FROM THE PASTOR

September 11, 2022: A View from the Ground

“As a deer longs for flowing streams, so my soul longs for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and behold the face of God? My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me continually, ‘where is your God?’ These things I remember as I pour out my soul: how I went with the throng, and led them in procession to the house of God…” Psalm 42.

September 11 has been commodified, interpreted, and cited to support going to war, fearing and blaming immigrants, jingoistic “America First” rhetoric. It has been buried in the history which followed it. We bombed Kabul 21 years ago in the name of 9/11. And today we cringe and grieve as suicide bombs go off in Kabul, and bombs burst on civilians in Ukraine. But for me the true feelings of that day are not buried or papered over, but are as vivid and searing as ever.

And lingering over all of it is the question of God. “My tears have been my food day and night, while people say to me continually, ‘where is your God?’” How shall we remember?

I offer five street level images in those heartbreaking days of that tragedy twenty one years ago for our remembrance: a picture; an open window; a lit candle; bowed heads and silence at ground zero; a phone card, metro card, food voucher.

A Picture: Twenty one years ago we lamented in solidarity, singing God Bless America in Union Square, showing one another pictures of loved ones like this one, remembered by George Packer in The Atlantic: “Giovanna ‘Gennie’ Gambole. 27 years old 5’6” Brown Hair Brown Eyes Last seen on 102nd Fl. Of World Trade Center Call with any information.” The sign was posted right after the attacks, and stayed up long after, moving from an urgent request to a tribute to a lost daughter. Local traffic was not allowed on the West Side Highway in the days after the attack, offering a clear lane for rescue vehicles. People lined the highway, cheering every vehicle and uniformed presence on the highway, many holding signs of loved ones lost in the rubble, desperately pleading for news. It was that immediate, that visceral in New York. Every hour. Every day. Those who were there know what I’m talking about

An open window. As we remember, let us recall that right after the attacks the whole world was with us in a global embrace of sympathy and compassion. A month after the attacks I attended meeting with international Christian leaders from the World Council of Churches and there was much talk about a window of opportunity for global solidarity and communion with America which opened after 9/11and then was closed by the war on terror. I think we need to probe this. Why did the window open? Was it not because the yearning for world community and human solidarity was already deeply embedded in our collective psyche? It wasn’t created by 9/11. The tragedy brought out what was already there. That yearning is there today as we watch suffering in Ethiopia, Ukraine, a wave of refugees from global spaces of death and terror. It is a primal spiritual hunger for our common humanity and for God. We were all deer caught in the headlights.

“As Pants the hart for cooling streams when heated in the chase
So longs my soul, O God, for you and your refreshing grace.”
For you, my God, the living God, my thirsty spirit pines;
Oh, when shall I behold your face, O Majesty divine?” (Hymn 452, LBW, based on Psalm 42).

The open window was the longing for God in the embrace of one another. Today, twenty one years later, we need to hear again and again what we heard in response to the attacks: “wir trauen,” “poli sana” (we’re sorry, we grieve with you-signs in Germany and Tanzania after 9/11) as we remember the anniversary. In fact people still are grieving around the world and across our country, not only what happened two decades ago, but our continued suffering in a world of pandemic, ongoing terror and conflict, natural disasters and our graceless public square. Yes, it was acute and raw in New York, Pennsylvania and Washington DC after the terror attacks, but it was close to the surface everywhere I went during the first year after the attacks. In Bergen, Norway folks from the local press broke down in tears as they asked me what happened and gave me their own stories of 9/11 in their lives. In the airport in Amsterdam two gentlemen from Sweden asked us where we were from and when I said New York he said, “the hairs on my arms are standing on end.” They wanted to talk about it. At the two ELCA global missions events that summer, after I shared my opening address and talked about “the global church at ground zero” many people, through many tears, talked about their own feelings, how they reacted to the events, what their connection continues to be.

We must not underestimate the sense of pain, violation, and sadness which continues to linger – sometimes just below the surface amid all of the ground zeros of our lives today – personal and communal. But being aware of it must not paralyze us from joining in a wider discussion about the meaning of these things for us and the world. We must observe the anniversary, every year, in front of the open window of human solidarity.

