A Reflection on 9/11
by Mary Earle

You plot ruin;
Your tongue is like a sharpened razor,
O worker of deception.
—Psalm 52:2

It has been years since those who plotted ruin brought chaos and destruction to the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and Flight 93. So many died. So many suffered.

And still so many continue to grieve, to question, to struggle with the aftermath of lives so abruptly and violently ended.

A deception was worked, a deception of hate. There may indeed be reasons for the hate, reasons that are historical, cultural and political. Nevertheless, hate needs to be named. And recognized. When hate seeks to be embodied, it issues in inhuman acts of terrorism.

In the sixteenth century, Martin Luther observed that sin begins when we “curve in upon ourselves.” Hate is a consummate kind of turning inward and denying the reality and sacredness of another or of whole groups of people. Hate is an ultimate kind of turning inward, of refusing to see anything but my own little distorted universe. And so often, religious certitude and hatred are twins, working together in persons and in communities to corrupt and destroy the creatures of God.

One day, in the weeks following 9/11, I heard a discussion on National Public Radio in which a caller said the following,

I was raised in a very traditional, rigid Christian household, and I never questioned any of the beliefs. After 9/11 it occurred to me that the men who boarded those planes with their paper cutters and who flew the planes to utter destruction held their beliefs as strongly as I held mine. And I had to ask myself, “Would I allow my own religious certainty to lead me to that kind of act? Would my need to be righteous lead me to hurt someone else?”

The caller went on to say that doubt had been a blessing to him. He realized that though his beliefs were different from those of the hijackers, they functioned the same way psychologically and spiritually. He had begun with the startling awareness that his own tendency to edge toward rigidity had within it the seeds of something vicious and self-seeking. He could see that any religious certitude could treat others as means to an end, rather than as neighbors.

And he had awakened to the startling possibility that he, too, could plot ruin. Perhaps not by flying an airplane into a skyscraper. But perhaps by demeaning someone whose beliefs were different. Perhaps by living primarily from certitude and condescension. Perhaps by beginning to turn in upon himself, refusing to hear the still, small voice of God speaking quietly within.

It is true that we have witnessed much plotting of ruin. In fact, we have seen the ruin. Some of us have smelled it and tasted it for months. Others have lived with it viscerally as dearly loved family and friends met their deaths.

Such an event takes a long, long time to absorb. In this process of reflecting, remembering, grieving and confessing, I remember the caller who had the courage to face his own propensity to rigidity. I remember the man who had the integrity to look at his own life and practice, and to pray, “Let me let go of hate. Let me let go of the need to be right. Let me begin again.”

Merciful God, we pray for all who died on this date five years ago. We pray for those who brought about ruin and destruction. We pray for those who survived, those who grieve, those who serve this land. And we pray that in time, out of the grief and the wreckage, your new creation may truly emerge. Amen.