The F-Word (Forgiveness)

Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against me? Up to seven times?” Jesus answered, “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times." --Matthew 18:21-22

Here's what I think as we approach the tenth anniversary of the September 11th tragedy. (I know you didn't ask, and you may disagree, but this is still my blog):

September 11, 2001, was a terrible tragedy. I remember (don't we all remember exactly where we were, what we were doing?) I was in a classroom filled with four-year-olds. I had taken something to the office and while I was there, heard the news on the radio. I remember wanting to throw up. 

And I remember asking if it was true. 

And I remember thinking, I need to go back to class and act as if nothing is wrong. Four-year-olds do not need to know.  Not from us. Not when we knew so little, anyway.

We had a student teacher with us. Her response  was memorable, as well: "Oh, no! There was a Krispy Kreme in that building! No more doughnuts!"

I remember one little boy outside at recess, older, maybe nine or ten, standing atop the climbing bars, arms outstretched, shouting, "Come on, terrorists-- come and hit me!" Again, urge to vomit.

Our response as a nation and as the world, in those early hours and days, was amazing. As the French put it: "Now, we are all Americans." I had an email from a friend in Colombia, a nation fraught with its own problems, wanting to be sure we were safe. Offering prayers and love.

Every heart was broken, every soul wept with grief and pain. We all flocked back to church, prayed as one for the return of peace. We prayed for justice. In this land that had never known such tragedy, suddenly the very bedrock of our existence seemed shaken.

Then came the rhetoric. And then came the war, ten years of it. And what, really, has been accomplished? Trillions of dollars in debt, more innocent lives lost. 

We will never forget. That was/ has been the rallying cry. But how about this: We shall always remember.

We shall always remember those who raced in to help: the firefighters, police and medical personnel.

We shall always remember the brave passengers who sent their own plane into the ground, so other lives might be saved.

We shall always remember the photographs, walls of faces, and the people searching for their loved one's name on a list, just to know. Just to gain closure, to know whether to weep or to rejoice. 

We shall always remember the voices. The love. The goodbyes never spoken-- and the goodbyes never to be forgotten.

But what of forgiveness? Have we forgiven?  Can we, this weekend, even in the face of renewed threats-- we knew they would come-- can we set aside our differences? Can we worship God and not country? 

We are not used to being vulnerable. And we tend not to be comfy with that. 

Fear and anger eat away hope and promise, corroding our peace, causing us to see with suspicion and distrust.

(Yet Christ taught us the need for humility. It is a lesson I, for one, am still learning. Reluctantly at times.)

Forgiving is not the same as forgetting. It is not erasing the faces of terror from our minds-- but it is learning to let go of the pain and the anger and the desire for revenge. 

It is not allowing the one who has hurt you to continue to follow you, pester you, bring out the ugly in you. 

It is not building a wall around our nation, fortifying her borders to keep "them" out so something like this never happens again. (Won't work. Never has. All a wall does is keep me in.)

It is not seeing a face of terror lurking behind every hijab.  

Forgiveness is allowing the love of Christ to remain in your life, even after you have risen from your knees, dusted off and walked out the door of your house of worship and back into your Monday through Friday world. 

http://www.facebook.com/911walks

One way to remember. One way to forgive. One way to make a small difference, which is infinitely better than no difference at all. One way to get to know someone who might be different from you, but still loves her husband, still plays with his child-- still bleeds when cut, still weeps in mourning.

One small step for each person. One giant leap for all of humankind.