"7 Years Later: Lessons from 9/11"
Countering fear with a solid foundation of faith
Sermon Preached by
The Rev. Dr. Andrew Stirling
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Text: Romans 14:1-12
The refrain echoed from the op-ed pages of The New York Times to the commentators on TVO. The words echoed from the steps of Parliament Hill in Ottawa to the ridings of the bureaucrats in Whitehall in London. They were echoed from this very pulpit here at Timothy Eaton Memorial Church and by late night hosts of chat shows in the United States, although more subdued than usual. The refrain went as follows: “The world will never be the same.” In the aftermath of September 11, 2001, that refrain was echoed almost universally.
Hyperbole? Yes. An exaggeration to some extent? Yes. But for a continent that had hitherto seen itself as inviolable, steeped in apathy and self-content, self-absorbed and complacent, the events of that day shook the very fabric of our foundation. The extent to which it changed everything is actually considerable.
If one could ask those who died, some 3,000 plus in New York City, in Pennsylvania, and at the Pentagon, they would attest that the world had changed. For the countless thousands, even in the hundreds of thousands who have died subsequently in Iraq and Afghanistan the world had changed. For the mothers and fathers, wives, husbands, children, grandchildren and siblings of those Canadians fighting in Afghanistan who are brought home to be buried, their lives have changed. For those who have sat in prisons in Guantanamo Bay, everything has changed.
For young people in a nightclub in Bali, for others commuting in Madrid or London, everything has changed. For those who travel, who cross borders, who go around the world, we all know everything has changed. For the discussion between nations, for geopolitical theories, we know that in the light of 9/11 everything has changed. For those who do business, for those who look at their bank books and wallets, for those who look at the balance of payments in countries throughout the world, particularly to the south of us, everything has changed. Be under no illusions, my friends. This first decade of a new millennium has to a very large extent been dominated by the events of September 11, 2001.
So, why, you are asking, do I want to revisit it today? Why dig up all the hurt, and all the pain and all the sorrow? Why keep the myths and legends of that event boiling and on the front page? Well, I'm not going to do a post mortem of 9/11. There have been pieces on the op-ed pages of The New York Times this week talking about the memorial. There have been countless letters to the editors in The Toronto Star, The Globe and Mail and The National Post. Steve Paikin's program, The Agenda, has dealt with it for three nights. I don't need to do a post mortem of it, nor is that my right, privilege or responsibility. But I do think it is worth revisiting to ask some salient questions.
I base this on a very biblical foundation, namely that the Old Testament contains the concept of the sabbatical. The sabbatical wasn't, as it is now in academic parlance, something that we give to people who are in academia. Rather, after seven years the sabbatical was a year of rest for labourers who ceased toiling on a particular field. It gave the country a rest. There was also a thing called jubilee, which occurred every seven times seven years plus one year. At that time, prisoners were set free, mortgages were ripped up and debts were cancelled.
The purpose of this was, to borrow a phrase from computer language, to reset; to refocus on the things that matter. It was just like the Sabbath, the seventh day, which is a day of rest so that we might think about the things that are truly important in life. So I think it is fitting, seven years after 9/11, to reset and focus on the things that really matter. I use as a foundation for this a passage from the Book of Romans. It might sound like an obscure text when one thinks of it out of its context, but it is a powerful one.
In my last sermon, I suggested that the city of Rome, to which Paul was writing, was a heterogeneous, violent, dangerous place in many ways, particularly for the fledgling Christian community. It was not only Rome that had its many peoples, traditions, languages and dangers, but also the new Christians themselves. They were following this new person, Jesus of Nazareth, and were as different as the city they came from. Many of them brought traditions from their religious and cultural backgrounds into the Church. Many of them disputed whether or not those traditions were still important, now that they were new Christians. For example, some people ate meat while others were vegetarians. Some said there were holy days that you had to adhere to, while others said all days were holy. Some said you could drink wine; others were abstemious. They brought these different traditions and they were arguing amongst themselves.
