Butterfly Wings (9/8/02)
University Congregational Church
Rev. Gary Cox
Wichita, Kansas
All over the country the sermon
topic for this morning relates in some way to the 9/11 disaster. This coming Wednesday will mark the first
anniversary of that horrendous crime, and the men and women in America’s
pulpits are faced with the same dilemma as those in the pews: How do we
balance our role as American citizens and the obligations of our faith? How do we reconcile our justifiable rage
with Christ’s commandment to love our enemies?
If you are not torn apart inside as you struggle with
this issue, then I am envious. In my
heart there are two convictions that are equally strong, but
contradictory. One conviction is that
we cannot lie down in the face of evil or evil will triumph. The other conviction is that returning evil
for evil is absolutely contrary to everything Jesus taught us about how to live
in this world.
I know there are those for whom the
world is black and white, and with this dilemma they stand firmly on one side
or the other. One side says, America
has the military might to impose its will on the world, and we will use every
resource at our disposal to rid the world of the forces that would commit such
an act. As with all military solutions,
innocent people will die; but in this case, our very survival depends on taking
an “ends justify the means” approach.
On the other side are pacifists who
say it is never right to fight back, and that we cannot be true to our faith if
we do anything other than pray for God to change the hearts of those who hate
us so vehemently.
If you are like me, your world is
not that black and white. For most of
us, we wrestle our way through the murky grayness of life, hoping that in the
delicate balance between our anger, our reason, our patriotism, and our faith
we find some sense of equilibrium that is acceptable in the eyes of God.
As I look back on 9/11 and our
ensuing response, it seems to me that it brought out the best and the worst in
us. The way we pulled together—the way
we pitched in to help alleviate the suffering of those who lost family and
loved ones in that senseless terrorist act; the way large parts of the mainline
church reached out to the American Islamic community; the uniting behind the ideals
on which this nation was originally conceived—that was America at its
best. The negatives are well
documented: the racism, the religious bigotry; the equating of patriotism with
unbridled militarism—these factors will resonate through our nation for decades
to come.
We are all confronted with the
paradox of a free society. If we allow
absolute freedom, then those who hate us can sabotage us from within. But to devise a perfectly secure society
requires the loss of all freedom. The
end result is a police state.
And we struggle with how much emphasis to place on our
military. With the exception of the
radical pacifists, most of us recognize that we need a military to protect
ourselves. But we must make certain
what does not get lost in all of this is the fact that it is not our military
that makes us great. What makes us
great are the people and principles our military is created to protect.
I don’t know where the proper
balance lies between the demands of the world and Jesus’ commandment to love
our enemies. I don’t know where the
proper balance lies between a society designed for complete freedom and a
society designed to assure complete security.
But I do believe that as Christians, we cannot take the stance that might
makes right. We cannot sacrifice
our principles just because it would be easy to do so.
And it would be easy to sacrifice our
principles. We can pretty much get our
way in the world. We are the
world’s only superpower. Next year we
will spend around $400 billion on our military. Russia is second at $60 billion—less than 1/6 of what we
spend. In fact, we will spend more than
the next twenty nations combined. Now,
we can argue all day about whether we actually need to spend all that money on
the military, but I hope we can agree that the fact we are in a position to
maintain a clear military supremacy in this world is not what makes the
United States of America a great nation.
Look at world history. From Attila the Hun to Adolph Hitler, history makes clear that
the nation with the greatest military is not necessarily the greatest
nation in the world. I do
believe we live in the greatest nation in the world. I believe we live in the greatest nation the
world has ever known. And I sincerely
believe that the only way to keep it that way is to always stand on
principle—to always take the high road, and to never ignore the difference
between right and wrong just because we have the power to do so. And I’m not saying we have done that. But I hear rumblings all around, from the
streets of Wichita, to the radio and television political talk shows, to the
corridors of the American government, that indicate that sentiment is
growing—the sentiment that says, “Hey, we’re the United States of America, and
we’ll do as we darn well please.”
My father-in-law, who passed away a few years ago,
served in the Navy in World War Two.
