I was in seminary 13 years ago, and now it's a blur. I remember the tears, the anger, but there was something else; an intentional move by all these clergy in training to move to the Cross. To see sin and brokenness washed clean by the blood of the Lamb. To make this violent act the last one. There was a hope for a rebirth, a resurrection. Since then, we've waged wars, dropped our own bombs, wage violence in our own homes and streets, and have killed our own share of innocent people. Those churches swollen to the brim with people crying for mercy and healing 13 years ago have emptied. Those bended knees now stand straight, busy judging others and asking in turn not to be judged. The hypocrisy makes me nauseous. If anything we have become more fearful, suspicious, and angry. Partisanship is the symptom of this disease. It's like a national PTSD. The resurrection was teased but we are definitely still buried in the ground; weighed down by burdens of guilt, vengeance, and blood. Our chase for security has led us away from the Cross and the Tomb. Perhaps that's why so many of us seek to "remember" by reliving the horror, it's the only way we know how to feel, or should feel.
I look at my son, so happy and cheerful and blissfully unaware and I think to myself, "Thank God you don't have the emotional baggage the rest of us are carrying." I think it crassly, but maybe that's the way to go. Instead of trying to teach him everything about 9/11 every year, seeking to draw him into my own collective sense of guilt and shame, I'm going to teach him to be kind. Keep hugging, smile to friends and strangers, give high-fives, to love mightily and love God. This will not be a day of weeping and gnashing of teeth. This will be a day of joy. Remember the innocent who were murdered (today and EVERYDAY) by showing mercy and grace. I also try to do this but it's an effort. The stranger, the other, the people whom the false lessons of 9/11 teach me to hate or simply avoid, God died and lives again for them too. -Fight it Brad, shake the hand, nod, smile, befriend, offer the Peace of Christ! -But it HURTS! ...yup. And there is my son, free from such baggage and brokenness. He offers the love anyway, willing to give a high-five to any who offer. He finds joy when others smile with him. There's the narrow path I've heard so much about.
So for this day, and any other painful anniversary, I'm going to force my knees back to the hard dry ground, pray for mercy and grace, and share that blessed light as it has been given to a sinner such as I. And for my son, who has a better world in front of him because I haven't given him my own brokenness (so much as I can help it, you know, parenting), I have more hope for him than fear. This is a choice, and in spite of my own bad instincts and what the world would have me feel, I chose hope.
9/11 will be a day of joy and hope! A good day. I'll show joy and hope till it hurts!...and it already does. Thank you Jesus for loving and hurting for me too, and our children.
