There was this
line in yesterday’s sermon: “Sacrifice must be met with sacrifice.” I’m not sure where it came from, exactly, but
it came out of my contemplating a newly-revealed story from September 11, 2001—about
Lieutenant Heather Penney of the U. S. Air Force, who—in the wake of the planes
hitting the World Trade Center Towers in New York—alongside her commanding
officer screamed into the sky in a pair of F-16’s fully prepared to take on
hijacked planes. In the moments after
lighting off, they each realized their planes had been prepared for training
missions scheduled to fly that day. They
had no bombs, no missiles, and no guns—not even a rock. Yet these were the only planes in position to
take down United flight #93, that appeared to be on course to the U.S. Capitol. Penney realized hers had just become a
suicide mission as she thought through what was necessary to ensure United 93 was
taken out.
The iconic
images and stories from 9-11 that we all witnessed in some way or other remind
us of the many people who gave up their lives for real. They were more than victims. They were “survivors” who made it out of burning
buildings alive—but who went back in to lead others to safety. They were those aboard United flight #93—without
orders—who fought for control of the plane and wrestled it to the ground over
an unpopulated area. They were those in
uniform and those who weren’t; those who knew instinctively what to do and
those who responded as they’d been trained.
When people
talk about 9-11, I remember a former colleague who stridently explained how he’d
be using his sermon that Sunday, to declare for his congregation what it meant that
in their city, there had been a months-long battle over tax increases to fund
the city’s first-responders. His line, that’s
always stuck with me, was his disdain for the people who dared to call the
firefighters, police officers, and first-responders “heroes,” but who were so
unwilling to provide for their basic needs.
“These are the people we expect and require to come and save us, and yet
we don’t pay them enough to provide for their families should they make the
ultimate sacrifice.”
It sounded
brash. His tone, less than 24 hours
before he would deliver the message and the gospel for his congregation—and that
afternoon among only colleagues—sounded somewhat disrespectful, even un-pastoral. We knew he was trying a line, still thinking
about the right tone to carry what he believed.
Maybe he was looking for the line not to cross.
But I found
his challenge strangely healing. I began
my own sermon that Sunday, asking the congregation to think about how we might
support those who so bravely gave of themselves for others—including making
sure that we paid people fairly. It brought
tears to the eyes of the mayor of our small town. Being reminded that there was someone willing
to take up and support those tasked with responding, seeing and hearing that
support and love proclaimed in church, he left worship resolved to support and
love, and to strengthen the support personnel of our community. It’s one thing, of course, to support those
who bravely sacrifice and die—after a tragedy.
It’s another, to begin to see those needs beforehand, too.
15 years
after September 11, 2001, it’s still not all clean and neat and tidy. To some extent, we don’t know how deep the
chaos was felt—or how near we were to the brink of even worse disaster. And we still have a lot of people who bear
real wounds—and most we’ve never heard about.
I think
about Air Traffic Controllers who had to watch helplessly, who tried to engage
the military and others to help, but failed to connect all the dots before it
happened.
I think
about other pilots and flight crews.
I think
about those on the other end of the phone calls, whose help was needed, but who
couldn’t respond.
I think
about those who blame themselves for not spotting the hijackers in the
airport.
I think
about those who know they made mistakes as they tried to make the right calls
and do the right things.
I think about
those, for whom the long string of events on 9-11 was just the beginning; the
thousands who’ve gone off to war, sent to faraway places to “defend us” whose
lives have been lost or those who have returned with wounds and PTSD. I think about the long war that started that
day, but isn’t yet over. That while some
of us have prospered, graduated from college, started whirlwind careers making
good money, many continue to make unimaginable sacrifices—and often, sacrifices
remain unnoticed.
Sacrifice
must be met with sacrifice. Too often we
take sacrifice for granted, make it “expected,” and rely on the sacrifices of
others. Too often we are blinded,
somehow unable to recognize how our lives depend on others. These “other stories” help make it more
clear.
The joy and
justice of the Kingdom of God in the gospels can be ours if we’re willing. But it’s not supposed to be hoarded for a day
or time of trial. God’s intention is
that we live out the joy and justice of the Kingdom of God each and every
day. It means paying attention to what’s
less obvious. Or, being willing to
declare the blatantly obvious!
If sacrifice
must be met with sacrifice, what’s MY sacrifice? How can I be help, support, and LOVE, today?—and
to whom?
© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder
and Pastor, The Presbyterian Church of Llanerch, Havertown, Pennsylvania
