I wrote this post two years ago, and it seems fitting to bring it back once again:
On the fifth anniversary of the terrorist attacks of 9/11/01, it's almost impossible not to think back to what I was doing when I found out what had happened. This was the year before any kids were in our lives; we were living in a small town in Iowa, but coincidentally, I was in the D.C. area at the time of the attacks. (I also grew up in a suburb of D.C., so it's the city that I most closely associate with my childhood.) On 9/11, I was with colleagues and friends Andy Crouch and Jennifer Jukanovich; we were trying to raise money for
re:generation quarterly and
The Vine gatherings, and we had just finished a not-so-auspicious breakfast meeting on the rooftop of an office building in Northern Virginia, perhaps just 10 miles away from the Pentagon. But whatever negative feelings we were experiencing after the meeting paled after we were told what had happened. We ended up staying for quite a while at this building, huddled with others around the few television screens that existed in the headquarters of the company we were visiting, and it was there I saw the horrifying collapse of both towers as they occurred.
I was unable to travel back home for numerous days; all the D.C. area airports were closed down for quite a while due to the security risks. On the day that I did finally get a flight back home, I journalled the following:
Due to the rearrangement of my travel plans, I had to take the Washington Flyer shuttle bus from a nearly deserted Reagan National Airport to Dulles International Airport in order to leave the city. And I was struck anew by the proximity of the city’s treasured landmarks to both National Airport and to each other. At one point on the G.W. Parkway as you drive away from the city, the Pentagon appears as if out of nowhere on the left, close enough to see the scaffolding and cranes on its opposite, damaged side. You can also see every major monument and the Capitol in clear view, with the National Cathedral, further away but plainly visible, watching over the city from its hilltop view. I look around at these elegant monuments to our founding fathers, and at other surrounding buildings that unmistakably identify the Nation’s Capital, realizing with shock and not a small tinge of fear that it would not take much effort to destroy all of these wonderful landmarks if someone had this kind of despicable mindset. And as we’ve seen, those individuals do exist.
Departing the D.C. area, on a plane bound for the Midwest where I currently reside, I felt sad and burdened. It seemed as though my fellow passengers were relieved to be leaving Washington, glad to be getting back to their respective final destinations. I, however, felt as though I were leaving behind a wounded family member. I was glad to be going back to my husband and my life in the Midwest where I currently reside, but I hated to leave the hometown of my youth behind. It reminded me of the subtle shift that happens some time after adolescence, when people move from wanting to distance themselves from their parents to experiencing a sense of obligation and even desire to be with and near them. In a moment of need, we as a people had begun to see that this nation which we professed to dislike for any number of reasons, was in need of our care and support. We, the children of the nation, were being called to become the parents.
Not yet being a parent myself, it is hard to fully appreciate what this means. But when I look at my own parents, one word comes solidly to mind: sacrifice. Particularly for those of us who are the children of immigrants, for whom America truly represented a land of opportunity, we need to look no further than our own families to see what great sacrifices were made by the generation who came before. But there is an underlying fallacy in the narrative that I have heard time and time again. The prevailing story from my parents and countless others goes something like this: “we sacrificed, and tried to find our way in this foreign land, far away from our homes, so that our children would not have to.” The concept has been that sacrifice is bad, and that it should be avoided at all costs, and that past generations do a future generations a favor when they eliminate that need for sacrifice. I am now beginning to realize that instead of doing us a favor, our parents may have done just the opposite, ill-preparing us for a new reality that will and should require sacrifice from us all.
After I left D.C., I arrived in St. Louis, waiting for a connection flight that would take me further into the heartland of America to my current home in Iowa. While I waited, having fully perused all my other reading material, I turned to the last book I had in my bag, a copy of the New Testament. I skimmed through all the Gospels, trying to get a sense of how Jesus might respond to our current calamities. I wanted in particular to read the passages exhorting us to “love our enemies,” which certainly has relevance to our war-rhetorized society today. But as I sought these passages, what I found was more striking: Jesus’ comments about the life that he envisions for his followers as well as for those who are not his disciples:
“But I tell you, love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father in heaven. For He causes His sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous.”—Matt. 5: 44-45
“Don’t assume that I came to bring peace on the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword…And whoever doesn’t take up his cross and follow Me is not worthy of Me.”—Matt. 10:34, 38
“You are going to hear of wars and rumors of wars. See that you are not alarmed, because these things must take place, but the end is not yet. For nation will rise up against nation, and kingdom against kingdom.”—Matt. 24: 6-7a
We seem to so often expect and demand to live in a peaceful society and nation. And yet the distinct sense that I get as I read through Jesus’ words is that peace is by no means a guarantee, or a right. If anything, we are taught NOT to expect peace, but the exact opposite. In its stead, we can find spiritual peace, the peace that “passes all understanding,” the peace that Jesus promises us as he prepares to depart from this world. But it is not a situational peace or a material peace. It helps me to recognize that the trials and tribulations we are experiencing now are not unforeseen by God. They are, perhaps, unforeseen by us, and by our generation that has gotten used to the expectation of peace. I feel like I understand much more clearly that true peace does not depend on the circumstances of our lives, and nor does God promise us a peaceful life on earth. Sometimes he even “sends rain on the righteous.” To expect otherwise, we would be fooling ourselves.
In the summer of 1998, I had the opportunity to go high up into the north tower of the World Trade Center one weekend evening, when many of the employees were safe and sound in their respective homes. My brother in law had started working for Salomon Smith Barney, and he wanted to give us a tour of the offices. Up we went in an elevator that simulated an amusement park ride with the speed we traveled up nearly 100 floors. Upon getting security approval and entering the offices, we traveled along floors laden with priceless Persian rugs, richly decorated antiques, and heavy, wood-paneled conference rooms that were so well-appointed they could have appeared in the best of all interior decorating magazines. So much money invested in just the outer trappings of this business, emanating an air of invincibility, prestige, and prosperity. It is still incredible to me that such an office, laden with such wealth, has now been pulverized into dust and ash and soot.
Why do we strive so hard and work so long? Are we not trying to make a better, easier, more comfortable life for ourselves and those who come after us? One thing we are reminded of when we see the instant and utter destruction of structures formerly thought to be untouchable or impenetrable is just how ephemeral our existences are. We are but dust, and while we toil and sweat to build up even more earthly treasures for ourselves, we are shocked at how quickly those treasures can be buried under a pile of rubble. No doubt, this is a tragic event. But our response as individuals is just as critical as our response as a nation. And the words that keep coming into my mind are not “retaliate,” but “evaluate.” Evaluate our lives, our purposes, our priorities, and our motivations.(End of journal entry.)
I find myself wondering, five years since I wrote these words, how much have I learned? Much of what felt so critical to reflect on then has since faded into my memory. So it is good to be reminded of events, even those that are tragic, that bring us to a place of asking ourselves what is truly important in life.
