September 11-Memorial

*Preached at Grace North Church on September 15, 2002 by John R. Mabry*

This has been a hard week for our nation. It has been a hard week for me, and I'm willing to wager it's been no piece of cake for you, either. Everywhere we look we have been reminded of the horrors that happened on September 11 of last year. For those whose emotions lie far below their surface, it has been, at best, annoying. For the more sensitive among us, it has been almost intolerable. I have one friend who holed up in his room on September 11, and didn't watch a single television show, didn't even turn on the radio. It was simply too haunting, too painful, especially for people who have lost loved ones before their time.

So, if you've been feeling overloaded with grief, with anger, or simply fed up with the incessant chatter, you are not alone. Last week I was talking with Tom McKone after the service, and he said, "I'm just tired of it." Well, amen. I think we are all tired; we're tired from mourning, tired of the hype, tired of the media droning endlessly; tired of bloodshed in our name, tired of the promise of more.
We want peace; but perhaps this is the lesson. There is no peace on earth. Not now, there isn't. And what with all the sabre-rattling in Washington these days, there isn't likely to be.

It's tempting to despair, to numb ourselves out, to distract ourselves. And we do, but after the hangover wears off, after the new Austin Powers movie is over, we still have to step back out onto the street and wonder if we are safe or not.

And this is the vital organ at which terrorism strikes, our feelings of safety in the world. When I was growing up, my parents provided a very safe environment for me. My father was a federal agent, and we all knew where the guns were in the house, and we respected them. We had FBI and customs agents over every weekend for barbeques, we knew help was never far away. We lived in peaceful middle class neighborhoods where nobody drove more than 25 miles per hour without impunity. We were surrounded by loving church folk who watched over my sister and I as if we were their own.

But did I feel safe? I did not. Because looming over this idyllic world was a God who was just waiting for me to screw up, just waiting for an excuse to pour forth his wrath upon rebellious sinners. It was a scary world, unsafe at its very foundation. That God impelled me to do things I consider ghastly today. He compelled me to be unkind, and even downright nasty to those who would thwart God's plans. Taught me to hate myself for who I was in my deepest being, told me to disregard the feelings and rights of those who were not on "his" side. Sound familiar?

The God of Al-Quiada and the God of my childhood are not so different. Both of them whisper the insidious lie that ideology is more important than human life, and both of them have worshippers who would gladly die in their service. It took a long time to gather the inner resources to fire that God, but thank God I did. That does not mean there are no scars, as you know very well. I will always be in recovery.

But a very important epiphany came one day in class when a teacher of mine spoke some magic words. He said, "Either the universe is a safe place to play or it isn't. And you get to choose."

Now, here's what that meant to me: that I could choose to live in a world where I was depraved to the core, where there were demons lurking around every corner, and where God was out to get me. Or I could choose to live in a world where I was struggling but good, where blessings were waiting around every corner, and where God was on my side.

It felt like the chains of Marley's ghost evaporated into dust and dropped away. I could choose to live in the kind of universe where philosophical exploration was beneficial rather than dangerous. I could choose to live in a place where no matter what I thought, who my friends were, or what kind of language I used, God was not going to abandon me, censure me, or punish me.

I've said many times from this pulpit that God is "not a tame lion" to use C.S. Lewis' words, and in one sense God is not safe: God is always going to surprise you. God is unpredictable, and often rejoices in rocking the boat.

But I believe this is always in our best interests. The lesson I have come to learn through these many hard years of God-wrestling is this: God is worthy of my trust. God may love to play the trickster, but God is safe, he is always pulling for us, always siding with us, always supporting us, always whispering to us his love and concern and advice, if we have the ears to hear it.

The universe is a SAFE place to play. God is for us, not against us. We are safe with God. But in another sense, the universe is NOT a safe place to play, is it? We are, unfortunately, not safe from each other. But I would like to point out that the landscape from here is very different. Instead of living in a universe where dangers lurk at every step, from above and below, we can choose to live in a universe where all is held in love, and where only the dangers from our fellows are of any real consequence. And that is a very great comfort, at least to me.

