September 11th

The Economy of Grace

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “The Economy of Grace” Matthew 18:21-35

This week marked the twenty-fifth anniversary of 9/11. In lower Manhattan on Friday, family members read aloud the names of the 2,977 people killed in the attack on the twin towers. In that field in Shanksville, Pennsylvania, National Park Service employees rang bells for each passenger and crew member killed in the crash of Flight 93. At the Pentagon, an American flag was unfurled on the side of the building, marking the spot where the fourth plane crashed.

If we are old enough, we remember where we were on September 11, 2001. I was in seminary, teaching English to international grad students in Chicago. Duane was in the post office at Paul Smiths College. Where were you?

When they heard the news of the attacks on the World Trade Center, Talat Hamdani was teaching English at a Queens Middle School and her husband Saleem was operating his convenience store in Brooklyn. Their oldest son Salman was an EMT and cadet with the New York City Police Department. That morning, Salman was on his way to an internship when he witnessed smoke coming from the Twin Towers. He hurried to the scene to aid victims, using his police and EMT identification to get a ride through the restricted traffic. Salman never came home. Talat and her husband Saleem soon realized that the path to forgiveness would be difficult for them as they contended with both grief at their son’s death and suspicions of neighbors who conflated their Muslim faith with acts of terror.

Jesus knew how very difficult it is to practice forgiveness, so some of his toughest teachings tackle that difficult topic. Today’s lesson is one example. Peter thought he was terribly generous when he offered to forgive his neighbor seven times. Imagine his dismay when Jesus told him to extend the olive branch not seven but seventy-seven times, which basically meant that he should always forgive without limits.

To prove his point, Jesus told an outrageous, exaggerated parable about an unforgiving servant. A slave owed a ridiculous debt to his king—10,000 talents. A talent was the greatest monetary unit in the ancient Near East, a 150-pound weight of silver, worth fifteen years’ wages for a day laborer. The slave in Jesus’ story owed the king 150,000 years’ worth of labor. No one could pay that debt. But when the slave made an impassioned plea that touched the heart of the king, the unthinkable happened. In an act of sudden, undeserved mercy, the king cancelled the debt. 

We expect the forgiven slave to go and do likewise, but when granted the opportunity to forgive a fellow slave a relatively small debt, the hard-hearted scoundrel shocked us with his ruthlessness, seizing his debtor by the throat and throwing him into prison. When a whistleblower got ahold of the royal ear, the king forgot about the mercy and promised the unforgiving servant a life of pain and punishment.

It’s a story of hyperbole—over-the-top exaggeration—a rhetorical strategy used to make a point. As followers of Christ, we are to forgive as we have been forgiven. In God’s limitless love and mercy for us, we are to find the capacity to be merciful to others, even those who have terribly wronged us, who are in our moral debt. Limitless forgiveness—really, Lord?

It’s tempting to write off Jesus’ words as a moral ideal that is beyond our reach, but Jesus knew the hard work of forgiveness. His family accused him of being crazy. His home church in Nazareth tried to kill him. Jesus was betrayed by Judas. Abandoned by the disciples. Denied three times by Peter. Condemned to death by the religious and political authorities. Mocked, taunted, and abused by his neighbors. Brutally scourged, beaten, and executed by those who surrounded him at the last, gambling for his clothes. Still, Jesus had the moral courage to pray even as he was dying, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

We aren’t Jesus, rejected and dying on a cross. We may not have lost a beloved one on 9/11. Yet, we all know how it feels to struggle to forgive. We have had to live with the consequences of a loved one’s misconduct. Our parents mistreat or fail us. Our kids reject us. Our friends betray us. Our elected officials disappoint us. We’ve been ripped off. We’ve been done dirty in the workplace. Our anger is righteous. The crimes against us are heinous. Those who have sinned show no remorse. Forgiveness is tough.

