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A True MemorialSeptember 10, 2006 Fourteenth Sunday after Pentecost Melissa and I were in Copenhagen last week when, during one of our final days, I contracted a high fever with chills and a relentless cough. The next morning she said she wanted me to see a doctor. I said I wanted to visit Elsinor, the castle made famous by Shakespeare as the realm of Danish Prince Hamlet. That night, though glad for our Elizabethan foray, the fever and cough returned with a vengeance. Melissa was not happy with me, though perfectly respectful and caring. I came home sick. I finally went to the doctor on Friday to get some antibiotics. I hold Shakespeare accountable for my situation, and you can imagine what Melissa makes of that. In any case, I apologize ahead for any coughing that might erupt this morning…. Now back after a month’s hiatus, I’ve been wondering about this: just exactly how long is five years? We all know that, to some degree, our perception of time is a matter of one’s age. To a five-year-old, five years is a lifetime. To a centenarian, it’s but a blink of an eye. For the rest of us, it falls somewhere in-between. Then, too, I suppose it matters which five years we’re talking about. Which beginning point starts the clock? Five years ago today we were married; five years ago I began the new job; five years ago I moved to New York; five years ago the love of my life abandoned me. And so on. I know that sometimes, on certain occasions, I wonder about the meaning of the intervening years. It happens at birthdays, for instance, and anniversaries of one sort or another. And, of course, a certain five-year anniversary comes ‘round tomorrow. That’s what got me thinking about this as I approached my first Sunday back after a good long break. On the beautiful morning of September 11, 2001, the end of our island was suddenly, shockingly turned into smoldering rubble, and I’ve been wondering about these last five years from the vantage point of that day. I remember that “beneath a resurgent patriotism and behind a simmering outrage of violation and loss, a profound truth was revealed in the targets themselves: two of the mightiest symbols of power and wealth in the world were brought crashing down to their foundations. In the world’s financial capital no amount of money made any difference at all as the towers fell. None. No accomplishment, no fame or notoriety, no amount of preplanned security, no level of striving for comfort, no access to power – none of this made the slightest bit of difference when the towers came down in the wealthiest city in the wealthiest country in the world.”[1] I remember writing those very words back then. Many of us lost friends and co-workers on that occasion, and the city lost many of it’s finest. It’s fitting that we take a moment to honor their memory…. Now, five years later, I realize that I have found myself focusing attention on some basic things. For all of its destructive power, and on-going reshaping of our political culture, 9/11 had a clarifying effect closer to home. There is no question that, for some, it seemed to bring to light fundamental spiritual values, essential building blocks of a life well-lived. For me, it has had the effect of illuminating the significance of what we do here. The effect can seem subtle. But don’t the stakes for the living of our days seem more sharply drawn? It’s hard to remember my frame of reference in the days before 9/11. Certainly, on the surface, nothing much changed. And each of us advanced into our lives. Still, is it just me, or does it not seem, compared to, say, six years ago, there is a greater sense of urgency to getting it right, as opposed to just getting? And it seems that certain words we use in here are heard with a different set of ears, ears that strain to learn something important, something that might be missed, except by taking the chance to cross the threshold from sidewalk to sanctuary. So, for instance, this morning we heard our ancient texts say some very homely things like this: “A good name is to be chosen rather than great riches, and favor is better than silver or gold. The rich and the poor have this in common: the Lord is the maker of them all.”[2] Well, on a 9/11 anniversary these small aphorisms take on some freight, don’t they? They don’t just whiz by. We hear them with different ears, I think. Some scholars believe that the book of Proverbs arose during a time of corruption and moral weakening. I suppose some persons today might feel that description could characterize our own time. Personally, I‘m not certain that our time is especially corrupt. What I am certain of is that we are subject to the same sort of corruption today as our forebears were two or three thousand years ago. Their hard won wisdom is as relevant today as it was then. I wonder if, in a post 9/11 nation, we don’t hear the question differently than we once did? If forced to choose, would you rather have a name associated with wealth, or one associated with great character? Most want to believe these are not mutually exclusive goals; but still, in a forced choice test, which would come out on top? The text functions subversively in our context, doesn’t it, where two of the mightiest symbols came crashing down in the wealthiest city in the wealthiest nation in the world? Proverbs in particular places the moral life squarely within the realm of choice. We have choices to make. All of the time. Every day presents us with myriad choices, many of which carry moral freight. That is, they carry some component of meaning that is larger than our individual self-interest. What am I going to do in this situation? How shall I live? To what ends shall I direct