Loss and New Life

On Sept. 11, the walls came down.

The walls of our presumed security as a nation and of our historic immunity from invasive attack crumbled on our television screens, over and over and over again.

We had imagined our land as safe and our way of life as sacrosanct, untouched by the turmoil of political and cultural conflicts abroad _ even those in which our people, rightly or wrongly, were vilified as the enemy, the global Satan.

Human beings need walls. Human life is fragile and it craves shelter from the hostile elements _ from the wind and cold and rain, and from the evil and brokenness of human hearts.

Yet even in the day that we were suddenly made vulnerable _ as we all found ourselves treading the earth more warily, more tenderly _ we found a strength among us that the walls had concealed and blocked: the strength of connection.

We discovered ourselves to be more than atomized consumers in an individualist society. We discovered ourselves to be members of families as we desperately tried to get in touch. We discovered ourselves to be neighbors as we asked each other gently, are you all right?

We discovered ourselves to be citizens of communities, vitally dependent on the labors of many we had taken for granted _ fire fighters, police officers, health care workers, airline pilots, postal workers. We even discovered ourselves to be patriots. And we discovered something more: we discovered that countless people all over the world _ people whose own histories had been touched by terror _ came to assist us with their prayers, their sympathy, and their political will to unite against a common threat.

In the crisis of Sept. 11 a barrier was torn aside to reveal the terrible face of a present danger, one which we have mobilized to resist. The threat of terrorism will continually demand our strength, vigilance and resolve as we stand against anyone, anywhere who would sacrifice the lives of innocent people for the sake of political gain _ however cloaked by false piety or justified by past oppressions.

Yet, in our increasingly militarized response to that crisis, we risk the loss of the very precious opportunity it afforded us. For a moment on that day a curtain was drawn aside and we glimpsed something beautiful: the possibility of lives lived more seriously, more consciously, more valuably.

In that day we felt within ourselves the capacity for sacrifice, the miraculous potency that comes of the desire to live life for others. We were ready to lend our hands _ and to join them with others _ to relieve the suffering of victims. We were ready to give of ourselves _ and we gave in unprecedented amounts. We were ready to rise up in strength; we needed only to be called upon to serve.

It may be that this precious opportunity for national transformation has been squandered. It may be that for far too many of us life has returned to the grotesque semblance of an obsolete normalcy. It may be that once again we are cowering behind our walls, wishing only to be left alone _ to continue our oblivious consumption and pursue our questionable happiness.

Nowhere is this more evident than in our unwillingness to heed the voices of people all over the world _ our friends, not our enemies _ who urge us to look at ourselves, look at our way of life, our swaggering way of being in the world as a nation, and ask ourselves _ what responsibility do we bear? How have we helped to bring the world to this pass? How have we contributed to the root causes of desperate acts, however unjustifiable? Or perhaps a better question: How can we help to create a world relieved of violence, poverty, oppression and degradation? How can we redeem the day?

God is in the redemption business. It is in the nature of God to touch what is twisted, broken, tortured, demented in the world and to heal it, make it whole, make it new. For many Sept. 11 was an experience of God's absence, God's abandonment of the world. But for those of us who know the cross that Jesus died on _ died crying, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" _ such moments are revealed as the times of God's closest presence _ a presence too close, perhaps, to be seen.

Where was God on Sept. 11? God was with the innocent on the 87th floor. God was with those who rushed up the staircases, hoping to save some. God was with those who, for days and weeks following, passed ash-caked bits of human remains from hand to hand, in buckets. And God was with those everywhere, throughout the world, who prayed and worked for peace.

God's power does not fail. Even now God holds the gate open to us. We, as Americans, can step out of our privileged insulation. We can step through our walls and meet our global neighbors in the streets. We then may recognize a simple truth that wisdom has known for ages: true security comes not in building barriers high, but in building bridges wide. And we may find that our hands _ our humble hands _ can be the healing hands of God.

Reverend Steven Bonsey is a University Chaplain