An anniversary is a date marking a notable event. Birthdays and weddings mark notable events that are joyous, but all anniversaries aren’t joyous. Some anniversaries mark tragedy, suffering, and grief. My week began under that cloud because a week ago Saturday, September 8th, is one such date. It was this time last year that I shared with you the story of Will Johnson. Will Johnson was my nephew Daniel’s best friend. Will was a fun-loving 17 year-old who enjoyed sports, especially football. It was on September 8th of last year that Will was making a routine tackle, when he received a blow to his chest. He suffered a cardiac concussion and died. His mother, Louanne, is my sister Cynthia’s best friend. As you can imagine, this past year has been a difficult year. Last winter, they celebrated their first Thanksgiving and Christmas without Will. His birthday came without his being there to open presents. His friends graduated from high school, enjoyed their last summer, and enrolled in college last month. While I could hardly believe a year had passed since Will’s death, I imagine it was a long and painful year for his family. September 8th is an anniversary that marks tragedy for the Johnson family.
I have a few dates like that in my life, too. August 4, 1988. I was the assistant manager for the Municipal Pool in Chapel Hill, NC. I’m on duty in the deep end, when my partner begins frantically blowing his whistle in the shallow end. I turn to see him pulling a 5 year-old boy from the water. I clear the pool, swim to the shallow end, and we begin administering CPR. He’s not breathing, he’s regurgitating, but we have a faint pulse. We do all that we can, giving mouth-to-mouth, compressions to his heart, pleading with him to breathe, but he never does. He dies in route to the hospital. August 4th never passes, without my thinking of that little boy, whose name was David.
I imagine if asked, each of you could offer an anniversary, and there are certainly dates that hold similar significance for our nation. November 22, 1963 – John F. Kennedy is assassinated. April 19, 1993 – the invasion of the Branch Davidian strong hold in Waco, TX. April 4, 1968 – Martin Luther King, Jr. is killed. April 19, 1995 – the federal building in Oklahoma City is bombed. April 20, 1999 – gunfire and mayhem break out at Columbine High School in Colorado, and now, September 11, 2001 – the World Trade Center in New York and the Pentagon in Washington, DC are attacked by terrorists. We as individuals, as a community, and as a country are now victims. We will not forget the date, September 11th.
Disbelief has enveloped our country; tears have been shed; individual and corporate prayers have been expressed; flags have been raised; money has been given; blood has been donated. And we, at this time, join millions who enter houses of worship asking "Why?" We come here this morning, having come face-to-face with evil, having been invaded by a group of people who have a blatant disregard for human life, and we don’t come this morning rejoicing. We come angry, numb, grief-stricken, horrified, and full of pain; and we come into the presence of God and say, "Make sense of this, oh God. Tell us why. If you are in control, if you are merciful, if you are sovereign, if you are love, help me understand."
I’ve felt the same way, and I’ve asked the same questions. On Friday, one of you said to me, "David, I’ve seen you make sense out of whole lot of situations, but you’ve got your work cut out for you trying to make sense out of this week." He’s right, but the truth is, no one can make sense out of this past week. No one can provide answers, but that’s why we’re here. In times like these, our hope comes from being together, and knowing that the person sitting beside you, in front of you, and across from you shares a fundamental belief in Jesus Christ, and that in being here together we can find hope. We can’t make sense of it today, but we can find hope.
John’s passage is a glimpse into the life of the grief-stricken. Mary and Martha’s brother, Lazarus, has died, and Jesus has come to be with his friends. Mary runs out to Jesus and says, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.” She’s honoring Jesus by suggesting his presence and power could’ve saved Lazarus, but I also hear in Mary’s voice, “Where were you? Why weren’t you here?” Mary’s upset that Jesus wasn’t there to prevent Lazarus’ death.
When someone dies, anger is normal, and to question God’s role in that death is normal as well. I have no doubt that people have been angry this past week: angry at the terrorists who carried out such a horrific act; angry at our government for having been caught off guard; angry at the FAA and the airports for not having better security; and angry at God that He wasn’t there to stop it.
This past week has brought the same round of questions that Mary and Martha asked, “Why didn’t you stop those terrorists from boarding the plane? Why didn’t you thwart their plan?" Maybe you’ve asked similar questions in the past “God, where were you three years ago when my father died of cancer? Where were you when my husband had a heart attack? Where were you when my child drowned?” It’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to be upset, but as Christians, as a group of believers who profess their faith and trust in God, how do we deal with it?
Some have chosen to deal with it by becoming violent themselves. 300 people attempted to march on a Muslim mosque in Chicago. People from various ethnic and religions groups have been beaten and received death threats. And even some religious leaders have used this situation to hurl angry words, like Jerry Falwell, who said, "The abortionists have got to bear some burden for this because God will not be mocked. And when we destroy 40 million little innocent babies, we make God mad," He goes on to say, "I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People for the American Way--all of them have tried to secularize America--I point the finger in their face and say, ’You helped this happen.’" I’ve got one word for Rev. Falwell, "Absurd," and I’m embarrassed that he claims to be Baptist and worship the same God I do. Being angry is okay, acting on that anger and fueling further hate and violence is not.
Look at what Christ did - he went to be with Mary and Martha. In the midst of their grief and suffering, he came to be with them. He was there, and it’s a clear indication that Christ was there in the midst of the Tuesday’s terror, and I can say without any hesitation that He is present now, comforting every victim who has come home to him in heaven, comforting every grieving family member and friend, and comforting each one of you, just as he did for Mary and Martha.
