"What Is There To Say?”

First Congregational UCC – September 11, 2011

The Rev. Sharyl B. Peterson

 

Scriptures:  Psalm 103 and Matthew 18: 21-35

 

I am guessing that nearly every person sitting here this morning can pretty clearly remember the events of 9/11, 2001.  I’m guessing that nearly all of us can remember exactly where we were, and exactly what we were doing, when we first heard the news about the destruction of the Twin Towers in New York, of the plane crash into the Pentagon, of the crash of a plane in a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania.  Most of us remember staying glued to our television or computer-screens, watching and listening as the films were played over and over … the towers being struck … the Pentagon being struck … the wreckage of United Flight 93 … the Towers collapsing …

            CNN’s news anchor Carol Lin was the first TV network anchor to break the news of the attacks, saying:  “This just in.  You are looking at obviously a very disturbing shot there.  That is the World Trade Center, and we have unconfirmed reports this morning that a plane has crashed into one of the towers of the World Trade Center.  CNN Center right now is just beginning to work on this story, obviously calling our sources and trying to figure out exactly what happened, but clearly something relatively devastating happening this morning there on the south end of the island of Manhattan.  That is once again, a picture of one of the towers of the World Trade Center.”  Even hearing those words again this morning may make many of us feel again the lurching of our stomachs, our hearts, and our minds, as we first watched the devastation of buildings, and then began to hear the recitation of the death-tolls.  So many injured … so many missing … so many known dead.

            I am also guessing that most of us here can also remember the feelings of 10 years ago.  I certainly can, and I know, from the people I was with that day, and from stories you have told me,

that for most of us, one of the strongest feelings that first arose was fear.  Fear for loved ones living in New York, or in D.C., or travelling on United Flight 93.  Fear for loved ones in the military, who would likely called up in response to the terrorism.  Fear for our own safety.  Would there be more attacks?  Were the big cities, the big targets, just the beginning?  Would we be safe even here in Grand Junction?  Was there somewhere safer we could go?

What was there to say that morning?  Help us, Lord!

And then, when no further attacks came, but as hour after hour of reporting – along with personal phone-calls and e-mails – began to reveal the full devastation of the attacks – for many of us, the next strong feeling that arose was grief.  Everyone knew someone who had been killed – or injured – or deprived of a loved one – that day.  Or they knew someone who knew someone who had been.

The events of 9/11 touched all of us, and we grieved as family members, as friends, as community members, and as citizens of this nation.  Today, many are grieving still.  For countless people, this morning – whether in worship or not – their hearts are breaking all over again. 

What was there to say in those early days – and even now?  Heal us, Lord!

And then – perhaps because of the fear and the grief – perhaps as part of the fear and the grief – came a third strong feeling – that of anger.  Anger that “they” – even though exactly who “they” were wasn’t unraveled for days – had dared to attack the United States of America.  Anger at the damage “they” had wrought, at the lives “they” had taken, at the orphans, and grieving parents, and widows, and widowers “they” had created.  Anger that “they” had destroyed our deeply-held sense of invincibility, of invulnerability, as a people and a nation.

            It is anger that 10 years later, has still not dissipated for some.  For example, this last Wednesday as I was driving home from work, I saw a bumper-sticker that said:  ‘America – the land of life, liberty, and the right to pursue anyone who threatens them.’  That, my friends, is about still-held anger.

What was there to say in those first weeks – and in weeks to come?  Hurt them, Lord!

            And through it all – the fear, the grief, the anger – many of us were sustained by our faith, strengthened and given hope by the promises of our God.  Our God who throughout time and history has brought other fearful – or grieving – or angry people through their own times of destruction, devastation, and outrage.

Psalms like the quintessential Psalm 103 that we heard a few minutes ago reminded us “O my soul, bless God, don't forget a single blessing!  (God) forgives your sins – every one.  (And) heals your diseases – every one. (God) saves your life!  (and) crowns you with love and mercy … God wraps you in goodness – beauty eternal... God makes everything come out right; puts victims back on their feet… God is sheer mercy and grace; not easily angered, (God is) rich in love...” (The Message).

