Peanut butter and Thanksgiving - they actually go together quite nicely. Like the spread that made many a child remain at the table, Thursday's observance is a staple in the diet of American holidays. And in their own ways, each brings a stability and continuity to life - a sense of predictable steadiness and security - as in, if all else fails we can always depend on these.

Our world is in so many ways unsteady and unpredictable, disingenuous. The things that make for living often feel as though they are perpetually being reshaped, pulled apart by a myriad of forces that feel out of our control. How easy it is to feel as though someone else is calling a dance to which we don't know the steps. When feeling this tugging and pulling, we might recall the times in our lives when we have been members of small communities that have provided roots, meaning and continuity - families, clubs, neighborhoods, work, faith communities, schools. These have been the peanut butter of our lives, the cement that held living together.

These are the places and people that gave us stories and without a story, we are not complete persons. Judith Christ says: "... the meaning of our lives is revealed in the stories [we] tell, in [our] perception of the forces [we] contend with, in the choices [we make], in the feelings about what [we] did or did not do. In telling [our] stories [we] speak of parents, friends, lovers, ecstasy, and death - of moments when life's meaning seemed clear, or unfathomable. [We] reveal [our] selves in telling stories."

When I read this, I think of all the hundreds, maybe thousands, of people I've met in our "New U" class, an introduction to Unitarian Universalism. In the first class, we always spend about an hour introducing ourselves and telling our stories - we tell about the religion or church of our childhood, our parent's religion, how we ended up here, and where we were in the between times; we talk about our searches, the detours and disappoints, the "ah-ha's" and "oh-no's;" we talk about the difficulty of explaining what we believe, especially to others and most especially to family who often don't quite understand this faith community (they often want to know what was wrong with the old story that worked for the litany of family members who can be named without much prompting at all!).

We each have a story - a narrative - into which our life is set: it's our story. It's the way we talk about ourselves. Even though, especially as the years go by and a story is passed on from person to person, the cast and variables may change a bit, which might even include the point of the story changing. Still, it's our narrative - our story - it tells about what we value, what has shaped us, what gives our life meaning.

Now I'm sure that I've chosen to give this sermon now in part because every Tuesday at noon there's a group of us that has been watching and discussing "The Power of Myth," the Bill Moyer's interviews with Joseph Campbell (you are urged to join us - Tuesdays at noon and bring your lunch). One of the great mytholigsts of our time, Campbell not only knows his myths but he is a spellbinding storyteller. Myths are a special kind of story: myths are sacred, fictional stories outside the time and place of history that tell about the fundamental meaning of human nature and life. Myths transcend a given people and place, and speak about all people at any time (even though they may use the characterizations and setting of the myth's origin). Myths can also be adopted and adapted to any setting and seemingly made that generation's own - myths are remarkably flexible. While the kinds of characters and subjects may change, Campbell makes you a believer as he describes how certain sacred stories show up in tribes or societies that go from the 1980's back to the first civilizations of record. In this way, he is telling us, human beings needs and meanings haven't changed in millennia.

All of this is to say what you already know or could have figured out - some stories are holy. These are the binding stories, the stories we tell ourselves or that we have chosen to make our own because they make sense of the pieces in our lives that don't seem to fit anywhere else. Take the major religious stories - they are holy, they speak of an original unity that their followers are trying to recreate or recapture, to replicate if only in a metaphoric way. Buddhism talks about the true Self; Taoism speaks of the Way; Judaism recalls the harmonious Creation; Christianity portrays one in Christ. For each and for all other religions, there is a guiding story (of mythic size) that tells about a unity that is holy, and for so many this unity is stabilizing, life-giving and is the cohesiveness - the peanut butter - of life in that it is there when all else appears to have failed. Holy and healthy share the same root, which means whole. The interdependency of these three - holy, healthy, whole - is claimed by many as a birthright, it's at the core of our being.

Sometimes, as you know or can imagine, personal story (narrative) and religious myth (sacred story) become mingled, intertwined in such a way that separating them is difficult, even dangerous. I know that each one of you could tell each other about two or three examples of where and how you think (or know) this has happened: every decade, stretching back for thousands of years, has produced an example of a person or group that makes us call into question the health and wholeness of a holy story, regardless of who's telling it. Remember too that holy stories come in all shapes and sizes, and with all kinds of narrators and players - why some observers would say what we are do here this morning is but one more version of a well rehearsed ritual and story that has been carried on, under many guises, since the beginning of time.

The professionals tell us that storytelling and interest in mythology has undergone a rebirth - not just a casual observation, we're talking about the value, meaning, importance and vitality in the power of story and myth. I know this from direct experience because I'm believer, I too understand, feel and depend on the personal and sacred power and direction of story. And you know what else - I think we each do. Which is to say, make no mistake: the power and vitality of story is with us today for all the same reasons it was with our grandparents and as far back as the generations go. But there are at least two reasons why story, and in particular sacred story, is central for us today.

