This
post isn’t a meditation on a Sunday pericope lesson. The opinions expressed
are, once again, those of your Old Religious Guy and not those of the ELCA or
my congregation. This is just something I felt I wanted to share.
A
week ago, America observed the 25th anniversary of the 9/11 terror
attacks. It seems a bit odd to me that we’d even want to hold a Silver Jubilee
for an event so god-awful, shocking and traumatizing, but I think it’s always
important that we remember tragedies if for no other reason than to reconnect
with our shared sense of humanity.
It’s
hard for me to recall exactly what I felt on that day. I wasn’t living in
Manhattan, and I had no personal connection to any of the nearly 3,000 human
beings who lost their lives that September morning. Nevertheless, I still feel
that the hand of that day has been laid on the shoulder of every American and
rests there still.
The
day started with a sense of joyful expectation. It was the first day of a
week-long vacation. My wife, Marilyn, and I were packing for a trip to the
Rocking Horse Ranch Resort in Highland, New York for a week of trail riding,
dancing, and relaxing. The sky was bright blue, the temperature was pleasant,
and everything seemed right with the world when a news flash on WXTU radio
announced a plane had struck the World Trade Center. We switched on the TV in
time to see the second plane smash into the other tower in a burst of flame and
black smoke. We learned later that one of Marilyn’s cousins was at work in the
World Trade Center when the plane hit the first tower. He was able to escape
safely but experienced the trauma of seeing others leap to their deaths rather
than burn in the flames.
Our
vacation was over. The highways to New York were choked closed. Emergency use
only.
There
was a prayer vigil that night at Saint Luke’s United Church of Christ, one of
the congregations in my ministerium, but I didn’t attend. I doubted any of my
parishioners would be there, thinking that I was away. Just as well. I didn’t
think I had any words for them anyway. I was still stupefied after hearing
President Bush’s announcement, “We are at war.” Having grown up in the shadow
of Vietnam, all I could think was, “No. Not again.”
The
following Sunday, having called off the supply preacher, I appeared before my
congregation. The nave was full—more full than usual and eerily silent. Ginnie,
an elderly saint, gripped my arm and said, “We knew you’d come back for us,
Pastor.” I have no idea what I said on that day.
On
September 14th all houses of worship in the United States were
requested by President Bush to hold mid-day prayer vigils. At Faith Lutheran we sat mostly in silence, offering
up only a few spoken prayers for God’s mercy on the United States and on our young
people in uniform who would be called on to avenge this horrible tragedy.
I’ve
looked back at my journal of that period and saw an entry from September 24th:
“On the Sunday after the attack Marilyn and I went to the Lulu Shrine Rodeo. I
couldn’t imagine anything more American than a rodeo. When ‘The Star-Spangled
Banner’ played and the cowgirls carried the American flag into the arena I wept
like a child. I feel both love and grief and fear for what a war in Afghanistan
could mean to this nation.”
If
you were around in those times, you’ll certainly recall the great spirit of
solidarity which washed over our nation and flooded out all the petty things
which often divide us. My own contribution was to make a call to my friend and
seminary neighbor Khader El-Yateem, the pastor of Salam Arabic Church in
Brooklyn. I worried that anti-Muslim rage might spill over and pose a danger to
the Arab Christians of Khader’s congregation. He thanked me for my call and
assured me he and his flock were okay. “We are under police protection,” he
said.
Some
months later, through the influence of one of her friends, Marilyn and I were
privileged to meet the country singer Alan Jackson and thank him for the anthem
he composed in response to the terror attacks, “Where Were You When the World
Stopped Turning?” I’ve always felt that particular song expressed as well as
anything the poignancy of that time:
Did you weep for the children who
lost their dear loved ones
And pray for the ones who don't
know?
Did you rejoice for the people who
walked from the rubble
And sob for the ones left below?
Did you burst out with pride for
the red, white and blue
And the heroes who died just doing
what they do?
Did you look up to heaven for some
kind of answer
And look at yourself and what
really matters?[i]
I
was most struck by Jackson’s lyric “Did you go to a church and hold hands with
some stranger?” I felt the song struck the right tone, reminding us of own
fragility. I think we all understood that message in those days. The aftermath
of tragedy saw a surge of humanity, patriotism, and forbearance. The worst of
times brought out the best in us.
Unfortunately,
like Camelot, the shining moment was all too brief. After U.S. troops, with the
aid of our allies, defeated the Taliban, Bush decided—unnecessarily, unjustly,
and deceitfully—to invade Iraq. The spirit which had united Americans dissolved
in controversy again.
Unlike
my wife, I have no close association with the sorrow of 9/11; nevertheless, I
feel the loss of two things. My stepdaughter joined the U.S. Army Reserve in 2009
and was deployed to Qatar as part of Operation Iraqi Freedom. She has not been
the same since. I grieve privately for her and for her mother.
I
also grieve that brief spirit of togetherness when we could mourn and console
ourselves as a nation, and when other nations came selflessly to our aid. If
the Iraq war didn’t completely destroy America’s credibility, the events of
recent years have certainly finished the job. I believe the license used by
Bush to invade Iraq put out the welcome mat for Trump’s equally deceitful,
illegal and unnecessary war in Iran. Now that the war powers toothpaste is out
of the tube, it may be impossible to jam it back in. An entire generation of our
citizens, unborn and unbegot on September 11, 2001, will still have the hand of
that horrible day pressing on their shoulders.
