Monday, September 10, 2001

I am 43 years old. Part of what that means is that I am of the Star Wars generation. Not Ronald Reagan’s Star Wars; George Lucas’ Star Wars. As many of you know, the Star Wars movies are space fiction, set in an imagined future universe. Mostly they are a powerful telling of the epic struggle between good and evil. But it is not that specifically that has brought them to my mind recently. I have found before me in my mind’s eye this week one particular scene in the movies. In this scene the forces of evil, and they are pure evil, destroy an entire planet. In the movie the planet explodes into smithereens before our eyes. And yet it is not that particular image that has stayed with me this week. We see scenes such as that on TV cartoons and in the movies all the time.

The piece of the scene that I have carried with me these last few days is an image of Obi-Wan Kenobi. He is one of the good guys. He is literally light years away busy at other tasks at the time the planet is destroyed; nothing immediately around him in his own world changes at all. Yet at that moment of explosion every flicker of vitality is quenched in the body of Obi-Wan. He is connected by the Force to the hopes and heartbeats of every living thing. He feels throughout his body the destruction of the planet—the death of every person, the demolition of all that is good. For a moment, pain itself seems to flow in Obi-Wan’s veins; his eyes are shrouded; his body frail; his loss indescribable.

This vision of Obi-Wan is an image that captures my own feelings much of these last few days. And I have seen that deathly numbness in the faces and bodies of many others as well. But I have chosen to tell you of this particular image for another reason as well. I tell it precisely because it probably means nothing to a good many of you. The story and the visual images of the Star Wars movies are only rich and powerful and deeply engaging for my generation. For many of you Obi-Wan is a name you only vaguely remember in the conversations of your children or grandchildren. And, as absolutely incomprehensible as it may be to me, there are now several generations younger than mine that have hardly heard of Star Wars at all.

We are still in shock. We are indeed united in our stunned grief. But I think it will be very important in the days and weeks and months that still lie ahead of us all that we remember that we, as individuals, are inevitably affected by this tragedy differently, out of our own personalities, our own perspectives, our own histories. The depth of a nation’s grief is not measured by its uniformity. The sincerity of another person’s shock and outrage is not measured by its similarity to yours. The appropriateness of a person or a nation’s response to such a tragedy is not measured by any event of the past.

There is no doubt that what all of us saw and felt on Tuesday, September 11, 2001, will be with us for the rest of our lives. Many people say that after September 11^th nothing will ever be the same again.

But I want to talk about Monday. Monday, September 10^th.

On Monday, September 10^th, Christians around the world woke up and began the day with prayer. As they have for thousand and thousands of years, people of faith offered their private and corporate prayers and praises to God. They found joy, courage, hope and strength in the unshakable presence of God in their daily lives. Many in this country, Episcopalians in particular, may have begun their day with the pamphlet of prayer and meditation known as Forward Day by Day. On Monday, September 10^th, it referred to Paul’s letter to the Philippians and spoke of "sharing in the gospel." "Did you ever see a child," it said, "open a wonderful present and not share it with anyone? Good news is to be shared. ‘I pray,’ says Paul, ‘that your love may overflow.’ Love is never static; it grows or diminishes. And in growth, our capacity to love breaks through, overflows, and takes root in another and another and another. Love is always shared, and always more than enough." Words from Monday for Christians to live by any day.

On Monday, September 10^th, countless other Christians began their day with Daily Morning Prayer. As they do every single day, they presented themselves to God. Possibly, as they read through the service of Daily Morning Prayer, they may have continued by confessing their sins, large and small, so that they might begin Monday with newness of heart. They read a lesson from the First Book of Kings, chapter 13, verses 1-10. The day before they had read the end of chapter 12. The next day they would continue on in First Kings… Because, as Christians have for thousands of years, they found insight and guidance in the regular, daily reading of God’s word. They said the Lord’s Prayer… "give us this day our daily bread… thy kingdom come, thy will be done…" They prayed for the mission of the church. On Monday they said the Apostles’ Creed, reaching for, affirming, as on every day, the faith of their baptisms.