In the days following 9/11, the Hamdani family, who lost their son Salman, faced extraordinary scrutiny. Because of the family’s Muslim faith, investigators from the FBI and NYPD began questioning them about Salman. Congressman Gary Ackerman visited the family’s Bayside home and asked about Salman’s motives for becoming a police cadet and which Internet chat rooms he visited. When CIA officials came, they confiscated a college graduation photo of Salman, posing with a fellow student from Afghanistan. Reporters appeared at the family’s home. The New York Post published a story entitled, “Missing or Hiding? — Mystery of NYPD Cadet from Pakistan.” Anonymous “Wanted” posters were distributed featuring Salman’s NYPD cadet photo and the phrase “Hold and detain.” The implications were clear. There were people promoting the notion that, because he was a Muslim, Salman could have somehow been in league with terrorists.

In October 2001, Salman’s remains, medical bag, and identification were found in the wreckage of the North Tower at Ground Zero. His family wasn’t told of this discovery until March 2002 when he was officially cleared of all suspicion. Salman is mentioned in the USA PATRIOT Act, which states, “Many Arab Americans and Muslim Americans have acted heroically during the attacks on the United States, including Salman Hamdani, a 23-year-old New Yorker of Pakistani descent…” For Salman’s family, forgiveness has been complex. Of course, there was the matter of the terrorists who flew jets into the World Trade Center, but there was also that unreasonable cloud of suspicion, accusation, and prejudice that surrounded them when they were hurting most.

Jesus taught that we cannot be in right relationship with God if we are not in right relationship with others. Each week in worship, we pray together the prayer that Jesus taught us, “Forgive our sins, as we forgive those who sin against us.” In God’s Kingdom, there is a great economy of grace. The mercy that is so generously extended to us must be extended by us to others. That doesn’t mean that we allow ourselves to be abused, or pretend that our hurt doesn’t matter, or condone ongoing bad behavior. Instead, forgiveness is a choice. It’s a daily discipline of allowing the past to be the past, and moving forward into God’s future, with our broken hearts and broken lives stitched back together again with the needle and thread of grace. It’s a grace that was made to clear to us long ago on a lonely hilltop outside Jerusalem where an innocent man gave his life to forgive the sins of the world.

When Salman Hamdani’s father died in 2004, his widow Talat said that it was due to a broken heart—he couldn’t live with the death of his son on 9/11 or the painful way the family was treated in the months it took to learn of the recovery of his body. Talat has worked through her grief and hurt through her involvement with Peaceful Tomorrows, an organization founded by family members of those killed on September eleventh. Inspired by the life’s work of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., they seek to break cycles of violence with nonviolent direct action in the pursuit of justice.

Talat writes, “Salman was a casualty of 9/11 not because he was an EMT, or an NYPD Cadet, or for being a Muslim. He, like the other victims, was a casualty of 9/11 because he was an American and cherished the American values of democracy, liberty and freedom to pursue a faith of his choice. Hence, the best way to honor all the victims of 9/11 is to uphold these American values. We, as a nation, have to unite and overcome the ugly monster of prejudice and ignorance [through] forgiveness and reconciliation. It is imperative for each of us as individuals, as well as a nation.”

We all struggle to forgive, my friends. Yet Jesus asks us to join him in that great economy of grace, to join him on that beautiful, terrible, healing path that nudges our world a little closer to God’s Kingdom, the Kingdom where we, who owe unbearable, unpayable debts, experience undeserved mercy and limitless forgiveness. How many times shall we forgive? Not seven times, but seventy-seven times. May it be so.

