This, to say the least, has been an interesting week for our country en masse and for all Americans individually.
It started off gloriously. Much of the nation was experiencing the first hints of autumn. Skies were clear. The sharp edge was off the oppressive heat. Monday, a splendid day, became Tuesday, with the same wonderful promise was in the air. Clear, cooler, nearly cloudless, nearly perfect.
But there was a cloud looming over our heads, a cloud we could not see because its source was not condensed moisture. The skies were blue and crystal clear, but a storm front was gathering. Dark, ominous clouds of an unseen and violent nature . . . clouds carrying a storm of unprecedented proportion and unimagined ferocity.
It came up, not from the horizon of the earth’s curve, but from hatred born in human hearts. It cast its cloudy pall far and wide, but still we could not see it. Indeed, it is obvious that this storm front had been gathering for some time—roiling, building its strength and purpose, whipping its might into frenzy and determination. And our eyes beheld it not. Not yet. The storm, even at the moment of breaking was invisible to innocent eyes. But break it did. Without warning or obvious provocation, the storm broke loose with full fury.
Yes, Tuesday, September 11th was a beautiful day masking a hidden, violent, earth-rending, life-changing storm. A beautiful day, a magnificent day of clear skies and the beauty of God’s nature displayed for all to enjoy . . . and a wonderful day for flying.
Oh, how I wish that we didn’t all know the fury of that storm, that we hadn’t seen the sights of suicidal collisions, streaming explosions, gouts of flame, billowing smoke, plummeting bodies, collapsing towers, the artificial snow of thousands of pieces of paper fluttering to earth, the apocalyptic appearance of mountainous walls of dust and debris cascading through the streets.
I wish we hadn’t seen it. I wish it hadn’t happened. I pray God he would turn back the clock and make the storm’s opening rage a thing that never was and never would be.
But that’s not to be. What is is. What’s real is this reality. And even though it hurts and confuses and appalls and angers and saddens and . . . well, you know how we all feel. Even though we feel so much, we cannot make it go away.
And we cannot even find a good answer—a satisfactory answer—to the many, many ways we attempt to ask, “Why? Why would God stand back and let this happen, let this evil be perpetrated on his children by his children? Why?”
The best we can muster is a somewhat hollow sounding explanation about God loving us so much that he allows us free will to do good or evil. We remind ourselves what God has shown us in history and in inspired Spirit-filled moments: that God did not create us to be marionettes—puppets on celestial strings—but free, thinking, deciding, feeling, choosing sons and daughters, and that he loves us enough to let us be free even when the abuse of our freedom brings him to tears. We remind ourselves of that, but right now we’d gladly trade all our freedom of will in exchange for the lives of the 5,000 or so of our countrymen that have been so uncleanly taken. If God had just attached a few strings, and controlled us all like the eternal puppeteer he could be but chooses not to be, those people might be alive. So free will sounds like such a sham, right now, and the explanation offers so little comfort.
We feel it. Since Tuesday we’ve felt it deeply: guilt, remorse, anger, hate, grief, desolation. These have stirred in us as a sour mixture. There’s a new storm brewing, now, and it’s in us.
And this storm, too, is a powerful storm. It’s fueled by resolve, an awful, incredible resolve to see justice. To gain vengeance. To have our revenge on the beasts who have struck us so foul a blow.
But when we declare that those who struck us are beasts, aren’t we becoming what we loathe? Aren’t we de-humanizing what God created human? Aren’t we devaluing what God values, the life of one of his children or many of his children.
You see, God still values his children even when they’re wayward, when they do evil, even when they do beastly things. He never desires the death of a sinner, but desires always that a sinner might turn to him and sin no more. He leaves the 99 and goes after the one lost sheep until he finds it and rejoices. He searches for the lost coin and rejoices when he finds it. Does he search less if the sheep was really evil or the coin tarnished? No! he does not.
God values the lives of those who perpetrated the attacks in New York and Washington and in the skies over Pennsylvania just as much as he values the lives of their victims. Maybe that’s not what we want to hear right now, but it’s true nevertheless.
So, what am I saying? Shall we turn the other cheek? Do I dare advocate that we not strike back? No. That’s not what I’m saying. But I am saying that we must be sure what we are doing. We must be absolutely certain that we make no errors before we pursue any course that meets force with force, or violence with violence.
