Newer Images of Sacrifice

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