And so I say to you today: if you must fear, fear man and not God. For God stands with you. God is at your back, and stand strong at your side. Those brave souls who worked at ground zero even when horrors were still falling out of the sky recoiled at the evil wrought by other people, but many of them reported that it was the powerful and comforting presence of God that held them, that gave them strength, who animated their limbs when they were tired beyond human endurance.

And I also encourage you to advocate and work for justice and peace. Our tradition contains a beautiful vision of a future where all peoples will sit down at the same table and feast together, and God will feast with us. The lion will lie down with the lamb, and war is a bad dream that is fading fast. The goal of our common life as Christians is not going to heaven, or converting the world to our peculiar theological ideology. The goal of our religious life is to set that table, and invite all peoples to it. Every week when we come to this altar we partake of a foretaste of this feast. We are given just a bite, enough to sustain us as we work to make this feast a reality for all peoples.

The Tao Te Ching says this, "Do not underestimate your enemy by thinking he is evil." Amidst all the flag-waving and sabre-shaking, we need to remember that the Afghani people are not evil, the Iraqi people are not evil. They are not our enemies. They all have seats reserved for them at the great table of God, and when that time comes, it will be our great pleasure to serve them. Yes, there are evil people in the world, there are wounded people in the world who lash out in their anger and despair, there are misguided people whose ears are tickled by those who give them faint hope of restoration and redemption. We must be very careful to discern which is which.

Life is dear, whether we are peasants or kings. Life is good, regardless of whatever twisted theologies we may embrace. All peoples want to see their children grow strong; all peoples want to retire in peace and safety. Everybody wants to watch the game on Sunday afternoon, everybody wants to feel good about their homeland and their kin. We have a lot of work ahead of us to make that a reality for all peoples. We don't' have to do it all today, thank God. Today, the only thing we have to do is remember, grieve, and comfort one another. It's enough work for one day.

I struggled with what to say to you this morning. After all, who among us needs one more commentary, one more perspective on the horrors we have witnessed, and re-live every time the tape of that plane hitting the tower plays on TV? As a nation we are numb, traumatized, and tired. Our feelings of safety have, like a rug, been pulled out from under us. I am just as tired and numb as you are, and this week I struggled with the demand of my job to be "inspiring on demand."

So, this morning, I have little inspiration to offer. I can think of nothing to say which has not already been said. Unlike most of my sermons, this week I offer you no startling historical perspective, no heretical titillation, no esoteric twist on reality. I have not even, as far as I can discern, been able to offer you a reasonably coherent sermon, with a single line of thought running from one end to the other.

No matter. Today, let us simply be together, as the family we are. Let us grieve together. Let us laugh with one another and go on with our common life. Let us cultivate the safety that we share as members of the Community of God, and let us work to prepare a table in the presence of all peoples. It is not a safe world, but we are safe with God, and if we are faithful to God in this life, God will be faithful to us in the next. It is not a safe world here, but it is a good one. Amid all the horror, all the hype, and all our exhaustion, let us not forget it. God made the world and said, "It is good." No terrorists are powerful enough to undo that. Let's pray.

God, we hold out to you the frayed and ragged emotions we are clothed in this morning. We do not really know what to say to each other. We only want to be with each other. We want to do the hard work of remembering and healing together. Thank you for being with us so powerfully this past year. Thank you for loving us when it seemed the world was against us. Thank you for holding us tight when everything else seemed to be spinning out of control. Thank you for giving us the love of friends, and family, even if we cannot keep them. We thank you that in the midst of the storm, despite the changes and chances of this life, we can find our safety in Thee. Give us the courage to face the feelings that frighten us, the resolve to do the dangerous things we fear, and grace to trust in strong arms of friends, family, and especially, dear Lord, in Thee. For we ask this in the name of the one who showed us your true face of love, even Jesus Christ. Amen.