Sunday Celebrations

 Who doesn’t know where they were over the age of 20 on that fateful September morn of 9/11/2001? I don’t know why this year seems any heavier than years past, but I am really struggling with my emotions while I prepare for my Sunday Talk. Yes, 9/11 this year falls on a Sunday.

A few years back, I took my best friend who is more like a sister to me than a friend, to New York City for her 60th birthday. I had wanted to do this for a long time. See, she had been raised in upper state New York but had never been to the City. I have been a number of times and am not a big fan of it or its inhabitants until the year following 9/11 when the whole world felt a little more humble, a little more vulnerable, a little more open to make connections. Afterall, we really don’t know how much time we have and most of us don’t know when this journey is going to end including those who are battling a terminal illness. 

Selfishly on this trip, I wanted to see the 9/11 Memorial Museum. We had early morning tickets and I remember upon entering the museum how impressed I was with the surreal quiet and deep respectfulness of all of it. We learned it is a living memorial. Scientists are still uncovering debris and identifying matches of remains. Have you heard the term, “a sacred hush?” That is what it felt like besides the gentle careening voice of our guide. He even told us if the tour was too much for anyone that we could step aside, and someone would come to see if we were ok. Sometimes in the enormity of what happened, you just have to take a breath.  We did not have to talk about any of it; we just would not be alone. I did not have to leave our group, but I was so impressed in a depressing kind of way looking at the crumpled fire engine, the melted steel, the images people had painted of what they remembered most. There was a majesty to this walkable tomb. 

So much hate crashed into the Twin Towers that day, so deeply embedded into American soil that almost nothing was recoverable in a recognizable state. How ironic when we see the purpose of the buildings as described by the architect, Minoru Yamasaki, in 1964: “Beyond the compelling need to make this a monument to world peace – a monument to world peace– the World Trade Center should, because of its importance, become a living representation of man’s belief in humanity – a living representation of man’s belief in humanity – it is now, it is forever immortalized not because of its belief in humanity but because of its belief in hatred and fear – his need for individual dignity – someone got robbed – his belief in the cooperation of men – not if you cannot talk to one another and find a common ground – and through this cooperation his ability to find greatness.” We failed. 

Whether we chose to turn a blind eye or it happened out of our national ignorance, we failed humanity even if it was on the other side of the world. We failed ourselves here in America too.  As Josh Groban so eloquently sings,

They would not listen
They did not know how
Perhaps they'll listen now

Like the strangers that you've met
The ragged men in ragged clothes
The silver thorn, a bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow

It may not be “virgin snow,” but rather concrete and steel, now reduced to less than rubble in ash. 

I know where I was on that fateful day, sitting in the front entrance of my son’s elementary school, innocently volunteering as a greeter for parents of forgotten lunch boxes and early release doctor appointments. I remember the exclamations of incredulity when we all thought it was an accident, a plane veered off course – how could it be anything else? So little did we know until the 2nd plane hit Tower #2. What did it mean?

I left the school and headed to work across town. When I arrived, my boss sent everyone home. Would there be more? Would it turn nuclear? I went home glued like most of America to my T.V. screen. My kids were both in their schools and I was afraid to go get them as I heaved chest-crushing sobs. So much hatred? How did we let it get this far? Innocent lives on all 3 planes – lost senselessly. Innocent lives that went to work in the Towers that day – gone. Then it was our first responders…gone. All gone.

I could not go get my kids from school. I could not let them see me glued to the T.V. gasping through my tears. I was their protector, yet I felt so helpless that day. I had lived in Europe. I heard warnings back then. Now it was America’s turn and there was nothing I could do except sit and wait and watch the T.V. 

Twenty-one years later and I still cry. Generations have been birthed that have no idea why it hits us quite so hard. But then again, WWI and WWII were global atrocities, but I did not live through them. Korea and Vietnam, I was but a child. Hard to remember that Vietnam was still going until April of 1975. I was 11 years old. We moved to England the next year, right after the Bicentennial. How quickly we forget. 

I have been looking not only for the right words this year for my Sunday service, but also for the right music. The Sound of Silence sung by Simon and Garfunkel is coming through…

Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
Because a vision softly creeping
Left its seeds while I was sleeping

Except I was not “sleeping.” But maybe we all were.  

And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence

I don’t think the images of that day are ever going to leave my brain. 

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never share
No one dared
Disturb the sound of silence

Millions across the world witnessed this atrocity. 

2,977 were killed.

19 hijackers 

More than 6,000 others were injured and probably more after those whose lungs were filled with dead dust that day.

265 people on the four planes (don’t forget Flight 77 into the Pentagon and Flight 93 in Stoystown, PA.) 

343 members of NYC’s Fire Department

71 Law Enforcement officers 

55 Military personnel

How strange that the world came together on that day. Many nations had been through unfathomable, soul crushing atrocities, but on that day, condemnation for the acts of a few echoed throughout the world. 

It was such a shock. I don’t know if I will ever fully recover. I think many Americans feel that way. So how do I preach about it? 

One of my favorite ministers said, “Forgiveness comes through knowledge.” Knowledge? That must be the wisdom knowledge because it is not about education. It is not about educating people in the sense of book learning, but maybe it is about the “wisdom” teachings, to do better, to see people as we wish to be seen, to know people of all races and religions and sexual orientation have value. It must come from that deep residing wisdom of the knowing the truth that humankind is not separate from one another. Sometimes, that is a hard concept to swallow. 

Marianne Williamson is quoted as saying, “Until we have seen someone’s darkness, we don’t really know who that person is. Until we have forgiven someone’s darkness, we don’t really know what love is.” 

Sometimes love is lost on the innocent. 

The final song choice is Sarah McLaughlin, “I Will Remember You,”

I will remember you, will you remember me?
Don't let your life pass you by
Weep not for the memories

Weep not for the memories

Twenty-one years later and I am still weeping. 

Holding all dear who were affected that day – 

May you find peace,

May you know love,

We are all in this together,

“…this thing called Life.” (Prince)  

Beholding the Sacred You,

Rev. Tracey