            The Scripture passages we returned to – words from our faith-communities – the stories of friends – and the unfolding news stories – both on 9/11 and in the days to follow – reminded us of God’s power and care at work in shattered communities, and in our own lives.  God’s power and care shone through the stories of the rescue personnel – the firefighters, and police officers, and health-care workers, and chaplains – who put their own lives at risk – and some 400 of whom lost their lives – to help others.  In the stories of some of the brave passengers on United Flight 93 who knew they couldn’t save themselves, but were determined to save others, and made a determined “last stand” against the hijackers of their plane; of people in the Twin Towers who went back up stairwells they had safely traversed to help other, injured people down those stairs; of a businessman who managed to get all but 6 of his company’s 2700 employees safely out of the South Tower, using his powerful voice to “sing them” down the smoke-clogged stairs and out of the building; and who died when he returned to hunt for possible stragglers, and was crushed under 500,000 tons of steel and concrete as the Tower collapsed.

            Some people whose lives were spared – or saved – that day spoke specifically about how God had “come to them” in the voice or person of a rescuer.  Other survivors talked about a sense of being “watched out for” or “kept safe” by God.  And as memorial services and funerals were held, as clergy and counselors reflected with survivors on their experiences and their emotions, as books were written, and movies were made, the public became aware of the many places where grace and mercy had in fact prevailed, right in the midst of the devastation.

What was there to say as those stories emerged?  God cares for us!

            In the past 10 years, many of us have learned new ways of being mindful of God’s presence – new ways of feeling grateful – and those have helped us deal with – redeem – heal from – our fear and our grief.  Tragically, we haven’t done nearly so well when it comes to dealing with our anger.

            Despite the lack of clarity about any relationship between al Qaeda and the Taliban – or between Baghdad and al Qaeda (both are still debated, as far as what was known on 9/11/01)  – leaders of our country initiated one war – and ramped up another – against Iraq and Afghanistan.  Our nation has illegally imprisoned thousands of people – suspected of somehow being linked to the 9/11 attacks – holding them without trial, or due process.  And when Osama bin Laden was finally found, just four short months ago, and killed, many of our citizens gathered in the streets to cheer and to celebrate.

            Now, for people who claim no faith affiliation, maybe those kinds of responses are not surprising.  After all, anger (and the retaliation it calls for) are among our oldest wired-in survival instincts.  Until fairly recently in human history, one fairly useful operating principle has been:  if something (or someone) threatens you, you’d better get it (them) before it (they) get you!  So, retaliating with violence … or imprisonment … even with jubilation at the death of the leader who caused so many other deaths, so much destruction … makes sense to many.

            But for people who do claim to be faithful – for people who do profess to follow Jesus, or at least to try to – those kinds of responses are problematic.  And they are problematic because we believe, as faithful people, that God calls us not to retaliation, but to reconciliation.  They are problematic because we believe, as faithful people, that God sent Jesus into the world to turn our “normal” ways of operating upside-down.  They are problematic because we believe, as faithful people, that God sent Jesus to challenge the “received wisdom” – the “accepted thinking” – of how we are supposed to respond to others who injure us, or who do us wrong.

            We know that over and over, Jesus explicitly said things like:  “Tradition says this…” or “the (religious) law says this…” “but I say this instead.”  For example, in three books of the Torah – the books of Exodus, Leviticus, and Deuteronomy – it says quite clearly:  “Show no pity: life for life, eye for eye, tooth for tooth, hand for hand, foot for foot” (Deut. 19:21).

            But what does Jesus say?  He says this:  “You have heard that it was said (to those of ancient times), ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’  But I say to you, Do not resist an evildoer.  (I)f anyone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also; and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well; and if anyone forces you to go one mile, go also the second mile. Give to everyone who begs from you, and do not refuse anyone who wants to borrow from you.  You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy… But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you so that you may be children of God’” (Matt 5: 38-43).

            Now, every word that Jesus speaks here may really stick in our “craws.”  In fact, I’ll bet it stuck in the craws of the folks who heard Him preach that sermon that fine day on the mountain.  I think we can easily imagine people in that crowd saying (or at least thinking):  Are you kidding me, Jesus?  If someone hits me in the face, you want me to turn the other way so they can hit me again?  If someone takes me to court, and wins their lawsuit, and gets my coat, you want me to just hand over my cloak too?  What are you thinking?

