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The images of 9/11 are seared into our memories.
Last week, Zach (now in 8th grade), brought home an assignment: to interview his parents about 9/11. "Where were you? What did you feel? Who did you call?"
Although I remember very vividly, I didn't know exactly how to answer. Because there are times when we just don't have the words.
And it reminded me that telling stories is a non-negotiable part of healing and reconciliation.
My good friend The Rev. Dan Matthews (former Rector at Trinity Church Wall Street and St. Paul's Chapel) told me the story about Mike and Jim, the parish property managers.
Opened in 1766, Manhattan's oldest public building in continuous use, St. Paul's Chapel not only survived the blast and fallout (astonishing in that it sits across the street from Ground Zero), it eventually become the rest station, where volunteers took shifts as cooks, masseurs, podiatrists, and counselors for first responders. Cots were provided for exhausted rescuers. Many slept on the wooden pews (still marked and scarred from boots and equipment to this day).
On the Friday after the attack, the nation was asked to observe a moment of silence. Mike and Jim asked Rev. Matthews if they could ring the bells at St. Paul's just before the noon hour, as a call to remembrance. Although a noble gesture, it wouldn't be possible given the debris in the vicinity, the fact that part of the chapel had been quarantined and the reality that the bells were disabled. Undeterred, they decided to go ahead with their plan, making their way to the top of the bell tower. On the way, amidst the debris they found an old steel pipe. When they reached the top, Mike told Rev. Matthews that he used that piece of steel "to beat the hell out of that bell." Looking out at the scene below, they could see that every worker at ground zero had removed their hard hat, and turned to face the bells. Mike said, "It hit me, that even when things get their worst I know that there is still hope."
It is hope that helps us keep the faith, despite the evidence, knowing that only in doing so has the evidence any chance of changing.
William Sloane Coffin
I know this; in a world where so much can go wrong, we are tempted to forget the moments where much can go right. And despite the debris, moments when we can find the courage to make our way to the bell tower, where Leonard Cohen reminds us to "Ring the bells that still can ring. Forget your perfect offering."
What do we do when the unimaginable happens? When in our vulnerability, we feel completely "at the mercy of." When those who should know, have no words. I still remember recordings of panicked 911 calls from the towers, "Can you please tell me what's going on!!"
"I'm sorry, ma'am, we don't know."
We want to move on... even though we believe, sometimes, that our wounds will never heal. Can our vulnerability shape the very building blocks that make healing possible?
There's a crack in everything. That's how the light gets in.
That's the great irony. Our strength and resilience does not come from a show of force or bravado, but in the freedom to be tough enough to be soft. We are prophets--of steadfastness, justice, compassion and mercy--when we do not hide our woundedness. When we find the wherewithal to stand in the middle of it all, even without words. And let the healing begin there.
So, where do we go... from fractured or terrified or empty? Maybe, just maybe, we do what Mike and Jim chose to do. We ring the bells. I can tell you this; it is a choice that would have been celebrated by Fr. Mychal Judge. When the towers were hit, FDNY Chaplain Father Mychal Judge chose to suit up, and go where we was needed, into the upheaval. To save a life, it cost him his life.
Knowing his sacrifice, it is worth reading these excerpts from his Last Homily, delivered at a Mass for Firefighters on Sept. 10, 2001. "You do what God has called you to do. You get on that rig, you go out and do the job. No matter how big the call, no matter how small, you have no idea of what God is calling you to do, but God needs you. He needs me. He needs all of us. God needs us to keep supporting each other, to be kind to each other, to love each other... We love this job, we all do. What a blessing it is! It's a difficult, difficult job, but God calls you to do it, and indeed, He gives you a love for it so that a difficult job will be well done... Turn to God each day--put your faith, your trust, your hope and your life in His hands. He'll take care of you, and you'll have a good life. And this firehouse will be a great blessing to this neighborhood and to this city. Amen."
And... if we don't know what God has called us to do, we know for certain that we are called to...
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That's how the light gets in.
When I get out of the way of my own thinking, I am at peace.
When I get out of the way of my doing, I am enough.
When I get out of the way of my being, I become all I am;
the Divine expression of God's amazing grace.
ML Gallagher
(1) In St. Paul's one reporter overheard a firefighter say, "When I come in that door, I'm covered with blood sometimes, and they hug me. They love me, they take care of me, they treat me as a real human being. And then they feed me, and they massage me, and they give me adjustments. These are my people. This is my place. This is where I come to be with God."
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