Resources

Sharon Otterman. Obscuring a Muslim Name, and an American’s Sacrifice in The New York Times, Jan. 1, 2012. Accessed online at https://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/02/nyregion/sept-11-memorial-obscures-a-police-cadets-bravery.html

Talat Hamdani. “My son died as a first responder on 9/11” in CNN: Opinion, Sept. 11, 2013. Accessed online at https://www.cnn.com/2013/09/11/opinion/hamdani-9-11-memory

Peaceful Tomorrows. “Talat Hamdani.” Accessed online at https://www.peacefultomorrows.org/patricio-and-talat

Nicholas J. Schaser, “Commentary on Matthew 18:21-35” in Preaching This Week, Sept. 13, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/commentaries/revised-common-lectionary/ordinary-24/commentary-on-matthew-1821-35-7

David Lose. “Faith, Forgiveness, and 9-11” in Dear Working Preacher, Sept. 4, 2011. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/faith-forgiveness-and-9-11

Karoline Lewis. “A Generous Forgiveness” in Dear Working Preacher, Sept. 7, 2014. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/dear-working-preacher/a-generous-forgiveness

Matthew 18:21-35

21 Then Peter came to Jesus and asked, “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother or sister who sins against me? Up to seven times?”

22 Jesus answered, “I tell you, not seven times, but seventy-seven times.

23 “Therefore, the kingdom of heaven is like a king who wanted to settle accounts with his servants. 24 As he began the settlement, a man who owed him ten thousand talents was brought to him. 25 Since he was not able to pay, the master ordered that he and his wife and his children and all that he had be sold to repay the debt.

26 “At this the servant fell on his knees before him. ‘Be patient with me,’ he begged, ‘and I will pay back everything.’ 27 The servant’s master took pity on him, canceled the debt and let him go.

28 “But when that servant went out, he found one of his fellow servants who owed him a hundred denarii. He grabbed him and began to choke him. ‘Pay back what you owe me!’ he demanded.

29 “His fellow servant fell to his knees and begged him, ‘Be patient with me, and I will pay it back.’

30 “But he refused. Instead, he went off and had the man thrown into prison until he could pay the debt. 31 When the other servants saw what had happened, they were outraged and went and told their master everything that had happened.

32 “Then the master called the servant in. ‘You wicked servant,’ he said, ‘I canceled all that debt of yours because you begged me to. 33 Shouldn’t you have had mercy on your fellow servant just as I had on you?’ 34 In anger his master handed him over to the jailers to be tortured, until he should pay back all he owed.

35 “This is how my heavenly Father will treat each of you unless you forgive your brother or sister from your heart.”

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The New Commandment

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Sabbath Day Thoughts — “The New Commandment” John 13:1-9, 31-35

Andrew Rice’s best friend when growing up was his brother David. Although the two shared a rebellious spirit as kids, with age they settled down to careers in journalism and finance. On September 11, 2001, Andrew was covering the Toronto Film Festival when their mother called him with unsettling news. His brother David, had telephoned from his office in the World Trade Center to say that a plane hit the tower next door, but he was OK. Andrew rushed to the press room of his hotel, just in time to see a second jet hit the trade center. Filled with panic, Andew ran back to his hotel room. He turned on the TV as the first tower collapsed. In Andrew’s words, “At this point I just let out this terrible shriek, overwhelmed by the certainty that David was dead.”

After the attack, Andrew read a New York Times “Portrait of Grief” about his brother David. In the very same paper, Andrew was discomfited to read another article with words of impending retribution from Vice President Cheney, who threatened, “if you’re against us you’ll feel our wrath.” Andrew felt an inner tension. Part of him was with the Vice President, “We’ll show them,” while another part knew that force wasn’t the answer. In ensuing weeks and months, as news of mounting civilian deaths came from the war in Afghanistan, he felt increasingly concerned that ordinary people like his brother were dying. Andrew didn’t know how to respond to his brother’s death, but he had a growing sense that retribution would get him nowhere.

We may not have lost a brother on September 11th, but we have all struggled to discern how to respond when we are hurt. Whether it is a spouse who walks out the door, an adult child who severs ties, a colleague who badmouths us to the boss, a friend who betrays our dearest trust, a sibling who cheats us out of an inheritance, or a complete stranger whose violence shatters our lives, it is hard to imagine how to move forward. We may, like Andrew Rice, feel the unbearable tension between our desire for payback and our feeling that violence is not the answer.

