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| Photo of Haystack Rock in Cannon Beach, OR, by my friend Ann Fontaine's husband James. |
On this day, 14 years ago, the world
as most of us knew it was forever changed with the attacks launched on the
World Trade Center and the Pentagon. Just yesterday, it was announced that the
memorial to those on United Airlines Flight 93 has been completed in
Shanksville, Pennsylvania, the location where the plane went down after
passengers who learned about the other hijackings confronted the hijackers of
their own plane, causing it to crash rather than reach its unknown target. Many
of us remember exactly what we were doing when we heard about the attacks on
this day in 2001.
I was teaching high school, and
had a free period. I had the radio on the NPR as I worked in my classroom. The
first announcement was that a small plane had somehow accidentally crashed into
one of the towers. Then a few minutes later, when the second plane hit, our
understanding of this event changed, and it became obvious that this was not a
random event.
I was a social studies teacher, and
so I went quickly up and down the hallways, quietly informing my colleagues of
what was happening. It didn’t take long for word to get to the students, since
some parents began calling school and withdrawing their children to take them
home, especially after all planes in the US were ordered grounded, and the
images of that terrible day began playing in a terrible loop on CNN and the
other networks. Most of us spent the rest of the day trying to help the
remaining students make sense of what was happening and what it could
mean. One of my dearest friends had a daughter who was on a business trip
to Manhattan on that day; the superintendent of our district personally came to
her and arranged for her to go home as she awaited word. Everyone—both
students and teachers—realized that our lives would never be the same again,
although at the time we had no idea exactly about the extent of the changes we
would undergo, and how strongly they would reverberate in our consciousness.
It was during this time that I found
several psalms to be of comfort to me as I would pray each day. Psalm 23,
certainly, and Psalm 91, with their beautiful promises of God’s abiding love
for us. And then, this morning, I am reminded of the first two
verses of Psalm 40, which appears in this morning’s daily office, were among those
that spoke to me, and became a kind of mantra:
I waited patiently
upon the Lord;
he inclined to me
and heard my cry.
He drew me up from
the desolate pit,
out of the miry
bog,
and set my feet
upon a rock,
making my steps
secure.
One of the most beautiful things that
happened in the days and months after these terrible events was the unity that
was expressed by people of all faiths in response to events so imbued with
suffering and evil.
Many ask where God was during those
terrible days and months. To me, there was God, rushing into the inferno,
wearing uniforms, wearing street clothes, tending to the wounded, feeding and
comforting the rescuers. There was God in every message of love telephoned to
friends and loved ones. There was God leading people out of the Pentagon. There
was God, taking the hand of those on Flight 93 and steadying their courage. God
heard untold prayers, and God was in the prayers themselves.
It is easy to believe in God during times of blessing, but
often it is most necessary to allow ourselves to rest within the embrace of God
in times of tragedy and pain. The life of faith often encompasses suffering and
grief. Faithful people are not insulated from tragedy. The difference is that
we can find God there, with us, in our suffering. God is with us, even in
desolation, listening as we cry out in grief or fear. God is with us, and
suddenly the shifting sand becomes solid rock, for we are not alone, or bereft.
God’s ear is inclined to us, and our cry is heard. Amen.
