Tuesday, September 11, 2012

September 11: Where we were then, where we are now

It is September 11th, 2012, and we are once again reminded, as if we could ever forget.  The question- Where were you when you heard the news?- suddenly strikes as odd- as if our small stories as onlookers, amid the stories of those who endured the falling towers or lost loved ones in the tragedy of that day eleven years ago, matters.

And yet it does matter- not only where we were then, but more importantly where we are now.  As I stand on this day at the retreat center where I work, looking out over the Hudson River, looking out toward West Point where a cannon shot sounds- I wonder if the ground beneath me has changed at all.  It was a morning much like this, with clear blue skies, when I awoke in the Black Hills of South Dakota, on retreat with my twelfth-grade World Lit students, Lakota high schoolers from Pine Ridge. I remember the news on the radio, the second tower as it fell before our eyes where I had gathered with other teachers to watch the TV news. And I remember the dumbfounded numbness, the shock and the pain, as we all walked in silence to hang tobacco prayer ties in that sacred ancestral land.

I remember not only this- but also what came after in the months that followed-  the dreamed nightmares of terror, and the real ones as war ensued- the pain of a student who had lost a friend in Afghanistan, the recruiters in our halls, and the native kids who joined that battle on foreign ground.

So, yes, it matters where we were... because we carry the stories with us.  And it is these stories that help to shape what it is that we do now.

Remembering, I know that everywhere I stand is sacred ground-- ground that has known pain, and ground that must know healing and renewal, through the work of our united hands.  Safety is an illusion of the privileged, and there are too many other stories of terror forgotten. Pain echoes through the years- in voices beneath crumbled tower walls...and in the cries of women slaughtered at Wounded Knee. The wounds of 9/11, felt so intimately, connect us to a world that suffers tragedy and loss too often through the violence of human hands-- if we dare to open our broken hearts.    

So, yes, it matters where we were.  And it matters where we are now.  

Because if our eyes saw terror then, then will our hands reach out for healing now? In the midst of rubble, there is a voice that cries-   May peace prevail on earth.

What is the one thing you can do for peace?

Our actions are like tiny stones. Alone we cannot do much... but together, we might build that bridge to peace.

It is September 11, 2012, and we are once again reminded, as the posted signs everywhere read: We will never forget.  And yet, all too often these days, I wonder if we have forgotten.

Forgotten the terror that still pervades the lives of too many people throughout the earth. Forgotten that we are still, eleven years later, engaged in war. And even more- forgotten the call- the call to heal, to work for reconciliation, and to build a bridge to peace...one tiny stone at a time.

May we keep our vow to never forget; and may we join in unity, with people everywhere, for peace.

   

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