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ACNS 3127 - LAMBETH PALACE - 11 September 2002

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Sermon preached at Trinity Wall Street, New York

Archbishop of Canterbury

First Anniversary of September 11

11 September 2002

At this hour exactly one year ago, the part of lower Manhattan in which we
are gathered was in the grip of a waking nightmare. The scale of the human
tragedy of September the eleventh 2001 was not, could not, be clear. But the
extent of the physical devastation in New York was certainly becoming
evident, despite the choking pall of smoke and dust that obscured most
things. By this time both of the twin towers - just a few hundred yards
away - had collapsed, and in their place Ground Zero was coming eerily into
existence.

For those of you here today who were in the area during those dreadful
hours, this anniversary period will inevitably have brought back some of the
pain, anguish and confusion of a year ago. For those who lost loved ones,
the feelings will be all the more intense and distressing. We now remember
and honour again the dead and departed, who came from many nations including
my own.

We also have to acknowledge that for many of the living, the sense of
vulnerability that September the eleventh brought last year has never quite
faded; the sense that bearings as well as buildings had been ripped away.
That, for many, remains a lasting legacy, a legacy that the veneer of
revived habit and routine may submerge though not erase.

But it is not the only legacy. For we also recall with humility and
gratitude the many acts of heroism - individual and collective - that helped
to save lives and provide comfort and support to those in need and distress.
It is fitting that among us now are some of the fire fighters, medics, and
members of the other emergency services who worked so selflessly. It is
fitting also that we honour the work of this Church and of its Rector, Dan
Matthews, as well as his colleagues. And we give thanks especially for the
vision and compassion that turned your sister Chapel of St Paul's, on the
edge of Ground Zero, into an emergency centre, a spiritual haven, and more
recently a place of pilgrimage.

On September the eleventh, as well as intense vulnerability we also
witnessed great solidarity. A solidarity that those of us, who looked on
from afar, helpless and appalled, sought as best we could to share and to
enlarge. I recall vividly the service of remembrance with the American
community in the United Kingdom that was held at St Paul's Cathedral just
three days after the tragedy: a service attended by the Queen and the
British Prime Minister and one at which I had the privilege to speak. I can
assure you, you were not alone in your suffering then, just as you are not
alone in commemoration now.

And on this anniversary we seek to sustain that sense of solidarity, both in
this special service and in the presentation and dedication of a new bell -
a gift, as you know, from the Lord Mayor and the City of London to the City
of New York. It comes from the foundry in the East End of London where the
original Liberty Bell was cast more than two and a half centuries ago. It
will stand in the churchyard as an enduring memorial and an expression of
the ties between cities, nations and peoples.

But an anniversary need not, should not, be a time only to remember and to
honour what has gone before, important though such commitments are. It also
offers us an opportunity to look to the future, to take new bearings and to
seek to embrace the kind of tenacious hope for the future about which the
passage from Lamentations speaks so powerfully. We too can say with that
book, which was written in the context of national calamity and distress,
that 'the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to
an end'. That is the basis of Christian hope - not a bland optimism but
rather hope that flows from faith.

It is fitting then that the Lord Mayor has christened this bell 'The Bell of
Hope'. It is a good name, but how should that hope, that sense of aspiration
and possibility, now be expressed in the face of all that confronts us?

Reflecting on that question, and on what more this bell might symbolise, I
was reminded of those extraordinary, resonant lines of the great seventeenth
century poet and priest, John Donne, who was, coincidentally, Dean of St
Paul's Cathedral. Words that draw powerfully on the image of a tolling
church bell:

'No man is an island entire of itself', he wrote, 'every man is a piece of
the continent, part of the main; any man's death diminishes me, because I am
involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell
tolls; it tolls for thee.'

What a remarkable challenge to our shared humanity those words remain today,
getting on for four hundred years later. And how powerfully they connect, I
believe, with two of the ideas we have already touched upon - vulnerability
and solidarity. 'Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in
mankind'. We are vulnerable because we are all connected, Donne is telling
us.

The interconnectedness of our modern world is, in a superficial sense,
something of a commonplace. It is simply part of what we commonly understand
by globalisation. Well, it is certainly much easier to make links - hyper
links, air links, road links - between people and places than it was in the
past.

But Donne is talking about something more; not simply our interconnectedness
but also our interdependence: the interdependence of the whole human
family - every one of its members made in the image of God, made to reflect
God's glory. Because, as the Good Samaritan in our New Testament reading
recognised so completely, like it or not, we are involved in one another,
caught up in one another's sufferings and joys, triumphs and tribulations.
And this is as true of nations as it is of individuals; we belong together
and we can only truly flourish when we are living in the light of that
truth.

It is perhaps when we feel most vulnerable that we may find it hardest to
embrace this challenge of interdependence. At times when we want above all
to feel safe and secure, there is often a dangerous temptation to draw back
rather than to engage, to cut ourselves off, to retreat behind walls that we
may wish to believe are impregnable.

Or, equally at such times we may be tempted to seek to over-ride others, to
lash out in revenge or frustration. That urge may be especially strong when
we believe we have not only right but also might on our side. When we have
not only the motive but also the means. But surely the test of true
greatness for peoples and nations must be that they are motivated by what
should be done not by what could be done?

What happened on September the eleventh last year was an act of evil and of
profound wickedness. Nothing has changed or will change that fact. Nothing
can excuse it. Evil and the threat of evil are constantly with us. That is a
fundamental part of our Christian understanding, and as Christians we are
called to combat and to resist it, to do all we can to help the light
prevail over the darkness.

How we seek to do that at any time is at the heart of the moral choices that
we continually face as human beings. And the United States, with its immense
potential to make a difference in the world, faces the daunting challenge of
wielding power and influence with others in ways that do justice to the
vision of our shared humanity and fate as expressed by John Donne. In ways,
that means, which do not undermine the interdependence on which our welfare
hangs. As they face this great challenge, the leaders of this nation deserve
our fervent and sincere prayers.

But the challenge is certainly not alien to the spirit or understanding of
your founding fathers. For it is on a Christian understanding of the
equality and dignity of all human beings, of both the potential and the
limits of human power, that America has grown up over the centuries and
continues to proclaim 'In God we trust'. That trust, and the moral tradition
which has flowed from it, are both the beginning and the best of America.

That is the basis on which to believe that on September the eleventh in
years to come, we shall be able both to remember the past and affirm the
present. To believe that, by the grace of God, the hope that has risen so
courageously from the ashes of twelve months ago will have strengthened our
commitment to make this vulnerable world a place of true and lasting
security - a place where God's goodness and bounty are shared by all.

That is the bell of hope we ring today!

_________________________________________________________
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