We contacted a Presbyterian minister in each of
the four states of the Synod and asked: What did you preach about on
the Sunday following the terrorist attack of September 11? We are sharing
here excerpts from those four sermons, reflecting both the oneness and
the diversity of Presbyterians from the mountains of Appalachia to the
Gulf Coast of Alabama and points in between.
Excerpts from the sermon "When I Get Weary
... and I Can't Sleep ..." by The Reverend Fred Griffie, First
Presbyterian Church, Harlan, Kentucky
FEAR OR FAITH
"The trouble with you," said a wise physician
to his patient, "is that you put your body to bed for its rest,
but your mind keeps on the run. Even worse than physical fatigue is
fatigue of soul, a calamitous giving-out of those deeply inward resources
by which, when all is said and done, a person keeps up to snuff. In
addition to our own personal struggles of our hearts we had imposed
upon us this week a terrorist act of unimaginable magnitude on our own
soil ... the continuing reporting of 260 some odd killed in the airplanes
alone, 150 at last count killed in the twin towers collapsing with 4,700
some odd people still missing and unaccounted for. This causes us internal
stress as we get bombarded with TV coverage showing the collapse of
the towers time and time again. This makes some feel guilty if they
do not constantly watch the news, some have become addicted to it, and
it is having an effect on our national psyche in many ways. There are
indications of an ongoing conflict which will probably alter our lifestyles
quite a bit.
Mistrust among the haves and have nots has much
to do with the terrorist acts of September 11. The wealthy persons have
developed a fear of those who do not have wealth. The poor person fears
that his fate and his children's fate will have no meaningful future.
The problem with this is that there is some truth on both sides. Each
side fears the other as both fear encroachment from the other side.
World wide relationships between rich and poor are at a stalemate and
relationships that exist are based on fear and mistrust. This lack of
understanding for each other's plight has developed hatred and violence
which escalated into planes flying into skyscrapers and a government
building. This is not totally unlike the fear that launches cruise missiles
at a faraway enemy.
The opposite of fear is faith. How one may practice
this faith in light of what has happened is perhaps very similar to
how one would carry on in times of his or her personal weariness and
fears. One model comes to mind.
I suggest that we carry on with our church picnics
and activities that enable us to reach out to each other. That is important
to maintain our sense of togetherness in this crucial time. The other
is to look at Psalm 73 and do just what this weary person did.
But when I thought how to understand this,
it seemed to me a wearisome task,
until I went into the sanctuary of God.
This enabled the psalmist to see how destructive
further doubt would be. We cannot live our lives from this point on
in fear. The psalmist found peace above all turmoil. The particular
place where he found his peace was in the sanctuary. How appropriate
for us today with the many prayer services following the tragedy. The
psalmist says "until" I went into the house of God. It seems
he had been going other places for answers. The sanctuary was the appointed
place for him to look up (instead of probing around in his innards!).
The third thing he gained in the sanctuary was a sustaining companionship
with the Eternal God.
We may have our personal memories and now they
are added to as of September 11 by the miseries of our haunted world.
Trying to understand such things on our own is a wearisome task, but
we cannot live by fear. The Lord God is our refuge and underneath are
his everlasting arms.
Excerpts from a sermon by The Reverend Robert F.
Murphy, Jr., Trinity Presbyterian Church, Fairhope, Alabama
WHERE WAS GOD LAST TUESDAY?
Psalm 46; Romans 8:31-35, 37-39; John 11:35
There have been only two other times in the course
of my ministry when I have aborted the sermon I was preparing. The first
time came when a rash of tornadoes struck the community where I lived,
and I felt compelled to preach a sermon on God's reassuring presence.
The other time was the Sunday following the bombing of the Murrah federal
building in Oklahoma City, and nothing less than a good word about God's
sustaining love would do. This makes the third time, today, and I hope
that there is not a pulpit in the world from which some Christian minister
is not addressing Tuesday's horror in some way or another.
