Remembering 9/11

Some remembering going on this week 23 years after 9/11.

We all know what happened then. And it's no exaggeration to say it changed all our lives.

For a spell, it erased antagonisms. Such always exist. In our country now, they're all around us - so much so they say we're close to civil war. Indeed, some say it's already begun.

But then, as we all watched the towers collapse and as we all tried to resume our lives, the usual political and cultural opponents melded into just Americans. That lasted for a spell. 

Was it wonderful? Maybe. It was, though, different.

Having been a few blocks south of the towers walking to work when the second plane hit, the life changing was instantaneous. You didn't know if you were going to die. None of us knew what might come next.

But the recollection of those minutes and hours isn't the point here. Rather than personal recollections, it's an attempt to try to see the impact on our country.

Besides the brief time of feeling somehow "united" there was the sacrifice, beginning with the fire fighters - 343 of them - who died in their attempt to save lives. A rather well done piece by "60 Minutes" last Sunday explained that no one thought the towers would collapse. The bosses knew high-rise structures these never had collapsed from fire - never. So they're decision to send the men in wasn't completely crazy or irresponsible.

But the decision of those who voluntarily showed up at the scene was, indeed, a sacrifice. They knew the dangers, even if the towers did not collapse. 

The collapse, though, was probably the thing that changed everything.

After that, the hundreds worked day and night to, first, try to save anyone who might be buried in the rubble. Only a few were saved. Then they worked to recover bodies. Only a few were found. The rest? It was as if they simply disappeared.

This was not expected. As we all paired up with other co-workers after the collapse to walk uptown, to try to get home. We passed one (maybe two) hospitals. Staff members stood outside asking for volunteers to donate blood. They expected they'd need buckets of it for the injured. Turns out they didn't.

That was pretty shocking in itself.

After finally getting home (a story in itself), there were two weeks of not going to work. It took that long for the infrastructure to be restored to allow for normal working conditions. But there was nothing normal once work resumed. The commute was slow for weeks. The smells were strong for months. Occasionally, we'd get as close as we could to see the piles. Some of us could get a view from surrounding office buildings. It was and remains incredible. But it was real.

Months passed. Then years. At first, the images were vivid. They came and went at will - and not your own. Now it takes some remembering. But they're still vivid.

Besides working only blocks from the site, I knew folks involved in the post-collapse events. Two stand out in a special way today. What special today?

Well, lot's of the fire fighters who died were Catholics. And, you may remember, their chaplain, Father Mychal Judge, died while performing his duties. He got there after the planes hit. People had already started jumping (remember that?). Indeed the first firefighter who died was hit by a falling body, before even getting the chance to ascend into the towers. It was assumed Father was hit be falling debris.

I had attended Mass celebrated by Father Judge many times before. He was a Franciscan Friar who served at St. Francis of Assisi Church, near where I worked at the time, years before 9/11. My boss at the time knew him as well.

Then there was Father George Rutler. He volutarily headed to the site when he heard what happened. He knew there might be need for a priest. He went despite the danger. I knew him over many years. I found out after 9/11, from my assistant at the time, that he was known by many firefighters. If you know Father Rutler, that would likely come as a surprise, But it was true.

More than the number of Catholics who died, today makes this recollection extra special. In our Holy Church, it's the feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross. There's a history behind this, but for now, just consider the words. And with that consideration, and our recollection of 9/11 and the sacrifices made, the connection to the Cross should be obvious.

To cement that connection, some words from Father Willie Doyle, He was a chaplain in another time - World War I. He worked in the trenches for the sake of his men, both the living, the dying, and the dead. He ministered to them all, and administered the Sacraments in the midst of the horror. You can look him up. If you don't know him already, it will be well worth your time. 

(A good place to start: williedoyle.org)

He wrote this in the diary preserved after he was killed in action:

Oh Jesus, guard me now under the standard of Thy cross. May it be not only before my eyes, in my hands and on my breast, but graven in my heart. Help me now to work for you, to toil and slave for you, to fight for you, and then at last to lay down my life and die for you and the souls you died to save. Amen