My 9/11 Memories

My 9/11 Memories

I was the rector of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Stamford, Connecticut when the planes slammed into the towers in New York City on September 11, 2001. It was an extraordinary day, blue sky, bright sun, perfect Fall weather. I was chairing an early morning board meeting for the local pastoral counseling center. I didn’t have a cell phone but some of the other clergy on the board did. When the first call came in we thought it was a light plane that had crashed into the first tower and it wasn’t clear that it was an attack. As the calls kept coming the horror became clear.

I returned to the church which was normally kept open during daylight hours and sat in the sanctuary and prayed. At one point a woman pastor associated with the local council of churches came in and asked if I would go with a group of clergy to the Swiss Bank. The Swiss Bank had at that time the largest trading floor in the world located in Stamford and they were sending out a call for help from the local clergy because they had lost so many colleagues in the World Trade Center. I decided that I needed to stay at the church at least until our scheduled noonday prayers. We did have a larger than normal attendance for noon prayers, perhaps ten people mostly from the parish. I read the Great Litany. Later in the day when my associate was available to be present in the church, I did go down to Swiss Bank and was given an office where I saw people who wanted to speak with a counselor.

On the Friday after 9/11 President Bush put out a request that people attend church at noon on that day. Our staff quickly put together a service. There was standing room only. Most of the people were from surrounding office buildings. We had never seen them before, and saw only a few of them after. Great Litany again, hymns including America the Beautiful and the National Anthem. I gave a very brief homily on the way in which the events of 9/11 had revealed both the evil and the goodness of which the human heart is capable and of the way in which God’s strategy for dealing with hatred and evil is the love of Jesus on the cross.

It seems to me that only shortly after 9/11 I responded to a call from Episcopal Church headquarters for volunteer chaplains for Ground Zero. In the course of the anniversary celebrations I checked my calendar and it was October 9, almost a month after. I reported to 815 2nd Ave in the city at 12:30 pm to the office of the Suffragan for the Armed Forces and received a very simple badge as a credential. I still have it. It has no picture or even my name but says simply that the bearer is on the staff of the Episcopal Church Center and gives a telephone number to call to verify the identity of the bearer. After receiving my credential I reported to St. Paul’s Chapel and was paired with another priest and was told to simply walk around the site and offer encouragement to the police, fireman and rescue workers. There were several security checks on the way into the site. At one point after we were inside the perimeter of the site we were stopped by a National Guard Air Force colonel. He looked at our badges and said come with me. I thought he was going to throw us out but he took us to a plywood shack. After disappearing into a back room he came out with two hard hats and two respirators and said, “God Bless you for being here, be safe.”

The pile was still smoking and we were told that there were fires burning deep underground. It was absolute devastation and destruction. They had been working on the site for a month and you couldn’t tell it by looking. The eerie white dust still covered everything and there was an unforgettable smell which was clearly a mix of burning plastic and human flesh. Wherever I go as a priest in clericals there are always some people who are glad to see you and some who are diffident and cool. I met no one at ground zero who was not visibly relieved to see the clergy. You could tell the Roman Catholics, they asked for a blessing. Virtually everyone wanted to talk and many asked for prayer. Often the talk was just chit chat, just a craving for a reassuring conversation and human contact. At other times people asked the big questions, “What did it all mean?”

I was surprised by what I didn’t meet. I didn’t meet a lot of anger. The overwhelming mood was sober and somber. To be there was to be stunned into near speechlessness by the enormity of what human beings are capable of both for good and ill.

I remember one very burly and muscular construction worker who was sitting on a five gallon bucket waiting for the huge front end loaders that were working to come and be greased. As we came into sight he looked up at us with a look that simply broke my heart. I can only describe it as an agony of soul that was completely visible in his visage. We stopped and prayed.

The protocol was that if human remains were found a chaplain would be requested to come up on the pile and pray and stand vigil while the body parts were being recovered. Twice in that shift we were waved up on the pile only to be waved off because it was a false alarm. I did see one body bag draped in a flag being removed from another part of the pile. At one point I was waiting with a group of New York City policemen while it was being determined if I should go up on the pile. One of the young policemen, a man with a stutter, turned to me and stuttered out, “You are a man of God, is this, is this, is this, the end of the world?” I said that the Bible word for the end of the world is apocalypse and that I didn’t think this was the apocalypse. I explained that apocalypse means the curtain goes up and you see who is who and what is what. This I did not think was the apocalypse, the final end but I did think it was an apocalyptic moment, a moment when we see how things really are, a moment when good is revealed as good and evil as evil and when it is clear that we cannot stand against evil either in hearts or the world around us without the saviour.

It took about two hours to walk around the perimeter of the site and at the end of a round we would go back to the chapel. The chapel was full of rescue workers taking a break. Most of the pews had people sleeping on them. There were pews roped off where massage therapists or crisis counselors or podiatrists or first aid workers were helping the exhausted volunteer fire and rescue and construction workers get ready to go back to their work. There was an appropriate hush in the chapel and there would be regular services of prayer at the altar. The majority of the chaplains at that time were Episcopal priests. It was the Episcopal Church’s finest hour in many ways, and I was proud of my church and felt privileged to have been there and been a witness for a brief moment.

Nearly a month later I led a clergy retreat for the Diocese of Albany. I remember getting ready to start my talk and looking down at my feet. Though I had cleaned my shoes when I came back from Ground Zero there was still some of that eerie white dust clinging to them.

There is a great deal of evil in the world. Many events in even contemporary history are more horrific than what happened in New York on September 11, 2001. But this was the closest I had gotten to the black nothingness of evil. This was where it touched me in an unforgettable way. I arrived at Ground Zero already convinced that the cross of Jesus Christ was the hope of the world and left, how to say it, taken beyond conviction, to a place where any thought that there was any other possible antidote to the venom of the serpent that had bitten us than the crucified and risen Lord breathing his life into us, was made impossible.

Leander S. Harding, 9/12/2011

3 thoughts on “My 9/11 Memories

  1. Leander—Thanks for sharing this. I’ve posted a link to this piece at the CANA Chaplains group on facebook for the edification of the other chaplains.

  2. Thank you, Leander. I also had the privilege of serving for at afternoon at St. Paul’s Chapel. A beautiful, sad, very rich moment indeed. I shared a little bit of that story in my sermon last Sunday . . . and was surprised a bit by how fresh the memory and feelings all were, despite the run of the decade since.

    Blessings,

    Bruce Robison

  3. Thank you for sharing this, Fr. Leander. It was helpful to read this miles away as I remembered the day.

    Travis

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