Praying for a nation's healing and peace among the nations (Matthew 18:21-35,September 11, 2011)

                  This morning’s sermon comes by way of two tools:  words and silence.  Sometimes, we have all of the words, perhaps basketfuls of them, all rushing out of us in a great torrent of explanation or insight.  Other times, the best way to understand the world is just to be silent, putting aside our impulse to control or regain control of the situation that bothers or frightens.  In our world of 24/7 opinions and punditry swirling around the ever-present TV screen or net-capable handheld device of choice, silence seems a decreasingly less likely source of inspiration for how to respond.

                   The first inkling I had that something had gone horribly wrong came by listening to the car radio.  Kerry and I drove across Kansas City to drop her off at a seminary ministry internship site.   No need for the radio, we kept our conversation going about the little things of life:  grocery lists, household things to take care of later in the day.  After we got to Kerry’s internship, I turned around to make the quick trip back home and turned on the radio.

The usual tone of National Public Radio morning news broadcasts is usually one of enviable polish and professionalism.  Instead, within just moments of listening, I was aware something was not right.  The NPR reporters were pausing, near stammering as they relayed the initial reports of what would be several shocks that grim morning ten years ago. 

Hijacked passenger jet planes crashed into both of the Twin Towers, the Pentagon, and a field in Pennsylvania, the latter crash site due to passengers thwarting the crash planned for Washington, DC.  Both of the World Trade Center towers would collapse, as well as a section of the Pentagon. 

Thousands died.

 (Silence.)  

 Ten years later, we sit in the midst of words and silence perhaps no further along the path toward the explanations or the closure we have been seeking for some time now.  Yet I suggest we take the words and the silence as tools for helping us.  For some, the words may help us name the lingering grief or the anger still smoldering within.  Words help us name the sense of powerlessness we felt that day.  Words help us navigate our way through the complex issues of politics, society, culture, economics, and religion that have continued to arise as we live in what’s aptly termed “a post-9/11 world”. 

For some, keeping silence may help us resist saying hasty, sharp words that may feel good but keep worsening the wounds we harbor.  Silence may grant us a reprieve from feeling like we have to figure out the tangled knots within our minds and hearts.  Silence may be the best way for heated arguments to regain civility as we continue to differ on what the right path should be for our nation, the many nations as our country and the world reel from conflicts tracing their origin from the tragic events of September 11, 2001.

(Silence.)

In the weeks after 9/11, I found myself wondering what should be said from the pulpit.  Ten years ago, preaching was not a regular weekly habit, as I was still learning the ropes.  Nonetheless, I had two Sundays in a row (rare then) when I was asked to speak at area churches in Kansas City.  They happened to be the two Sundays immediately after 9/11.

Tensions and grief were high.  People were still trying to name what they felt, and we were all feeling especially vulnerable, wondering if additional attacks were on the verge.  What would Sunday morning be like as we gathered to pray and sing and listen to the Word?

The Sunday just after 9/11 was in a congregation I knew fairly well.  I had some rapport from previous times, so I knew it was a group quite okay with a preacher leading them in the balance between words and silence.  The second Sunday, I was out in a rural community in Kansas.  I had some trepidation about going there, as I wondered what the mood would be.  My gut feeling said, “Tread carefully.”

I arrived early enough that an older adult education class was using the sanctuary for Sunday School, which preceded the worship hour.  The class had me sit in while they finished their session.  As you could imagine, the pre-planned scripture study was left to the side.  People were still talking out how they were dealing with the events of the past couple of weeks. 

One old farmer reached into his pocket and pulled out a newspaper clipping.  My gut went into a bit of knot, as my experience growing up in Kansas was generally of the old-timers usually bringing newspaper clippings into the coffee shop, the diner, the barber shop, or yes, even Sunday School classrooms, to air their thoughts (mostly grievances) about what they had read in the paper.  So, I did what I had learned to do:  I braced myself for what would likely be something blistering.

The old timer read the news article he had found just that morning from the Kansas City Star, the “metro/big city paper” read in that part of Kansas.  The press release announced an interfaith prayer gathering to be led primarily by leading Christian, Jewish, and Muslim clergy of the area.  I watched the crowd for any reaction when the word “Muslim” was read.

The old timer finished reading the article, put the clipping back in his pocket, and said, “I think we should all go.”

There were some nods around the room and the gentle murmur of “Amen.”

(Silence.)

The lectionary cycle of scripture readings a decade ago just so happened to have the gospel’s parables of God looking for the lost.  That word “lost” had a misfortunate ring to it, given the continuing news stories of families trying to discover if a loved one survived.  Some clergy admitted shying away from the parables suggested for the day.  Others claimed there was a certain strength to be drawn from these particular parables, a word of hope that God is with us, even in times when we feel the most vulnerable or afraid.

Today, the lectionary suggested another parable (Matthew 18:21-35), one dealing with forgiveness with especial care given to forgive with full awareness of the transgressions and wrongs that occurred.  The unforgiving slave was given great mercy.  He chose not to do the same for another. 

I do not presume to give a “one size fits all” sermon on how forgiveness should be worked out in relation to the great tragedy of 9/11.  Nonetheless, we should look carefully at theological reflection arising from other circumstances where Christians have been asked to place their faith’s teachings to the test when other great, unimaginable evil has been wrought.  Many Christians elsewhere in the world bear witness to an understanding that forgiveness is a difficult and sometimes slow, measured process.  I cite Desmond Tutu’s writings on leading the “Truth and Reconciliation Process” for a post-apartheid South Africa having to deal with apartheid’s many complexities.  Like Tutu, many works from the global Christian family testify that forgiveness is inescapably part of Christian reflection. Tutu warns that there is no future without forgiveness, and I ponder where we are at, even a decade later, with resolving the questions raised by 9/11.

I do see part of the pathway from that time to today has been made easier to travel thanks in part to the interfaith movement. Public opinion began to rage about the role of religion in the world. Many voices wondered if any religion should be deemed credible, let alone a radicalized fundamentalism observed by the hijackers or the type of fundamentalism being broadcast in the aftermath of 9/11 by Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell, as they claimed the attacks came about due to America not following God.  As I said back then, I say now, “Jerry and Pat, if you believe that’s how God acts, it’s time to find a better theology.”)  I lament, and continue to lament, the “guilt by association” endured by American Muslims and other people in this country.  I note with hope that a decade onwards, American Baptists are one of many Christian groups endeavoring to foster friendly and respectful ties with Muslim groups.

If I see any sense of future, I see hope coming in the form of people reaching out and being humane toward one another. The interfaith movement here in Bennington has been a gift not only in times of adversity (the 1970s fuel crisis birthed the Council, the flood response of the past two weeks is one of many affirmations of the Council’s value to this community), the Council and related groups and programs serve as a counter-witness to the negative spin about religion.  Together, even though we are different and seek varying pathways toward our spiritual beliefs and practices and worldviews, the interfaith-minded congregations of Bennington give me hope that we can move ahead.

Such work is done with a spirit of humility, a desire not to alienate but to include, and raise up the common good together instead of grasp and struggle for control, the others underfoot.   We may not believe the same, but we hope for a common good within humanity.

This past week, a number of organizations shared resources for worship on this Sunday morning, laden as it is with the memory of this difficult day of September.  Greg Ledbetter, a Baptist minister from California and ties to Vermont, shared these words via one of the Baptist denominations, the Alliance of Baptists:

Long let us dream, our dreams of sibling nations,

Long let us hope, that warfare ends for all,

Long let us pray, for children loved and loving.

Long let us work, responding to your call.

God, help our hearts expand to new horizons,

                  Where love creates a future shared by all.