Today pastors will preach on the day the United States collectively remembers 9/11 ten years later. My sermon title for this morning is the title for this post, “The Rupture of Forgiveness In a World of Revenge.” I don’t often talk about preaching here. Today is different.
The criminals who perpetrated 9/11 and the flag-waving boosters of our almost exclusively martial response were of one mind: that the nonviolent way of Jesus is stupid. All of us preachers share the shame; when our people felt very vulnerable, they reached for the flag, not the Cross.
And when in our own personal relationships we face wrong I fear we reach for our ego, not the Cross. Protecting our fragile projected identities becomes paramount in a therapeutic world of technological imagery. Religion, American Christianity in particular, is often an all-too-willing accomplice. “You don’t deserve that,” becomes the chorus-like refrain. We think it is compassionate, even empathic.
Once we make this sentiment our guiding thought we immediately narrow our possible responses. Any choice at this point takes us captive to revenge of one sort or another. The event now controls us, shapes our disposition going forward. Humanity needs better to stave off lapsing into what my mentor Rick Davis described as, “people who do not smile.”
My 9/11 story – “Where were you?” – finds answer not in geography but more emotionally. Just weeks earlier a young high school junior in our church family did not wake up for his first day of school. We had experienced the tragic death of a young girl who took her life still too fresh on our minds. We would lose a 7-year old just before Christmas. My little “mo mo” (motorcycle) jacket wearing friend Cameron would die the next April, 3-years old. By the fall of 2002, I faced feelings I had not, ever.
Writing here I cannot believe I do not add in 9/11 when telling the story of my experience with depression. I always fail to mention watching those planes and towers in our offices at Snow Hill. Kevin had a television in his office. We watched in disbelief. Calls came in, “Did you see that!” Tuesdays are Lunch Spot days. They have been for about 15 years. We knew we would face a room full of students with questions.
What are pastors supposed to say? Willimon contends we did not do so well witnessed in Christian people reaching for something other than the Cross. It is the event of the Cross that ruptures a world bent on its own way. We often hear talk about what Jesus took on the Cross. He took our guilt, shame, and punishment. In the face of remembering 9/11 ten years later, or the wounding you received at the hands of a friend weeks ago, the event of the Cross becomes a rupture of our natural feelings. It is a place of forgiveness. “Father forgive them they know not what they do.”
Theologians, preachers, and pastors attach meaning to the Cross event, to the life of Jesus. Scot McKnight is right, and I think he is, our truncated Gospel only focuses on the taking of our guilt, shame, sin, and its punishment to the unhealthy exclusion of the Good News that in Jesus we find a world made right. No longer do we need to follow our natural impulses to get even, or even get back. Those habits are easy to keep up and hard to break. Following Jesus’ Way of forgiveness, now that is a rupture of our own way.
If in Jesus God forgives, Jesus tells those that would follow him we must do the same. (Matt. 18:21-35 – the Gospel text for today.) In fact, in a head scratching parable, Jesus presses the point by contending our failure to forgive means no forgiveness. Some will focus on the odd story on the heels of Jesus telling Peter to forgive more times than offended. But parables are more often intended to address a question we would normally miss. The parable gets to Peter’s question, “How many times?”
Jesus uses the parable to alert Peter to a new way. The Father forgives. You forgive. Concern about how many times, how much, for what, or how often miss the point of Jesus’ answer. Fail to forgive and you tell the world you don’t follow me, you don’t follow the Father. Forgiveness is love. And, looking at forgiveness this way ruptures our normal patterns, with our spouses, our children, our friends, and the all-encompassing neighbor.
We should honor those who lost their lives on 9/11 and any other tragic event. We should honor those public servants – police and firemen among many others – who went into the unknown to rescue people they did not know.
Today we who follow Jesus need be more assertive and face our own needs to forgive in the face of those who wound us. Were we found reaching for the Cross and not our flags, or any other thing, our world might witness the rupture of the Cross of Christ’s forgiveness. Willimon’s last thoughts are stinging but apropos,
September 11 has changed me. I’m going to preach as never before about Christ crucified as the answer to the question of what’s wrong with the world. I have also resolved to relentlessly reiterate from the pulpit that the worst day in history was not a Tuesday in New York, but a Friday in Jerusalem when a consortium of clergy and politicians colluded to run the world on our own terms by crucifying God’s own Son.