After the Ash Heap

A sermon preached at Lexington Theological Seminary Chapel service on Sept. 12, 2006. The service was designed around the stages of grief as the seminary community remembered the lives lost on September 11, 2001; and those lost since war has begun.

The scripture text for the sermon is Job 42:11-17.
The preacher is Rev. Dr. Lisa W. Davison
Professor of First Testament @ LTS

Where were you on September 11, 2001? It is a question that has been asked countless times over the past 5 years and will continue to be asked into the future. For those who know only through history books about the bombing of Pearl Harbor or the assassination of JFK, 9-11 has become the shaping event for our generations. So, where were you? September 11th 2001 was a Tuesday and one of those beautiful, blue-sky autumn days. I had come to the school early and was in my office preparing to speak to Senior Symposium class at 9:30am about theological anthropology, my understanding of the human condition. I don’t remember why, but for some reason I called Michael. Through the phone came the rather stunned, almost accusatory reply, “You don’t know what’s happened, do you?” He could not believe I was unaware that a plane had flown into one of the twin towers of the World Trade Center. I hung-up and immediately went downstairs to the staff lounge, the only place in the building that I knew had cable television. A group of people were already gathered, eyes fixed upon the screen. I arrived just in time to see the second plane fly into the other tower. Still reeling from shock, I realized it was time for class. I went to room 201 and stood in front of a group of students and with some trembling, told them that I believe humans are originally blessed, not originally sinful. I told the class that my claim recognized that having freewill means we have the potential to do great good and also the potential to do great evil. I pointed to the television in the room and said: “We just watched the worst of humanity, but I am convinced that today we will see the very best of humanity.” It turns out that I was partially right. Unfortunately, we had not seen the end of the destruction. While we were in class, two more planes crashed: one into the pentagon and one in a Pennsylvania field. Yet, in the following hours, days, weeks, and months, we learned of ordinary people who lost their lives doing extraordinary things. We saw large numbers of people who donated blood, volunteered their time to help the rescue efforts, and gave money to provide for many needs that were yet unknown. On a much smaller scale, that day on my way home from the office, I stopped at a gas station to get a soda. A man and I approached the drink machine both intent on getting a Mountain Dew. We stopped and said at the same time, “you first.” We exchanged a few more volleys of politeness. Then we commented on how sad it was that it took a tragedy to make humans realize that we need one another to survive.

Job was simply going about his daily routine when he learned about the tragic events that had befallen his livestock and servants. While still reeling from that news, he received an even greater shock: all of his children were dead. Job was stunned, unable to mourn. All he could do was go through the motions expected of the grieving and repeat a phrase he had heard over and over again: “Blessed be the name of the LORD.” As is often the case with those experiencing great loss, Job fell prey to physical illness; he became covered with boils. In the midst of his suffering, Job sits among the ashes. He is in such horrific condition that his own friends are made speechless by the sight of him. Eventually, though, the shock wears off, and Job begins his own grieving process, vacillating between anger and depression, all the while fending off his companions’ cruel attempts to answer his questions with simple platitudes and explain his suffering by blaming the victim. By the end of the story, Job still has not found answers to his questions nor received the apology he wanted, but he has been heard by God. He realizes that he cannot sit among the ashes forever. Life must go on after the ash heap.

There is a saying I heard once that when you come across a the remains of a campfire in the woods, the ashes should be a comfort to you. Their presence tells you that you are not the first to tread this path; someone else has been there before you. That saying takes on deeper meaning in the wake of 9/11. The ashes that covered the city of NY, the ground at the Pentagon, and a field in Pennsylvania did indeed let us know that someone had been there before, but they were not a source of comfort. They were the signs of tragedy, violence, and a senseless act of evil. They were evidence of innocent people who lost their lives because of blind hatred. At a former Nazi death camp in Poland, named Majdanek, there is a mausoleum built over another mound of ashes, more ashes than one could imagine unless you see it. They, too, tell us of someone, millions of someones, who have been there before. They are a testimony to unspeakable acts of inhumanity, countless innocent victims of hate-filled violence.