            And the answer was, Jesus was thinking – and was inviting them to think – about the immeasurable love and grace of God.  The love and grace of God which He is teaching about in today’s text from Matthew’s Gospel, when Peter comes to Jesus, and asks Him, “Lord, if another member of the church sins against me, how many times should I forgive him?”

            Peter is clearly thinking about the Trustee who voted against the new playground project that he, Peter, was all in favor of.  Or about the church-member in Coffee Hour who was gossiping about Peter and how clueless he was about what Jesus was teaching.  Or about the fellow member who, when Peter was complaining about the “new hymnal,” and how it had ruined all his favorite hymns, had answered, “well, I really like the new hymnal.”  Peter knows he has been wronged, and while he also understands that Jesus expects him to forgive the wrongdoer, Peter doesn’t want to do it more times than is really necessary.  So, Jesus, when someone does something bad to me, how many times do I have to forgive them?”

            Peter even goes out on a fairly safe limb, remembering all of Jesus’ sermons on love and forgiveness, and offers what seems like a pretty generous possible offer:  “Seven times?”  And Jesus looks at Peter like he has suddenly grown two heads, and says “Seven times?”  “Try seventy-seven times.”  Or, “try seventy times seven times.”  (The text can be translated either way.)  Jesus’ point is not that Peter needs to work on his math-skills, but that Peter needs to work on his forgiveness skills, until he gets to the point where he can forgive others without keeping score.

            And then Jesus goes on to tell the whole group gathered there a parable, as a second way of making his point.  Once upon a time, He says, there was a king, who called in one of his subordinates one day to ask the man about a debt he owed the king.  Apparently, this servant hasn’t been a very good administrator on the king’s behalf, and had made some very bad business decisions, and has ended up in debt.

            And not just in debt, but astronomically, overwhelmingly in debt.  The story says the man owed the king 10,000 talents – an amount that was the largest possible number conceivable in the Israelite counting-system and in the Israelite monetary system.  There was no number larger than that.  There was no sum larger than that.  It was an amount so fantastic (or would have been to Jesus’ audience) it was beyond calculation[1]!

            And yet the king, in his extraordinary generosity, forgives the debt.

            But the servant is no sooner out the door than he bumps into another servant who owes him some money.  The slave owes him 100 denarii – an amount roughly 1/600,000 of what the first servant owed the king.  In relation to the incalculable amount owed by the first servant to the king, it’s an apparent pittance.  And, since Jesus is telling the parable – and since most parables are about showing the hearers how they ought to behave – one would expect that the first servant would show the same mercy to the slave that the king had shown to him. 

But he doesn’t.  In fact, he grabs the man and chokes him, and calls the police to haul the man off to prison, even as the man is begging for mercy.  And his response is so unfair, so mean-spirited, so outrageous, that the other servants in the household rat him out to the king, who has him thrown into prison and “tortured until he should pay back all he owed.”  Which, given the size of the debt, would be always (tortured) and never (paid back).  Jesus’ point in this parable – just as his point in responding to Peter’s question – was this:  God has forgiven us with extraordinary generosity, and we are to extend that same kind of generous forgiveness to others.

            I suspect some of us still balk at this message, just as so many balked at it in Jesus’ time.  We’re pretty good at coming up with “yes, buts” that justify why we should not forgive others who harm us, who do us wrong, that justify why it’s okay for us to keep our anger flaming-hot, and why it’s all right to hold grudges against others (even to hate them) forever.

            But when we do that, we’re completely missing the point.  We are completely missing the point of Jesus’ teachings.  We are completely missing the point of Jesus’ life.  We are completely missing the point of what our God and our faith call us to.

            Hearing that we need to learn to forgive others is a hard thing to hear.  And it’s an even harder thing to do.  And yet … Jesus never promised it would be easy to follow Him.  And God never promised it would be easy to live a faithful life.  Only that it would be possible.

            Today, I invite us all to remember again our fear of 10 years ago – and to remember that God has brought us safely through.  To remember again our grief – and to remember that God continues to offer us healing peace.  And to remember again our anger – and to consider the faith-challenges it offers us.  To choose the Way of Jesus, rather than the way of our culture.  To work for peace, rather than for “getting even.”  To seek reconciliation, rather than retribution.

What is there to say this day?  God loves us!  God blesses us! 

God calls us to new ways of living, this day and every day!  Amen.