Ten Years Later

I was twenty years old; I was at Clarion University.  I was crossing the campus, headed from my dorm, Givan Hall, to class at the theater building, Marwick-Boyd.  I cut through the student center - probably because I was lazy - and saw on the television the image of a burning building.  The newscaster was saying that a plane had crashed into one of the Twin Towers.  I continued on my way to class, thinking it was a shame that such a mistake could happen.  Those are the distinct thoughts I remember having: "such a shame."

Once I reached the lobby of Marwick-Boyd, I could tell that they had all heard the news, too, and that something else had happened in the seven minutes that it took for me to walk from Gemmell to the Boyd.

Something about another plane.  Something about the Pentagon.  Something about people dying, and a terrorist attack.

It may have been the first time in our collective lives, but all the theater kids were silent as we gathered in the main office, sitting on the floor and barely breathing.  The story unfolded painfully, leaving our minds open to horrible possibilities and fears.  Jack, a native New Yorker, had gone completely ashen and didn't speak for most of the day.  Amy was crying.  Katie was crying.  I was anxious, and scared, and angry, and confused, and I was cold all over.

When I heard about the plane in Somerset County, I had to fight back tears.  My dad was a truck driver, and that area was where one of his routes was located.  I borrowed a cell phone from a friend (it is so hard to imagine a time without one; but it was, after all, ten years ago).  The first time I dialed my dad's number, I couldn't get through and I panicked.  I started to pray.  I tried again and he answered.  "Daddy," I cried, "Are you okay?"  

"Yes, sweetie, I'm fine."  

"Are you in Somerset?  I heard on the news - " 

"No, honey, I switched runs with another guy this morning."  

"Is he okay?!"  

"We haven't heard from him yet..."  A pause.  "Keep praying.  I don't know what's going on right now, but it's really bad stuff.  We gotta pray."

I did just that, leaving the rest of my peers and finding a quiet place in the building. I prayed.  I prayed in tongues, I prayed in English, I didn't even know what to pray.  I just kept praying "Please help."

Later, we learned that my dad's co-worker was perfectly fine, but he wasn't working too far from where the plane crashed.  Later, sitting the living room of a classmate, I wrote a poem about exactly what was happening.  What Bobby was saying as he sat in the chair across the room.  What Meghan looked like.  What I overheard on the news.  Words spilled out in a discordant song.  A symphony that sounded like fear.   A year later, I wrote another poem, calling it "Anniversary".  And now, nearly ten years later, I write this.

Those of us who saw the smoke billowing, heard the screams, saw the firefighters going in, kept seeing the image - repeated over and over and over - of the plane crashing into the Tower - cannot forget.  It is to my generation what the assassinations of Kennedy and King, Jr. were to our parents.  The 9-11 attacks were the same crime, in essence, as those murders, perpetrated by the same attackers - people full of hate, jealousy, and condemnation.

For years, when I heard a plane overhead, my heart stopped.  Even now, when I look in the sky and see a low-flying craft, I pause and hope everything is functioning properly within the plane - and the people aboard.

In the darkest places of my mind, I wonder...how could anyone, regardless of race, religion, or beliefs - find joy in such abject terror, death, and destruction?  Surely, the feeling of power alone must compensate for the guilt.  It must overshadow the responsibility for taking thousands of lives and leaving hundreds of thousands more dealing with heart-wrenching grief.  The idea of teaching Americans a lesson must have been more important than those American children having parents alive to raise them.

Although I don't believe any good was intended to come of the attacks, I believe that much did.  I believe that much more good came than the attackers would have wished.  I wish I could believe that, with the death of bin Laden, that even greater good would come, and that the killing, altogether, could stop.

I am not a pacifist.  Please know that.  Nor do I condemn any American for his or her role in the death of an internationally-wanted terrorist.  Our military did what it promised to do, and the people who died horrible deaths - and the families they left behind - have justice.

I want to believe that the celebrations in the streets, the flag-waving and the off-key anthems were for an American triumph, the accomplishment of a hard-won goal...and not for the death of one man.  I truly believe that we did what we had to.  It wasn't an issue of pride.  It hasn't been - at least not entirely - for some time.  It had become an issue of protection, of justice, of freedom.  And now, even with his death, it is still an issue of protection, justice and freedom.

Now, it's just a little less personal.

I have seen and heard many, many people quoting scripture regarding America's victory shout.  The one I see most frequently is about not taking joy in the death of an enemy: "Say to them, 'As surely as I live, declares the Sovereign LORD, I take no pleasure in the death of the wicked, but rather that they turn from their ways and live. Turn! Turn from your evil ways! Why will you die, people of Israel?" (Ezekiel 33:11)  I have also been seeing another verse from the same book: ""Do I take any pleasure in the death of the wicked? declares the Sovereign LORD. Rather, am I not pleased when they turn from their ways and live?" (Ezekiel 18:23)

People are using these quotes to state that we should not rejoice in a man's death.  I agree.  To a point.  The first quote is said directly to Israel, God's chosen people (not to Gentiles or pagans)...who were themselves even subject to his righteous anger for their own sin (read Numbers 25:1-9 if you don't believe me).  The second is God speaking, saying that he does not delight in wicked people dying; rather that he would greatly prefer their choosing his ways and living.  It does NOT say that the wicked will not die.

Do I delight in the death of this evil man?  No.  I cannot rejoice when anyone dies - not even if I think they deserve it.  Heck, I may be the only one in my family who still tends to balk at the death sentence.  Still...

Am I relieved and proud that our servicemen and women did their duty?  Am I grateful that at least his personal reign of terror is over?  Am I hoping that his death will bring about a time of healing, forgiveness and restoration for all the people - not just Americans - that he has attacked?  Am I praying that the eyes of his followers will be opened to the truth of his hate, cruelty, and wickedness?

Absolutely.