9/11/08

It has been seven years since I stood in my California living room, in body numbing shock, and wondered if my brother, his wife, and my nephew were dead.  All three of them worked in or next door to the Twin Towers.  I remember willing myself not to entertain such a reality as all of my reserve was needed to shuffle my feet toward the kitchen to call a cell phone that I hoped was still working. It took six tries before my shaking hands dialed the proper number.

Our family was lucky that day.  Thousands of others were not. 

This morning’s paper held fewer headlines to remind us of this anniversary. To be honest, I won’t ever need a paper to nudge my memory, but I fear that the families that lost a loved one are afraid that the lack of headlines is equal to the lack of remembrance.  I want them to know that this is not true, at least in my case.

Like every other 9/11 these past few years, I found myself heading toward church as afternoon made its way toward the dinner hour.  Helpless to ease the pain of our country, I felt the least I could do was to make a visit and pray for the victims and their families.  To pray for all of us.

I entered the chapel, glanced at the flickering candle above the door, and took a seat. The room was empty, and the afternoon sun through the stained glass window cut a mosaic path on the floor. Privacy, cool silence, a deep breath.  I closed my eyes and prayed, hard, for each and every hurting soul that was doing whatever it could to make it through these twenty-four hours, yet another year gone by.   

As expected, my stomach began to churn along with my feelings. When I return to that day, when I uncork those memories, my whole being reacts with a sense of deep repulsion. I don’t know how to do this. How to understand terrible acts done on purpose.

How can such evil exist?  Why do human beings inflict such pain on each other?  These questions are too big for me. I can’t imagine how they gnaw at those who are mourning family members and cherished friends today. How do we ache for our loved ones and handle the paralyzing anger at the same time?

Reaching for a bible sitting on a nearby kneeler, I decided to play the old ‘point the finger game’, where I fully expect God to use the bible like a celestial Ouija board. Rarely does it work, but I always attempt it with great optimism. The idea is to ask God a burning question and point my finger to a random page in hopes that the chosen passage will speak to my heart and calm my fears.  The last time I was desperate for a divine whisper my finger pointed to a passage that detailed the lineage of David.

With eyes closed I fanned the pages a few times until I felt the urge to stop and run my index finger down a section.  It took my breath away to see that the passage, Sirach 27-28 was about malice, anger and vengeance.  My heart pounded in my ears. Maybe there was something to this little game of mine. Maybe it was not a game at all. 

The message of surrender?  Even here?  Even with these heinous acts?  Leave the vengeance to God, it said. He in His own way and His own time knows when retribution will be most effective.

That’s a tall order if you ask me. Sometimes anger is the only fuel you have left.  Maybe the key is that it doesn’t need to be done all at once.  That it starts by handing it over to God for five minutes, then an hour, and then a day.  Letting Him fill those vacant spots in our hearts with the kindness of others.  He may want us to leave the anger to Him, but the comforting we can handle.  Americans are great at compassion.  And remembering.

When I finished, I sat quietly.  Counting the wall tiles, listening to the hum of the air conditioner.  It didn’t matter that none of the victim’s loved ones knew that I was sitting in silence praying for them.  I imagined solitary prayer soldiers like me all over the country saying prayers for families they will never meet. It is not a small thing to wish God’s graces and deep peace to those who are suffering.

Perhaps it is true that evil never sleeps, but neither does goodness.  Kindness and prayer are life giving and powerful. That we can handle. Americans are great at that.  And remembering.

May God bless us all.