Meditating on September 11, 2001

It is difficult to believe that ten years have passed since the attacks that took place on September 11, 2001. The memories are still fresh and raw; almost everyone remembers exactly where they were and what they were doing when they first heard the news. Most seem to have a deeply personal story associated with that day or its aftermath, stories of lost friends or loved ones, stories of incredible heroism, stories of peril and sadness. The stories have yet to lose their sharp edges; perhaps they never will.
Osama Bin Laden and the wicked men who hijacked three airliners not only killed 3000 people, they also haunted and terrified the rest of the world. Each time we go to the airport and are forced to remove our shoes, belts, and go through body scans and humiliating searches, the haunting continues.
The aftermath of the events of that day on this country and the rest of the world have been profound. Many people, especially those who are personally connected to the three hijackings have had their lives forever altered and tinged with undying grief. When we travel, most of us turn a wary eye on anyone who doesn't quite fit the norm and we have all learned a vocabulary that was incomprehensible just ten years ago. We have learned about pre emptive war, enhanced interrogation techniques, extra ordinary rendition, threat levels, enemy combatants, drone attacks, the Patriot Act, Homeland Security Administration, victim compensation, undisclosed location, shoe bombers, black ops, and a host of other terms that have entered our vocabulary and changed our lives.
There are common threads that have run through these years; some have been positive, others destructive. The determination to repair and rebuild after the attacks has brought much in the way of healing to many. The ongoing effort to find those responsible and bring them to justice while working to be certain that such attacks cannot happen again has woven itself into the fabric of our lives. One thread that is disturbing is that we now have two generations of children who have not known much else than that our nation is always at war. Their lives have been shaped by the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and to many of them the world seems a threatening place.
There was a time in the immediate aftermath of the attacks when many people felt both angry and powerless. They couldn't go to New York, or Pennsylvania, or Washington, D. C. to lend their aid. Osama Bin Laden proved elusive, and getting revenge or justice was not going to come easily or quickly. The best we could hope is that one day justice would be done. We were legitimately angry about what had taken place and the outlets for that anger were few.
Christian theologians from Aquinas to Bonhoeffer have written about the legitimacy of anger regarding injustice. Such anger often ignites the passion that leads to working for justice. Martin Luther King railed against the injustice of racial discrimination and prejudice. Nelson Mandella put his life on the line to work for the end of apartheid in South Africa. Pope John Paul II confronted the communists who were destroying the economy and morality of Poland. The anger of each was indeed justified.
The Bible also speaks about God's righteous anger at those who flout justice, oppress the poor, commit murder and plunder the people. Yet, God doesn't go off on an emotional tirade. Instead, God consistently works to bring justice to a world that misses the mark. The Law, the Prophets and the Incarnation itself clearly demonstrate God's deep concern for justice. However, there is a fine line between righteous anger that works itself out in constructive change and justice, and anger that turns into an irrational and passionate desire for retribution and vengeance. This type of anger can lead lead to what some have called "one of the seven deadly sins." Martin Luther King did not want to kill white Americans, he wanted to change turn their thinking and their hearts around. Mandella didn't want to exterminate the perpetrators of apartheid, but insisted that every South African recieve the same rights and dignity. Pope John Paul II didn't hate the communists, but he wanted them to end a system that degraded the people's lives. The anger and desire for justice of each of these was suffused with love that sought a positive future for everyone. This is the place where the radical forgiveness described by and demonstrated by Jesus own life, impinges upon our anger, our desire for justice, and our selfish need for vengeance.
The appointed Gospel for the thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost, which coincides with September 11th, has Jesus telling the parable of the unforgiving servant (Matthew 18:21-35). In Jesus' radical way of looking at reconciliation, the work of forgiveness becomes the mutual responsibility of the offended one, to draw the offender back into the community or back into relationship. It is a refusal, born out of love, to give up even on those who have offended us most deeply, caused the greatest pain, and perhaps, have the potential to cause harm again. Yet the cross itself attests to the absolute nature of Jesus' radical claim. ("Father forgive them...")
Jesus' radical response to Peter, in the aftermath of the events of ten years ago, may make us uncomfortable. There was, and remains, legitimate anger and a desire for justice that remains in the aftermath of those days. However, as recipients of forgiveness and agents of this same grace, we are called to put away our claims for vengeance and to work for reconciliation. It remains our calling that love be more than a wish; that it be the work we take up as an essential part of our life in Christ.
In the ten years since the attacks, much healing has taken place. Memorials have been built at each of the sites and while remembering those who were lost, people have begun rebuilding their lives.
Leaving New York harbor a couple of weeks ago the sight of the new Freedom Tower was a tangible sign of the rebuilding and healing that is taking place. The cranes rising up its sides seemed to be resetting the very bones of the city. Returning the following week in the pre dawn darkness the statue of Liberty still shown her welcoming light, a continuing testament to one of the nations foundational ideals. Healing, however, will be complete when the desire for vengeance has breathed its last, when each of us can look into the face of the most unseemly stranger, the most foreign visitor, and without reservation desire that God will bless them and hold them in love.