This morning, as you did, I woke up not particularly aware of the date. As I drove into church, though, I noticed the flag at the Plympton School at half mast, and remembered—it’s September 11. Seven years ago, I was in my first week of school as a student at General Seminary in New York City, about a mile and a half from the World Trade Center. I was sitting in class when the chapel bells started to ring, summoning the community to come together.
And so began the last seven years of war. War in Afghanistan, war in Iraq, war “on terror.” What was different on September 12, 2001, was not that the world was somehow more violent or that evil was somehow more triumphant after what had happened the day before; what was different was that it was happening to me. On September 11, 2002, a year after the attacks in the US, I was standing at a border crossing on the Gaza Strip. I was nervous about being there, but I was also nervous that I wasn’t at home in New York; what if there were more attacks on the anniversary of the first one? It also occurred to me, though, that the violence between Israelis and Palestinians was of once piece with the violence that had caused the events of the previous year. Standing in Gaza, I was all too aware of how many people in the world lived with that sense of fear. It was different now, though, because I had had a taste of it myself. The world hadn’t changed, but I had.
There is so much violence: the violence of seemingly endless war, of course, the violence of hatred, the violence of greed. It seems that there is no way out. But we are Christians.
We are called to a hope not of military triumph, but the hope of God’s dream of justice and peace. We know that there is a way that does not draw lines of who is in or out. There is a way of peace that does not distinguish between Israeli, Palestinian, American, or Pakistani. It’s not an easy way of peace. It’s not just sitting down and drinking tea together. It’s not wishing that things were different. It’s an altogether transformed reality that is just beyond our imaginations. It’s not easy, but it is there.
It’s the vision of Isaiah, of the lion laying down with the lamb. It’s the vision of Amos, who called for justice to roll down like waters, and righteousness like an everliving stream. It’s the vision of Jesus Christ, who prayed forgiveness for those who attacked him. Today, let us pray for forgiveness, too. Pray for the grace to accept God’s forgiveness for our own sins, and the grace to forgive others their sins against us.
Many Sundays, our service ends with this blessing: “the Peace of God which passes all our understanding, keep your hearts and minds in the knowledge and love of God, and of God’s Son Jesus Christ.” God’s peace may pass our understanding, but does not escape our grasp. Pray for the grace, and the guidance, to reach for it.
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