My wife called me shortly before 9:00 am to tell me that something frightening was happening in Manhattan. I was in my office at Enders Island and I turned on the radio just in time to hear someone report – live – that a second plane had plunged into the WTC. Shaken, I walked over to the chapel, where Mass had just started. We were hosting a retreat for priests, and during the Prayer of the Faithful I gently informed the group of what was happening by offering a prayer for “those who within the last hour have lost their lives in a terrorist attack in New York, their families, their murderers, and our nation.” When Mass ended, we all headed to the main house to watch the unfolding horror. The next day the acrid stench of burning mortar, plastic, rubber, and worse reached Enders Island and hung in the air for weeks, a tangible reminder of the evil that men do. Within days there were other reminders, including the unfocused desire for revenge that would take hold of the United States. Three weeks later, I made a pilgrimage to lower Broadway in Manhattan, where the fires still burned and families still waited and mourned. By all means, let us remember 9-11; but let that memory be both a memorial to the dead and a warning about the nihilism of hatred and violence. Let it strengthen our resolve to build a culture of life, a civilization of love.
Ad-Free & Subscriber Log-In