Remembering 9-11 ... Differently

I wake up this morning thinking about this day, twelve years ago. The tragedy, the sadness, and then the almost-immediate backlash in this country against all Muslims. I drink my first cup of morning coffee and look at Facebook postings. Most of my friends post some kind of memorian to those who died, those who still mourn, and those who came to the rescue of others. I do the same. And yet a few of my friends post unpleasant comments about the "Million Muslim March" planned today in Washington, DC. Yes, they are my friends, and some of my family, although we don't share certain opinions.

I think back to last Sunday's Holy Eucharist, its readings and hymns. Some seem so well-positioned for my thoughts this week, like Hymn 603.

"When Christ was lifted from the earth,
his arms stretched out above
through every culture, every birth,
to draw an answering love.

Still east and west his love extends
and always, near or far,
he calls and claims us as his friends
and loves us as we are.

Where generation, class, or race
divide us to our shame,
he sees and labels but a face,
a person, and a name.

Thus freely loved, though fully known,
may I in Christ be free
to welcome and accept his own
as Christ accepted me."

He "loves us as we are." Even if we don't always love each other. Even if we don't worship Him. Even if we can't see beyond the skin color and the clothing and the politics and the religion and the other things that make people different. And wonderful.

The first lesson from the Book of Jeremiah (18:1-11) compares God to a potter. "Just like the clay in the potter’s hand, so are you in my hand, O house of Israel.  At one moment I may declare concerning a nation or a kingdom, that I will pluck up and break down and destroy it,  but if that nation, concerning which I have spoken, turns from its evil, I will change my mind about the disaster that I intended to bring on it.  And at another moment I may declare concerning a nation or a kingdom that I will build and plant it, but if it does evil in my sight, not listening to my voice, then I will change my mind about the good that I had intended to do to it." God is telling us that any nation, any people, can have hope. If they do what is right, even after doing what was wrong, they will be forgiven and can start anew. This applies to others, and it also applies to us. Are we without guilt?

The second lesson, from the Letter of Paul to Philemon (1:17-18), Paul writes about a former slave, Onesimus. "So if you consider me your partner, welcome him as you would welcome me.  If he has wronged you in any way, or owes you anything, charge that to my account." It's all about forgiveness.

 

Finally, in our Postcommunion Prayer we say, "We humbly beseech thee, O heavenly Father, so to assist us with thy grace, that we may continue in that holy fellowship, and do all such good works as thou hast prepared for us to walk in."

 

On this day, I remember those who died, those who still mourn, and those who came to the rescue of others. But I also remember, and pray for, all those who have suffered innocently because we are not by nature a forgiving people. And I hope that, "Thus freely loved, though fully known, may I in Christ be free to welcome and accept his own as Christ accepted me."

An Ancient Prayer -- Still Good

One of the places we visited during this summer's walking tour of Cornwall was Saint Wyllow Church in the parish of Lanteglos, which includes the ancient villages of Polruan, Bodinnick, Mixtow, Pont and Lanteglos Highway. Border by the River Fowey (pronounced "Foy") to the east and the Atlantic to the south, it's been settled as far back as the Bronze Age. The name "Lanteglos" is from the old Cornish Nant Eglos, which means "church valley." Many of the surrounding farms date back to the Doomsday records of 1086. Frankly, I don't think that much has changed since then.

The story goes that Saint Wyllow, a Christian hermit, was living nearby in Pont around 596.  Legend has it that he was killed by a relative and beheaded, but he got up and brought his own head to the current location, thus deciding where the church should be built. The building dates mostly from the late fourteenth century.  The tower is 70 feet tall, in four stages and stands on four piers.  The belfry has six bells (described as ‘silver tongued’ by Sir Arthur Quiller Couch).

It's a quiet and peaceful place. The church is old and musty and the gravestones are lichen-covered. But I could tell that it was still a vibrant parish because in the back corner of the nave was a children's corner full of scattered toys and crayons. And there was a sticky-note posted on the bulletin board dated from the previous day that said, "Dear Claudia, I'll be back on Tuesday evening to pick up the leftover dishes. Love, Susan."

As I left, I picked up a xerox copy of something entitled "An Ancient Prayer."

Give me a good digestion, Lord,

And also something to digest.

Give me a healthy body, Lord,

With sense to keep it at its best.

Give me a healthy mind, O Lord,

To keep the good and pure in sight,

Which seeing wrong is not appalled,

But finds a way to set it right.

Give me a mind that is not bored,

That does not whimper, whine or sigh.

Don't let me worry overmuch 

About that fussy thing called "I."

Give me a sense of humor, Lord,

Give me the grace to see a joke,

To get some happiness from life

And pass it on to other folk.

It seems to me that pretty much everything that's important is covered in this prayer, and when I read it now I wonder who wrote it, and how long ago. I think about the centuries of Cornish people who have worshipped in this place, and those who worship here still. I say a prayer for them, and remember these words written by Saint Paul in 1 Corinthians 3:10: "According to the grace of God given to me, like a skilled master builder I laid a foundation, and someone else is building on it. Each builder must choose with care how to build on it.

Now that I've re-discovered this piece of paper, in the pile of brochures and other papers from that trip, I think I'll begin using it on a daily basis. At least for a while.