Twenty one years ago I wrote: “Our drift toward wider war is troubling. Christians must begin to find their voices and join them together. We have been silent in this country about this. This must be done in a way which respects the sacrifices that our armed forces are making, the suffering in the countries of conflict by local populations. And it must be done in a stance of opposition to all violence. We need to do what we can to keep the window open here in America by showing the world we are willing to listen, willing to compromise, willing to speak to our own leaders about justice and peace, willing to share the best of our faith and biblical hope in ways the world can hear.” I stand by those words today.

Bowed heads and silence at Ground Zero. Bishop Roy Riley of New Jersey quoted these lines by Maya Angelou written in the aftermath of September 11, with first responders in mind.

“Without their fierce devotion
We are fragile and forlorn
Stumbling briefly among the stars.
We and our futures belong to them
Exquisitely, our beliefs and our
Breaths are made tangible in their love.”

Let us remember all the bravery, “exquisitely tangible,” all the public and anonymous heroes, in a time when serving and giving for others rose above every other concern. Think about all of the giving. Those uniformed and civilian servants who risked their lives for others on September 11—on the flights, in the Pentagon, at Ground Zero in New York; teachers who comforted children and waited till all were safely accounted for; pastors and parishes who kept their doors open and sat with the public, listening to their lament for months; those around the world and throughout our church who sent stuffed animals, cards, letters, money, expressions of prayerful compassion, visits; iron workers, truck drivers, chaplains, counselors, volunteers, all who worked at ground zero, at the morgues, at the mortuary site in Staten Island during the long months of rescue, then recovery; military chaplains and those who serve in our armed forces; those who lost loved ones, friends, businesses and worked at the dignity of living every day with sorrow. Walking the streets of Manhattan, going on the subways, a different spirit prevailed. All this heroism and sacrifice and shared sorrow made us open to one another. The open window reminded us that for a time we were one metropolis, not divided by inner city/suburb or race or class; that for a time our synod and national church lived in unity of prayerful purpose, transcending the things which vex us and divide us. We were neighbors, sisters, brothers, friends to one another, almost outside of ourselves and our narrow self interests.

“This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you.” (John 15:12-14)

At Ground Zero when the remains of a child of God would be found something remarkable would happen. All activity would cease. The pile would gentle down to silence. With bowed, uncovered heads everyone at Ground Zero would show their consummate respect for life as the remains would be lovingly brought out from the rubble. Let us remember, with bowed heads and respectful silence, the heroes, the servants, the extended acts of giving which has surrounded us, even today.

A Lit Candle: September 11, late evening: a member of Abiding Presence in the Bronx, a part of the massive exodus from Manhattan, who made it safely to her apartment in the Bronx, encountered many in the neighborhood in front of her apartment. They were in shock, like the Emmaus disciples, sad and puzzled and feeling that the ground beneath them had shifted. She said: “I’m not going to just stand here.” She went to her apartment and got a candle and began a prayer vigil in front of her apartment. She began to sing: Precious Lord Take My Hand. And that’s what happened to all of us “deer in the headlights” throughout the metropolis, throughout the world. We turned to God. We hungered once again to speak to our Maker. We cried out to God together:

“I say to God, my rock, ‘why have you forgotten me? Why must I walk about mournfully because the enemy oppresses me?…Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my help and my God.” (Psalm 42:9-11)

We instinctively prayed, in the broadest possible way. Imams, rabbis, priests, ministers looked for the faith in one another for comfort and hope. It was a time to be who we were spiritually, yet open to the gifts of others. The world is looking for a lit candle from people of faith, I’m convinced. Spiritual curiosity and longing is not only directed toward “What’s a Muslim?” This is kairotic time for speaking about Christian identity as well. Sin and grace, baptism and eucharist, the death and resurrection of Jesus, justice and mercy and forgiveness as signs of God’s reign have never been more relevant. We must share these things in truthful encounter—in the giving and receiving of gifts—within Christianity and with interfaith partners.

