I’m on the Worship Committee at our church, which means that on a quarterly basis we get together to look ahead at upcoming significant events and discuss what we’re going to do about them. Some of it’s standard church holiday stuff (what sort of services are we going to have at Christmas), others have to do with special events (installation of our new rector, as an example).
At the last meeting, we discussed today, 9/11. There was a lot of agreement that, seeing as how it fell on a Sunday, it was fitting to somehow address the events and remaining sorrow, pain, and anger about the events of September 11 as a part of our Sunday services. Various plans were made …
… and then, of course, came Katrina.
So the Great Litany we did at the beginning of the service today included special prayers related to both events. There are so many parallels — a massive disaster and loss of life, unexpected (in some ways), certainly happening in a way that nobody was ready to cope with emotionally, and with a lot of anger, grief, confusion, and pain resulting both amongst the folks directly affected and among those who merely stood by in shock.
Oh, and finger pointing, of course. Because all that anger, grief, confusion, and pain has to go somewhere …
It makes me wonder. In some ways, though it’s hard to believe, only four years later a lot of the spirit of 9/11 has begun to fade. Part of that is due to the extent to which its imagery has been softened, part of it has to do with the human nature to try to forget pain, part of it has to do with a reluctance of the modern age to build or buy into myths (or myths of a certain sort), and part of it has to do with the myths that some tried to weave of the events of that date.
But just when some people may well have been asking whether we needed a full-blown day of mourning, four years later, for 9/11, along came the aftermath of Katrina, and the mourning was refreshed, redirected, made an ongoing process. It makes me think that, should just one more “big one” happen anywhere near or before 9/11 in the next five years, this may become a permanent day of … what, national mourning? prayer? resolve? I wonder.
At any rate, with that odd confluence that one sometimes finds in the Lectionary (many liturgical churches, such as ours, use one of a standard, parallel set of lectionaries, which identify particular Biblical readings in advance for each day of the year, or at least for each Sunday), today’s readings hit particularly home.
(And for those with no further interest, I’ll drop this down below the fold.)
All three end up talking about judgment, anger, and forgiveness. Ecclesiasticus 27:30-28:7 (we get a bit of the Apocrypha today; it’s also known as the Book of Sirach) does the OT number on it all, in particular:
He that seeketh to revenge himself, shall find vengeance from the Lord, and he will surely keep his sins in remembrance. Forgive thy neighbour if he hath hurt thee: and then shall thy sins be forgiven to thee when thou prayest. Man to man reserveth anger, and doth he seek remedy of God? He hath no mercy on a man like himself, and doth he entreat for his own sins? He that is but flesh, nourisheth anger, and doth he ask forgiveness of God? who shall obtain pardon for his sins?
Romans 18:21-35 knocks on those who disapprove of how others practice their religion. In particular:
You, then, why do you judge your brother? Or why do you look down on your brother? For we will all stand before God’s judgment seat. […] So then, each of us will give an account of himself to God.
And the Gospel — Matthew 18:21-35 — spells it out most plainly.
Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?” Jesus answered, “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.”
(Or seventy times seven times — the Greek is evidently a bit hazy on math concepts. I am not, mercifully, aware of any wars that have been fought over this particular variation in interpretation.)
Jesus then gives a neat little parable about a king who forgives a servant who owes him big-time bucks. But when he finds out that same servant isn’t passing on the mercy to his own debtors, he changes his mind and “over to the jailers to be tortured, until he should pay back all he owed.”
Expect forgiveness? Give forgiveness.
Which all sounds nice and natural and virtuous, until we run up against something like 9/11. Or the handling of Katrina. How, after all, can we forgive those who hijacked airplanes and ran them, intentionally, into crowded office buildings, hoping to kill as many people as possible. How can we forgive those folks who have so badly bungled the prep for, and the recovery from, Katrina?
And, more important, should we? For those of us who are Christian and so are, one would think, called upon to “forgive those who trespass against us” so that we, in turn, can ask that God “forgive us our trespasses,” how the hell do we forgive such acts, and, more importantly, how can we do so in such a way as to protect others (those neighbors we are to love “as ourselves”) from murderous terrorists on the one side, and criminally inept politicos on the other?
As C.S. Lewis put it, “Everyone says forgiveness is a lovely idea, until they have to forgive something.”
Damned if I know. Or, for that matter, if I want to know. Because I want to be angry at those who are responsible for so much suffering. Or, even if I don’t want to be angry at them, I want to be sure they can’t do that sort of thing ever again, and even that seems to fly in the face of Jesus’ answer to Peter, let alone this little ditty from the Sermon on the Mount.
“You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’ But I tell you, Do not resist an evil person. If someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if someone wants to sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. If someone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you.
“You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you: Love your enemies[i] and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your brothers, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.
Can you forgive and still punish? Or act against? Or seek justice? Turning the other cheek is a “lovely idea,” after all, until it’s your cheek getting slapped. Or your neighbor’s. Or your child’s. Maybe this is a case where public policy (rendering to Caesar) has to depart from personal morality (rendering to God), but in a democracy, how do you separate the two? (Not that politicians ever seem to, at least openly.)
I know much wiser heads than mine have written on this. But for me it remains a puzzlement on both the theoretical and the practical levels. And it makes this 9/11 particularly … thought-provoking. At least for me.