Tuesday 9/11

It’s a wound that will not heal. The calendar, a photo, a memory, a visual image scrapes off the scab and the sore is raw and bloody as ever. Anger doesn’t even begin to describe, it’s terrible, terrible murderous fury, unrelenting, vengeful rage, seething hatred that destroys the soul, and all over again and again. It will never heal.

Last night it wasn’t sports or even last minute prep for this morning’s Bible Seminar. There are hundreds, thousands of photographs and videos on line. The second plane hitting. Humans choosing how to die: flames or falling. The towers collapsing. A nation and every single individual American enraged and grieving. Stunned, grieving and enraged. 

9/11. One day a year is enough to be stirred again to such anger. Leaving forgiveness as a moral chore for some future generation that wasn't there and cannot remember.

Something to distract. For a naval officer, battleships, a victory at sea movie. Sink the Bismarck. And still in a rage, with jaw set and teeth clenched, sink it, sink it, sink the G D thing.

In our Bible Seminar this morning we shall read The Letter of James. It seems to be a sermon, not a letter, or a general encyclical with urging, encouragement, exhortation, advice for godly living. There are lots of bits and pieces, though not disjointed. We’ll read it start to finish.

And there’ll be cake.

TW+