A Light for Dark Days ©
Reverend Janet Parsons
Gloucester UU Church
December 21, 2025
The Gospel of John tells us: “..the light was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it.” (John 1:4b-5.)
The year was 1993, over 30 years ago, now. That year, Billings, Montana had found itself suddenly targeted by white supremacists. These people, skinheads as they were called back then, were harassing people of color and Jews, spreading hate literature, and vandalizing a Jewish cemetery. Incidents were becoming increasingly common and more brazen. Eventually there was a bomb threat at the local synagogue. And then one night, December 2, 1993, to be exact, a chunk of cinder block was thrown through a Jewish family’s window. A six-year old boy named Isaac Schnitzer had a Hanukkah menorah in his window, and someone threw this concrete through it. It landed on his bed. Luckily it was early and Isaac was not in his room.
Until that point officials in Billings had been denying that there was any real problem in their city, and had been avoiding any meaningful responses. But this violent act that could have killed a small child proved to be the catalyst that the City of Billings needed to stand up and resist hatred. Initially, the boy’s mother, Tammie Schnitzer, was told by local authorities that it would be safer if they removed any Jewish symbols from her home, in other words, to hide their religious identity. “But how,” she asked in a New York Times interview, “do you explain that to a child?” (https://www.nytimes.com/1994/07/03/magazine/their-finest-minute.html)
Enter Margaret MacDonald, who called herself ‘just a church lady’, who approached the minister of her United Church of Christ congregation. Church members began to respond by buying menorahs to place in their windows, and the impulse began to spread. The Billings Gazette published a full-page drawing of a menorah for people to cut out and display in their windows. Estimates of the number of participants varied, of course, but ranged from roughly 3,000 to around 10,000 people displaying menorahs.
A few days after the rock throwing, around 150 people came together outside a synagogue during Shabbat services for a vigil, to hold candles and offer their support. “The light shines in the darkness…”
If only this were the end of the story. But the darkness in Billings has been impossible to completely overcome so far. Isolated vandalism continued throughout the holiday season that year; attempts to intimidate people into taking down their menorahs. The worst thing for many people was the knowledge that there were fellow citizens among them, neighbors, co-workers, who were hiding their participation in the hate crimes.
And so it is to this day – there continue to be incidents of vandalism and hate speech in Billings. Deep seated prejudices continue to exist, as they do in so many communities. But the community continues to show up, to resist the hatred, and to offer a light against the darkness.
I was reminded of this story last weekend after the shooting in Bondi Beach, in Sydney Australia, during a community menorah lighting. Once again hatred was aimed at Jewish people, as it has been for centuries. Once again we felt our hearts break. One of the victims was a 10-year-old girl. Her family had emigrated from Ukraine to Australia, and she was the first family member to have been born in Australia, she was the first native Australian. And so they had named her Matilda.
I was struck by the common themes in remarks offered at some of the funerals for the victims. The rabbi who officiated at Matilda’s funeral had also had to lead the service for his own son-in-law, who was also killed. “”You give me strength at a time when you need strength yourselves. And I try to do the same,” he said to Matilda’s parents…”. (https://www.bbc.com/news/articles/cd0krr3jrkjo)
On the same day, services were also held for the oldest victim, a Holocaust survivor named Alexander Kleytman. In a statement his family wrote, “”The two gunmen killed him, but his memories, his legacy, and his books will bring light for generations to come…” (Ibid.)
I heard in these words the emphasis on giving one another strength, and bringing light. Perhaps that is what we are called to do on the hardest days humans can ever face: to offer our strength, and to bear light for one another.
In the wake of the shooting, and the shooting at Brown University, I knew that the best response was to show my solidarity in public, to try to bring some light. Our local synagogue, Temple Ahavat Achim, was holding its annual Lobster Trap menorah lighting this past Tuesday evening and I arranged my schedule so that I could be there. It would have been understandable for the synagogue to cancel their event, in “an abundance of caution” – that phrase we hear so often these days. But the event went on as planned, and the community showed up to offer our support and to share in the celebration. It was fun, and joyful: the lighthearted claims of this being the only lobster trap menorah in, not just the planet, but the galaxy. Try to prove them wrong on that claim. And there was singing, and jelly doughnuts, and little dreidels to take home, and joy. There was nothing furtive, or cautious, just a community joining together to offer their own light on a cold, dark evening. Those of us present accepted the gift of that light, and added to it with our own, offering ours back so that the darkness could not overcome it.
The story of Hanukkah is an inspirational one. For anyone who might not know the story, in the second century BCE the ancient Jews had overthrown their Greek oppressors, and had reclaimed their temple. But there was only enough oil to light the temple’s lamp for one night, or so it seemed. And yet, somehow the oil lamp burned for eight nights until more oil could be obtained and brought to the temple. Down through the years this miracle of light has come to represent resilience and perseverance for a people who continue to suffer oppression and violence.
On a Hanukkah menorah, also known as a Hannukiah, there are holders for nine candles. Eight of the candles represent the eight nights that a tiny amount of oil burned in the temple. And there is always one other, ninth candle, called the Shamash. This is the ‘helper’ candle, the candle that is lit first so that all the other candles can be lit from it. It is sometimes located in the center, sometimes off to one side, often raised up a little from the others.
In the wake of all the violence last week, I have been thinking about menorahs, and the symbolism of the shamash, the helper, always present, standing alone.
The shamash serves as a reminder to us of how the light is held, how the light is spread; and it is a reminder that we can each be a shamash. The author of our reading, Jan Richardson, mentioned the power that we each have to provide even just a tiny light for one another, enough to see the path ahead, to keep walking through sorrow, through depression, through moonless nights and dark nights of the soul.
Recently I participated in my minister’s study group, where we tackled some issues in moral philosophy. The question we kept coming back to, kept asking one another, was “What do we owe each other?” Being the light for each other, illuminating a way forward for one another, acting as a shamash, is one very clear answer to the question.
Jan Richardson goes on to ask: Who holds the light for you? And who is relying on you to hold the light for them?
These are hard days we are confronting, and we need each other to help us stay on the path forward. So much of all we have tried to build up over the course of our lives is being torn down. Our norms are being eroded: the rule of law, and civil discourse. There are many people who would gleefully take away voting rights, gender-affirming care, health insurance, and legal protections for immigrants, even those who are here lawfully. We work to stay informed and involved, but it can seem overwhelming, day after chaotic day. How do we stay focused, and how do we respond to the deliberate chaos?
What do we owe one another in these times?
Perhaps the way through for us is to picture a candle standing alone in the darkness, and how much light it provides. Or picture the sun rising imperceptibly higher in the sky, offering its light for just a few seconds longer each day, until we begin to notice that the days are getting longer once again. And if we can hold those images in our hearts and in our minds, we can sense that our own light offers a way forward for others, even if we think it’s hardly visible. We have power. It’s an act of faith, really, to remember those ancient words, that the light shone in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. Have faith in the power of light, and carry that power with you and within you.
“Blessed are you who bear the light in unbearable times… who bear witness to its persistence
when everything seems in shadow and grief…
Blessed are you in whom the light lives, in whom the brightness blazes.” (Jan Richardson, Advent 3: Testify to the Light, https://adventdoor.com/2014/12/12/advent-3-testify-to-the-light/)
Blessed are you all, indeed.
Amen.
