and Jan Carlsson-Bull
First Parish Unitarian Universalist
Cohasset, MA
December 21, 2008

First Reflection

Jan:
Do you see the flame of the candles flickering in the menorah? Imagine what it must have been like to expect the temple oil to last only a day….and then watch it burn for eight amazing days!

Jim:
Those Maccabee children had something to sing about! Do you hear the sounds of our own children’s voices, blending with the voices of our wisest, singing out our thanks that the light lasted? I love this time of legends and light and from our youngest, little coos and “gah-gahs” (and maybe some not so little coos and “gah-gahs,” that we don’t even count on, but somehow these cries blend right in with our Hanukkah music.

Do you see the eager faces of young and old watching the menorah? I wonder what kind of miracles are in store even today as we light our candles of hope.

Jan:
Hope shines atop our menorah and soon atop our Advent wreath as we hope against hope that happenings from so long ago will find their way into our hearts as celebrations in our own time. Do you hear the sounds of hope?

Jim:
I do. Sometimes they’re child-like murmurs. Sometimes they’re the soaring voices of our choir and our congregation. Sometimes I hear the silence itself. Do you hear the silence too?

Jan:
When I listen, when I really listen, I hear the silence. Do you see the faces turned occasionally toward the windows of the Meeting House. Our Common is blanketed with snow for the season at hand. The candles seem to burn even more brightly across the crispness of winter air.

Jim:
It reminds me that today is the shortest day of the year. Today is the Winter Solstice, when we’re farthest away from the warmth and light of the sun. Candlelight matters more than ever. Do you feel the warmth that binds us as we worship, like one big family?

Jan:
I do, and I feel it as our children light the candles of the menorah and as Laura lights our chalice; and I hear it in the words that we speak, in Susan’s welcome and Laura’s chalice reflection, and Steve’s story of how Hanukkah happened and how it’s still happening.

Jim:
I see it as Morgan and Jack light one by one all the candles of the menorah. I even smell it with the pine boughs nestled into the high pulpit. All our senses awaken to this time.

Jan:
It’s almost Hanukkah. It’s almost Christmas. Across the ages and across all ages, we celebrate these holidays and holy days of light, of religious freedom, and of the birth of a baby who was all about love.

Jim:
Our hearts lift to the sights and sounds of this holy time. Every candle lit is an act of hope, and each child born, each child here, is a gift of hope. The warmth of a candle tenderly kisses the joyous sound of the chime that echoes in our bell choir.



Second Reflection

Jim:
Do you hear the echo of the drum? I think all our youngsters stepped up as little drummer boys and drummer girls with the gift of their song.

Jan:
Did you see them as they raised their voices and lifted hearts? It’s like Marilyn said as she introduced her story: Everyone here shares a miracle. It’s the same miracle we celebrate at Christmas. Each of us was born.

Jim:
Each of us has his own drum beat, her own rhythm played out across the years. Can you hear all the rhythms pa-rum-pum-pum-pumming together this morning?

Jan:
I hear them, and as I look out across the congregation I see the hopeful drummer boy, the glowing drummer girl in each and every person here, and I see us all as children, some of us as long ago children, long ago babes, probably adored every bit as much as the baby Jesus.

Jim:
Imagine the day of your birth. Each of you holds your own story of the time you were born. Imagine that “on the eve of your birth, word of your coming passed from animal to animal.”

Jan:
And “the Moon pulled on the ocean below, and, wave by wave, a rising tide washed the beaches clean for your footprints.” Do you see your very own footprints, tiny in the sand of your arrival?

Jim:
Do you see the Advent wreath, an evergreen holder of candles that remind us of an expected arrival? Soon it will be lit, candle by candle.

Jan:
….keeping company with the candles of the menorah. Can you close your eyes and still see all the candles burning bright?

Jim:
If I close my eyes, I can see in my mind’s eyes candles lit in the church of my childhood—especially at Christmas.

Jan:
And I see in my memory’s eyes candles of Hanukkah shining in the windows of city apartments, and if I go further back, the lights of Christmas twinkling through the windows of my small town and ablaze in the living room of my childhood.

Jim:
Of course this is a season of expectancy. We anticipate a miracle of light.

Jan:
We anticipate a miracle of birth, each one ordinary, each one amazing.

Jim:
Our hope is that with the sounds and sights of these holidays of legend and light, we will know peace and know it so deeply that we’ll carry it out from this shortest day of the year through the longest night of the year all the way into the rest of the year.

Jan:
….into all the years to come.

Jim:
We’ve kindled our candles of Hanukkah, with a story to guide us. At this time, Steve Brown will share an Advent story that will guide Sasha as he lights our candles of Advent.


Sources

Debra Frasier, On the Day You Were Born, Harcourt, Inc., New York, 1991.