I have not been to what is now known as “Ground Zero”; perhaps I will one day. This summer, though, I had the humbling experience of standing at Majdanek. There, in front of those ashes, I was confronted with the wages of sin and “why?” was only the beginning of the questions raging in my mind. It would have been easy to sit there at the ash heap, to stay frozen in the shock, anger, and depression. But, among the members of our group that day was Pinchas, a survivor of Majdanek. He and his family were taken from the Warsaw ghetto and sent to Majdanek. The day of their arrival at the camp, his mother, father, and twin sister were killed. He used lies and his wit to survive the hell that took the lives of his family, neighbors, and so many others. Pinchas had every right to stay among the ashes or to live the violence that had so mercilessly shattered his childhood. It is hard to imagine how anyone survives such a traumatic experience.

But Pinchas did not stay at the ash heap. Life had to go on. For some years now, he has been leading groups of students back to his homeland and back to Majdanek. Standing in the barracks where he spent some of the longest months of his life, Pinchas told us his story, displaying unbelievable courage and an amazingly calm presence. Later he told our bus group that, while he would never get over what happened to him nor forgive the perpetrators of that evil, he could not live in a way that continued such violence. He modeled for us the wisdom born from pain and deep faith.

Life has gone on since September 11, 2001. Babies born on that fateful day, known as “Children of Hope”, are now five years old. The newspapers, magazines, and television shows over the past few days have told stories of loss, but also stories of survival. While there were reports about some of the survivors and families of the victims who were still paralyzed in their grief, the majority of the people interviewed were those who realized that they could not stay on the ash heap forever. It has not been an easy process. And the loss of life continues among those who heroically worked among the ruins of the World Trade Center. But the human spirit can rise above any circumstance. The organization, “September 11th Families For Peaceful Tomorrows” was formed by the families of the victims of the 9/11 attacks who chose to take their grief and anger and to direct that energy toward the pursuit of justice. This past weekend, to commemorate the 5th anniversary, they brought together 30 people from around the globe, all having been affected by terrorism, war, and violence, in order to form an international coalition to create a more peace-filled world. They embody a wisdom born out of learning to live with the questions and knowing that violence only begets violence.

Many scholars have described the story of Job as the canonical wisdom text par excellence, and I would agree. This judgment, though, is not based on how many characteristics the book of Job has in common with Proverbs and Ecclesiastes. Rather, the wisdom of Job is that it acknowledges that there are no easy answers to life’s big questions. I must confess that the end of the book is one of the biblical texts that I both hate and love. The editor of the final story must have felt that people need happy endings, so Job gets back twice as much material goods than he had before. That might work in a Disney movie, but it does not reflect reality. Yet, I think that the author gave a subtle indication that this ending was problematic. Notice that Job’s wealth only comes after the community responds to his loss. The giving of his neighbors could have been the resources Job needed to own more livestock. Notice, also, that Job does not get back twice as many children. Any parent knows that another child can never replace one that has died. Isn’t it interesting that Job gives his daughter’s an inheritance, equal to what he gives his sons? Perhaps Job’s suffering has made him more aware of the danger and injustice experienced by women who are at the mercy of the men in their lives or an often absent community. Although the story describes Job seeing four generations of his offspring, the description that he died “old and full of days” is not the equivalent of “living happily ever after.” Job never got over the tragedy he had experienced, but he did choose to live.
Is that not what we are called to do? Whether it be September 11th, the death of a loved one, a plane crash, war, or any other tragedy, we have a choice of how to react: to stay on the ash heap or to choose life. Listen, do you hear her? Wisdom calls out: “whoever finds me finds life and obtains favor from the LORD”. May it be so.

Note
1. www.peacefultomorrows.org

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