How shall we sing the Lord's song in a foreign land? If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget its skill! Let my tongue stick to the roof of my mouth if I do not remember you, if I do not set Jerusalem above my highest joy! (Verses 4-6)
Babylon was full of wonders. It was situated in southern Mesopotamia along the Euphrates River approximately fifty miles south of modern day Baghdad. Until the nineteenth century, it was considered to be a mythical place conjured by the writers of the Bible. Archaeological digs, however, revealed not only its existence, but corroborated the historical accounts of its greatness. The Hanging Gardens there were one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. Culturally and politically, it was ahead of its time, commercially opulent and intellectually proud. It was a place to pique the senses. To challenge humility. To fall in step with the hedonism that seeped into every corner of its existence. It might be hard to keep the Old Covenant in a foreign land so overflowing with opportunity to indulge one's every desire. To forget Jewish-ness. To trade gods.
This is an interesting place to light today--September 11, 2014--thirteen years after our own wealthy and somewhat complacent country was invaded by terrorists who blew us up. We were glib before then...and some of us, not that long afterward. America doesn't get hit that way...or so we thought. But we live in a volatile world. Bombs can now be half-expected when we run a marathon or shop in downtown New York City. If we don't forget that day in 2001 when airplanes ripped apart the Twin Towers and sent over 3000 people to their deaths, some flying out of windows, some trapped in stairwells, some burnt up from the initial explosion and those running, hearts beating, into the building to save whoever they could, it will impact how we live even now. But some memories are short.
I read in the paper today about a man who missed the flight from Boston that morning. The one that exploded only minutes later in New York. He and a guy in an airport fast food place joked about the fact it could have been him. Briefly it made the young man think about his own mortality, but when asked by the reporter if the experience of being saved because of a late taxi and two elderly people had changed his life in any way, the answer was, "No. No it hasn't changed me." I think he forgot how thankful he was that day. How close the enemy came to taking his life at the young age of twenty-seven. Then there was the doubt the act of war created. How can the whole world be in the hands of God and this kind of thing happen? And in the rubble, standing with the smoke of the fire still rising in vapors from its crossbeam was a cross. A reminder? Maybe. That men cause wars. That hate kills. That God hates it and will one day judge it done. That is what I think. But it made us all look to what we really believe about faith and God. About good things happening to bad people. Toward the thousands who grieved the thousands dead. How could we ever forget such a nightmare?
How in the rubble of the present do we sing songs to the God we knew before it all changed?
If circumstances, even ones so devastating as this one, on a personal or political level tempt us to wrench ourselves from our faith, we must also remember Who God is. A group of Islamic terrorists bombed New York City that day. God did not. Hitler, Stalin and Hirohito succumbed to the enemy, sold their souls for power, believing a lie. Likewise, Osama Bin Laden and the jihadists who loved him made the choice to do us in. They didn't succeed. But there was residual damage to our nation and to our hearts. We must continue to sing our songs to our God, lest they dry up in our mouths and our fingers forget how to strum our praise on guitar and harp. We must trust Him that as the Righteous Judge, all will one day be made right. Our own lives cannot be our highest joy lest we wither from hopelessness. May we never forget the loss. May we never forget our own vulnerability. May we never forget September 11, 2001.
Babylon was full of wonders. It was situated in southern Mesopotamia along the Euphrates River approximately fifty miles south of modern day Baghdad. Until the nineteenth century, it was considered to be a mythical place conjured by the writers of the Bible. Archaeological digs, however, revealed not only its existence, but corroborated the historical accounts of its greatness. The Hanging Gardens there were one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. Culturally and politically, it was ahead of its time, commercially opulent and intellectually proud. It was a place to pique the senses. To challenge humility. To fall in step with the hedonism that seeped into every corner of its existence. It might be hard to keep the Old Covenant in a foreign land so overflowing with opportunity to indulge one's every desire. To forget Jewish-ness. To trade gods.
This is an interesting place to light today--September 11, 2014--thirteen years after our own wealthy and somewhat complacent country was invaded by terrorists who blew us up. We were glib before then...and some of us, not that long afterward. America doesn't get hit that way...or so we thought. But we live in a volatile world. Bombs can now be half-expected when we run a marathon or shop in downtown New York City. If we don't forget that day in 2001 when airplanes ripped apart the Twin Towers and sent over 3000 people to their deaths, some flying out of windows, some trapped in stairwells, some burnt up from the initial explosion and those running, hearts beating, into the building to save whoever they could, it will impact how we live even now. But some memories are short.
I read in the paper today about a man who missed the flight from Boston that morning. The one that exploded only minutes later in New York. He and a guy in an airport fast food place joked about the fact it could have been him. Briefly it made the young man think about his own mortality, but when asked by the reporter if the experience of being saved because of a late taxi and two elderly people had changed his life in any way, the answer was, "No. No it hasn't changed me." I think he forgot how thankful he was that day. How close the enemy came to taking his life at the young age of twenty-seven. Then there was the doubt the act of war created. How can the whole world be in the hands of God and this kind of thing happen? And in the rubble, standing with the smoke of the fire still rising in vapors from its crossbeam was a cross. A reminder? Maybe. That men cause wars. That hate kills. That God hates it and will one day judge it done. That is what I think. But it made us all look to what we really believe about faith and God. About good things happening to bad people. Toward the thousands who grieved the thousands dead. How could we ever forget such a nightmare?
How in the rubble of the present do we sing songs to the God we knew before it all changed?
If circumstances, even ones so devastating as this one, on a personal or political level tempt us to wrench ourselves from our faith, we must also remember Who God is. A group of Islamic terrorists bombed New York City that day. God did not. Hitler, Stalin and Hirohito succumbed to the enemy, sold their souls for power, believing a lie. Likewise, Osama Bin Laden and the jihadists who loved him made the choice to do us in. They didn't succeed. But there was residual damage to our nation and to our hearts. We must continue to sing our songs to our God, lest they dry up in our mouths and our fingers forget how to strum our praise on guitar and harp. We must trust Him that as the Righteous Judge, all will one day be made right. Our own lives cannot be our highest joy lest we wither from hopelessness. May we never forget the loss. May we never forget our own vulnerability. May we never forget September 11, 2001.
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