I forgot
today was September 11th. OK,
so I knew it was the 11th, I just forgot it was 9-11. OK, I really forgot that we have to “remember
9-11.”
The truth
is, I know about 9-11; I remember what happened on 9-11, 2001. But when we drove out of our driveway, and
the temporary American Flag that the local cub scout den puts out on the
important dates—it seemed out of place, since we just had Labor Day, and the
flag had come for Labor Day but got taken down again—so when I asked my wife,
she thought it was Patriot’s Day. And
then when I asked at staff meeting, we discovered “Patriot’s Day” was a movie
but that today might be PATRIOT DAY in honor of the victims of 9-11.
In the
devotional we’ve been following for our staff meetings at Church, Walter
Brueggemann, in referring to a passage from Job 29, invited us to consider that
“9/11, date of a searing terrorist attack against the United States, signifies
in our society the loss of a well-ordered would in which doing good leads to
well-being. The facts of 9/11 lead us to
nostalgia for the good old days that are over and must be relinquished.”
Brueggemann’s
probably right; I’m just not sure I’m ready to believe and follow.
I remember
9/11. Seventeen years ago, I was just
waking up to the news that “a small airplane” had collided with one of the twin
towers—it sounded bizarre and looked even more bizarre-er with all the thick
black smoke that wouldn’t have been the result of the impact of a small
plane. The NBC station on the cable
system was a live feed of the NBX station in New York because the cable
provider had not worked out an agreement to have what would have been a more
local affiliate. And I watched “live” as
the second plane hit the second tower before the newsroom was fully aware of
what had happened.
It was like
I was standing on the street below looking up at impact.
The small
congregation I served, wasn’t near any population center. We had a session meeting and other activities
that proceeded as planned that day. We
didn’t know what else to do. By evening,
all the gasoline supply in our area had been exhausted, caused by hysteria and
people “wanting to get theirs” before it ran out. The state’s attorney general’s office would later
file charges against many of the local dealers for price gouging which reached
nearly $20/gallon—a local shortage caused by greed. And rather than “sharing” and leaning on each
other, I’m sure most people were locked and barricaded behind their doors waiting
for the worst of things to happen.
By Saturday,
one of my colleagues in a larger city, was offended that everyone blithely agreed
to call the firefighters “heroes”—for his city, involved in a bitter debate
about benefits that should be paid to firefighters and police officers, he
thought it was immoral to reduce benefits, but then insist they be called “heroes.” It was unjust, he claimed, to expect poorly
paid laborers to protect life and property of others at the expense of their
own health and well-being, not to mention their family’s.
I learned a
lot on 9-11 that I haven’t forgotten and don’t think I ever will.
I also
learned, that like most of these kinds of the things, it becomes about
retributive justice. A torrent of
violence was unleashed against Americans that day, and we’d be sure to return
the favor. We’ve fought at least two
wars since then, further adding to the body count many times over.
We’ve spent
billions of dollars on security and safety, designed to keep Americans
safe. We continue to watch people in
other places suffer, because the human rules of retributive justice and revenge
are indiscriminate—like sin. Our
insatiable desire to be avenged always leads, rather, to death and destruction
though—unlike Jesus, whose suffering and death changes the trajectory of the
living.
So often,
when we talk about what happened, and who did it, and how many died, we are
awash in the emotions of grief, anguish, loss, and suffering. It’s easy for anger to be our response; for
us to justify horrific acts on our own in attempt to recover “justice” or the
moral high ground.
“You flew
planes into our skyscrapers, but we can bomb you back to the Stone Age.”
“You hurt
us, but we can obliterate you.”
It’s not
long before we can justify the very worst.
But someone
reminded me THIS September 11th, such justification, violence, and
vengefulness dishonors the victims and the sacrifices of those who laid down
their lives in service to others.
If you’ve heard
or read much about the victims in New York and Washington, DC, and in
Pennsylvania that day, you undoubtedly have read or heard that the last words
from people in the towers and on the planes that day, over and over again, were
the same: "I love you." "I love you."
Novelist
Ian McEwan wrote in The Guardian, September 15, 2001, "Love was all they
had to set against the hatred of their murderers."
Rather than
asking ourselves what we remember of our loss, perhaps we should ask what we
remember about their love?
The last
words, in response to horror and undoing, in facing death, were love.
Love.
That more
rightfully can affect our world in far more profound ways.
When we
seek to love those who serve us. When we
seek to love those who disagree with us.
When we seek to love those who make mistakes. When we seek to love ourselves when we need
our own second chances. When we seek to
love—rather than to win at any cost.
When we love, rather than destroy.
When we love because that’s what God does. Particularly, what God does in Jesus whose
life is not answered by death, but by life!
Love. You see, this started with that cub scout den
who puts flags on people’s lawns. It’s a
service project and fund-raiser all in one.
They ask for permission and a donation and then they bring the flags on
the right days. When they talked to my
wife, the first year, she didn’t have any money to offer and they did it
anyway. For free. Because they knew what it was to love us
anyway.
How do we
learn more love? I think that’s why God
sent us Jesus.
It might be
9-11. But I’m trying to remember how I
can make my last word be love.
© Rev. David Stipp-Bethune; Teaching Elder
and Pastor, The First Presbyterian Church of El Dorado, Arkansas
