A Reflection on 9/11
by Mary Earle
You
plot ruin;
Your tongue is like a sharpened razor,
O worker of deception.
—Psalm 52:2
It
has been years since those
who plotted ruin brought chaos and destruction to the World Trade
Center, the Pentagon and Flight 93. So many
died.
So many suffered.
And
still
so many continue to grieve, to question, to struggle with the
aftermath
of lives so abruptly and violently ended.
A deception
was worked, a deception of hate. There may indeed be reasons for
the hate, reasons that are historical, cultural and political. Nevertheless,
hate needs to be named. And recognized. When hate seeks to be embodied,
it issues in inhuman acts of terrorism.
In
the sixteenth century, Martin Luther observed that sin begins when
we “curve in upon ourselves.” Hate is a consummate kind
of turning inward and denying the reality and sacredness of another
or of whole groups of people. Hate
is an ultimate kind of turning inward, of refusing to see anything
but my own little distorted universe. And so often, religious certitude
and hatred are twins, working together in persons and in communities
to corrupt and destroy the creatures of God.
One day, in the weeks following 9/11, I heard a discussion on National
Public Radio in which a caller said the following,
I
was raised in a very traditional, rigid Christian household, and
I never questioned any of the beliefs. After 9/11 it occurred
to me that the men who boarded those planes with their paper cutters
and who flew the planes to utter destruction held their beliefs
as strongly as I held mine. And I had to ask myself, “Would
I allow my own religious certainty to lead me to that kind of
act? Would my need to be righteous lead me to hurt someone else?”
The
caller went on to say that doubt had been a blessing to him. He
realized that though his beliefs were different from those of the
hijackers, they functioned the same way psychologically and spiritually.
He had begun with the startling awareness that his own tendency
to edge toward rigidity had within it the seeds of something vicious
and self-seeking. He could see that any religious certitude could
treat others as means to an end, rather than as neighbors.
And
he had awakened to the startling possibility that he, too, could
plot ruin. Perhaps not by flying an airplane into a skyscraper.
But perhaps by demeaning someone whose beliefs were different. Perhaps
by living primarily from certitude and condescension. Perhaps by
beginning to turn in upon himself, refusing to hear the still, small
voice of God speaking quietly within.
It is true that we have witnessed much plotting of ruin. In fact,
we have seen the ruin. Some of us have smelled it and tasted it
for months. Others have lived with it viscerally as dearly loved
family and friends met their deaths.
Such
an event takes a long, long time to absorb. In this process of reflecting,
remembering, grieving and confessing, I remember the caller who
had the courage to face his own propensity to rigidity. I remember
the man who had the integrity to look at his own life and practice,
and to pray, “Let me
let go of hate. Let me let go of the need to be right. Let me begin
again.”
Merciful
God, we pray for all who died on this date five years ago. We
pray for those who brought about ruin and destruction. We pray
for those who survived, those who grieve, those who serve this
land. And we pray that in time, out of the grief and the wreckage,
your new creation may truly emerge. Amen.
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