Five days later, and we are still in shock. The
news is coming in so rapidly from the investigation that I can only
watch in spurts, trying to assimilate the horror, I am numb from seeing
person after person, hollow-eyed, walking the New York City streets
with Kinko copies of loved ones, hoping against hope that they may somehow
be alive. My eyes swell and sting when I think of passengers huddled
in the back of kamikaze airplanes, using their cell phones for the last
call home they will ever make. My hope is fading to despair when I listen
to spouses being interviewed, and hearing them say, "I know she'll
be home ... he'll be home." Hope dies a slow death, and maybe a
few will be found alive, but probably most will not.
A few years ago, Shirley Guthrie, the professor
of systematic theology at Columbia Seminary, was invited to come to
the church I was serving. He was asked to address the congregation's
"Questions of Faith." Predictably, the question of bad things
happening to good people came up, and Guthrie responded: "Suffering,
for Christians, is best understood by looking toward God's faithfulness
in the past. The people of Israel remembered God's faithfulness in Exodus.
The Psalmist remembered God's faithfulness as our refuge and strength,
a very present help in times of trouble. When a Christian dies, we remember
Jesus' resurrection as the foundation of our hope."
The apostle Paul was acquainted with the divisions
and pain and destructiveness of life. Yet in Romans, in his theological
summary, Paul affirmed his conviction that there was absolutely nothing
which had the power to break humanity from God's love and presence.
Where was God last Tuesday? The inspirational piece
Footprints in the Sand has been important for many who have
questioned God's presence in their times of difficulty. Many of you
have a copy wedged in your Bible or stuffed in a drawer. While the piece
is simple, it strikes me as having an important thought as we wonder
about God's presence.
One night a man dreamed he was walking along the beach with the
Lord. He could see their footprints in the sand ... his and the Lord's.
Across the sky flashed scenes from his life. When the last scene flashed
before him, he looked back at the footprints in the sand. He noticed
that many times along his journey there was only one set of footprints.
And this occurred at the very lowest and saddest times of his life.
This really bothered him and he questioned the Lord about it. "Lord,
you promised that if I would follow you, you would never leave me
or forsake me. Yet during the most troublesome times of my life, there
is only one set of footprints. Why, when I needed you most, were you
not there?" The Lord replied, "My precious child, I love
you and would never leave you. During those times of trial and suffering,
when you see only one set of footprints ... it was then that I carried
you."
I believe, personally, there is one set of footprints
leading away from the World Trade Center towers. And there is one set
of footprints leading away from the Pentagon wall. And one set of footprints
is leading out of that field in Somerset County.
Where was God last Tuesday? To know something of
the heart of God, we look in scripture to Jesus Christ, and every place
where people were in pain and crisis, Jesus had compassion and mercy.
Realizing that Jesus wept is a small window into God's heart, and we
see God who experiences our pain, God who is angered when it appears
the world has gone to hell, God who is "Immanuel," God with
us.
I suspect that the first heart to break last Tuesday
was God's heart. The first tears shed were God's. God's great arms held
those who were trapped, so that they were never separated from his love.
God, too, was buried under the rubble with the persons who died. God
was where he was on a Friday afternoon in Jerusalem when he watched
his own son die on a cross. Friends, within our pain and anger let us
remember God's faithfulness. There is never a Good Friday without an
Easter morning.
Excerpts from the sermon based on Jeremiah: 11-12,
22-28, preached by The Rev. Stacy Rector on Sept. 16, 2001 at Second
Presbyterian Church, Nashville, Tennessee
BECAUSE OF THIS,
THE EARTH SHALL MOURN
The year 587, marks a defining moment in the history
of ancient Israel's life and therefore as part of the Judeo-Christian
tradition, in our life as well. 587 marks the year in which the lives
of God's chosen people are changed forever.