The Apostle Paul writes to them and he says, “Do not let these disputable matters, these sources of argument, become a distraction from your faith. Do not let these disputable matters ruin your foundation and your unity.” He uses the word from which we get the word dialogue, “dialogismos.” Paul was not so much concerned about the nature of these debates or the points of reference in them as he was about the effect they were having on the community as a whole. He stresses to them the need to focus on the things that really matter. He saw that this newfound faith and this new Church in Rome was standing in a very precarious place because it was debating unimportant things rather than important things.
Paul goes on to use some fascinating language. His language suggests that Christians, people of faith, need to emphasize and concentrate on things of ultimate concern. So, here we are, seven years after 9/11, and I think we need to focus on these points of ultimate concern. We need to focus on them because if we don't, there are dangers to us and, indeed, to the world.
Thirty-four years ago this very week, my mother and father and I emigrated to Canada. We arrived in New Brunswick at the beginning of a school year, and I began my first week of school. I remember it as if it were yesterday. I was introduced in Physical Education to a game I'd never played before in my life: baseball. Here I was, thrown into this game, given a bat and told to play. Now, you must understand, I'd been brought up playing a game that had an outfit that was very suitable for afternoon tea - I played cricket. Now I was playing a game that involved wearing pyjamas. I couldn't figure this out. I had to stand and hit a ball that was thrown right at my face - never had that before. I got up, swung and missed, swung and missed, swung and missed. Then I was told I had to sit down. I thought, “Boy, there's not much to this game, is there?” Then the coach came over to me and said, “You've never played this game before, have you?”
I said, “No, I haven't.”
He said, “Here's a word of advice: From the moment that the ball leaves the tips of the pitcher's fingers, to the moment it hits the end of your bat, never take your eyes off it.”
I said, “Good advice.” So, I stepped up to the plate, and when the first pitch was thrown my way, I swung and I missed - but I was closer. Then the second pitch was hurtling toward me and the coach called out my name, so I turned to him and the ball hit me right on the temple. I have ascribed to that one incident many intellectual anomalies over the years. Then there was a third pitch and again, the game was over for me and I had to sit down. I went over to the coach and asked, “Why did you call out my name?”
He said, “I'm testing you. Do you know how dangerous it is if you turn away and don't keep your eye on the ball?”
I said, “Now I know, thanks to you!”
It can be dangerous to take your eye off the ball. The Apostle Paul knew that for the early Church. Seeing how the early Christians were easily distracted by silly arguments, by things that didn't really matter, he said these words to them: “Let us then pursue what makes for peace and for mutual edification.”
Nathan Baxter, who at the time of 9/11 was the minister of the Cathedral Church in Washington, D.C. gave a sermon in memorial of those who had died. In it, he gave a warning: “Let us not become the evil we deplore.” You see, Baxter's fear was that the world would act out of fear and, in so doing, lose sight of the ball and do dangerous things. What do we need to do, then, seven years later, lest we fall into that same trap? How can we reset, as it were, and focus on the things that really matter? I realize that what I'm saying here from the pulpit of Timothy Eaton Memorial Church isn't going to affect many of the people who are involved in geopolitical decision-making. I know that terrorists and fanatics are not going to listen to what I say, likewise politicians. But this is a word for the Church, and the world needs the Church to be the Church right now. In part, this means we need to reinvigorate our sense of having a spiritual and moral foundation, particularly for the young people and for the next generation.
We recently had a magnificent example of that in our own young people, who went to El Hogar in South America and built a place for impoverished children. It was inspirational to see them and see the look in their eyes, knowing they have done something positive and good. There are good young people around - there really are.
Seven years ago, right after September 11th, this church was full. It was full of young people, and young families and people who were frightened and mourning and uncertain. People saying, “We need a spiritual foundation for our lives, we need something strong, a moral guide in the midst of chaos.” But there has been a retreat from that back to materialism, back to self-interest, back to only what matters for the self. We still live in a dangerous world; we still live in a world that needs a solid foundation, a foundation predicated on something and on someone who can guide it, and that foundation is the grace of Jesus Christ.
