Monday Morning Musing: We Remember

stillhotundertheco
Sep 11, 2023
3 min read

September 11th. Twenty two years ago. We said we'd never forget, that we would always remember those whose lives were taken so senselessly. We would always remember the heroes who rushed toward the chaos. We would never forget the images of the people pouring out of the buildings, or the gaping wound in the Pentagon, or the charred Pennsylvania field.

Some of you know that this was my second day of seminary. Like you, I have many visceral memories of that day, how blue the sky was, how confused I was to leave my class and learn of the morning's still unfolding events. How disorienting it was to be in a new community, one with whom I had no roots and little connection, but how the presence of community was comforting. At home, I remember turning off the television after my daughter drew an image of the plane hitting the towers with her crayons. We will never forget those images, for as long as we will live.

I wish that I had something to offer by way of how much better we've become as a nation and as a global community. But 9/11 seemed to spark a primal distrust of the 'other' that had not been dormant for long enough. It had been a long time, since Pearl Harbor, since America had been attacked on her own soil. Our sense of security, which had once seemed so solid, was shattered as surely as those buildings were shattered, as surely as the lives of those who lost loved ones were shattered.

There are a plethora of poems written as reflection about this day. This morning I offer this one, by Kevin Powell, entitled, 9/11: A Poem.

September 11th: A Poem

Might it be, as my mother said to me on this ugly, sinful day,

That the world is on its last go-round?

Hijacked wild birds strip the sky of its innocent morning breath

Steel towers crumple like playing cards on an uneven metal table

Unrehearsed screams we dare not hear leap from windows

Into the open, bottomless palms of God

I cannot stand to watch life reduce

Itself to powdery dust and soot lathering the devil’s inflamed mouth

But I am fixated on the television anyhow:

Is this what slavery was like?

Is this what the holocaust was like?

Is this what famine is like?

Is this what war is like?

Is this how you felt, dear mother, when King and the two Kennedys were killed?

I want to stitch up the sky, deny humans the right to fly

Cry until my tears have washed hatred

From the mildewed underarms of history

And I want to say to the firemen

Ah, yes, the firemen:

Your husband, your father, your brother, your uncle, your friend

Thank you for speeding to the end of

Your time and thank you for showing us that

Courage is a soul so unselfish it would

Scale a collapsing building to liberate a stranger

Even as your blood relatives wonder if you are alive —