Like most people who witnessed the horrors of that era, he was a
patriotic American and a strong supporter of our military. But he always refused to equate patriotism
with militarism. He told the story of
his service in the Pacific Rim toward the end of the war with Japan. The sailors on his ship learned that it
looked like the war was about over, because the United States had invented a
new weapon. This weapon—this atomic
bomb—had been dropped on Japan, and Japan’s surrender was imminent.
There was great celebration on the ship, with jubilant
cries about Yankee ingenuity and God’s blessing of the American cause. It was less than a month later that his ship
took part in the occupation of Japan.
The joyful laughter and long-awaited celebrations were replaced with
horrified speechlessness once their eyes fell upon the unholy site of nuclear
destruction. I still remember the look
in his eyes as he told me this story.
Not only did that sight never leave his memory, it was almost as if it
was stuck on his eyes. I never knew a
more patriotic American. But I also
never knew a person who was more fully aware of the horrors of war, and that
there is a difference between what we fight for, and our ability to
fight.
Well, enough of the big picture. You’ll note in my remarks the absence of
answers to our questions in the aftermath of 9/11. But that’s okay, I suppose, because for those of us who
acknowledge this world is not black and white but is instead frustrating and
confusing shades of gray, we understand that sometimes the answers just aren’t
there. And it helps to know that others
are feeling the same things we are, and we take some comfort in wrestling with
the questions together.
I contend that the way we, as individuals,
wrestle with all those difficult questions is more important than we
realize. It makes a difference whether
we tackle life’s problems with love or with anger; with self-righteousness or
with compassion; with judgment or with understanding.
Remember the story about the butterfly in Asia who
flaps its wings and by doing so ultimately starts a thunderstorm in North
America? It is a story about cause and
effect. It’s been told many different
ways, but the idea is that the butterfly flaps its wings, and the slight change
in the surrounding breeze has a ripple effect across the whole globe. Perhaps it’s easier to envision by saying
the butterfly in Asia flaps its wings, causing a dog to bark, which frightens
into flight a large flock of birds, which flies along the border of a low
pressure zone, shifting the wind currents by the few inches it takes to make
that front move south an extra half degree, and through an atmospheric chain
reaction, the drought in Kansas comes to an end two weeks later.
It’s a great story.
I don’t know how true it is, at least in the way it is literally
told. But like most good stories, it
contains a truth that is pretty much undeniable. I’ll give you an example by telling a fictional story set in
Wichita, Kansas, that never happened, but perhaps rings of the truth. I call this story Claude Waves to Jerome.
Jerome was driving to work one day and almost had an
accident. He didn’t look as he merged
into traffic on Kellogg, and fortunately for all concerned Claude, who was
driving along minding his own business, swerved just in the nick of time. The two men exchanged relieved glances,
Claude waved kindly to Jerome, and Jerome went on to work. Jerome was so thankful for his good fortune,
he started thinking about life. He’d
had a little spat with his wife the previous evening, so he sent her
flowers. He called the church and
volunteered for the Done-In-A Day Team, and when he got home that night he
spent the whole evening playing games with his children.
His secretary was in such a good mood from having
spent the day around Jerome, she went home and called her estranged sister,
whom she hadn’t talked to in three years.
Her sister was so glad to hear from her, the next morning she found
herself in the best mood she’d been in for years, and volunteered at the
children’s home. On the way to the
children’s home she came across an accident, and thanks to the fact she had
recently take a CPR class she was able to save the life of the young boy
involved in the wreck. That boy, by the
way, would one day grow up to discover the cure for cancer. And all because Claude waved nicely to
Jerome. The end of story number one.
And now for another version of the story, Claude
Waves to Jerome. Jerome was driving
to work one day and almost had an accident.
He didn’t look as he merged into traffic on Kellogg, and fortunately for
all concerned Claude, who was driving along minding his own business, swerved
just in the nick of time. The two men
exchanged relieved glances, and then Claude, incensed at Jerome’s horrendous
job of driving, angrily shouted out the window, questioning Jerome’s parental
heritage and waving violently with only a single finger extended.
