Eight days are required to render new lamp oil to be used in the rededication of the temple. Even though there is only one day's supply of the precious oil, the lamp is lit. The miracle of the story, of course, is that the one-day supply lasts for the full eight days.

It seems like a great story to base a holiday on. Still, there is some amount of controversy that surrounds this holiday of Hanukkah. In the Jewish tradition The Festival of Lights is considered to be only a minor holiday, but in this country, in competition with the blaze of Christmas, its celebration has reached major proportions. Is it an important holiday or not?

There are other reasonable questions we might ask about the validity of a religious celebration of a military conquest. Why should we celebrate victory from violence, whoever the victor? And why would Unitarian Universalists want to acknowledge a festival founded on a mythological legend of a magical lamp that is unlikely to have historical validity? There is a very strong tradition of the oil that lasted for eight days, but there isn't even mention of it in either of the two books of Macabee. And isn't this whole notion of "God's chosen people" just a bit much anyway?

There may be a number of questions that could diminish the value of the Hanukkah message. To me though, they make the meaning all the more human and so, all the more real. Maybe the questions surrounding the celebration of Hanukkah offer even greater value to the story by providing us with lessons that can help us to live our lives more fully human and more fully real.

If not maturity, then at least longevity tells us that there is no perfect past. That ours is a world of imperfections and incompletions is no less true today than it was in ancient times. If perfection is our test for value, it's one we can't pass. And so we look to the traditions of old, however imperfect, in order to help us find meaning in our own experiences.

We don't look back so much to see how the gods might have handled themselves through difficult situations. We look to the actions, and the symbols that gave meaning to those actions, in order to learn how the people, our forebears, coped with their human experience. We can hope to learn from their mistakes as well as from their wisdom.

The interpretation of religious or cultural mythologies is a lot like the interpretation of personal dreams. Carl Jung talked about cultural mythologies as being the dreams of a whole culture. In personal dreams, dream analysts say that every person and even every object in a dream represents various aspects of the dreamer. The people or objects in a dream represent characteristics that already exist in the dreamer, as well as traits that might be aspired to.

Dream interpretation is the attempt to make meaning from what these figures symbolize. We ought to be able to make the same kind of interpretations with cultural or religious metaphors and symbols.

There is a particular element in the Hanukkah tradition that I find rather compelling, even though it's often overlooked in the literature. The reason it might escape notice could be related to the character of this element. It's a sort of strong and quiet type of religious symbol. However major or minor the holiday of Hanukkah might be, I don't think there is any more worthy a symbol from any religious story than that of the shammes candle.

On each of the eight nights, when the menorah is lit, the shammes, the servant candle, is lit first. Then it's the shammes candle that's used to light the other candles that represent the days of the miracle.

The shammes is a steadfast servant. After it's lit, it's picked up and held sideways. While its precious paraffin drips onto the table below, it brings its light to the others in waiting. It's the shammes who stands tallest on some menorahs and shortest on others, but who stands-night after night keeping vigil over the others-giving witness, lending strength, always a source and a resource of light. And each night it is usually the shammes that is the first to be consumed, having given all that it is to the greater glory of the brighter, common light. Yet, as it spreads its light to the other candles, the shammes becomes intricately connected with all that follows and with all that is. The shammes becomes one with the light by sharing its light, however weakened or compromised that light might be.

The shammes is lit first. It doesn't wait to see if maybe some other candle might go first; it simply is first. It's first in illumination, first in service, first in accepting the role and the destiny of the menorah, first in promoting the greater good and the greater light that the menorah was created to bring about.

The shammes is an admirable archetype. It's not one we need to impose upon ourselves though, like one more thing that we ought to be doing, but we're not. The shammes is a servant, not a master. It provides leadership through example, and it offers lessons through invitation. It invites us into a deeper experience of connection through the act of giving of ourselves.

When we give ourselves over to others and to principles, we become intricately connected to those people and to those ideals. There is a story told by British Rabbi, Aryeh Carmel, that shows how these connections are formed.

"It was past midnight. I was walking through the deserted city to my hotel on the other side of the river. The night was dark and foggy and I couldn't get a taxi. As I approached the bridge, I noticed a shabby figure leaning over the parapet. A "down-and-out," I thought. Then he disappeared. I heard a splash. My God, I thought, he's done it. Suicide!

I ran back under the bridge, onto the embankment, and waded into the river, grabbing him as he came past, borne by the current. I dragged him up onto the embankment. He was quite a young guy. He was still breathing. A couple of people noticed and I shouted to them to get an ambulance. They managed to stop a taxi and between us we half dragged, half carried the man into the taxi. I got in and told [the driver] to drive to the nearest hospital emergency room. I waited until the man was admitted, gave my report and got a taxi back to my hotel at last.

I had ruined a good suit and knew I would have a terrible cold in the morning. I could feel it coming on. But anyway I had saved a life. I had a hot bath and got into bed but it still worried me. Such a young man! Why had he done it?

