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Minutes
of Meetings with God |
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Being The Body of Christ at Ground Zero |
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My wife and I stood together at the ship's rail, silent, stunned by the conspicuous absence of the twin towers of the World Trade Center as we looked at the Manhattan skyline. In that moment, the devastation of September 11, 2001 got driven home. It wasn't what we saw, it was what we didn't see. It was what had gone missing, never to be again. New York City was the next to last stop on our cruise around the world, our "trip of a lifetime." At many of our "ports of call," around the world, local people had done two things that really touched us deeply. They had said, "Thank you for visiting us in such troubled and fear-filled times," and "We are so sorry about and saddened by what happened on September 11th." Perhaps because we don't live in New York City, or near the Pentagon, or near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, there was a certain sense of unreality about everything that happened on that infamous day. Part of us knew that, yes, it had happened, but part of us wouldn't admit that anyone could do anything so horrible. My wife and I both had some serious ambivalence about sailing into New York Harbor. It is one thing to see events on the television, on the internet, or in the newspaper; it is something else to see things with ones own eyes. The Manhattan skyline was changed, dramatically, horribly, forever. So was the city, the nation and the world. We had planned to visit "Ground Zero." We felt compelled to go to "pay our respect," to offer a brief prayer, and to somehow let what had happened become real for us. New friends that we had made during the "around the world trip" arranged to drive us to within walking distance of the viewing platform. It was with these friends that we walked through the concrete canyons of Manhattan to the place that the twin towers had stood. By the time we arrived at the site, some seven months after the disaster, there were no piles of debris and no smoldering ruins. There was a multi-story hole in the ground. Taken in and of itself, with cranes, earth-moving equipment, trucks, and trailers, it could have been mistaken for a construction site. Around "Ground Zero" were the reminders, subtle and otherwise, of the disaster. As we walked toward the site, above street level, we noted cracked and broken windows, as well as the inches of dust settled on building ledges and outcroppings; all the result of the pressure and dust wave that accompanied the towers' collapse. On the street, things looked almost normal for New York City. There were lots of street venders hawking the usual cheap watches and sunglasses, and the cute or touristy t-shirts and souvenirs. However, many of the street items were caps, shirts, mugs, and plates celebrating the bravery of the New York firefighters and police officers as well as keepsake pictures of the twin towers. Many of the venders had signs saying something like: "These items are products licensed by the New York City Firefighters and Police officers. Part of the proceeds from their sale will go to assist the families of firefighters and police officers who died on 9/11." We rounded a final corner approaching the entrance to the "Ground Zero" viewing platform. Through the crowds of people we caught our first glimpse of what remains one of the most heart rending and most hopeful reminders of 9/11. It is the little church that stood through the disaster. St. Paul's Episcopal Church, located, literally, a cemetery's length away from "Ground Zero," has been "the Body of Christ" diligently, compassion-ately serving at the entrance to the disaster site. From the moments after the towers collapsed, the church has been a refuge and place of rest for victims and for rescuers, as well as a place of healing and comfort for those physically and spiritually wounded. In a strange sort of way, St. Paul's has become an altar where people come to leave their deepest hurts, and their most powerful expressions of sympathy, support, and hope. The little church is surrounded by a high wrought-iron fence. Most of that fence has been covered over with notes, pictures, flags, cards, and more. In the early hours after the disaster, people used the fence to post notes and photos as they tried to find family members, friends, colleagues, and others they knew who worked in and around the World Trade Center. As hours turned into days, days into weeks, and weeks into months, the fence became a sacred place: family members, friends, colleagues, and others left flowers, family photos, teddy bears and other memorials to the dead and missing; rescuers who worked "the pile" left behind notes or equipment (helmets , boots, gloves) before returning home to the Mid-west, or the South, or the far West; Sunday School classes and elementary school classes of young children sent hand-lettered cards of sympathy and encouragement; people from Japan, The United Kingdom and other nations sent their national flags, some signed with hundreds of names, in an act of condolence, encouragement and support; firefighters and police officers from around the nation and around the world sent signed helmets, shirts, flags, and more in a show of solidarity with their colleagues in New York City. All these things were on the fence in a jumble with no apparent order, but with a power to touch the heart in a way beyond description. There were lots of tears shed along the fence. We walked out to the viewing platform, but with one exception, we had already seen what would move us the most. The exception was a huge sign (in most photos of "Ground Zero" this sign looks like a postage stamp on one of the huge, nearby buildings that was damaged in the collapse), hung so that any one working at "Ground Zero" could read it any time they looked up. The sign reads: Thank you for never giving up.
As we left, going by St. Paul's, I thanked God for little churches who remember they are the Body of Christ. |