Jerome went on to work in an incredibly bad mood. He called his wife to remind her that she
had been entirely wrong in last evening’s argument, and said he hoped she would
have her head screwed on straight by the time he got home. He called the church and left a message for
the minister that last week’s sermon was the biggest pile of hooie he’d ever
heard in his life. After work he went
to the bar and belted down a few drinks, knowing that his concerned wife and
children would finally start realizing who the boss was around that place, and
start giving him the respect he deserved.
His secretary was in such a foul mood from having
spent the day around Jerome, she went home and called her estranged sister,
whom she hadn’t talked to in three years, just to remind her what a no-count
bum she was. Her sister was so upset to
hear from her, the next morning she found herself unable to get out of bed due
to her intense depression. Five blocks
away, there was an accident in which the boy who was destined to grow up and
cure cancer was tragically killed. And
all because Claude shouted an obscenity and waved rudely to Jerome. The end of story number two.
Okay, those stories may have been a little
exaggerated, but not as much as it might first appear. The fact is, our words and actions really do
ripple throughout the world. The things
we say and do over the course of a day have effects far beyond what we can even
imagine. No matter how much we may wish
we were autonomous, self-sufficient beings, that just isn’t true. We are in relationship with the world. And whether we like to admit it or not, every
day, each of us changes the world.
Oh, we may not be able to intentionally change the big
picture. But we can’t help but have an
effect that reaches far beyond what we normally think of as our sphere of
influence. There is a saying that goes What
we are is God’s gift to us; what we become is our gift to God. I think there’s a lot of truth in that, but
it goes even deeper than that. “What we
become” is not only our gift to God. It
is also our gift to the world. And day
by day, the way we live—the way we wrestle with life’s problems—matters. It matters more than we realize.
The daily living of a human life is a powerful
thing—much more powerful than the flapping of a butterfly’s wings. Our lives send ripples out through
creation. The world changes with the
things we say and do. That’s why it
makes a difference whether we tackle life’s problems with love or with anger;
with self-righteousness or with compassion; with judgment or with
understanding. We are bringing those
realities into the world.
Perhaps we should ask ourselves every night, How
did I change the world today? Like
it or not, our presence changes the world every day. Each of our words, every one of our deeds, is like a rock thrown
into a pond. Everything we do and say
casts a wave out into the world that is perceived far beyond its original
impact. What if we became truly aware
of this, and asked ourselves each night, As I used the gift of life this
day, how did it affect the world?
Because I am alive, is there more love in the world, or more
apathy? Is there more peace and harmony
in the world, or more bitterness and anger?
Of course, just as the world is changed by us, we are
changed by the world. We were all changed
by 9/11. And just like that tragedy
brought out the best and worst of America as a whole, it brought out the best
and the worst within each and every one of us.
I know I’m not alone when I say there were times in the aftermath of
that senseless massacre that I had to wrestle with my lesser nature—the little
voice that kept saying, Kill ‘em all and let God sort ‘em out. And I confess there were nights when the
world was not a better place for my having lived in it that day. There were days when I gave into the anger
and bought into the rage.
Time has given us a
clearer perspective. The pain is still
there, as is the anger. We all look at
the world through different eyes. Like
the imprint of Hiroshima on my father-in-law’s eyes, our eyes have been
permanently scarred with the haunting image of those airliners crashing into
the World Trade Center. We witnessed
something that nobody should have to witness: the human cost of unbridled
hatred.
And we will never be the same. But beneath the scar that will always remain
are hearts once again anchored on love, and hope, and goodness, because it can
be no other way. If it were otherwise,
then evil would have triumphed. If it
were otherwise, we would have been reduced to people whose lives change the world
daily with anger, resentment and hatred.
We will ultimately conquer the blind hatred that
confronts us in the world, by defeating the blind hatred that attacks us from
within. It’s not easy. And sometimes it seems like we should be
doing more. Against the stormy fury of
violence, our attempt to respond in a Christian manner may seem like little
more than the flapping of a butterfly’s wings.
But we all know how powerful that can be.