. . .looking back, the me that woke up the morning of September 11 seems so charmingly naieve - I could not in my wildest dreams have imagined the horrendous crash and burn that was about to happen, not only in New York, but in my own life.
I was up early. I had an 8 am class, which I typically tried to avoid, but it couldn't be helped that semester.
Pauline Epistles with Dr. Craig Koester.
That's where I was when it happened.
Blissfully oblivious.
I don't remember which epistle Koester was lecturing on that day.
I do remember the second class was over, Dr. Diane Jacobson calmly walked in to the room and somberly told us "There has been a terrorist attack on the United States, airplanes have been hijacked and flown into the World Trade Towers and the Pentagon. It is not certain whether there are other planes or what their targets may be. We are gathering in the chapel."
WHAT?
I went to chapel. I don't remember exactly what we said and did. . .a lot of praying, and speaking and singing lament psalms, I think.
My memories of the day are like that - certain things are crystal clear, while others are vague and hazy.
I do remember - clearly - it felt like time slowed down and the day would never end.
I was supposed to go to God, Evil, and Suffering next.
Ha.
But my neighbor Dana was expecting her cousin Sebastian to land later that day, coming to visit from Germany. But everything had been shut down, and who's to say where he was? And Dana didn't speak German. I went and explained the situation to Drs. Sponheim and Fretheim, and they said, by all means, go help your friend find her cousin.
His plane was halfway over the Atlantic Ocean when the pilot abruptly announced the United States had closed its borders and its airspace, they were turning around for Europe immediately.
I can't imagine what it must have been like for him to hear that, sitting on that plane, halfway through a long journey he'd been planning and looking forward to for months. I would have asked myself, "What do you mean, they closed the borders? WTH is happening on the ground?"
But at least he was safe, and made it back to his family alright.
From there I must have eaten something for lunch, though I doubt I had an appetite. And I must have finished out the very full day of class, with Lutheran Confessions, and Preaching. . .but honestly those parts of the day are also fuzzy.
I was working for Pilgrim Lutheran at the time, and they pulled together a prayer vigil that evening. I do remember going to that.
And I distinctly remember yelling at God the entire drive to the church: "Where were you? Where ARE you? Do you not care that we are perishing? Do you not understand what this means. . .with THIS President in particular at the helm?. . ."
I distinctly remember praying for our enemies at the service, because I could not fathom what kind of hell a person must live in, day in and day out, that would lead them to see such a suicide mission as their best and only way forward.
I distinctly remember all the hope and joy of the summer being sucked completely out of me in a matter of moments, as if a Dementor had followed Dr. Jacobson into the room, then grabbed hold and followed me out of it.
For me, September 11 was the beginning of a year of absolute hell, and an epically dark night of the soul. That journey was long, and is a story for another day.
Today in her sermon, Jen asked us, 10 years later, where do we find hope?
Which was a hard question because over the past few months, the devolving state of various situations in the world, which we never seem to gain traction on, have left me feeling increasingly hopeless and fearing we are, collectively, hell-bent on getting to a Fahrenheit 451/Clockwork Orange kind of world as fast as we possibly can.
Perhaps my old Dementor has been lingering a little too close lately, but I really had to think about this question.
I decided - I find hope in the people who choose life, who live life abundantly, who relentlessly rebuild this world even as others actively tear it down.
And I find hope in the God who continues to create beauty and truth and goodness, even out of the chaos and the rubble.
I give thanks to God for both Jen and Jeni, two of the saints in my life who give me hope, and for the brilliant sermons they each preached this morning.
And I leave you with this prayer, which we sang in worship today (though I thank another hopeful saint, Choral Girl, for this particular link):
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