It’s hard to believe that 10 years ago today, we as a nation experienced a devastating loss. I remember watching the 2nd plane hit and just feeling numb, not knowing exactly what to do or how to handle all of this information. That day, we experienced the best and the worst of what can happen in America. The worst is obvious – 2,977 mothers, fathers, husbands, wives, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, and friends were killed that day. The best was those that lived – and reached out to those that were hurt. The policemen, firemen and other first responders who not only went INTO THE TOWERS (and some lost their lives), but also helped direct the evacuation of Manhattan and the Pentagon. The doctors and nurses who cared for the wounded tirelessly. The boat pilots who gave people rides home to other parts of New York. People who stopped just to offer a cup of coffee, a bite to eat, a listening ear, to those who were passing by.
10 years later, we are a country forever changed. We cannot let those who did this win. Unfortunately, we do that every day. How? Every day that we judge others or hate others simply because they are Muslim/Black/somehow different from us, we let them win. Every day we choose to live in a state of constant fear instead of hope for our country, we let them win. Yes, the men who killed those on 9/11/01 were Muslim. However, I know other Muslim people who are kind, generous, and good. I know some so-called Christians who need to go back to the Bible and remember what Jesus talked about. Jesus said there are two great commandments. The first: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind and with all your strength.” The second – which can be much harder – “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Guess what? Those people in Pakistan, Iran, Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Guatemala, Brazil, India, and all those other countries that are just struggling to live from day to day – those are OUR neighbors. Yes, some of those countries practice other religions, but can God really be put into one little “Christian” box? I don’t think so. I think S/He is much, much bigger than that. If my mother can answer to more than one name, I think the same can be said of God.
Henri Nouwen was a brilliant Catholic priest from Holland who lived and worked with severely handicapped people in the L’Arche community in Toronto, Canada towards the end of his life. In Finding My Way Home, he writes of the path of peace. There are two things that struck me the most. First, he shared the story of a severely handicapped man he helped take care of, who was truly the peacemaker of the house. His peacemaking was rooted in “being” – being present to others ; in his heart – he loves freely; but was also (and this was most important to me) rooted in community. By himself, this man could not live, but within the community he could both live and thrive - and spread his peace throughout the community. The same is with us – our ability to spread peace is rooted in being with our God and with others in our mutual brokenness; by loving others freely; and by being a part of a community.
Second, Henri ends his meditation on peace with a Hasidic (Jewish) story that really tells the truth in a great way. A rabbi asked his students: “How can we determine the hour of dawn, when the night ends and the day begins?” One of the rabbi’s students suggested: “When from a distance you can distinguish between a dog and a sheep?” “No,” was the answer of the rabbi. “Is it when one can distinguish between a fig tree and a grapevine?” asked a second student. “No,” the rabbi said. “Please tell us the answer then,” said the students. “It is then,” said the wise teacher, “when you can look into the face of another human being and you have enough light in you to recognize your brother or your sister. Until then it is night, and darkness is still with us.”
Darkness is still with us today. As Henri says, “Let us pray for the light. It is the peace the world cannot give.”
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