First, better than ever the world is doing a good job of reminding us of how unconnected we are, of just how isolated we have become: often we sit in solitary speechlessness in the glow of our TV screen; we move around in the singletariness of our autos; we hear about - and maybe we too expect - every person's right to this or that with very little talk about what's good for community; and so many individuals have started down a spiritual path that has led them further and further away from any semblance of connection. Someone once said that the last several decades could be characterized by the magazines we read: first there was Time, then Life, then came People, followed by Us and finally Self. I'm waiting for the publication of Id, which seems to be the theme some have made their story. Narrower and narrower is the journey, how much more isolated and unconnected from each other have we become. And it's as though everything around us has conspired to support us in each step along the way as the bonds are severed to all the connections that other generations simply took for granted. Yet as all of this goes on and even though we might willingly participate, at the same time I sense that many have grown weary, if not suspect of those things that take us away from a sense of being grounded and rooted. People yearn, we often groan to be connected to something larger than self.

Another reason why story, and in particular sacred story, is central for us is because the old stories aren't working (ironically though, some of what we may think of as "old" stories are only several generations old, and in this sense then they are really quite modern. These are not mythic stories. Actually many of the ancient stories - the myths - still do work!). These modern "old" stories which are not working include: the stories of duality (in a world of diversity), the stories of fear and punishment (in a world of abundance), the stories of isolation and going-it-alone (in a world of the interdependent web), the stories of reason, education, logic and science (in a world of irrationality and mystery).

So, the value and importance of story has returned, narratives and myths that give both comfort and depth: not only some explanation, but reason for being. They provide history and connection to the ages: narratives and myths give personal meaning and community solidarity not only for enlightenment, but for fun because there is a spirited playfulness and vitality in so many of the stories which give our lives direction.

The story of Hanukkah (which begins on Friday at sundown) is such a story. Hanukkah recalls the centuries of events - before the common era - that resulted in the Greeks near destruction of Judaism. At the lowest point during these years of acquiescence and assimilation, many Jews, especially those living in Jerusalem, had given up their religion and believed as their invaders did. It was only a matter of time before the Temple in Jerusalem was nearly abandoned, finally desecrated and the practice of Judaism was outlawed. As the story goes, a family of rural farmers nicknamed the Macabees, organized others who had grown tired of the ridicule, oppression and abuse, and they declared war on the Hellenizers. In what should have been an easy victory for the foreign troops who far outnumbered the Jewish rebels with the most sophisticated fighting tools of the day, the Macabees fought with cunning spirit and determination, eventually claiming victory and reclaiming the Temple in 165 BCE.

As with many sacred stories, Hanukkah too is accompanied by a ritual - for eight evenings at sundown, one candle on the menorah is lighted. The eight candles recall the eight days it took to rekindle the holy flame in the Jerusalem Temple after the oppressors had been thrown out. For eight evenings, as the shamash (the worker candle) is used to light a new candle, a prayer, meditation or reflection is said in thanksgiving and gratitude and as a commitment to a vision of life not as it is but as it could be.

While the Hanukkah story and ritual especially speaks to and about a particular group of people, like many sacred stories it transcends time, place, dogma and ethnicity because it is also a story about the human spirit - it's a story about the unwillingness of people to give up on what is important to them, it's the story about commitment to a vision that will not be suppressed or abandoned.

In our Hanukkah observance this morning, we remember the story of how the Temple flame was rekindled by lighting the menorah candles. As each candle is lighted, we will share our vision of what life could be, our Unitarian Universalist vision of life as it ought to be. We'll do this by reading together our Principles as they've been arranged in responsive reading #594:

As a member congregation of the Unitarian Universalist Association, we covenant to affirm and promote:

The inherent worth and dignity of every person.
We believe that each and every person is important.

We affirm and promote justice equity, and compassion in human relations.
We believe that all people should be treated fairly.

We affirm and promote acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth.
We believe that our churches are places where all people are accepted, and where we keep on learning together

We affirm and promote a free and responsible search for truth and meaning.
We believe that each person must be free to search for what is true and right in life.

We affirm and promote the right of conscience and the use of the democratic process.
We believe that all people should have a voice and a vote about the things which concern them.

We affirm and promote the goal of world community with peace, liberty, and justice for all.
We believe that we should work for a peaceful, fair, and free world.

We affirm and promote respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.
We believe that we should care for our planet earth.

Our Principles, like the Hanukkah story and lighting of the Hanukkah candles, remind us of something we aspire to; a community ideal, a vision of faith, a life that could be, living as it ought to be. This is the power of many stories, it's the truth in most sacred stories, the stories around which we organize our lives. Flannery O'Connor was right when she said: "... in the long run, a people is known, not by its statements or its statistics, but by the stories it tells."

As we leave the Thanksgiving holiday behind us, and continue into the month of December, a month that is full of sacred stories from family, friends, church and temple, think about the stories that shape your life: the stories you tell, the stories that you hope will be told long after your days. These are the stories that speak about and reveal who you are, they are the stories that will give texture, meaning and holiness to generations to come.

© the Rev. Fredric J. Muir
November 28, 1999