The next morning, as soon as I was free, I bought a large bunch of grapes and set off for the hospital. I was determined to find out what was behind this matter. Maybe I could help.

Why was I so interested in the guy? In this great city there were at least half a dozen would-be suicides every night. Their plight did not touch me. Then it dawned on me. Of course. First you give, then you care. I had given quite a lot. I had risked my life and gotten a bad cold in the bargain. I had invested something of myself in that man. Now my love and care were aroused. That's how it goes. First we give, then we come to love."

First we give, then we care. First we give, then we love. First we give, and in the giving we establish the broader connections that provide the meaning that is the story of our life. It is in the act of giving we grow our souls and develop our purpose.

Like the shammes, the servant candle, we need only reach out in service-reach out with our light-to be on the path to the deeper connections of caring, and loving. We need only reach out in service, to be on the path to the deeper connections of the spiritual life. Like the shammes candle, ours is always the opportunity to be and to act first.

It's not as though opportunities for giving are difficult to come by. I'd guess within any given week I am approached, through one form or another, by a minimum of fifteen to twenty organizations asking for contributions. At this time of the year the number is even much greater. I'd also guess that close to once each month I'm asked to serve on a board, or a committee, or in some other capacity for an extended period of time.

I'd imagine that the soft touch reputation that goes along with being a minister might mean that I'm approached a little more often than some folks. Still, I'd guess that most of you are approached as frequently or nearly as frequently as I am.

Sometimes it feels like there are so many opportunities for giving that we might drown in them. The truth is we can't always give to everyone who asks. No one person or one household has enough time, energy or resources to respond to every request with a contribution.

That's not a good reason though, to keep us from reaching out in service, and from doing what we can. That's not a good reason for keeping us from establishing the connections that can make a difference in the lives of others and in our own life. That there is so much need in the world is not a good reason to shut down in despair and complain that we can do little to change things. We each have our light to shine.

We each need to determine for ourselves how and where to share that light. But we can't assume that we'll always know ahead of time just what opportunity might look like. We can't know ahead of time what opportunity might touch us deeply, or might provide us with a transforming experience.

There's another aspect of the shammes metaphor that calls for our attention. And this is perhaps the most important part of the Hanukkah message. It can be found in the question: From where does the shammes draw its light? How does the shammes get lit?

Nazi holocaust victim, Hannah Senesh wrote these words:

Blessed is the match consumed in kindling the flame. Blessed is the flame that burns in the heart's secret places. Blessed is the heart with strength to stop its beating for honor's sake. Blessed is the match consumed in kindling the flame.

It's the blessed match that lights the shammes. The match is the servant to the servant. So, what's the significance of the match? And from where does it draw its flame?

The 14-Century Hebrew moralist, Rabbi HaYevani Zeriah, wrote, "The foundation of service is faith." If lighting the match is service, and indeed it is, what faith is the foundation of that service? That would be a question each of us would have to answer for ourselves. Faith in humanity? Faith in nature? Faith in the possibilities of goodness in the universe? Faith in God? Faith in the Spirit of Life?

We don't light our own flames, this we know. We didn't bring ourselves into being, life was simply given to us. Where does the match get its flame? Its flame is purely a gift of the universe that's called into being by the action of our striking it.

From whence do we draw our faith? We draw it upon that which gives and sustains our lives, and we build it through the act of trusting, trusting that it's there for us, and that we are deserving of it. That's the religious message of Hanukkah shining out through the light of the menorah-to take faith and to give service.

First we give, then we care. First we give, then we love. First we give, and in the giving we establish the broader connections that provide the very substance and the meaning that is the story of our life. It is in the act of giving that we grow our souls and develop our purpose. It is in the act of giving that we nurture our faith.

There is a great deal of need in the world that calls out for our attention. To honor life is to allow life itself to shine through us and onto the world around us, not so much because the world needs it, although it surely does.

No, if we are going to make our own lives all the more human and all the more real, if we are going to allow our lives to be full of life and light and all the wonderful things we want them to be full of, we can't get there by trying to control the life force as it moves through us. We can only get there by giving service to it. And that is what the shammes is there to remind us of. Yes, to take faith and to give service.

May we aspire to be like the shammes candle: Ready to be first to share our light through service. Ready to be first to share our light through courage and determination. Ready to be first to share our light through joy and thanksgiving. Ready to be first to share our light through a faith that lets us see beyond our own limitations, to a world made more whole by the strength our connections have helped to forge.

Baruch A-Tah Adonai Elohenu Melach Haolam Asher Kiddeshanu B'Mitzvotav V'Tsivanu L'Hadlik ner shel Hanukkah. Blessed art Thou, O Lord, King of the Universe, who commands us to kindle the festival lights.

Blessed is the match consumed in kindling the flame.