my time and energy? What actually hallows life? Who am I in relation to everyone else? How do we belong to one another? Granted, not everyone asks these questions. But I’m guessing, since you’ve taken the time to be here this morning, that you entertain them, at least from time to time. And I also know that a good chunk of the population out there has these questions lurking around the fringe of consciousness. I tell you it must be so, given my belief we were all formed by the same loving Creator whose very breath fills our lungs. We can’t help ourselves wondering about what a life is really for. Well, we can put the question off, we can smother it with every sort of preoccupation, we can stuff it, drown it, ignore it; but then something happens, maybe something terrible and shocking, and, at least for a moment, the clutter is ripped away and we see our choices more starkly exposed. When we were in Copenhagen, I learned a bit about Germany’s occupation of Denmark during World War II. Despite Denmark’s initial passive response to Germany’s invasion in 1940, by 1943 the Danes were largely resolved in their defiance of Hitler’s so-called “Final Solution” of the Jews. In September of 1943, Hitler signed off on the round-up of the Jews in Denmark; but, through a series of leaks, the word was spread and just days prior to the order taking effect, much of the Jewish population had been placed in hiding, ultimately finding safe passage in small groups of 5, 10 or 20 on Danish boats crossing the straight to Sweden, so that only a very small fraction of the Jewish population was gathered by the Germans.[3] I was unaware of this small story, but it occurs to me that, in order for such an undertaking to succeed, there had to be in place some larger moral sense of what a life was for, some large answer to the questions: What hallows life? And how do we belong to one another? Which reminds me of a poignant story I shared on another occasion some years ago, but bears repeating here. It’s told by Rabbi Shifra Penzias, about her great-aunt, Sussie, who rode a bus home on a snowy evening in Munich. Suddenly, SS storm troopers stopped the coach and began examining the identification papers of the passengers. Most were annoyed but a few were terrified. Jews were being told to leave the bus and get into the truck around the corner. Sussie watched from her seat in the rear as the soldiers systematically worked their way down the aisle. She began to tremble, tears streaming down her face. When the man next to her noticed that she was crying, he asked her why.
The man exploded with disgust. He began to curse and scream at her. “You stupid (expletive deleted),” he roared. I can’t stand being near you!” The SS men asked what all the yelling was about. “Damn her," the man shouted angrily. “My wife has forgotten her papers again! I’m so fed up. She always does this!” The soldiers laughed and moved on. Sussie never saw the man again. She never even knew his name.[4] In that moment, some larger frame of reference, some large answer to the question, What is a life for?, was operative within this man. Something other than his own immediate self-interest directed his actions. He placed himself squarely against the prevailing corruption of his society. Perhaps some otherwise trite sounding, yet profoundly true moralisms shaped his thinking. For instance, something about a good name, perhaps a name associated with compassion, courage, and integrity, was worth more than, well, maybe even more than life itself. Or, maybe he had taken to heart the admonition we heard from James this morning who wrote, “You do well if you really fulfill the royal law according to the scripture, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”[5] Five years after 9/11, I have some concerns about our nation. I’m concerned about a certain kind of complacency in an otherwise well-sated society, complacency in persons everywhere, whoever they might be, regardless of their station. I’m concerned about our lack of focus on matters pertaining to our common good, matters that might best extract sacrificial behavior rather than grasping behavior. I’m concerned about the co-opting of religion for largely political purposes that drains it of its depth and capacity to call for moral courage. I’m concerned that the painful learnings available in the deaths of so many are being lost in a continuing chorus of fear. It seems to me that a true memorial to those lost in our nation would prompt a very deep silence and profound consideration of all that hallows life. And for us, who are shaped by the words and music and spirit of places like this, prompt less vitriol out there, more thoughtful engagement, more listening, more striving to make our common good a higher ideal than our selfish desire, and a focus of our activity and attention. I mean, that’s hard to argue with, isn’t it, sitting under the feet of this one up there who gave himself freely for all? That said, the good news is that faith and grace abound. Our God loves us still. “O God, our help in ages past, our hope for years to come, our shelter from the stormy blast, and our eternal home.”[7] Those words sing and ring true. The healing witness of Jesus underscores that no one of us is left behind in God’s economy. Because of this astonishing good news, our purposes and responsibilities begin to clarify. Together then, as fall advances, may this enduring grace bind us together, summon our various energies and call us to live more faithfully and courageously in the days ahead. I’ve said it before, I will say it again, thank God we have each other. God bless you. Let’s build the church God intends. ________________
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