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That Day Again: A Sermon on 9/11
Reverend Brian J. Kiely, Unitarian Church of
Edmonton, September 11, 2005
I was just setting out to walk my dog. I plugged in my earphones
and switched on the CBC. Instead of Ron Wilson, I was hearing Shelagh
Rogers’ voice. I checked my watch. No, it was only a few minutes
after eight. It should be Ron. What was Shelagh doing on the air
an hour early? And why was she sounding so stressed? No word on
‘body counts’ yet? “Horrific tragedy?” “Unsure
if this was an isolated incident?” What the heck was going
on?
That intruded-upon dog walk on a crisp September Tuesday morning
was my introduction to the attack on the World Trade Center. An
hour later we lit a chalice at our weekly staff meeting, threw out
the day’s business agenda and instead, shared our complicated
feelings. Within another hour we had decided to open the church
that evening for a shared service of grief and mourning with our
neighbours at Westwood. It was not a day I am likely to forget.
There are public events that stop us in our tracks, events that
seem so very large that they shake or reinforce – some foundational
core in our being. They demand to be noticed and remembered.
Those past 65 will remember May 8 and August 15, 1945 as VE and
VJ days at the end of World War II. Those past 50 can probably tell
you where they were on November 22, 1963, the day John Kennedy was
shot. Those past 40 might remember the 1970 events of the October
Crisis and the death of Pierre Laporte. On a more positive note,
those over 35 might just remember Paul Henderson’s goal in
the late summer of 1972. And of course, people of almost any age
can remember the Eskimoes winning the Grey Cup…or perhaps
not, since that’s no longer a rare and unique event!
Great moments touch us, remind us that we are part of a larger
community, remind us that we are not alone. We truly are part of
an interconnected web. “I am a single cell in a body of four
billion cells,” wrote Norman Cousins when the world’s
population was smaller, “I am interlocked with other human
beings in the consequences of our actions, thoughts and feelings.”
When those great moments occur we feel the connection of shared
grief or joy oft times with people we have never met. In the face
of tragedies like Hurricane Katrina, we may be left feeling sad
or empty, but curiously, also a little bit more whole, a little
more connected with the human family.
9/11 in 2001 was certainly one such momentous event, in part because
of the magnitude of the terror event itself, and in part because
of it’s relative nearness to us. Many that day, expressed
a sense that our comfortable North American world would never be
the same. Well, in fact, despite longer security line-ups at the
airports, and maybe higher gas prices because of American military
adventurism, the reality is that our day to day lives haven’t
changed that much. But the memories of that day, and that sense
that things will never again be the same linger.
9/11 stays with us, in part because the Bush White House has shamelessly
capitalized on the tragedy in order to further its foreign policy
agenda.
My memories of the day itself, and the quiet service we held that
evening are, in a way, so pure. It was a day of grief and fear,
a day of sensing that our western world had changed. There was pain
and uncertainty and empathy in the old sanctuary that night. And
yes, there was some anger expressed at those who could hate so much
that they could kill and maim so many. And there were those who
feared that Mr. Bush would go and do more or less what he has done,
use the American tragedy as an excuse to send in the troops on a
far less than noble mission.
And there was our unsettling recognition of powerlessness that
surfaces in the face of any overwhelming tragedy that befalls some
part of humanity, a powerlessness that can’t be erased, but
that can be assuaged by sitting in community.
When I think of that day, I can only remember the people searching
for relief and comfort, and finding it in the company of prayerful
others.
It is sad, however that this date has been hijacked and polluted
for the next generation or so. It is far too memorable a date to
forget, especially with its link to the emergency telephone number.
I wonder how many children, especially in New York will have their
birthdays marred by the images of planes crashing into the towers,
have the luster of their special days dulled by the tightening around
the corners of so many adult mouths?
The fact is, lots of other ordinary and extraordinary things have
happened on September 11, some good, some bad. Beth Jenkins did
a little research on this for me.
In 1297 Braveheart William Wallace defeated the English at Stirling
Bridge.
In 1609 Henry Hudson landed in Manhattan.
In 1683 the Christian Army defeated the Muslim forces outside Vienna
in a battle that surely shaped the face of Europe with an impact
that is still felt today. Oh, and incidentally, the victory was
marked by grateful Viennese bakers who created the crescent-shaped
croissant we still enjoy today.
In 1918 the Boston Red Sox won their first World Series, an event
not to be repeated for 86 years
And perhaps more germane to the 2001 attacks, on September 11,
1990 President Bush the elder gave the national address that committed
the US to the first Gulf War.
I suppose the lesson here is that this date, too, shall fade into
history in a generation or so.
And yet, anniversaries can be powerful things. I have no scientific
proof of this, but I have talked with many people over the years.
I have a hunch that there is something in the psyche, or even the
body clock that knows when powerful and moving anniversaries are
approaching. And here I don’t mean the great and momentous
events that touch thousands, necessarily. Here, I mean the momentous
events that touch and change individual lives.
My father’s birthday and death day are just a few days apart
in August. One is the eighth and the other the 11th… I think.
My Mother’s birthday is the 7th of September, or perhaps that
was their wedding anniversary and her birthday was the 12th. With
so many events grouped in that span of numbers between 8 and 13,
I have long since given up trying to remember which is which.
But I do know that each year early in August, I have a bad week.
Oh, not a real bad week, but one that’s a little blue, a little
out of sorts, perhaps a little testy. I used to wonder why until
a friend pointed out that it was near the anniversary of my father’s
death. 17 years later and the peaceful passing of the man I most
looked up to in the world still moves me in deep places.
Our Hallmark society tends to focus on the happy anniversaries,
the weddings, the birthdays and so on. Frankly, they are nicer to
remember and there is more profit potential in them. We just celebrated
our daughter Lily’s second birthday. The fun and laughter
and good company was uplifting and a joy for us all. And to be sure
the card and toy companies did a good business that day. But that’s
okay. We do need strong economies and jobs and we do need to celebrate
the positive milestones in lives that often seem too filled with
challenge and adversity. It is good to gather friends and family
to celebrate when we can.
But we are a little more circumspect when it comes to the anniversaries
of personal tragedies. Thomas More, the author of “Care of
the Soul” and other books, argues that our western society
is far to focused on ‘living in the light’ of joy and
celebration. We keep looking for positive moments in life, sometimes
with the desperation of addicts. And conversely we too often hide
from opportunities to meet the shadow side of life. We run from
spending time feeling and accepting the lessons personal tragedy
has to offer. Perhaps that is why Mr. Bush had such an easy time
taking his nation to war. Doing something, ANYTHING seemed better
than dwelling on the bitterness of the tragedy.
Thomas More argues that life is a cycle that includes shadow and
light just as the turning of the world includes day and night. In
order to maintain good emotional health and balance we need to learn
how to be comfortable in the dark night of the soul. The shadow
side, he suggests is, by far, the more soulful part of the cycle.
It is where we add depth in our lives and perhaps even discover
the meaning and grounding that so many seek. Perhaps the solution
is not to chase the blues away as soon as we feel them edging up
on us, but to stop and welcome them in for awhile. We might want
to take a look at the root cause and see if there is something good
to discover.
It’s a frightening place, at first, this shadow side. It
is home for our deepest fears and doubts. We often refrain from
entering because we are afraid of we might find out things about
ourselves that we really don’t like. But those who make the
journey say that such discoveries are more freeing than shaming.
What we fear most, whether it be in us or coming at us, is never
as large or frightening as we imagine once we look at it head on
in good light.
When my friend prompted me to look at my annual August funk, I
came to realize that the deep sadness just showed that I still felt
close to my Dad; that in those days I could feel his presence in
my memory, in my soul with a little more life and colour than in
the rest of the year. Those blue feelings, in the end, were comforting
and affirming and not scary at all. I felt again the deep love I
have for him and the appreciation I have for the lessons he taught,
mostly by example. As an old Crash Test Dummies song says, I was
able to “shake his bony hand and so dispel the gloom.”
And then I go back to the land of light and birthdays.
Some religions have long recognized the importance of death anniversaries.
The holiest religious feast of the Christian calendar commemorates
the death of Jesus. In the Jewish tradition, bodies are buried quickly,
but on the first anniversary of the death, the headstone is revealed
in a family ceremony. The reading Denise shared early described
a ritual composed by a Unitarian Universalist family to mark an
anniversary.
It is a well-known psychological truth that the first year after
a death is particularly difficult. Each holiday brings back vivid
memories of the deceased and what was done the year, or years before.
The standard belief is that those closest to us must grieve each
of these holidays before they can move on.
And in the years that follow, well, perhaps it is helpful to recognize
that the important anniversaries can pull on our emotions and affect
our moods. These tugs are opportunities to deepen the spiritual
growth of which our Unitarian Universalist principles speak.
I think that is as it should be. We are the sum of our experiences.
Every line in our faces, every ache in our bones, every scar on
our skin is a testament to our living and learning and hopefully
to the deepening of our wisdom. And wisdom comes far more often
from embracing the shadow times than it does from basking in the
bright light.
It is four years this morning since those people died in the World
Trade Center, since those families were touched and hurt by the
actions of a handful of terrorists. It is good to remember, not
for the soul-killing purpose of seeking revenge or generating hate,
but for the soul-filling memory of people helping people whether
at Ground Zero or at a small church service in an Alberta city.
In the same way, it is good to remember the continuing victims
of a Hurricane Katrina and to try to reach out and help those who
are still living. For such remembering teaches us never to take
the good in life too much for granted. It also teaches that there
is always goodness to be found in the shadows. And finally, it reminds
us not only to feel, but to express gratitude for the goods we do
have in life.
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