Days of Infamy

Learning not to lose sign of our shared humanity.

09/11/2023

Lk 6:6-11 On a certain sabbath Jesus went into the synagogue and taught, and there was a man there whose right hand was withered. The scribes and the Pharisees watched him closely to see if he would cure on the sabbath so that they might discover a reason to accuse him. But he realized their intentions and said to the man with the withered hand, "Come up and stand before us." And he rose and stood there. Then Jesus said to them, "I ask you, is it lawful to do good on the sabbath rather than to do evil, to save life rather than to destroy it?" Looking around at them all, he then said to him, "Stretch out your hand." He did so and his hand was restored. But they became enraged and discussed together what they might do to Jesus.

Certain days have marked the history and conscience of the United States in singular and unforgettable ways. One such day was Dec. 7, 1941, when the Empire of Japan attacked Pearl Harbor and drew the United States into World War II. President Franklin Delano Roosevelt declared the following day, “Yesterday, December 7, 1941, a date which will live in infamy.”

Today we recall another one of those days of infamy, namely, September 11, 2001, when Islamist extremists coordinated four suicide terrorist attacks against the United States. Everyone at Mass this morning can remember vividly where we were when we heard the stunning news and saw the shocking images on T.V. December 7 and September 11 will never be erased from our collective American memories as days of infamy.

I would like to leave aside all the political, military, and economic implications of those days, and point out one major social change that occurred in their aftermath. We began to look at people differently, that is, we looked at them with suspicion, fear, and as a potential threat. Those who lived through and after World War II will remember how poorly we treated people from Japan and Germany. Msgr. Scott Friend tells the story of how his family is originally German – notice his blonde hair and blue eyes? – but they changed their last name from Freund to Friend so it would sound less German.

When I studied canon law in Washington, D.C. I grew my beard which back then was thick and black. My friends jokingly called me Hezbollah. But I got lots of second glances walking through airport security. My mom wouldn’t let me in the house until I shaved. These days of infamy made us look at people as not only different but maybe even as dangerous. That is, we lost sight of our shared humanity, that we are all, first and foremost, children of God.

In the gospel today we witness another instance of losing sight of our shared humanity. Jesus heals a man with a withered hand on the Sabbath. The real difficulty for the scribes and Pharisees was not only that Jesus cured him on the Sabbath (that was bad enough).

But they also believed that sickness had a spiritual dimension, and was a curse from God. Have you ever felt God was cursing or punishing you when you got sick? But Jesus is trying to help them see below the surface of the sickness and see a child of God who is suffering. And he invited them to love that person, regardless of their external appearances or maladies.

Today on September 11, we can do a lot of things to remember what happened. We can pray for those who died, and their families carrying on without them. We can pray for peace in the world, and the safety of our soldiers like my nephew Isaac in his first deployment in Poland. We can pray for an end to terrorism and the extremist wings of religions that advocate death over life. Dan, our sacristan, told me we could have a “blue Mass” for first responders, like those heroic fire fighters and police who ran toward danger on Sept 11 rather than away from it.

In addition to all these wonderful things, I would suggest we do a little soul-searching, and an examination of conscience and how we look at other people. Do we sometimes conclude that those who are different from us are therefore dangerous? This past week there was a lady, who seemed homeless, hanging out all day and night in the little park across from the church.

She was talking to herself and even talked to me and the altar servers as we walked down the side of the church before Mass. Clearly, she had some mental or emotional struggles, and so we prayed for her. Every time I say a Hail Mary for someone who seems so different from me, it helps me to remember that they, too, are a child of God. And my first duty is to love them. This September 11, let us ask for the grace never to lose sight of our shared humanity as we remember this day of infamy.

Praised be Jesus Christ!