Christ’s presence with Mary and Martha is an example of his compassion and love for them, but it was more than a friendly gesture, because John tells us that Jesus was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He was physically upset and cried. Jesus cried because he loved Lazarus. He cried because Mary and Martha were upset, and it disturbed him to see them in so much pain.
This past week ahs been full of immense pain. All across our country, cries could be heard, and God cried with us. He cried for those who died. He cried for their families and friends, knowing firsthand the pain and grief associated with the death of a loved one. We can’t forget that God grieved the death of a Son, and as we are all God’s children, He grieved again this past Tuesday, and He also cried for those responsible. They too were his children, and he cried because of their death and because of their disregard for human life and God’s desire for peace and love.
I read a story of a young boy who was sent to the corner store by his mother to buy a loaf of bread. He was gone much longer than it should have taken him. When he finally returned, his mother asked, “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you.” “Well,” he answered, “there was a little boy with a broken bike who was crying. So I stopped to help him.” “I didn’t know you knew anything about fixing bikes,” his mother said. “I don’t, I just stayed there and cried with him.”
Strangers have clung to each other, arm in arm, hand in hand, hugging, sharing their tears and their grief. The offering of your presence and tears in the midst of crisis can never be underestimated. Friday around noon I sat in this sanctuary with two other people. We talked some, sat in silence mostly, but our being together was a source of strength of me, not because of anything that was said, but because we were there together aware of and sharing each other’s pain. Through his presence and tears, Christ made it known to Mary and Martha that he loved them and that he loved Lazarus, and God cries today.
But the good news is that God can do more that be with us and cry. He has the power to bring a glorious and miraculous outcome. The miraculous outcome in our scripture was in Lazarus being raised from the dead. As Christians, our faith tells us that we can always count on God for a glorious and miraculous outcome.
We can’t always see this outcome because within our narrow, human point of view, we place limits on what God’s glory and miracles look like. We believe that the only miracle available to a cancer patient is complete physical healing, but what about the spiritual miracle that may come to that cancer patient in the midst of their disease? What about the glorious renewal of family relationships that may be healed and strengthened because of the crisis? What about a grieving son’s vow to make things right with his children? Those are miraculous outcomes. Now the God I worship doesn’t send disease or tragedy to bring about a specific end, but He does work within and through those circumstances to bring about good, to bring about His glory, and I have no doubt that will be the case this tragedy.
Those who lost family and friends in Tuesday’s attacks are probably wondering, “Where’s my miracle? Why didn’t something delay my husband from going into work? Why wasn’t my son detained before boarding the plane? Where’s my miracle that restores life like Lazarus?”
In Matthew’s Gospel Christ says, “Come to me all that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” Being a Christian doesn’t exempt us from pain. Being a Christian doesn’t give us a free pass on suffering. Christ certainly knew pain, and Christ certainly knew suffering, which is why he can say, “Come to me, I’ve been there, I have felt it, and I will give you rest.” The miracle that God can and will deliver is the miracle of a God that cares enough about you, and you alone to show up, to cry, and to bring comfort. When we trust him with our pain, when we give him our suffering, he will sustain us and give us rest.
Some of the saddest images I’ve seen on the news are of people with pictures of their husbands and daughters and mothers hanging around their necks, walking the streets hoping and praying for a miracle, the miracle of their loved one being alive, and while they should hope and pray for that, if that turns out to not be the case, I hope they’ll continue to pray, staying in tune for the miracle that God will deliver, because He will.
Louanne Johnson would say that God has done miraculous work in the wake of her son’s death. Her miracle didn’t involve Will living, rather that her family is now an example of God’s redemptive love. Will’s father and brothers have formed a Christian band, Louanne is an active speaker who speaks energetically about Will’s enthusiasm for life, and God’s continued grace and mercy for them in the wake of Will’s death. The miracle that God has brought through her tragedy is in the witness and example their family provides for God, and the lives that they are now touching. To a grieving loved one, that doesn’t seem like a fair trade, but to a Christian whose life is sustained by the love of our Lord, it gives us strength.
The same holds true for the tragedy our country experienced on Tuesday. The headlines of our paper said “The Unthinkable,” and it is. We cry out, “God how could this happen? Where are you?” This is where the Psalmist speaks directly to our situation. VS 1-6.
In light of what happened Tuesday laid against the Psalmists words, how could anyone say that God’s Word is irrelevant? This Psalmist described exactly what happened to our country on Tuesday, but he does more than describe the situation, he offers the remedy. He offers hope. VS 7-10.
In our limited understanding, I don’t know that we will ever be able to fully grasp how God will bring about a glorious and miraculous outcome from such a heinous act of terrorism. But look again at verse 10, “Let the righteous rejoice in the Lord and take refuge in him.”
The answer is refuge in our Lord, not revenge. The answer is standing firm in our faith, not striking back in anger. Yes, we absolutely must find those responsible, and they need to be brought to justice. We must be careful that we don’t blur the line between justice and vengeance. God will take care of us. God will triumph in the end, and God’s grace and mercy will continue to flow.
It is with a deep sense of sadness that we mourn those lives that have been forever changed. Our lives have been forever changed. September 11th will forever be remembered as the anniversary of the Attack on America. We each have our own anniversaries, but as Christians, we have hope. My prayer is that you find comfort in God’s mercy and that you seek refuge in God’s grace. Billy Graham said on Friday, "We can either implode or stand firm on the foundation of our faith." "Let the righteous rejoice in the Lord and take refuge in him.”