The Crusades taught us there’s really and truly no such thing as a Holy War, but, as St. Augustine taught and as World War II proved, there can be a just war. If we stand against those who would choose to be our enemies, we must hold the moral high ground. How can we hold the moral high ground, though, if we act too quickly, act against the innocent, or respond with inordinate force? We would become what we abhor.
That’s why I fear what might be being preached in the pulpits of America today. That’s why I’m concerned about some of the rhetoric coming out of the halls of government, though, thankfully, most of it has been measured and circumspect. That’s why the storm churning in our national breast is so dangerous. It could cause us to unleash our own beast. And in the eternal scheme of things our beast might devour us as well as our enemies.
We, our nation, our allies, and especially our leaders, face the same daunting task that God himself has faced since creation. There’s this thing about God . . . two things actually. God is both perfectly merciful and perfectly just. He cannot allow violations of moral right; that would not be just. Justice must be upheld. Yet, his love—so wonderful and sublime—compels him to mercy, to forgive any and all transgressions. He wants to forgive and forget. He wants to accept and embrace. How can he do both?
Here’s what I mean using Jesus is the example of God’s character. Jesus told as to carry our oppressor’s load a mile, and then an extra one. He told us to turn the other cheek when we are slapped. He told us to love and to be one even as he and the Father are one . . . and that was not a call to national unity but to planetary unity. And yet, he also acted from righteous anger when he drove the moneylenders from the Temple. It’s the mystery of God’s dual nature; how does one hold both perfect justice and perfect mercy perfectly?
God’s solution was to become one of us and to die for us, taking our penalty upon himself. In that way, justice was done and mercy was spread abroad.
God, in his omniscience and power, is wise enough to know how to hold those two seemingly opposing sides of his nature together. But we, who have been created in God’s image and who now face God’s history-long dilemma, are we wise enough? How do we hold onto the dual imperatives of God’s nature? How do we act as God would act and ensure all we do is done in righteousness? How do we wed perfect mercy with perfect justice? Can we? Are we able?
The task weighs heavily. And we have no hope of coming near a righteous achievement if we do not tap into the wisdom of God, if we do not seek his face, his counsel, his understanding. If we do not have his insight, we will surely fall short of his glory. We will surely sin in our response to sin.
We must pray, therefore. We have been praying. But we must pray some more. We must pray again and again, hours and days and weeks of prayer. Months and years if necessary. We must have God’s guidance. Our leaders must have God’s guidance. We must not act from passion, or from impetuosity, or from impatience. We must act from wisdom . . . in God’s wisdom.
So pray as we have been doing, as we have instinctively been doing. Billboards and signs and commentators and televised preachers and our leaders have been calling us to pray. Sometimes collective wisdom is the best wisdom, and the unspoken message of this collective, instinctive wisdom is that, even as angry and hurt as we are, we must be Christians first and Americans second . . . even when right now we don’t want to be. Right now we need to pray for wisdom and guidance.
For our healing, let us tell stories. Where were you when it happened? How did you feel? What did you see? We need a national catharsis. Talking and sharing are the ways to healing.
But for the way ahead, I call you to pray for wisdom.
For our children’s sake, let us allow appropriate glimpses of reality, so they may learn from this but not be traumatized. Let’s not hide it, or play a foolish game that pretends it doesn’t exist. This reality exists. They can feel it. They can feel how it affects adults, older children, and youth. It’s their reality from now on, so let’s look to their needs with patience, respect, and maturity. Little hearts can hurt as profoundly as big hearts, even if they understand far less.
But for the way ahead, I call you to pray for wisdom.
For those for whom this is the last blow to hope and who can see only dread days to come, let us with patience share our hope in Jesus Christ, Our Lord.
But for the way ahead, I call you to pray for wisdom.
For ourselves, for those who were lost, for those who mourn, for those who would be our enemies, for those who have perpetrated this great atrocity, for those who continue the search hoping for a rescue, for those who care for the injured, the widowed, and the orphan, let us pray God’s mercy and give of self and sustenance and Spirit and support.
But most of all, for the way ahead, I call you to pray for wisdom and to be in prayer until this dark episode in history is ended.
Let us pray for guidance.
O God, by whom the meek are guided in judgment and because of whom light rises up in darkness for the godly: Grant us, in all our doubts and uncertainties, the grace to ask what you would have us to do, that the Spirit of wisdom may save us from all false choices, and that in your light we may see light, and in your straight path we may not stumble; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen. (Book of Common Prayer, p. 832, #58)
