It is difficult to capture what this anniversary means to us as Americans, as New Yorkers, as Catholic Christians. The things we feel are almost beyond words. We are still, in many ways, groping in the dark, struggling to find a way to deal with what happened, and how much our lives and our world have changed. Yet, this day, as we come before the altar of God with our prayers and petitions, our grief and our anger, we hear these words from the ancient prophet:

“Forgive your neighbor’s injustice; then when you pray, your own sins will be forgiven. Think of the commandments, hate not your neighbor; remember the Most High’s covenant, and overlook faults.”

In the gospel, Jesus says it again: “Forgive your brother,” he says, “from your heart.”

But how? I wish I knew. I wish there were a mystical way to click on a forgiveness switch in the human heart. I wish I knew how to love all my enemies and pray for all my persecutors and “forgive my neighbor’s injustice” – even this most heinous injustice of all.

I think perhaps that forgiveness – like conversion – is a journey. The human heart isn’t necessarily converted over night. We don’t all have that electrifying moment on the road to Damascus. For many of us, it grows out of what Flannery O’Connor called “a habit of being.” It happens over a lifetime.

Conversion is a daily choice. So, is love.

And so, I believe, is forgiveness.

Like all of the challenges of our faith, it is something we need to pray for – to pray to able to do what we are called to do.

To love our neighbor.

To love our enemies.

To forgive our neighbor’s injustice.

C.S. Lewis put it beautifully. “To be a Christian,” he wrote, “is to forgive the inexcusable, because God has forgiven it in us.”

A couple weeks ago, we heard Christ tells his disciples: “Take up your cross and follow me.”

Well, one of the heaviest crosses is the call to forgive. Even when something seems unforgivable. Especially then. But by God’s grace – and by Christ’s example – somehow, we pick up that cross. We bear it on our backs. And we begin the long walk.

We may carry it on our backs, but what is more important is what we hold in our hearts, and it is this: that love is greater than hate; that hope is stronger than despair; that vengeance is no match for forgiveness.

This Sunday, we pray to remember that. And we pray, very simply, in remembrance.

Oscar Wilde: Forgive your enemies. Nothing annoys them so much.

I used to bear terrible grudges. If someone wronged me, my approach was to ignore them forever. This was a very silly and downright inconvenient approach when it was directed toward family members. There was a kind or satisfaction in this behaviour. It felt gratifying to be constantly reminding someone that they’ve wronged you, that they have incurred a great debt by their behaviour and that they are now in the bad books. It was kind of like they were in a long timeout from my life.

Eventually though I realized that unforgiveness requires effort. You have to carry those hurt feelings with you, and they can become a pretty heavy burden. You feel like you are punishing the other person, but you are sentencing yourself to a measure of bitterness at the same time.

To forgive is to cancel a debt, and we know that this is what we Christians are called to do. Jesus answers Peter’s query about the measure of forgiveness we must give: “I do not say to you seven times, but seventy times seven.” (Matt 18:22) (Josh Canning)

An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth leaves the world blind and toothless.

Christ asks us to repent of our sins and to forgive others. If we reflect on our own sins it will be easier to be less severe towards those of others. Forgive from the heart.

To give in to indignation, anger and resentment hurts you more than the insult. You are sinning by fostering critical thoughts towards him. Insults give us the opportunity to grow in meekness

Deacon Greg Kandra’s 2011 homily on forgiveness and 9/11
Photo by Yasin Onus on Unsplash