Fourteen years ago, I didn’t own a television. I learned of the horrific events of that day as I turned on NPR during my morning routine.
I was so horrified by what I was hearing I rushed outside and found others similarly traumatized. Neighbors I had never talked to previously now were sharing of our shared incomprehension: How could people hijack four planes and seek to maximize death and destruction, aiming at the heart of American commerce and government?
In the following days, I read an enormous amount about the people killed, the perpetrators, and ways we could respond as people of compassion, people of faith, and as a nation. This was my coping mechanism.
At that time I was serving the Unitarian Universalist congregation in Woodinville, Washington, located at the northeast corner of the Seattle metro area. I had never previously experienced such a profound sense of solidarity with my fellow Americans.
But I also struggled with the frequent jingoist calls for “God Bless America.”
I struggled with the rhetoric declaring us as God’s specifically ordained nation, especially as our nation’s leaders prepared for war with a nation that had no connection to the September 11 attacks.
“You are either with us or against us.”
The moral certitude of our leaders was quickly eroding that wondrous sense of solidarity that I experienced immediately after the attacks of September 11.
It was true that Saddam Hussein had a long list of bad deeds. But going to war with a nation that had not attacked ours seemed ludicrous. It was a response that could potentially destabilize an entire region.
I began to find solidarity among those who were similarly shocked and horrified by the prospect of invading Iraq.
For the first time in the history of the suburb of Woodinville, protests gathered--and not just a single protest, but twice weekly protests.
Similar protests in similar communities started to occur all across the nation. The staggering numbers of Americans willing to set aside their daily routine to declare opposition to an immoral war was inspiring. How could our nation’s leaders ignore the most widespread protests in American history?
The local paper published my letter opposing an invasion of Iraq, to which I received hate mail accusing me of being anti-American. The bully tactics in my own community were astonishing. When the efforts of so many thoughtful, concerned citizens were ignored at the national level and often vilified at the local level, I began to lose faith in what it means to be an American.
Instead of raising an American flag in worship, I raised a flag with a picture of the earth on it--and shared with my congregation why.
I believe people of faith should have as our ultimate concern all people, all nations, the world as a whole.
However disappointed we may be in how our country responded fourteen years ago, we must get truly real with what is going on today, grieve our tremendous pain and loss, and find our way to compassionate attention.
I am horrified by the barbarity unleashed over the past fourteen years. If the leaders of Al Queda sought to catalyze a growing movement of violence and terror, then they were wildly successful.
Prior to September 11th, suicide bombers existed but were rare in their attacks. Now we hear of attacks almost every day--as well as young people lured from their homes.
Prior to September 11, there was hardly any destruction of cultural sites, and now vast troves and significant monuments of human culture are gone. Grisly executions of innocents were previously unimaginable.
It is tempting to long for the pre-September 11 days, but we need to make sense of these memories and the changing world we live in.
What does it mean to love with courage in the post-September 11 era?
As I pray on this question, I return to these words: hospitality, honesty, and renewal.
Hospitality emerges when we welcome others and their perspectives into our hearts, our homes, our communities.
Honesty is key. We cannot grow or respond with compassionate attention unless we are honest about our struggles, honest about what is happening in the world, and honest about how we struggle and fail to live up to our ideals.
Renewal is also a crucial step. Coming to terms with chaos and brutality in the world is overwhelming. We need to gather with others for the sake of renewing our spirits and discerning how to move forward
My congregation sings this hymn; it is a hymn of hospitality, honesty and renewal:
This Is My Song (set to the tune of Finlandia by Sibelius)
This is my song, O God of all the nations,
A song of Peace for lands afar and mine.
This is my home, the country where my heart is;
Here are my hopes, my dreams, my sacred shrine.
But other hearts in other lands are beating,
With hopes and dreams as true and high as mine.
My country’s skies are bluer than the ocean,
And sunlight beams on cloverleaf and pine.
But other lands have sunlight too and clover,
And skies are everywhere as blue as mine.
Oh hear my song, oh God of all the nations,
A song of Peace for their land and for mine.
Alan. I resonated with nearly all that you wrote here. One thing I would like to point out, as a reality check. I (and you) and others often cringe at the words "God Bless America," as you indicated, but mostly because of the context where it is used. I do recall that the song "God Bless America" has a line in it (referring to America - ie. the United States) "Stand beside her and guide her . . " In my better moments I like to recall that sentiment. Stand beside our nation, but also work to guide our nation, based on your deeply held beliefs with guidance from God or whatever your Source is. If we want to have God Bless America, we need to guide our nation to be worthy of that blessing. I think it was Abraham Lincoln who said that he was not so sure whether God was on our side, but more concerned that we were on God's side. Rich PokornyReplyDelete