On September 11 and Hope
I am writing today on the eve of the 25th anniversary of the September 11th attacks. You will receive this article in your email inbox, as any number of memorials and remembrances are taking place. Twenty-five years later, the wound still seems fresh. It was a watershed moment for our country and the world. My life and the lives of most Americans are measured before and after that day now. We live and breathe in the shadow of that tragedy, from political and foreign policy decisions to military and economic ones. The lingering effects of 9/11 persist.
I was a senior in college when the attacks took place. At the time, I coached high school debate part-time and worked evenings for QuikTrip. My adult life was just beginning. I remember waking just after the plane hit the first of the World Trade Center towers. My shift lasted until almost midnight the night before and my first class of the day was not until 11am, so I slept in a little. The Today Show cut to the image of the first tower smoking just as I turned on the television. At that point, they knew a plane had struck the tower, but not that it was terrorism. During one of these live shots, the second plane hit the south tower, and the narrative shifted. Were we under attack? Is it terrorism? Who is trying to kill us?
I went through the rest of the day numb, wondering where I should be. I arrived at the University of Tulsa as people were gathering around television screens in lecture halls to watch the unfolding coverage. Around then, we heard the news and saw the first pictures of the Pentagon and Flight 93. Classes were canceled for the day soon after. I went to the high school where I taught. There, the students still moved from class to class (with a television on in each one) on their normal schedule like zombies. Later that day, I showed up at QuikTrip to work my shift. There was a panicked run on gas after the initial news, and they were only then receiving a new shipment and starting to sell again. I worked for six hours that night and do not remember doing a thing.
There are times when that day seems like a distant memory, like it happened in another life or decades ago, and there are other days when September 11 feels so present as if it happened just a moment ago. There are days we forget what happened, and there are days when we are asking the same questions all over again.
I am a pastor now, a husband, and a father. I am, and we are, twenty-five years on the other side of 9/11, but I still struggle with that day even now. On the September 11th anniversary following my oldest son’s birth (2014), I wrote, “My prayer on the anniversary of September 11th is that my son will not know the haunting specter of war, terrorist attacks, and death the way so many children have in the last 13 years. If we are constantly at war, the terrorists are winning.” I still feel that way and wonder what happens when we live in a world of ceaseless death and fear. I am not sure whether I wonder that more as a pastor or as a father.
As a person of faith, I believe that hope and goodness win out even if that victory is in the resurrection. I believe in better angels and peace. I believe in new life. I believe in joy and celebration. We must overcome the nihilism and killing of this age with a faith in Jesus Christ, who offers us something better. The world does not have to be this way. We can make it different.
Blessings,
Rev. Tim Blodgett
General Presbyter
Eastern Oklahoma Presbytery
The above article is an adaptation of several reflections I have written on the September 11th anniversary over the years.
Comments