Twenty one years ago I wrote this: “I believe that there is real hope for an emerging Islam, Judaism and Hinduism, in countries like ours in which they are not a dominant majority. Expressions of these spiritual paths can be tempered by encounters with other faiths, in which their most open and gracious traditions can be nurtured. And we need to understand that Christians are no longer the overwhelming dominant majority we once were in America. We must be in conversation with Christians around the world who are minorities within their own countries, as well as with our interfaith neighbors here. Interfaith encounters begin with faith, not with leaving our identity at the door.”

And in a time when we are feeling vulnerable and frightened, we have a word to say about security. Ultimate security will never be about this or that homeland defense or war on terror, important as being vigilant at home and resisting terror are. When we bring our loved ones to the font, the act of baptism says something about our ultimate security. Only through being buried with Christ by baptism unto death can we be secure that we will walk in newness of life. In our baptism the only death we need to fear is already behind us. And when we come to the table it is with ultimate security on our lips, and then between our teeth: “Christ has died. Christ is Risen. Christ will come again.”

A Phone Card, Metro Card, Food Voucher. Those were the tools of Project Life, a ministry of Lutheran Social Services and Lutheran Disaster Response. (I am proud that my wife, Janet, a social worker, oversaw this ministry). Working with those most economically devastated by September 11 (the window washers, hotel domestics, food truck vendors, undocumented, limo drivers, janitors, Chinatown sweatshop workers) the case managers were reaching out to thousands, and helping them not just with short term aid, but toward the dignity of a job, a home, a renewed life. On the anniversary of the September 11 tragedy each of the hundreds of people with whom Project Life had been companion and lifeline received a letter, including these words:

“It has been our privilege to know you, to walk with you, and, we hope, to help you during this difficult period in your life. We can help undo the terror and evil of September 11 but that is a task only you, those who have suffered due to the attacks, can complete. In drawing closer to your families, in reaching out for help, and in getting back to the business of living, your courage and integrity thwart the efforts of those who attacked New York. In the resolve and strength you have displayed over the past year, all of you have been witnesses to and participants in our response to September 11. Most importantly, we want you to know that our thoughts and prayers are with you. We hope that your sorrows will not weigh too heavily on you this day. We hope that the year to come will be filled with hope and healing. May God bless you.” The Project Life Staff.

And we attended to the trauma our children were experiencing. That summer hundreds of young people were able to attend Camp New Ground in many parish locations and talk about their fears and questions in a loving, faith-filled environment. These and other ministries dealing with the effects of September 11 were launched and supported by friends around the world. Tangible, relevant street level ministries proliferated. We healed by serving. Our hearts were broken, but they were broken open.

How will we remember?

A Picture: We will remember the loved faces who were lost that day and sit on the mourner’s bench with their loved ones.

An open window reminds us of our global solidarity and vocations as peace makers.

Bowed heads and silence at ground zero remind us of the heroes, and of the selfless service and sacrifice of so many, including our own.

A lit candle reminds us of our connection and conversation to the world’s spiritual hunger, and the witness of the Church to the death and resurrection of Jesus.

A phone card, metro card, food voucher remind us of the day to day discipleship of compassion and ministry as we continue to attend to our wounded neighbors around the corner and across the world.

When pastors from our synod gathered with our national leaders several days after 9/11, I told them that we had been ordained and baptized for this moment. I meant the immediate ministry of comfort and renewal as we attend to this tragedy among us. But I also meant the continuing work of helping provide meaning to this altered world from the depths of our faith and the biblical drama. It is a ministry of articulation, peace making, programs of comfort and renewal, justice seeking, a ministry of Word and Sacraments practiced in a way which embraces other faith journeys and a world hungry for a communal story.

“Why restless, why cast down, my soul?
Hope still and you shall sing
The praise of him who is your God,
your health’s eternal spring.

For now I trust in God for strength,
I trust him to employ
His love for me and change my sighs,
to thankful hymns of joy.” (LBW 452, verses 4&5

Stephen Paul Bouman
Chicago and Park Ridge, 2022