A Different View: Reflections on 9/11
[First posting September 2011, an extraction from a sermon preached on September 23, 2011 at Saint Mark's Episcopal Cathedral, Seattle WA now re-posted with some updating as a remembrance of September 11, 2001.]
We were returning from the Canadian Gulf Islands were we had been cruising for a couple of weeks. On the last day of vacation we were docked at LaConner, sitting out on the aft deck of the Lady Mick, enjoying a cup of coffee. The cell phone rang and there was my stepdaughter, Lindsay:
"Are you listening to the news?"
"No"
"You better. The world is falling apart!"
It was Tuesday morning, September 11, 2001. Everything was falling apart. And we joined with the whole world as the horror unfolded. As we cast off and eventually entered the Sound, in the near distance an ominous grey shape appeared as a USN vessel steamed south, almost at flank speed, going where? The Locks were deserted but open; the lock crew wondering and waiting to hear if the locks would be closed. Everything, everywhere, had a pall of frightened uncertainty.
That evening, secured at Thunderbird Marina in Lake Union, watching TV I saw for the first time the horrible sight of someone jumping from one of the towers. I chokingly pointed this out to to my step-daughter, who had joined us aboard. She replied "And some of them were holding hands." (USA Today reported as many as 200 jumped that day.) Horrific!
The next days and weeks were filled with unimaginable images, with uncontrollable feelings and emotions, with confusion, and at the same time, like a drowning man, the struggle to try to make sense out of this non-sense. I found that I simply could not go to church (a somewhat normal practise in times of stress or need) for the rest of that week. I found myself quite withdrawn as I sifted and sorted what I was trying to fathom. I caught glimpses of prayer services taking place around the country, including Seattle. I watched the service at the National Cathedral in Washington, DC.
I did get to St. Mark's Cathedral that Sunday. It was good to have been there. As I looked around I saw many familiar faces (comforting). I also saw many new faces, young faces, many not church folk. The mood was one of need, of hoping, of a desire to find some sort of meaning in the midst of non-meaning. We were simply a collection of refugees.
Following the service I discovered an old friend visiting Seattle. Bob is a retired priest. He is also a retired USAF officer having flown with the Strategic Air Command before going to seminary. Bob told me that he had somehow managed to get through to his congressman, asking him if he had the guts to vote against the pending legislation empowering the president to use all military force necessary in response to the terrorist attack. He had responded that he simply could not vote that way at this time. (Only one congresswoman, from Oakland, CA, so voted against that sweeping legislation.) Bob went on suggesting to his congressman that only real response we could make was - - to forgive.
(Lieutenant Colonel, the Rev. Robert Beveridge died September 2, 2016, a strong advocate of nuclear disarmament and a member of the Fellowship of Reconciliation)
(Lieutenant Colonel, the Rev. Robert Beveridge died September 2, 2016, a strong advocate of nuclear disarmament and a member of the Fellowship of Reconciliation)
Today, 2011, sifting and sorting through a plethora of editorials, blogs, where are we, really, a decade and a day later? Even Sunday's comics, from Baby Blues, Sally Forth, Blondie, to Doonesbury make their own comment. Where are we?
Jon Talon, in yesterday's (September 22, 2001) Seattle Times, wrote, "In attacking the U.S. . . . one of Osama bin Laden's major goals was to provoke a hysterical American overreaction that would begin bleeding the nation into economic ruin. Mission accomplished?"
Tony Karon, NY Times, helps with some perspective, describing a murderous crime scene in New York, Washington, and Pennsylvania becoming a spiritual staging ground for an international war against "a tiny network of transnational extremists, founded on the remnants of the Arab volunteers who'd fought in the U.S. backed Afghan jihad against the Soviet Union."
And the cost? Let alone the trillion dollars spent, more critically the immoral cost of lives, with almost 50% of returning troops eligible to receive disability payments, with more than 600,000 treated so far in veterans' medical facilities, with veteran suicides topping 18 (now 20-22) per day in recent years, and family breakups, are simply too incalculable to understand.
For many other Americans the decade has been one of growing prejudice as Muslims have been cruelly subjected to Islamophobia, reminiscent, if perhaps not surpassing, that experienced by the Japanese-Americans during WWII.
Jim Wallis writes in Sojourners, "For a moment the world's last remaining superpower was vulnerable, and we all felt it. . . . in our sudden sense of vulnerability we were now, and perhaps for the first time, like most of the world, where vulnerability is an accepted part of being human. And in those first days, following 9/11, America, not the terrorists, had the high ground. The world did not identify with those who cruelly and murderously decided to take innocent lives in response to their grievances - - both real and imagined. Instead the world identified with a suffering America - - even the front of the French newspaper Le Monde ran the headline, 'We are all America'."
Is this still the case today?
Ten years later, on our local ABC affiliate, a young woman interviewed said we need to move, we need to remember, we need to forgive. One can only hope. The toll on us, let alone this whole world, this last decade has been unprecedented. To heal is perhaps the new mission to be accomplished.
Eric Darton, author of Divided We Stand: A Biography on New York City's World Trade Center, was being interviewed by NPR's Robert Seigel on "All Things Considered" just three days after the attack. Towards the end of the interview, Darton recounted that the night after the towers were destroyed, his 9-year old daughter climbed up on the kitchen ladder to look out of their Manhattan apartment window at the scene of the destruction. Night was falling, and she said to her father: "I think I'm beginning to see the new view."
We need to recall 9/11/2001, not as just the horrific event it truly was, but now as a means, a hope, a deep sense of resolve to heal - - in all areas of our national and interrelated world's life. For we are, and we can perhaps again be, a people that can "see the new view."
[And this timely posting from United Methodist pastor Steve Garnaas-Holmes' blog Unfolding Light.]
what is worth remembering?
How fragile we are.
How deeply we need each other.
How little our differences matter.
That in our vulnerability
we are most human.
That we can always respond to violence
with violence or with peace.
That violence begets violence.
That in danger, chaos and trauma
we can choose to come together.
That you always have a choice
to contribute to the world's hurt
or its healing.
That we are one.
That entering into the world's suffering
is divine.
That the world is not ending yet.
How beautiful it is
when we care for each other.