For in this year, the unthinkable happens. Mighty
Babylon sweeps into the land of Judah like a hot blast of wind, and
nothing will ever be the same.
And, there in the midst of all the destruction,
there standing in the rubble of what once was the holy Temple of God,
stands Jeremiah. Poor Jeremiah. He is often called "the weeping
prophet," and he has every reason to weep. Throughout this book,
he constantly struggles with his own grief at the suffering of his people
but also with his frustration at their wax-filled ears and blind eyes
that will not face the reality of their situation.
As I have been watching the continuous coverage
of our own unimaginable disaster over the past few days, I have been
struck by several things. One is the common sense of disbelief among
most Americans that such a massive assault of violence could occur on
American soil. That any outsider would have the audacity or the means
to so brazenly breach the once secure borders of the USA almost seems
impossible to us. I must admit that I have shared in the disbelief.
Such terror as has been wreaked upon us this week is a very new experience
for most of us, but sadly, is not new for many around the world.
I have also been aware of the questions that people
have been asking as it relates to the events of Tuesday. But the question
that I have missed in most of the conversations to which I have listened
this week, though we are utterly shocked by the hatred of these terrorists
is the question, "What is the source of this deep hatred for our
nation?"
We can chalk it up to religious fanaticism, but
I do not think we are being completely honest. Now listen closely. Please
do not misunderstand me. What happened on Tuesday in this country is
inexcusable and unjustifiable under any circumstances. But like the
Judean people of Jeremiah's time, have we too believed only that which
we wanted to about ourselves and our security? Have we delighted in
our ignorance of the oppressed and disenfranchised all over the world,
which has allowed us to live our lives in this country, business as
usual? Did we really believe that with all the injustice, violence,
and despair around us, some of which we have helped to create, that
we would not eventually be touched by the same injustice, violence,
and despair? Have we become so dull to the plight of God's own suffering,
desperate people in this country and abroad that, like the Judeans,
we no longer notice God's own face in the pleading eyes of a migrant
worker barely paid a pittance? Or in the ex-con who is lost in the "free"
world because he has no skills, no support, and no hope?
I know that our wounds are still very raw today,
not even a week after these tragedies occurred. I know our hearts are
broken and our spirits low. I know that the road before us as a people
is a long and difficult one as debris and death is still being removed
from the streets of New York City and Washington D.C. And yet ... "Yet."
It is such a little word, but so full of possibility. God says through
Jeremiah "the whole land shall be a desolation; yet, I will not
make a full end."
God is not through with us, just as God is not
through with Judah. The time of exile is a time for soul-searching.
The time of exile is a time to revision life in terms of commitment
to and reliance upon God, not ourselves, nor our sense of patriotism,
nor our knowledge nor our inclinations. In the midst of all the mourning
and violence, in the midst of the rubble and chaos, there remains that
divine, "yet ..."
This "yet" is full of potential. It does
not have to lead to retaliation and retribution, which creates more
violence, more despair, more loss.
The church, the body of Christ in the world, must
demonstrate the creative power of God at this pivotal moment in our
nation.
As followers of Jesus, resisting violence is not
an option but a mandate. As people of the resurrection, we must allow
God to use this exile event in our world to show us new, creative, and
yes, more difficult ways, of dealing with the injustice and violence
in our world. The church must exercise great courage at this time, perhaps
suffering the ridicule or accusations that Jeremiah does, to demand
another way for responding to this crisis.
We must ask ourselves, "To whom, do we ultimately
belong? For whom, do we live? Whose way is our way?" And there
is only one who is the way and the truth and the life. Christ's way,
our way, is the most difficult of all for it bids us come and die, not
as victims, but as resistors, of the world's ways of violence, oppression,
domination, fear.
