Welcome to the Human Race!
First Reading: Our first reading is from an article in this month's
issue of Harpers, entitled “One Year Later: Notes on America's intimations
of mortality” by Mark Slouka, creative writing professor at Columbia University.
Slouka writes:
When I wondered allowed to another acquaintance how it was possible
for a [minister friend of mine]'s faith to sail over Auschwitz, say, only
to founder on the World Trade Center, I found myself quickly taken to task
for both my myopia and my callousness – the product, he implied of my excessively
European sensibility. He himself had been in a state of crisis for two
months, he said. He slept badly, struggled with depression. His children
were afraid to get in subways or walk past a tall building, and there was
nothing he could tell them. He was considering leaving New York and moving
to Mexico. “How can you not see that everything is different now?” he concluded.
“And anyway, who are you to decide when it's right for someone to have
a crisis of faith?”
...Every where I turned... I encountered a similar dissonance.
...[Even many of my colleagues] in the School of Arts ... seemed prepared
to duel for the Frivolity of Art in Times Like These. “It all feels so
absurd,” said one to me, referring to his own work. “What's the point?”
Second Reading: For our second reading I would like to share
with you a story from a great book I read this summer called One God
Clapping: The Spiritual Path of a Zen Rabbi by Alan Lew. Rabbi Lew
began his spiritual search as Jew but spent many years studying Zen Buddhism
before returning to his faith of origin to become a Rabbi. Each chapter
of his book is like a mini-sermon. The story that I will share for you
now seems to me to add a new dimension to a discussion of our response
to September 11. Here is his story:
“One Friday night, on Yom Ha Shoah, Holocaust Remembrance Day,
I went to the seminary for the [Sabbath] service. ...[Professor] Israel
Frankus's son Yossi had just become engaged to [another] student. Frankus
was the shyest [professor,] ...[He] rarely spoke, and never in public,
except when he was teaching... You knew he was a [Holocaust] survivor because
you could see the numbers tattooed on his forearm when he rolled up his
sleeve... Since it was [Holocaust Remembrance Day] the [lead rabbi of the
service] spoke about the Holocaust, which he had also spent in concentration
camps. Although it was [the Sabbath], when unpleasant things are traditionally
kept at bay, [the leading rabbi] evoked the full horror of the Holocaust
with a few strokes.
I remember almost nothing of what he actually said. ...What I
do remember is the effect his words had on the congregation. We were devastated.
People had their heads in their hands. People were weeping. Finally he
said, “I don't see why we should remember it at all,” and walked off...
...After what seemed like a very long time, the service started
again, and we managed to limp through to the end, but with none of the
joy and exuberance with which we usually greeted the [Sabbath]. [When it
came time for the announcements, it was announced that Professor Frankus's
son was engaged]. [Now, whenever an engagement is announced it is customary
to sing the song of blessing] with great enthusiasm. ... [But tonight we]
were still sitting in stunned silence when he made the announcement. No
one knew what to do. We didn't want to slight Dr. Frankus and his son,
but it seemed obscene to sing [a song of joy with those] horrifying words
still hanging in the air...
...Suddenly Israel Frankus astounded everyone by leaping to the
bimah [or altar]. This was the same Frankus who rarely said hello in the
hallways, but now he was standing at the head of the congregation shaking
his finger as us accusingly. “You'd better sing [the song],” he said. “Don't
you understand? The whole point is, they tried to finish us off, and they
failed. I'm the only one left in my family, and now my son is going to
get married and have children, and my family will continue. You'd better
sing...! And so we sang – at first softly, then louder and louder with
a deep sense of joy that encompassed all the tragedy and all the triumph
of the Jewish people.
***
Before I begin this sermon, I have a confession to make.
When I interviewed for this position as your minister,
I was asked to describe my theology.
As you may have begun to guess, I'm particularly drawn to Judaism.
In some ways like a Zen Rabbi,
I weave a number of traditions into my philosophy and theology
of life.
But as my spirituality matures,
I find that the metaphors provided by the Jewish tradition
resonate most strongly with my sense of the world.
So although I will share with you metaphors of many religious traditions,
get ready to learn a lot about Judaism while I am your minister!
Today it seems particularly appropriate to draw from Judaism
because tonight begins the high holiday of Yom Kippur,
the Jewish Day of Atonement,
the most holy day of the Jewish liturgical year.
And it seems particularly significant that Yom Kippur should fall
during our remembrance of the tragedy of last year's September
11th.
Tonight at sundown, observant Jews will begin a day of fasting,
study and prayer to clean the slate of their spiritual and secular
lives.
Since last weekend with the beginning of Rosh Hashana, the New Year,
observant Jews have used this week to forgive all debts and seek
forgiveness from all their friends and family for any misdeeds
or harsh word they may have uttered over the past year.
Tomorrow will be a day for letting go of all grudges and guilt
and for making reparations for all the mistakes one has made
that have hurt other people.
One even refrains from wearing leather on this day because the animals
killed for their skins have also been wronged.
........To follow up our mourning of this past week
with a day to seek and offer forgiveness
seems to me more fitting than the inciting of revenge
that is still being spoken without shame.
Mark Slouka questions the belief that “everything is different now.”
and I have to say I have sympathies with his perspective.
It is unfortunate that so many American's have lost their faith,
have questioned where God is, or how this could have happened
to us!
And yet how have we managed to keep faith in the goodness of humanity
after the Holocaust or the genocides in Bosnia or Rwanda or
Hiroshima, or campaigns against all the natives of North, South and
Central America,
or all the other horrors of history?
I don't understand that!
I don't believe the world has changed but America itself IS different.
For one thing, many Americans are happily trading in our civil
liberties
for the sake of increased security.
And biblical allusions have become especially popular in politics.
As Bush stated in his speech from Ellis Island on Wednesday,
“Ours is a cause of human dignity: Freedom guided by conscience, and
guarded by peace. The ideal of America is the hope of all mankind. That
hope drew millions to this harbor. That hope still lights our way. And
that light shines in the darkness. And the darkness will not overcome it.”
We are not just trying to show the world that terrorists are unwelcome,
or trying to get Sadaam Hussein to comply with UN resolutions.
No. The US is embarking on a battle between the children of light (us
I guess -- especially the Christians among us) --
a battle between the children of light and the children of darkness
(all evildoers).
In concluding his address to the pentagon, Bush prayed to God,
“...on this day, and on every other day,
may [God] watch over the United States of America.”
“God” is being called upon to justify our policies here and abroad.
The U.S. acts, in the words of Bob Dylan's anti-war song,
“With God on Our Side.”
The U.S. call to war is nothing less than a holy war.
We have succumbed to the code words of the Islamic extremists
and become no better than the terrorists we seek to stop.
I don't have a problem about invoking God in discussions of politics.
In fact my favorite post-September 11th article from the humor
magazine,
“The Onion,” is all about God.
Apparently it seems,
God held a press conference in New York,
and here's what He had to say:
"I tried to put it in the simplest possible terms for you people, so
you'd get it straight, because I thought it was pretty important," ..."I
guess I figured I'd left no real room for confusion after putting it in
a four-word sentence with one-syllable words, on the tablets I gave to
Moses. How much more clear can I get?" "But somehow, it all gets twisted
around and, next thing you know, somebody's spouting off some nonsense
about, 'God says I have to kill this guy, God wants me to kill that guy,
it's God's will,'" ... "It's not God's will, all right? News flash: 'God's
will' equals 'Don't murder people.'"... "I don't care what faith you are,
everybody's been making this same mistake since the dawn of time," ...
"The whole point of believing in God is to have a higher standard of behavior.
How obvious can you get?" "I'm talking to all of you, here!" continued
God, his voice rising to a shout. "Do you hear Me? I don't want you to
kill anybody. I'm against it, across the board. How many times do I have
to say it? Don't kill each other anymore— ever! ..." Upon completing His
outburst, God fell silent, standing quietly at the podium for several moments.
Then, witnesses reported, God's shoulders began to shake, and He wept.
In President Bush' words, despite what meaning he may assign to them,
“Ours is a cause of human dignity:
Freedom guided by conscience, and guarded by peace.”
I believe that in order to move towards peace,
we as a nation must let go of our vengeance rather than give
in to is.
In short we need to forgive.
To forgive and to be forgiven, frees us from past anger and guilt.
If we could go back and prevent the attack on the World Trade Center
and the Pentagon, we would, but we can't.
Nothing we do now will ever bring back those who were lost.
All we can do is begin from where we are and to do so with love.
As we said in our opening words,
“we forgive ourselves and each other; we begin again in love.”
In our second reading, you will recall,
the gist of the story was that joy in the face of disaster
is the only religiously appropriate response.
One of my favorite aspects of Judaism is it's insistence
that joy takes precedence over all.
Yom Kippur, as a day of fasting, confession, and prayer, is not a day
of sorrow.
It is a day of joy because with forgiveness is the opportunity
to start over,
“to begin again in love.”
Jews have been a persecuted minority
for almost as long as they've been a people.
And yet they value joy above all else.
All of the commandments for the Sabbath for instance
are geared towards creating a time and space for joy.
--Enjoy good food and and wine, --dress in your best clothes and
--spend quality time with your loved ones and friends;
these are all parts of the weekly requirements of Sabbath.
And celebrating in the midst of devastation is something Jews do with
great zeal.
Music, theater, art and poetry all flourished in the concentration
camps
and a joyful sabbath was celebrated each week,
even if only with a crust of bread and the sunset.
And yet as Mark Slouka found in New York after September 11th,
many of his colleagues found it absurd now to produce art,
to write poetry, to sing. Why?
Is our joy and personal security based solely on our blind faith in
America's immunity, on our unique status as that “city on a hill”
-- in John Winthrop's words --
exempt from the sorrows that plague other peoples and nations?
Has our almost impenetrable existence
destroyed our ability to see that art and beauty
are the greatest acts of affirmation and resistance
we have?
Is the only means to recover our joy, vengeance and war?
There is a great bumper sticker that says: “The only way to peace is
peace.”
To embody peace is our greatest source of strength.
To find joy in the midst of adversity is our greatest source of
resistance.
To proclaim the goodness and beauty of creation, and our trust in our
neighbors,
despite the few exceptions, is to keep our faith in a larger
goodness,
not limited by the bounds of this continent
or the teachings of one faith,
but grounded in something much deeper and holier
than any human attempt to explain it.
America is not in danger of being finished off by a few lunatic fringe
terrorists.
Our sorrow for the loss of life at last year's September 11th
is real
and it's time to transform our mourning into action.
Let us be open to mourning for all those who suffer daily for lack
of food,
clean water, a home or a job, for the millions suffering from
AIDS,
for the those who know nothing but civil war and persecution.
Let us be thankful for all the blessings we enjoy.
And let us celebrate our joy at being alive with art and music
and poetry.
May our memories of September 11th be more than bitter,
may they become instead bittersweet.
We have been given a gift, a strange and humbling gift,
-- we have been invited to join the human race.
AMEN