"Looking back, I realize it was the beautiful day that killed us."

These are the words of Richard Picciotto, a grizzled and grieving New York City fire battalion commander. His book "Last Man Down" tells the story of Picciotto's four hours trapped in the rubble of the North Tower of the World Trade Center.

Picciotto believes that if it had been gray or foggy or overcast on September 11, there's no way the terrorists could have flown those planes. Not on THAT day, anyway. All up and down the east coast it was the same: Still winds, blue skies, not a cloud in sight. Boston, New York, and here in Washington, D.C. ... all enjoying an absolutely gorgeous, late-summer day.

How well we remember. The beauty of the day, and the horror of the events.

We gather together today, on the first anniversary of September 11, to remember: To think back, to recollect, to memorialize, to analyze, and to pledge to one another that we will never forget. But as Christians, we do not gather to remember in the sense of simply recollecting an important event from the past. No, our approach is different, and it is deeply and distinctly rooted in the biblical idea of remembrance -- the approach that Jesus took when he said, "Do this in remembrance of me" (Luke 22:19). In the Christian faith, remembrance brings an event from the past into the present -- it recalls an event in such a way that it has a powerful effect on the here and now.

Think of Communion, the meal that reminds us of the gruesome, gory death of the Son of God, the tragic breaking of his body and the spilling of his blood, not in a metal tower but on a wooden cross. When we remember Jesus at his table, we believe that he is present with us now, present in a powerful way, transforming our todays and our tomorrows.

Something similar should be happening right now. As we remember September 11, we should be focusing on how the events of last year can shape THIS year, and how our memory of the past can transform our vision of the future.

This process begins with identification: Deep, personal identification. Are you aware that there is a singing group called "I Am the World Trade Center"? They are a New York electronic duo who were in existence long before September 11, and they chose their name because the twin towers represented a number of important things to them. Explained group member Daniel Geller, "Their giant presence on the skyline reminded us every day of what an amazing and overwhelming place we are living in." Also, the two towers, equal and independent yet still one entity, were a metaphor for the relationship Geller and his partner Amy Dykes developed both personally and professionally.

Out of respect for those who lost so much in the tragedy, the group has shortened its name to "I Am The ...." That's it: "I Am The ... dot ... dot ... dot." But Geller says that "the name and symbol will still live with us and we hope that one day we can use our entire name, which we are so proud of."

They are proud, and they should be. They have identified themselves with something amazing and overwhelming, something equal and independent ... and yet united. Maybe we should ALL identify ourselves more deeply and personally with what was lost in the city of New York in the terrorist attacks.

On this anniversary day, we can say, with real conviction, "I Am the World Trade Center."

Let's give this a try, as a call-and-response litany. When I say the words, "we can say together," I want you to respond, "I Am the World Trade Center." Give it a try. "We can say together" ... "I Am the World Trade Center."

Here we go. When we remember the stockbrokers and window-washers who worked together so valiantly and helped each other to escape, we can say together, "I Am the World Trade Center."

When we remember the firefighters who rushed upstairs as everyone else was racing down, we can say together, "I Am the World Trade Center."

When we remember the police officers who performed their duties until the towers came crashing down on top of them, we can say together, "I Am the World Trade Center."

When we remember the thousands of workers, men and women, young and old, married and single, American and international, who could not escape the buildings, we can say together, "I Am the World Trade Center."

When we remember the citizens who rushed to the scene, raced right into danger, and did whatever they could to help, we can say together, "I Am the World Trade Center."

When we remember the people who poured into blood banks to make donations, we can say together, "I Am the World Trade Center."

When we remember the millions of Americans who gave so generously to funds designed to help survivors and their families, we can say together, "I Am the World Trade Center."

Well done. We ARE the World Trade Center. This is the heart of remembrance. It begins with deep, personal identification. It begins with remembering the affliction of our brothers and sisters, and making their pain our own.

There is a powerful biblical precedent for doing this. In today's Scripture passage from Deuteronomy, the Israelites are given specific instructions on how they are to make offerings to God in the Promised Land. When future generations present a portion of their harvest to the priest, they are to remember and recite the story of how they were given their land.

