On a Tuesday morning eight years ago, my car was in the shop. The engine had blown, and I was taking the bus to work. During my commute, we passed a minor but traffic-impeding accident between two cars in an intersection, and I remember being grateful that I wasn't one of those drivers. Their day was starting off badly.
I had no idea.
Of course, it was only 8:15, and none of us had any idea.
I first got the news from a customer who walked into the store. I was otherwise alone in the bakery. After the second plane hit, I turned on the radio and kept it on. But my human contact was with customers.
I remember feeling, and seeing and hearing in some other people, an excitement. Not happiness. Of course not happiness. But an energy, a heightening of our experience, as we were all thrown into a world where the glass window through which we viewed the chaos was shattered and the wind came rushing in. For those of us not touched by personal tragedy, was this an opportunity to engage, to take part in a spiritual battle or a physical one, to find a dangerous hole and try to fill it with our own courage? It was like feeling stunned and numb, yet raw at the same time. What would this reveal about us? Would things eventually settle down and go back to normal? Would we hear a call and heed it? Would we rise to a challenge, or shrink back? Would we get lost again in the details of our lives -- and was that necessarily an evil thing?
I learned that my uncle had made it out of the World Trade Center without injury. I hadn't even realized he worked there.
The phone chains went into gear in my church North of D.C., and in the evening we gathered in our auditorium to pray. That I was glad to do. In a situation too big for me to understand, I was only too happy to turn to the One who was even bigger than the situation, and who cared for the hurting -- and the perpetrators -- more than I ever could.
I wasn't angry, and I wasn't scared, and I wasn't sure if that was an indicator of something missing in me.
In the days and weeks that followed, and New York began burying its fallen firefighters and policemen, there weren't enough men and women in uniform to attend the funerals of their commrades, so my dad and other firefighters and cops from outside the city went down to attend the funerals.
I wondered if my brother, then a Navy pilot, would be sent to fight. I'm still thankful that he wasn't.
I don't think there was any one "right" response to what happened on 9/11/01, either in emotion or in action. Eight years on, I don't know what the proper balance is between somber remembrance and finding joy in the present.
Perhaps the imporant thing is to acknowledge the validity of both.
About Me
- Holly
- I'm 38 years old, and over a decade into a time of serious Waiting. Waiting for everything I'd always hoped I'd have. I've had to let go of some dreams, but instead of losing them, it's looking like God is bringing them back with some other long-forgotten dreams in tow. I'm now in the process of exploring things I'd previously ruled out for myself, and they all involve performance or audience interaction somehow. So it appears I'm a ham. Still waiting, still in process, but becoming ever more hopeful. A Christian looking for God in what's real. Trying to figure stuff out. Let me know if you think I'm onto anything.
2 comments:
As I´ve mentioned to you before Holly, in Chile we had our very own 9/11 in 1973, very different in a sense, but much the same as well, as it also became the doorway to the loss of thousands of innocent lives. The thing is: if is it right to forget or forgive - rejoicing in our now peaceful world (from a comparative standpoint as you say) - without repentance from those who beget ill, or justice come about? Scholars speak of the spanish term "impunidad" ( George P. Fletcher in the U.S.) as a flag for demanding justice, its sole function wanting things like these never to repeat again. But how close is the line between deserving forgiveness deserving justice? What would Jesus say?? :)
Hi Marquioni, I don't have a ton of answers, but I have a handful of jumbled thoughts:
- I don't think forgiveness and justice are necessarily mutually exclusive, since they both exist in God. It seems to me that forgiveness is something that largely takes place in the heart of the person wronged, while justice is external and always involves action. I don't think forgiveness is ever deserved; by definition, the guilty party is guilty, and deserves justice (which means no one has the right to demand forgiveness, and that "they don't deserve it" isn't really a valid excuse for withholding it). Yet God commands His people to forgive anyway.
--In America, the idea of separation of church and state comes up a lot. There are many different ideas about what that means, but I heard one pastor (in the wake of 9/11) say that these institutions serve differenct purposes. The state executes justice, and the church is freer to love people. As an individual who may have a role in both these institutions, is it possible for you to do both? I don't know, but perhaps it's a matter of motive -- what's in your heart as you pursue justice? Is it hatred, righteous anger, vengeance, compassion... maybe something else or all of the above? I find sometimes it's nearly impossible to know whether I'm doing the "right thing," but I can often tell whether my heart is in the right place.
-- I wonder if can gauge the appropriateness of our response to horrible acts by the effect it has on our lives. Is it robbing us of all joy, or spurring us on to action? Do we complain, or are we hopeful? Do we cast blame and criticism, or are we teachable?
-- We each handle these things differently, so don't stress yourself out wondering if your approach looks different from someone else's. We can't know what's in anyone else's heart; we can only try to be as honest as possible with ourselves.
-- It's evident from our correspondence that you have a very strong sense of compassion and justice. People like you can do a lot of good in the world.
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