On Monday, September 10^th, I imagine some Christian woman somewhere, deeply connected to the life and worship of the church, went out to work in her garden early in the morning and began humming to herself… "Oh God, our help in ages past. Our hope for years to come. Our shelter from the stormy blast, and our eternal home." Maybe she was lonely or frightened or confused on Monday. Or maybe it is just her favorite of all hymns. The words are powerful and profound on their own. But on that ordinary Monday she felt their resonance grow and grow with the strength of the millions upon millions of voices of faith who have sung those words in days gone by.

On Monday, September 10^th, Christians around the world buried their dead. On Monday. Proclaiming in the midst of their grief and loss, as Christians always have, the sure and certain hope that in death life is changed not ended. And that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus.

On Monday, September 10^th, Christians around the world reached out with compassion to the sick and suffering. Every day for almost 2000 years Christians have heeded Jesus’ words: "If you do this for the least of these, you do it for me."

On Monday, September 10^th, some Christians might have paused for just a moment to remember the day before, a Sunday, the Lord’s Day. Perhaps on that Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost their child reached out to receive communion for the first time and the parents knew, with a startling certainty, the absolutely insurmountable strength of the bond shared by those who share the Body and Blood of Christ. Those who are united in Christ cannot be separated. And perhaps they were aware that, strengthened by that weekly Holy Communion with God, they are enabled to make God known in this sinful and broken world. In the love that Christians share—with their kids, with total strangers—God’s love is made known. In the compassion that Christians express, God’s mercy is made known. In the forgiveness that Christians offer, God’s healing is made real.

Perhaps sometime this past Monday, a goodly number of Christian clergy read the following Sunday’s Scripture readings so that those readings might color and inform their lives during the week and so that the meshing of the Scriptures with their experiences during the week might inspire their preaching the following Sunday. Those clergy would have gone to bed Monday night with these words rolling around in their minds: "Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners…"

On Monday, September 10^th, Christians gave thanks. Thanks for the food on their tables. Thanks for the blessing of families. Thanks for minds to think and hearts to love, and hands to touch and serve. Thanks for health and leisure. Thanks for those who are brave and courageous and patient. Thanks for opportunity to seek and explore and build and imagine.

And on Monday, September 10^th, a Christian prone to spiritual reflection might have reflected back upon the worst day that the world has ever seen. A day when human kind crucified the Son of God. When we left the God of love hanging to die upon a cross on Calvary. No day can ever be worse than that one. Nothing can be darker, more hopeless, more evil than that day. And yet God entered into that day of human evil and suffering and brought us out of it. Brought us out of it… Out of that very worst day God brought unimaginable new hope and new life.

On Monday, September 10^th, Christians found strength and guidance in prayer; celebrated the blessing of God’s presence; shared God’s love in worship; supported one another with compassion; and proclaimed God’s victory over evil and death.

Some people say that on Tuesday, September 11^th, everything changed.

I hope not.

I am reminded of one more scene from a movie—a scene which I hope almost all of you are familiar with, regardless of your age or background. It comes at the end of the Wizard of Oz. Dorothy, who once ran away from home, now wants nothing more than to return home. And yet, as the wizard-who-wasn’t-really-a-wizard’s hot air balloon drifts away without her, it seems all hope is lost for Dorothy. Until Glenda, the Good Witch, tells her that she has always had the power to return. She needed only to recognize what was already hers.

If we have been changed in our Christian lives by these horrific and momentous events, I pray that it is to grow in our awareness, our recognition, of who we have always been, of what has always been ours. We were and are and will always be God’s children, loved and blessed beyond measure. In our ordinary, everyday lives as Christians we are given extraordinary gifts, extraordinary resources, extraordinary powers. So in this time, let us claim and cling to our ordinary, every-day lives as Christians. Not because the normal routine is good self-help therapy. But because there is absolutely nothing better that we could be or do.

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