Sermon

September 11, 2005

A Sermon Preached at St. Stephen’s on Sept. 11, 2005, by the Rev. Cork Tarplee

In his book An African Prayerbook Archbishop Desmond Tutu tell this story: “A man had a particular besetting sin, and he used to confess it and God would forgive him. But no sooner had he been absolved than he would trip up and sin again. One day this happened, and he rushed back to God and said, ‘I’m sorry, I’ve done it again.’ And God asked, ‘What have you done again?’ For God suffers from amnesia when it comes to our sins.’” Tutu goes on to comment: “God does not look at the caterpillar we are now, but at the dazzling butterfly we have in us to become. In the Lord’s Prayer, Jesus bids us ask God to forgive us as we forgive those who have wronged us. Not to forgive others is to shut the door to our own being forgiven.”

These are difficult words to hear in this place on September 11. This is one of those dates indelibly associated with a horrific event. Everyone in this room remembers exactly where we were and what we were doing when we got word of the terrorist attacks four years ago. With our horror and outrage still so powerful, how can we talk about this word, ‘forgiveness?’

I am still wrestling with what it means to forgive. Surely it does not mean that we behave as if no wrong has taken place or that no danger exists. God may have amnesia when it comes to our wrongs, but human beings are not God and we will remember and react viscerally. Our brains are hardwired to do so. The primitive part of our brain that we have in common with alligators and other basic beasts responds immediately to hurt by lashing out and hurting back. It is a primitive defense mechanism that helps keep us safe. Whatever forgiveness means for human beings, it cannot mean that we turn off our primitive responses, because they are a permanent part of who and what we are.

Instead, I think forgiveness has something to do with moving beyond our primitive responses and not allowing them to rule our lives. As one former Nazi concentration camp survivor said to another, if you let hatred and revenge eat up your whole life, then the Nazis still have you locked up in prison. It is essential to our humanity and to our ability to accomplish anything of beauty or worth in life that our actions in response to hurt not be solely determined by our reptilian brains, but instead that we seek the grace to move on and to expand our capacity to love.

After World War II, Europe sought to rebuild and to move on at a conference on reconciliation held at Caux, in Switzerland in 1947. Irene Laure was a representative to that conference from France . Irene had been in the French Resistance. Her son had been tortured, her friends executed. When the war ended, she wanted to see Germany wiped from the face of the earth. Then as a member of the French legislature she was invited to Caux and was horrified to find Germans at the conference. She was challenged with the question: How can you rebuild Europe without the Germans? She had to spend several nights and days in her room tortured with the challenge to give up her hatred for the sake of a new Europe . When she came out of her room she asked to speak to the assembly. Turning to the German delegation she said, “Please forgive me for my hatred.” A German delegate rose from the hall and took her hand. Irene said it felt as if a weight were lifted from her shoulders. She traveled to Germany and repeated her apology, and everywhere she went the Germans were willing, as a result, to face up to their past. Irene Laure came to believe that in hatred there were always the seeds of a future war. In the words of Semyon Frank, “No bombs, not even atomic bombs, none of the cruelties of war cause so much destruction of normal conditions of life or are the cause of so much ruin and evil as the spirit of hatred.”

So Jesus tells us in this morning’s Gospel that we must forgive again and again and again, and that to fail to forgive would offend our forgiving God. We learn to do the hard work of moving on and expanding our capacity to love not just for the good of the world, but for the sake of our humanity. Even in the face of unspeakable horror and disaster we are called to be people of love.

Theologian Philip Yancey was asked after the attacks of September 11, “Where is God when it hurts?” He said, “I guess the answer to that question is another question. Where is the CHURCH when it hurts? If the church is doing its job—binding wounds, comforting the grieving, offering food to the hungry—I don’t think people will wonder so much where God is when it hurts. They’ll know where God is: in the presence of God’s people on earth.” As creatures made in the image of God, this is our place in the universe: to bind up wounds, comfort the grieving, feed the hungry and work for reconciliation. To do so is to forgive, to move on, and to expand our capacity to love. On September 11, 2005, may we find the strength and courage to do that.

AMEN