We need that. And I think we need to have a greater understanding, a mutual understanding, of people who hold different religious views than our own. In The National Post this week, Father De Souza had an article in which he talked about the better dialogue that exists between the Roman Catholic Church and Muslim leaders. I remember that, in the aftermath of 9/11, people of different faiths took part in a meeting at Holy Rosary Catholic Church. This year for the first time, the interfaith dinner had an imam come to speak to a group of Christians and Jews. There has been a great deal of study and understanding of what needs to take place to understand one another, and this must be done.
Here I make an appeal, and my appeal is this: To truly, fully engage people of other faiths, we, ourselves, need to be strong and firm and convicted in our own. I say that because I think that you can, in fact, go to your neighbour who holds a different point of view in a position of peace, in a position of understanding, in a position of strength if you know in whom you believe and what you believe. What's happened over the last seven years is that we've sort of developed this vacuous syncretism, basically saying that we all believe the same thing. No, we don't! But does that mean that we cannot understand one another? Does it mean that we cannot embrace one another? Does it mean that we cannot love one another? After all, “Our faith,” says Paul, “is to pursue peace and build one another up.”
I believe that needs to happen. Seven years after 9/11, there needs to be an even greater commitment, both to that dialogue and understanding and also to keeping our foundation strong. Why? Because I believe that the people who are really strong are those who have convictions. The people who are very weak concentrate on the things that don't matter and the things that divide. Paul saw this. It was the arguments about holy days, food and wine that caused division. He called those people the weak, but said the strong were those who had a foundation in their faith that enabled them to live in peace with others.
A solid foundation of faith can mean everything. But all of this, of course, is predicated on one thing for the Apostle Paul and it's one thing that I get up every morning and think about. No matter what the news is, no matter what bombards us, no matter what challenges are in my life, the Church's life or the country's life, whatever is being sold by whatever politician on whatever day, I know one thing: That this world belongs to God. The one who has ultimate dominion is the Lord God Almighty.
Paul says it, he says it clearly, “If we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord; so then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord's.” It is in that hope, and in that conviction and in that strength that you can live without fear - either fear of tomorrow, or fear of yesterday or fear of today. With that conviction, you know when you wake up every single day and when you go to bed every single night that this world, and you, yourself, are in the Lord's hands and that all things belong to the Lord.
I know that there are some who deviate from this and are uncomfortable talking about the lordship of Christ. But the lordship of Christ is not a weapon with which to beat others over the head; it is an invitation to enter into the love of God. I believe absolutely in the lordship of Jesus Christ, and in believing I am free to engage my brother in love, respect and peace. I don't have fear.
Author Peter Marshall tells a wonderful Persian tale.
There was once a merchant who sent his servant to town to make some purchases. The servant returned quickly, ashen-faced, shaking, looking very uncomfortable. The merchant asked him, “Why have you come back so soon?
The servant said, “While I was in town, I was jostled in the crowd and turned around and saw death. She was standing right behind me and she looked angry. Master, would you loan me your horse, that I might ride away from Baghdad tonight and stay in Summara where I will be safe from death?”
The master agreed and said, “By all means take the horse.”
The servant rode off to Summara. The master then went into town and he, too, came face to face with death. He said to death, “Why is it that you look so disdainfully and angrily at my servant?
She said, “I didn't. It was a look of shock at seeing him in Baghdad, for tonight I have an appointment with him in Summara.”
Fear can cause us to do terrible things. Faith allows us to withstand the powers of fear. Whether it is a stranger or our neighbour, whether it is the weak or the strong, whether it is our friend or our enemy, we can embrace them all if we do not have fear. And the way not to have fear is to know that, whether we live or die, all people belong to the Lord whose name shall be praised. Amen.