"A wandering Aramean was my ancestor," they say. They begin by identifying themselves with Jacob, the vulnerable, destitute, landless ancestor who had sought refuge from famine in the land of Egypt. Then they tell his story, remembering that "he went down into Egypt and lived there as an alien, few in number, and there he became a great nation, mighty and populous" (Deuteronomy 26:5).

So far, so good. But now it gets really interesting. The Israelites go on to say, "When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labor on us, we cried to the Lord, the God of our ancestors" (vv. 6-7). Notice the shift: The people say, "When the Egyptians treated US harshly and afflicted US, by imposing hard labor on US." The Israelites are not talking about Jacob anymore, they are talking about themselves. Even though none of these residents of the Promised Land experienced any of this affliction themselves, they REMEMBER it ... and when they remember it, they make the pain of their ancestors their own. By remembering, they bring an event from the past into the present, and they do it in such a way that it has a powerful effect on the here and now.

They are saying, "I am a slave in Egypt," just as we said a minute ago, "I Am the World Trade Center." Whenever we begin with a deep and personal identification, we remember the past in a way that transforms the present and the future. The Israelites are being challenged to remember their affliction, just as we are doing today. And when they do, they discover that they are not alone in their pain and suffering. No, they report that when they cried to the Lord, "the Lord heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. The Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with a terrifying display of power, and with signs and wonders" (vv. 7-8).

The people of God are never alone in their affliction. Not in ancient Israel. Not in the United States today. When God's people cry to the Lord, he hears their voice and delivers them with a mighty hand. This is the first lesson of September 11, a lesson for today and for tomorrow: There is nothing that can destroy us as long as we put our faith in GOD.

Sure, we can be treated harshly and afflicted. We can be attacked by planes in the sky and anthrax in the mail. We can suffer the deaths of thousands of fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters. But when we cry to the Lord, God hears and God responds. This is a rock-solid, foundational truth, dating back at least to the affliction of our ancestors in Egypt. It is so important for us to remember this, and by remembering it to make it real and active in our daily lives.

Notice, too, that the Israelites are challenged to recall that it was God who brought them into the Promised Land, "a land flowing with milk and honey" (v. 9). Their land has come to them as a gift, and they are to treasure it and care for it and protect it as though it were a precious inheritance. The very same it true for us, as we reflect on the condition of our nation today. Are we treating it as a valuable gift, or are we taking it for granted? Are we treasuring it, or are we abusing it? Are we caring for it, or are we neglecting it? Are we protecting it, or are we exposing it to internal and external dangers?

This is the second lesson of September 11, for the present and the future: Unless we consider this nation to be a precious GIFT, a gift from God, one with priceless freedoms and responsibilities and opportunities and resources, then we will lose one of the great treasures of our lives.

Today's Scripture also reminds us that we have a responsibility to respond to God's generosity with gifts of our own. You shall set your offering down before the Lord, says Deuteronomy. "Then you, together with the Levites and the aliens who reside among you, shall celebrate with all the bounty that the Lord your God has given to you" (vv. 10-11). It's fascinating to note that ancient Israel was a thoroughly multicultural society, like our own -- the celebration that follows gift-giving was to include not just Israelites, but also "the aliens who reside among you."

That's amazing, isn't it? The celebration wasn't just for insiders. It was to include both citizens and resident aliens.

The challenge for us today, even in the face of terrorist threats, is to remain a generous people. As Christians in America, we've been blessed by God, and so we are called to be a blessing to others, in bad times as well as good. In ancient Israel, gifts were required for the upkeep of the sanctuary servants, but also for three categories of needy persons: resident aliens, orphans, and widows (v. 12). Very few human needs have changed in the past 3,000 years, and our generous giving is still required if we are going to live in a global community in which the needs of the destitute are met.

The third and final lesson of September 11 may be this: Unless we care for the POOR of this world, and work for social justice, there will continue to be anger between classes and nations that can give rise to terrorist activity. As has been so clear in Israel in recent months, there can be no peace without justice, and no harmony without concern for human life.

One year ago, we woke up to a beautiful day, and it nearly killed us. Today, as we remember those horrors, we can embrace the lessons of the day, renew our faith in God, and rededicate ourselves to being his people.

With the help of our Lord, the beautiful days to come will be full of life, not death. Amen.

 

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