Throughout Lent, we have been considering Jesus’ final week in Jerusalem. On the night of his arrest, Jesus offered an object lesson in how to respond to those who wrong us. He then invited his disciples to forge a new kind of community, a fellowship that would make revolutionary choices when it came to building a life together.

Foot washing was an essential rite of hospitality in the Ancient Near East. In an arid world with unpaved roads, sandaled feet got dusty, gritty, and grimy during the course of a day. Upon entering a home for a seder, the guests would shed their sandals, and a servant would wash their feet, sluicing them with water over an open basin, drying them off, and perhaps anointing them with a drop of oil. Foot washing was the most menial of household chores, performed by the lowest status slave, typically a woman or a child. With feet refreshed, the guests moved on to the table and an evening of good food and congenial conversation.

At the last supper that Jesus shared with his disciples, he rose during the meal, and undertook that most humble of services. He removed his outer robe, girded himself with a towel, and washed his friends’ feet. It was a wildly countercultural act. A high-status rabbi, acclaimed by his friends and the crowds as the Messiah, chose to do the work of a slave. It was a loving act, the kind of simple service that warms our heart—like when a caring parent kisses a child’s booboo, or a good coach takes the time to praise our efforts on the playing field; or our beloved ones remember our birthday with roses or a special meal or a night on the town.

John’s gospel tells us that Jesus knew exactly what was going on that night. He understood that he would soon leave this world and return to his heavenly Father. Soon, his passion predictions of terrible suffering and a horrible death would be fulfilled. Within the hour, one of his trusted disciples, Judas, would depart to betray him, selling his life for thirty pieces of silver. Later, all his disciples would abandon him, running off under the cover of darkness to save their own skins. Next, Peter, a dear friend and confidante, would deny and curse him three times before the sun rose. Jesus knew everything that was to come, and still he chose to do the work of a humble servant, washing the feet of those who would betray, abandon, and deny him. It was a radical act of loving kindness. Then, Jesus told his friends that they were to do the same for one another.

Humble, loving service isn’t the first thing that comes to mind when we ponder those who have betrayed, abandoned, denied, mistreated, oppressed, badmouthed, robbed, or smeared us. Our hearts skip a beat and our blood pressure rises at the very thought of mercy for those who have been so merciless to us. Our sense of justice bristles. It seems only fair that our oppressor should experience a taste of the hurt and pain that we have known. It seems only right that there should be an, “I’m sorry,” a mea culpa, a comeuppance in the court of public opinion, or at least some acknowledgment of wrongdoing. Jesus, we know you washed the feet of your fickle and failing friends, but you are who you are—and we are not. Do you truly demand this of us?

I imagine that on Holy Saturday, when Jesus lay dead in the tomb, and the women wailed in grief, and the disciples hid away in the Upper Room filled with remorse and self-recrimination, they remembered the foot washing. They recalled the stripped-down Jesus with his sleeves rolled up, kneeling at their feet. They remembered how it felt to be held and appreciated, to be accepted and loved, even though they weren’t perfect. In the darkness of that day, I like to think that the foot washing was the luminous thread that bound them to Jesus and to one another. Yes, Caesar’s Kingdom had unleashed unthinkable horror against their Lord and upon their community. Yes, the desire to either hit back or flee must have been great. Yet there had been that irresistible invitation to make a different choice, as Jesus had made a different choice. There was the call to humility and love. Rome may have appeared victorious on that first Good Friday, but Jesus had shown them another Kingdom. In Jesus’ Kingdom, power is exercised in acts of humble service and love heals the gaping holes that we carry in our hearts.

