Called To Be More

A special service in the wake of the attacks on the WTC in New York and the Pentagon in Washington, DC, September 11, 2001.

Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, begins tomorrow evening. Originally this sermon was intended to note the usual synchronicity between the Jewish calendar and our own church year, and invite us to consider our lives and responsibilities in this time of new beginning as Jews do in a spiritual, religious context. In a macabre way, the theme still applies; the high holidays are a time when Jews focus on their mortality, on what their deeds have been, on the state of their souls and the actions of their lives. The days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, the day of atonement, when Jews pray to be listed in the divine book of Life for another year, are called the days of awe. The days of awe are spent in contemplation and prayer regarding one's place and what is the right way to live in the world and in accordance with sacred beliefs and values.

On Tuesday, with the hijacking of four planes, the destruction of the World Trade Center towers, the crash in Pennsylvania and the crash of a plane, carrying among its passengers people with ties to this congregation, into the Pentagon, as we have all heard by now, things changed. An era ended, a new one began. Old understandings were destroyed, new perceptions are just beginning to establish themselves. As is true for all people living in the midst of an event in history, we hardly know yet how to understand these events, this new era, the time we are living through, the people we are becoming as individuals and as a nation.

We have shared before the words of T. S. Eliot:

"What we call a beginning is often the end
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from."

This is an unexpected, dreadful time of new beginnings, and of terrible endings. Still struggling just to take in what has happened takes everything we have. Some of us are so blessed as to have no loved ones to seek or mourn during this time. But for all of us, whatever our circumstances, one of the most difficult aspects of the past week is that these events call us to be more than we are. We are hurt. We are shocked. We are devastated. We are grief-stricken. We are angry. We are disbelieving. We are confused. We are defensive. We are afraid.

As someone who is not a pacifist but who believes in working for peace, I'm not speaking this morning to tell anyone what to do or how to think in response to what has happened to us. We have received such messages on television, in newspapers, over the internet. Some urge war. Some urge peace. They offer different interpretations of why this happened to us, and what we must do to keep ourselves safe and uphold our values as Americans and leaders of the world.

All week people have sought to liken what happened to another event in our nation's history. The sudden, unexpected, devastating attack is like Pearl Harbor. The blow to our sense of safety and nationhood is like the assassination of John F. Kennedy. Our feeling of despair is like that engendered by the further killings of Martin Luther King Jr. and Robert Kennedy. What has happened to us is like what we did to Japan when we dropped the bomb - and cheered its success.

As when we fought WWII and abused many Japanese-Americans, there have already been reports of threats and violence against American Muslims and Arab Americans. These stories are frightening and reprehensible. There have also been many messages and demonstrations of goodwill and care towards our Arab and Muslim neighbors, friends, citizens in this country. Those messages have come from every level, from leaders of our country or our own UUA President, Bill Sinkford, to the many individuals we have seen on television and in the press who have reached out as one citizen to another across religious and ethnic distinctions. This is a week in which we are learning something about what it truly means to be one nation, indivisible. There is much to be proud of. There is much to condemn. And such ambivalence is reflected abroad; this is also a week in which, though we have seen Palestinians dancing in the streets at our suffering, we have heard too from the vast majority of the world's Muslims, far too often overlooked by the media, who are not only peace-loving like us, but who share our pain from the past few days.

What does all this leave us with? Is this attack a just one on our behemoth country which does not respect our fellow countries and other points of view? Is it our fault because we were careless about security? Did we have it coming because of our economic policies or our position regarding Israel? Is it a fanatic's attempt to change our foreign policy or a fanatic's attempt to change the balance of power in the world between Judeo-Christian and Muslim peoples or a fanatic's threat to international globalization generally? Should we respond with swift and enormous vengeance to scare off any who might attempt this again? Should we respond with appeals to the World Court for legislative justice? Should we respond with compassion, and chastened, better respect our companions on this planet? What do we owe the dead? What do we owe our children? The questions, interpretations, challenges are myriad and confusing. Our answers must be honest and our own. But in seeking our answers, there are two aspects of these circumstances absolutely true for every one of us here this morning, for every American everywhere.

The first is that we are called by what has happened to us to be better than we are. What has happened calls us to be stronger, wiser, more informed, more compassionate than we are, perhaps even more so than we wish to be. I am angry. I am afraid. I want to be safe. I want someone to pay. I want someone to feel the kind of pain and terror they gave to the thousands of us who died on Tuesday, and to all of us living since then. I want someone to come alive out of the rubble and ashes in NY or Washington. I am not at all inclined to brand a people or a religion responsible, but I know someone is responsible, perhaps even disappointed in the results of their work this week, and I want them to feel the way they made me feel this week.

It is easy to strike back and make the people we think hurt us pay. It is easy even to grieve our losses and admire the courage of the people who have tried all week to ransom people back from death in the rubble of the crash sites. I can't dial the phone reliably yet, or always remember to push the button for my floor in my apartment building's elevator, and I keep forgetting things - but it's been easy to grieve, easy to admire the people searching for answers and lives. But that's not enough. I know it's not enough for me, and it's not enough for any of us, nor for America. Our decisions have to be what we feel is actually right, and not just what will satisfy our bloodlust. Our actions must represent what we believe in, and not just spring from our confusion or our hurt or our fear. Our country has the responsibility to be better than it is in this situation, and we each share that responsibility personally. We have to listen to each other with open minds and compassionate hearts even when we disagree. We have to take in information carefully and weigh our decisions appropriately, which means realizing that history will turn on what we do right now. We have to respond knowing that the world is watching, and we do not want to be ashamed before them.

And what we have going for us in this is that we are not alone. The second truth for all of us is that we are fortunate in the midst of all this devastation and uncertainty to have each other. We have each other to learn from, to hear different experiences and points of view from, to lean on for help and care, to give us opportunities to help and care at a time when helplessness is the most terrible feeling of all. Together we can respond to this. Together we can march and lobby for what we think is right. Together we can fight and condemn what we think is wrong. Together we are strong. Together we can lead each other to moments of quiet and hope. The most terrible thing is to be alone in pain. The greatest gift is to have companions to share the burden of a dark day and difficult choices. This truth is again one for America, but also for each of us. Being with you this week has meant a great deal to me. This church is a gift we give each other and the world, and let us not forget that at a time when our community can mean so much in so many ways.

Together with everyone who is facing this ending and this beginning, this dreadful new year, these days which are in so many ways days of awe, may we struggle to find the right response to the charge that comes with living, the charge laid out in Deuteronomy and read at this time in Jewish congregations across the world: "Behold, I place before you today life and good, and death and evil....choose life."

This past week people of all colors, beliefs, nations and traditions around the world closed stores, worshipped, prayed and sent messages of grief and support to us. Together, may we find a way through these days to better times, may we live to know a world wreathed not the smoke of hatred and indifference but the laughter of peace and trust.