Excerpts from the sermon preached at Westminster
Presbyterian Church in Hattiesburg, Mississippi by The Rev. Emmett Barfield
GREAT SEAS AND SMALL BOATS
Ecclesiastes 3:1-11; Revelation 6:7-8; Mark 6:45-52
For the first time the great sea barriers to our
eastern and western borders failed to keep us out of harm's way. Pain,
death, and destruction beyond belief befell us. We watched it over and
over subconsciously hoping for some "Bruce Willis" super cop
to appear changing that heart sickening scenario. All to no avail. As
a nation and as individuals, we are in deep grief; we are angry; and
possibly for the first time in our lives we are afraid. Have even two
individuals gotten together for a conversation of any length without
one saying: "What do you think will happen now?" And what
is really being asked is: "Is there any word from the Lord?"
[to use a Biblical idiom]. For beneath all the chatter is the horror
and shock of the reality of the turmoil that is raging about, and how
small are our little crafts on these turbulent seas. We are realizing
our deep need for reassurance that will strengthen our weak faith, for
words that are something more than mere whistling in the dark. To that
end I suggest we look to our morning Gospel lesson, the incident of
Jesus coming to his disciples as they struggled so valiantly in the
night storm on the Sea of Galilee.
Until you have experienced a severe squall on a
large lake, the gulf, or the ocean, it is hard to appreciate just how
small one's boat or ship can seem when the wind screams out of a dark
cloud and the water begins to foam with its force in the seething, battering
breakers. These individuals experientially knew this, and comprehended
full well the imminent peril present in the dark bitterness of the events
of this night. But the crux of the matter is, they were all at the oars.
Undoubtedly each heart was offering up prayer. But straining bodies
were supported by praying souls. They combined their labor with their
supplicating.
If last Tuesday has convinced us of anything, it
seems to me, it is that we cannot pull through this storm which is threatening
not only our nation, but our civilization as well, on our own. Our boats
are terrifyingly small. As we begin to return to our daily lives and
responsibilities, there is the clarion call to pray and work together.
We need prayer on a global basis, but it must be
a plea for Divine Guidance and Divine Forgiveness. It must be a plea
for understanding on the part of the peoples of all nations, and yes,
even a prayer for our enemies as well as ourselves. In the meantime,
we must work in our places, regardless of the apparent mediocrity of
the duty.
When we examine ourselves closely, we can each
see within our own lives and hearts enough evil which, expanded a billion
two hundred million times, could only amount to a fantastic bombardment
of the forces of the Satan's hellish eminence. It is no wonder that
we have a world tottering on the brink of war when there are so many
civil wars raging within each of our souls. Though we cannot solve the
problems at the universal level, and though it is far from our own ability
to calm the storm that petrifies our nation today, we can very distinctly
do something about trimming our own craft, undertaking some of the evil
that is in our own life. Bringing peace in the world does begin within
ourselves. Remember the prayer words of the old song: "Let there
be peace on earth, and let it begin with me."
Our Christ comes to us in the darkest of the nights,
amid the fiercest of storms. His presence may come as an astounding
inspiration, or he may come like the calming of a storm tossed sea.
But he comes, if we continue on with all that we have. He comes in the
midst of such catastrophic events as last week, or in the midst of a
life that is almost swamped with doubt, or fear, or crushing blows of
personal circumstance. He informs us by this very act of striding across
the storm tossed sea that he is aware of our human needs, and furthermore,
that he rides the storms with us.
In a few moments we will stand as a congregation
and affirm our faith. We begin by saying, "I believe in God...".
This may be purely on an intellectual basis. It may mean a belief in
a cosmic mind, or a universal planned force, or a declaration of belief
in physical laws to which we are all answerable. But after a day like
last Tuesday, it is a very, very personal God of love and concern who
brings calm to the afflicted heart and courage for the anxious soul.
The Good News is that amid the howling wind of propaganda and the rattling
of the apparatus of war there is a God who is personal! There is a God
who is concerned, who does care, and who is very, very personal! Even
in the storms of our times, there is the voice of Christ saying to every
soul who will listen:
