THE READINGS (NIV)
First Reading: Philippians 4: 6-7
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Second Reading: Luke 12: 22-31
Then Jesus said to his disciples: “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. For life is more than food, and the body more than clothes. Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest? “Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith! And do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it. For the pagan world runs after all such things, and your [Creator] knows that you need them. But seek [God’s] kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well.
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God, you are ever present with us. You call us from memory to hope and from hope to action. Bless all those today who mourn, may your grace set their feet to dancing. May the words of my mouth and the reflections of all our hearts bring you glory. Amen
The hymn I chose for today’s inspiration is “There Is a Balm in Gilead.” There are times when I wish that it were as simple as the words of this comforting hymn. And while I want to affirm that the wholeness of which this song speaks is available to all, we do not always take the same paths. Today is the 10th anniversary of the attacks on the World Trade Center. We were different people ten years ago, and in the intervening 10 years we have all travelled diverse paths. But, here we are on this day, together as a people who came to worship and praise the living God of all of us. First, I know that we may have among us some who were among the many workers who spent countless hours and days in the months just after the attacks. If you are here, would you stand, the rest of us would like to say “thank you”. If you are among those who lost loved ones and friends at any of the three locations, please know that we care and pray for God’s continued peace.
For the rest of us, we all have different tales to tell. I lived in New York State, close enough that many friends lived and worked in the City. I sat with hundreds of thousands of others that night, in churches, and waited through the night for word. The days that followed were hard to describe—churches scrambled to do what they could. Traffic slowed to a crawl as hundreds of firefighters collected money in the streets to fund the relief efforts. Flags flew from every car and house window, while still some waited for word. I heard the stories of tragedy and the stories of miracle—the toothache that led one to be at the dentist rather than at work that day. Life nearly came to a standstill as all folks thought about was how they could help. I want to tell you my own story of my journey to Ground Zero, not because it is particularly unique, I assure you, it is not, but because it taught me so much about being wounded and being whole.
On the Sunday after 9/11, my church had collected another truckload of food and supplies for the relief workers. But we had no one to drive the truck to the Seaman’s Institute many blocks north of the Towers. I, having driven a U-Haul truck on one cross-country trip, decided I knew enough about driving a truck to get behind the wheel and take off for Manhattan. A good friend went with me. Let me acknowledge to you right now that God drove that truck to Ground Zero. The pedals were so far away that I had to sit on the edge of the seat the entire time I was driving. The two-hour trip took close to eight hours. New York City police greeted us—they had been informed of our arrival and told me they needed to escort us directly to Ground Zero as all supplies were needed there. I had two police cars ahead of me and one behind. Several more check points later, the police cars stopped and I learned my first lesson about being wounded and whole at the same time. A big, burly NY officer got out of his car and came back to my window. He said, “we’re stopping here, because you will want to take a few moments to prepare yourself for what’s ahead. At the next turn, we will be at the Towers.” I assured him that I would be ok and he nodded with a sad wisdom. “Just take a few breaths while you are here, you may not be able to breathe very well once we get there.” I looked at my friend, shook my head at the officer and started praying for strength. Mostly I was amazed that, in the midst of all they had seen, they were lovingly concerned about the impact the scene would surely have on me and my friend. It seemed to me a beautiful thing then, and even more so now. As I restarted the truck and inched forward I began to notice the ashes hanging from every surface of every building as we got closer. Suddenly we turned a corner, the police cars disappeared and we were in front of the mass of twisted steel. As I got out of the truck to find the exact door where the food was needed, I learned that just minutes before our arrival, word had come from the City that the mission was changing from rescue to recovery. That meant, of course, that it had been determined that no one could still be alive. The sadness that moved through the hundreds of people at the site was so real that you could feel the weight of it mixed in with the fatigue and sorrow. But not one ounce of hopelessness was there—not in the faces of the rescue workers or in the sad eyes of the search and rescue dogs who longed to be back “in the pit” doing their job. It was as if, the earth moved, but not the people standing on it. I watched in amazement as workers who had been on mandatory breaks, picked up their gear and said, “then we will find their bodies.”
This, my friends, is the story of wholeness coming in the midst of woundedness—I remember saying “God bless you” to one young firefighter. There wasn’t much else to say. He looked at me and said “thank you”. In that simple exchange, this young man changed my life as I came to understand, in a completely new way, how important it is to care. I came to understand in ways new to me, in that brief encounter, that, my fear and pain, as real as it was, was a tiny little part of the greater woundedness of humanity. I realized as I stood in the shadow of the twisted remains of buildings and lives, that God still triumphed in the resolve of those workers and rescue dogs not to leave anyone behind. I had two degrees in religion and most of a third one, and not one time had I learned as much about God’s love in a single moment as in the moment when this young firefighter showed me with his eyes how much my love and care meant to him.
The work went on for months. The healing continues to this day. On the front of your bulletin is Fr. Mychal Judge, chaplain to the NYC Fire Department. He was the first recorded casualty of the attack and he was one of us. Not just because he was gay, although he was, but because his faith in God led him to care so deeply he is like us—well, like us when we listen and believe. Friends say that Judge was fiercely committed to the conviction that all would be well—that God was in control and that there was a divine plan at work in his life and in the lives of those around him. He once said, “"It's fantastic how I can sometimes begin a day and go through a day," he said, "but not realize that everything that happens — every single thing that happens — is somehow within the divine plan." In his last homily on Sept. 10th, Mychal preached to the firefighters to remember that in the midst of danger, God is near. Judge was famous for reaching out to those in the streets, AIDS sufferers, addicts, and any who needed a helping hand. Many in the NY Fire Department believe that Judge died first to lead all the others who were dying to heaven. What a beautiful vision, and not so different from what our Lord did when he walked on this earth, died and rose again, to show us the way in the love of God, our Creator. …to make the wounded whole, indeed.
Today, I will close with a prayer written by our Moderator, Rev. Dr. Nancy Wilson. She calls us to remember how close we are on this day to every other human being who knows the way of sorrow. Will you pray her prayer with me: "God of our hearts, whose heart was broken again on September 11, 2001, help us to be your faithful partners and witnesses in a broken world. Jesus, may your Light shine through us! Spirit, may you hover over every helpless, desperate place and be the bearer of change and hope. Help us to see our destiny in the destinies of others, to see a future where bridges of love and compassion and justice unite us and overcome every division. Bless our MCC churches around the world today, every outpost of hope, and every place of faith and goodness that proclaims your truth. Connect us to your vulnerable heart today, God of peace. Amen." And Amen.
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