“What benefit is an idol after its maker has carved it. It’s an image of lies, one where its maker trusts in their own handiwork—a worthless and voiceless form” (Habakkuk 2.18).
I’ve written about idols in this space before, and I don’t meant to keep harping on the same note. But Habakkuk’s words struck me this week as I was thinking about the twentieth anniversary of 9/11. You see, I’ve been thinking about the idols that were built out of the ruins of that day.
Like many other prophets, Habakkuk remarks upon the foolishness of those who put their worship and trust in something they’ve created with their own hands. For him, these constructs of wood and stone were voiceless, brainless and good for nothing more than firewood. That someone could put trust and faith into something they themselves had created was foolish enough to be laughable.
But it kept happening, over and over again. Mind you, the prophets were not fools. They knew that the idols and images people gave homage to weren’t thought to be deities themselves but simply representations.
Idols are little more than receptacles into which one’s idea of the divine can reside. Something people can see and touch. You could say they’re a rally point, a unifying presence that brings everyone around an idea.
Before the metal frames of the towers began to cool, there were those that began to fashion them into an image, one that could not speak for itself but which could be imbued with an idea around which people could gather. It, of course, became a god.
War was declared in this god’s name. Human beings were divided into followers and enemies. It demanded sacrifice so some were declared less-human so they could be caged, humiliated, terrorized to appease this new god with an old name.
Slowly, as the years passed, this idol’s face and form have changed. As Habakkuk says, their image is one of lies; so, it is malleable, adaptable to whatever new situation might arise or whatever those in power might need. The list of those who could be sacrificed to appease it expanded. Voiceless, new people began to speak for it, saying what its worshippers wanted to hear.
That idol, of late, has been carried about: paraded at school board meetings, city councils, even on the grounds of the Capitol. It’s called by many names: freedom, liberty, fearlessness. And it’s scriptures unchanged: This is a war for our way of life. They want to destroy America. They want take over, put you under their laws. They hate you for the freedom you enjoy.
The they may have changed—from Muslims to immigrants to neighbors—but the god behind it is the same, the same forged in the twisted metal and fire of that terrible day. The one that led to war and torture, to us and them. The one for which weapons are brandished, gallows are built, and threats are made.
It’s name is fear, fashioned in many images.
And we must, like Habakkuk and other prophets, name it when someone speaks in its name.
Because it lies.
Christ our friend, we remember the lives lost twenty years ago and the sorrow that is carried in many hearts to this day. But we also lament the lives sacrificed in fear and that your name has been invoked again and again in those acts. In you we are fearless, and we are called to bring love into fear. Today, more than ever, we need courage to bring your love, which can challenge the idols of our day. And, in your mercy, show them for the lies they are.