It was a bright sunny day. I was leading our worship service that morning. It was my third year of seminary and I had recently returned to New York City from a summer internship in the Tetons of Idaho. I had no idea my life was about to change, and not only my life, but that of the whole country and beyond.
In 2001 the federal government actually ran a budget surplus. Inflation was less than 3%; average gas price was less than $1.50. While we just had a contested presidential election that came down to hanging chads in Florida, overall, the country seemed positive about the direction we were going with our economy. While there have always been political divisions, in September of 2001 the overall feel (at least in my memory) was fine.
And then the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center and Pentagon happened. And for a brief period of time not only was the country united, but the world also rallied around us. Sadly, that did not last.
But for me, the immediate impact was hearing that a plane had hit the trade center, assuming it was a small plane with an inexperienced pilot, and climbing to the top of the chapel tower to see what was going on. It was seeing both towers burning that caused the realization that this was not an accident and seeing the collapse which changed everything. One of my classmates suggested we go give blood, and we walked to the closest hospital to discover hundreds of people had the same thought. The nurses were lining people down the streets by blood type. When I asked if they needed help, and said what my qualifications were (firefighter, EMT, hazmat) they said they needed hazmat at the Emergency Department. I spent the rest of that day working decontamination outside the doors to the ER.
To all who came I asked similar questions: “Does anyone know you are here? Are there others with you? Is there someone to notify?” Too many people said they had been separated from their crew, or that they were the only one left of their crew. Too many were in shock and unable to make sense of what was happening. There were a bunch of chaplains outside to minister to those coming, but it was very quiet, and one remarked to me that this was a bad sign. It was. I spend several days afterwards helping down at the site and time over the course of the next months helping at St Paul’s Chapel where a resting center for those working at the site was set up.
For the next several months and more the city was full of signs of “have you seen…” and pictures of the loved ones missing. The smell of burning hung over the city. People were kind as they asked each other how they were doing. There was a feeling that the world was there for us. When President Bush came and promised to get those responsible, I felt glad, and trusted he would do just that.
But it was not all kindness and light. I was living in a residential seminary community and just as we supported each other, we were also stressed and scared. We experienced anger, joy, fear, elation, and every way of dealing with those emotions. We ate together, prayed together, studied, supported, and fought together. It was an experience of humans in community at its most basic level, dealing with everything that happens when stress comes to the community. We saw people behave badly, and saintly. I came to understand I would not be able to immediately make sense of and help others process trauma; any more than my professors were able to do so. I discovered what it truly meant to be a pastor and priest. I saw evil, and realized that I never wanted to intentionally participate in anything which would cause such evil to another. This meant the hard path of forgiveness, for my own soul, not because anyone who participated in the terror attacks asked for that. This meant the hard path of pursuing peace and not revenge, inclusion not exclusion. Not that I always succeed in the path.
Eventually, I graduated and left New York, and the first anniversary came along. People wanted to have memorials of the event, and my overwhelming thought was “you weren’t there, why are you doing something?” It simply did not occur to me that they had also experienced the trauma of the day, just in a different way. It took time to come to that realization. I did not talk about my experience at all with any who were not part of it. I found I couldn’t, it was just too hard. I found myself resenting those who, in my mind, waved the flag as a way of making points off of 9/11. By now (one year out) we were in Afghanistan, and the cost of the war was having an effect. I still thought President Bush would get Osama Bin Ladin, but this would not happen. The political divide was getting stronger.
In September of 2002, I was taking a run when I found I could not breathe. I was gasping for breath and unable to catch it. I promptly went to the doctor and was told I had asthma, caused by my time in New York City. Over the next 10 years my “asthma” continued to get worse. In 2012, I was told I did not have asthma, and a lung biopsy showed that I actually had pulmonary fibrosis. For years I resented my disease, and I wondered if my time at ground zero had really accomplished anything. I thought to myself that I was injured for nothing. I have come to the understanding that this is wrong. Actually, it was St James Episcopal Church in Cashmere that helped me in that change, when some of them challenged my saying it was for nothing. I have come to understand that my theology about forgiveness, my understanding of Jesus, my commitment to peace- all of this has come into greater depth due to my experience on 9/11 and after. My understanding of the crucifixion and resurrection has deepened, especially realizing the one who is crucified literally dies gasping for breath. When you live on oxygen and often gasp for breath yourself, knowing deeply that Jesus experienced the same thing is powerful. To then receive new life through a double lung transplant was to experience resurrection.
September 11, 2001, was 25 years ago, and it was yesterday, and it was a lifetime ago. The country and the world are in a very different place. What I know is that I am the person I am today due to, in many ways, that day. I wish it had never happened, and I am also like the person I have become. To have joy and love is to also have tragedy and grief. I wish it was different, but I don’t think it is possible to be human and not experience this. Every generation has their major trauma; the only real question is how will we respond when it is our turn?
