September 11, 2001, a Twenty-fifth Anniversary Remembrance

Today is the twenty-fifth anniversary of the attacks that took place on September 11, 2001. Many of us have vivid memories of that day. We can recount where we were when we first heard the news. At the same time, growing numbers of Americans either were not alive on that day or were too young to fully remember the day. My son was eleven years old and still in elementary school, so even if he has some memories of the aftermath, they may have more to do with how his parents responded than the events themselves. For many younger Americans, 9-11 is what December 7, 1941, is to me. I wasn’t alive yet, but I have learned the stories. I even met a man who was on the Arizona that day. The question for us today is what 9-11 means to us today. At the time, it seemed as if the events that day brought us together, but a quarter century later our nation is as divided as it has been in decades. So, how will we remember that day? It’s not a day of celebration. It should be a day of mourning and remembrance. It’s why the organizers of the observance in New York don’t allow speeches. Only the names of those who died will be recited. That is, I think the most appropriate way to remember the day is to do so with solemnity. Unfortunately, our political/cultural situation has become so toxic I’m uncertain about the benefits of our observances. Is it too late to begin building the bridges that some of us hoped would emerge from those tragic events?

Regarding my memories of that day, they are vivid. I was living in Santa Barbara, California at the time, so it was still fairly early in the morning when news broke that planes had hit both of New York’s Twin Towers, causing both to implode. I returned to the house after having breakfast with three men from my church. As I turned on the news before going to the office, I watched in horror as the second plane hit the remaining tower. Not long afterward came word that the Pentagon had been hit, after which we learned that a plane had gone down in a field in Pennsylvania. We would later learn the identities of the people—affiliated with a terrorist organization led by a Saudi citizen—who took over the planes and flew them into their targets. Only the brave actions of passengers who were on the plane that went down in Pennsylvania prevented another attack, perhaps on the Capitol building or White House.

Although I lived far from where these events transpired, like many pastors across the country, the events of that day required my attention. In my case, not only was I the pastor of a local congregation, but I was president of the local interfaith clergy association. One of my colleagues stopped by and asked me how we as faith leaders should respond. We both understood that this was a moment that the faith community needed to step in and help the community process their feelings about what had transpired. LLoyd offered his church as the location for a service, as it was one of the largest sanctuaries in the city, which we would hold on the Sunday evening following. We then reached out to our colleagues, putting together a service of remembrance that included faith leaders from across the community, but we decided not to include political leaders among the speakers. We asked a Rabbi, an Imam, and the director of spiritual care at the hospital, who was an ordained Christian minister, to speak. As the clergy processed into what was a standing-room-only gathering, the attendees stood and applauded this show of unity, especially since among our number was the Imam. It was a powerful moment that I will never forget. 

While this was a powerful moment of coming together as a community, that allowed us to embrace one another no matter our tradition (it was important that the Imam spoke, since even a few days after the event anti-Islamic sentiment was brewing across the nation), grief soon gave way to anger. Anger led to two wars that would grip our country for more than two decades. Those wars didn’t resolve the problems they were meant to address. Now we’re in another war with a predominantly Muslim country. Whether we’ve entered these wars for deterrence or out of vengeance, war rarely leads to anything good.  

One of the issues that emerged from the events of 9-11 was the problem of Islamophobia, something that remains with us. Xenophobia has long been a problem, and at a time when anti-immigrant sentiment is high, especially among those who fear European American dominance slipping away, Muslims can easily become targets. Islamophobia, antisemitism, Hinduphobia, they are all ramping up. Those of us who have spent many years seeking to build bridges across religious and ethnic divides are becoming weary, wondering if there is hope for a better day. It doesn’t help that the current President is unable to respond to this crisis with empathy or grace. He tends to pour gasoline on the fires of the day rather than building bridges of goodwill. 

           The events of 9-11 allowed me to begin building a relationship with the local Imam, whom I had met on two occasions before 9-11, which in turn allowed me to gain a better understanding of Islam. In the quarter century that has followed, I’ve been blessed with many more opportunities to develop friendships with Muslims, Hindus, Jews, Sikhs, and Buddhists. I live in a very diverse community with close friends who are Muslim, Hindu, and Jewish. While many fear this diversity, I believe it is a strength. As we ponder the meaning of 9-11, rather than retreating to our foxholes, let us instead honor the day by remembering those who died, whether they were on the planes, in the buildings, or as first responders, and then committing ourselves to working to overcome the divisions that keep us apart. Might we embrace once again the former national motto, e pluribus unum.     

            I will close this remembrance with an excerpt from something I wrote in the days after 9-11, inviting the community of Santa Barbara to gather to remember, to grieve, and build relationships across potential divides:  

Although the religious community does not speak with one voice, as our theologies and values often differ, we are joined in a common concern for the loss of life and a collective loss of security and safety that is the aftermath of Tuesday morning. We find our vulnerability unsettling, and consequently, we have been and will continue to come together in our various houses of worship to pray for the victims and their families. From our pulpits and in our study groups, we will consider the causes and the solutions. Therefore, we must come together and support each other, whether Christian or Jew, Muslim or Buddhist, Hindu or Humanist; at a time like this, our differences matter less.

        One of the declarations we heard at the time was “Never Forget.” We should never forget what happened that day, but as we remember those who died or were injured that day, along with their families, and as we pass on the memories to our descendants, may our remembrances of that day draw us together today, rather than tear us apart.  May we not forget, but let us remember in a way that builds peace and justice, rather than anger and mistrust.