In November 2002, Andrew Rice, with others who had lost loved ones in the September eleventh attacks, learned that Madame al-Wafi, the mother of alleged twentieth hijacker Zacharias Moussaoui, was in New York City and wished to meet with them. They struggled with the choice to accept her plea for a face-to-face, but they ultimately agreed. It was a profound meeting for all. Andrew remembers that Madame al-Wafi greeted them with tears of grief and remorse for her son’s hatred. She reminded Andrew of his own mother, who had cried so much after David died. Madame al-Wafi spent three hours with them, recounting how the hatred peddled by al-Qaeda had given her mentally-ill son a purpose in life. There was no foot washing in that room, but there was healing. Many tears were cried, hugs exchanged, and a better way forward was found.

Andrew says, “One day I’d like to meet Zacharias Moussaoui. I’d like to say to him, ‘you can hate me and my brother as much as you like, but I want you to know that I loved your mother and I comforted her when she was crying.’” Andrew is still hurt and angry about the events of September eleventh, but the choice for love freed Andrew from the desire for payback and retribution. He writes, “I’m refusing to fall in line with what ‘they’ want, which is visceral hatred between two sides; this [choice for love] gives me permission to reconcile.”

Love gives us permission to reconcile. Jesus saw this so clearly on the night of his arrest. In washing his disciples’ feet and commanding them to love one another as he had loved them, he forged the graced space for them to overcome the everyday hurts, betrayals, rifts, and harms that could tear them apart. In washing his friends’ feet and commanding them to love, he sent them forth to forge a world where we do not resort to hatred and violence, a world where enemies could become friends.

What a world that will be! I can imagine it. Can you? Vladimir Putin will be on his knees, washing the feet of Vlodimir Zelenskyy. The new Ayatollah Khameini will wash the feet of the jailed protesters who called for Iranian reform. Israeli Defense Forces and Hamas Rebels will wash the feet of the widows and orphans of Gaza. Chuck Shumer and Mike Johnson will try to outdo one another in humility, each washing the other’s feet. Pam Bondi will tie back her hair, put on the apron, and wash the feet of those Epstein survivors.

And we will be there, too, daring to dream of that graced space where hurts are healed and new beginnings are found through humble acts of self-giving love. May it be so. Amen.

Resources:

Andrew Rice. “My Story” in Stories Library, The Forgiveness Project, https://www.theforgivenessproject.com/stories-library/andrew-rice/

Matt Skinner. “Walking the Palm Sunday Path: A Lenten Sermon Series for 2026” in Preaching Series, January 21, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching-series/walking-the-palm-sunday-path-in-lent-a-sermon-series-for-2026

Karoline Lewis. “Commentary on John 13:1-9, 31-35” in Preaching Series, Jan. 22, 2026. Accessed online at https://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching-series/sermon-series-john-13-footwashing-and-new-commandment

Kathleen Long Bostrom. “Pastoral Perspective on John 13:1-9” in Feasting on the Gospels, John, vol. 2. Louisville: WJKP, 2014.

Coleman Baker. “Exegetical Perspective on John 13:1-9” in Feasting on the Gospels, John, vol. 2. Louisville: WJKP, 2014. Michael Waters. “Homiletical Perspective on John 13:1-9” in Feasting on the Gospels, John, vol. 2. Louisville: WJKP, 2014.

John 13:1-9, 31-35

13 Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. 2 The devil had already decided[a] that Judas son of Simon Iscariot would betray Jesus. And during supper 3 Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands and that he had come from God and was going to God, 4 got up from supper, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. 5 Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’ feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him. 6 He came to Simon Peter, who said to him, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” 7 Jesus answered, “You do not know now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” 8 Peter said to him, “You will never wash my feet.” Jesus answered, “Unless I wash you, you have no share with me.” 9 Simon Peter said to him, “Lord, not my feet only but also my hands and my head!”

31 When he had gone out, Jesus said, “Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him. 32 If God has been glorified in him, God will also glorify him in himself and will glorify him at once. 33 Little children, I am with you only a little longer. You will look for me, and as I said to the Jews so now I say to you, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come.’ 34 I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. 35 By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

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