Sermons

“Never Forget”

Leviticus 19:33-34; Luke 6:27-36 – Rev. Rebecca Littlejohn

Vista La Mesa Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), La Mesa, California – September 11, 2016

Holy God, bless the speaking and the hearing of these words, that your Spirit of merciful love might overtake our hearts and transform our world. We pray in Jesus’ name, Amen.

These are emotionally fraught times. September starts out with Labor Day and then we have this anniversary, and while neither are technically “church holy days”, we cannot, with integrity, avoid them. The last two Sundays of this month will bring us our annual celebration of our denomination’s Reconciliation Ministry, calling us to commit ourselves to dismantling racism, which of course, is only possible if we’re willing to confront the ugly realities of privilege and prejudice that many of us would prefer to ignore. Meanwhile, we’re in the waning days of a presidential campaign that seems to have been going on for 30 years, but which we must fervently pray will be over two months from now. It seems we are surrounded by death and destruction, and that the world is bent on politicizing it. But so much of what we call politics is dealt with far better and more faithfully if we reflect on it in the light of our common faith, not least the parts full of death and destruction. So when I ask you to pray with me and for me as we move into the Word together, I really mean it. There be dragons here. We must not forget that God is present with us through all of this.

Today is a day when we hear, over and over again, “Never forget.” What we may not have realized is that long before that refrain was attached to this date, it was part of the Christian tradition going back even before Jesus, that is, into our Jewish roots. “Never forget” is part of how our identity is formed. The question is what it is that we’re working to remember. What memories are we cultivating to shape our identity? Certainly today, we lift up those who were lost on this day and in the aftermath of the attacks we commemorate today. We mourn with those who mourn and weep with those who weep.

But it is vital to remember that we are not defined by what happens to us; rather, we are defined by our response to what happens to us. We have, after all, no control over what happens to us, but only over how we react. So if we’re choosing memories to shape our identity, it seems more fruitful to focus on the memories of our responses to tragedy, rather than the acts of violence themselves that already loom far larger than they should be allowed to. And as we remember and consider our response, we realize we are still responding and that Jesus has something to say about it. We are continually making choices about what it is we will “never forget,” choices that shape who we are becoming. Our faith must be part of that wrestling, if we are going to claim the name of Christ.

So what are some of the responses that we will choose to include in our catechism, the ones we want to make sure we will remember? One of the most powerful statements in the immediate aftermath of the attacks was when the Paris newspaper, Le Monde, declared on its front page, “Nous Sommes Tous Américains” – “We are all American.” The solidarity and support expressed by that single sentence was a comfort and a stay in those moments when it was hard to catch our breath. They weren’t speaking merely for Parisians or even just the French; they were Le Monde, after all – they were speaking for the world.

There are so many other stories. Just a couple that I’ve heard in the last 48 hours: Survivors and loved ones of those who were killed have begun to volunteer as tour guides at Ground Zero. They are finding healing in telling their stories to the tourists that come to see the site. Those tourists, coming into contact with those personal stories, are becoming pilgrims and healers themselves, as they listen with open hearts to the stories of the grieving.

An episode that has been turned a stage musical: Six thousand or so air passengers descending on the small international airport in Gander, Newfoundland, population 10,000, because American air space had been closed and their planes had to land. For three days, the residents of these tiny communities in the northeastern-most reaches of the continent put up these lost travelers, providing food and shelter and bedding, and satellite tv so they could know what was going on, and telephone lines so they could be in touch with their families. “I witnessed the best of humanity,” said Shirley Brooks-Jones, one of the Americans who experienced that Newfoundlander hospitality. She now runs a scholarship fund for the children of the community where she stayed.

So many beautiful stories about the “best of humanity,” people coming together in the wake of tragedy. But we know that there are other stories, stories that reveal another side of human nature, stories that show what happens when we choose to remember the wrong things and forget the important things. Physical attacks on Muslims in our country have risen exponentially in the years since the September 11^th attacks. And given how ignorant about Islam many Americans still are, this uptick also includes attacks on Sikhs as well and anybody else who happens to look different in the wrong way. Our foreign policy has not led us toward the paths of peace, but rather engaged this conflict in ways that have made it increasingly complicated and intractable. So many more lives have been needlessly lost since September 11^th, 2001. And living in America – the land of religious freedom – has become dangerous for Americans who are Muslims. Today, we’ve got candidates for office calling for us to bar refugees and to require American citizens who are Muslim to register with the government.

In moments such as this, it is imperative that Christians turn to Jesus and remind ourselves what scripture tells us to “never forget.” What did we read from Leviticus? “When an alien resides with you in your land, you shall not oppress the alien. The alien who resides with you shall be to you as the citizens among you; you shall love the alien as yourself, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt: I am the Lord your God.” There is an implicit “never forget” in this commandment: Never forget that you were the stranger once. Therefore you must treat the “strangers” in your midst as neighbors and family. And in case you’re not convinced and want to ask “But why?” there’s that closer: “I am the Lord your God.”

What Jesus says is, if possible, even more extreme. “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.” There really isn’t any wiggle room here. The Christian response to trauma and violence is love and mercy. Love and mercy, period, full stop. Nothing about only with fellow Christians, nothing about except in cases of national security, nothing about as long as it doesn’t endanger you or your family. Love and mercy.

“Yes, but….” We have so many “yes, but’s”! There are scary people out there in the world. And so many of them seem to be radical Islamists. Be that as it may, love and mercy. The realities of radical Islamists may seem hard to comprehend. “Why do they hate us?” we ask, forgetting that the majority of violence perpetrated by groups likes ISIS is against other Muslims. As children of Abraham go, we Christians are the middle child. Judaism was around long before we were born, and when we were about 500, younger sibling Islam was born. If we stop for a moment and think about the state of global Christianity 500 years ago, we may begin to see the current circumstances of Islam in a new light. The Crusades were not a high point for us. And even more absurdly were the decades and decades that Christians in Europe spent fighting each other. When I was in Germany on a Global Ministries young adult trip, we got a guided tour of the city of Münster. Our guide pointed out something unusual up at the top of the spires of the cathedral. There were iron cages up there. They were about the size of a double-wide coffin. They were kept as a reminder of the days when they were used in turn by Catholics and Anabaptists to imprison one another for heresy, depending on who was in power at the moment. I tell you this story to make it clear that we have no moral high ground from which to call any group of religious fanatics violent savages. But really, what would be the point of that anyway?

The commandments Jesus gives us regarding our supposed enemies almost make it seem like he wants us to get to know them as neighbors and friends. Love them, bless them, do good unto them, he says. Even if they’re stealing stuff from you, or physically hurting you. Love them, bless them, pray for them. When this becomes the approach we take to our Muslim-American neighbors, things change. We start to hear the many moderate voices within Islam speaking out against violence and terrorism and the repression of women. We learn to enjoy new foods and discover wonderful new music. We remember that we are all children of Abraham. We remember that we, too, have been strangers and that part of our identity as Christians is to welcome the stranger and offer hospitality to those the world is rejecting.

What if Jesus gives us these commandments about enemies because he knows that they are the only way to truly stop having enemies? What if we could find a way to hold that teaching as the first memory in our hearts, the memory that shapes us most fundamentally? There are many ways to respond to tragedy and violence. The path Jesus calls us to follow is narrow and difficult, but it is the one that leads to life abundant for all God’s children. Alleluia and Amen.