|
||||||||
| New York Cop-Turned-Chaplain Recalls 9/11 | |||||||
|
In a book I wrote for police officers after Sept. 11, 2001, "Beyond the Badge: A Spiritual Survival Guide for Cops and Their Families," there is a passage that summarizes my experience at ground zero: I could have been an astronaut standing on the dusty surface of the moon, but it was actually the most expensive piece of real estate in the entire world. My feet rested on the powdery top landing of a subway entrance in the Wall Street District of New York City. People were walking around with surgical masks over their noses and mouths. There was a haze of smoke and white dust in the air with a beam of sunlight running through that gave me the impression I had entered heaven, but the surroundings and expressions on the faces of the people made it look more like I was about to enter hell. As I made my way through the National Guard and police checkpoints displaying my retired NYPD identification card, it wasn't long before I stood at the base of a huge pile of debris that once made up the two great towers of the World Trade Center. I knew this place like the back of my hand. I had worked its streets as a cop and supervisor. But I could not recognize the subtlest sign of the picture I had etched in my brain of what it should have looked like. I kept thinking this could not be the site of the World Trade Center. What inhumane act of terror could justify what I was looking at? It was as if Armageddon had begun – and its starting place was not in the Megiddo Valley in Israel, but on the southern tip of the Island of Manhattan. Firefighters and police officers were walking around in a daze, suffering from shock, grief and sleep deprivation. "Hi, Father," one fatigued firefighter said to me with a glance in my direction. I had almost forgotten that I was wearing a black clerical shirt with white collar. New York City is my beloved city. It is where four generations of my family grew up. It is where I played stickball, pitched pennies and went to school. It is where my father was born, where I was born and where my children were born. It is where I enlisted in the Army to serve my country during the Vietnam conflict. It was on these streets I had the privilege of serving in the greatest police department in the world. Went hoping to help I had traveled down to ground zero in the hope of doing something constructive – something to help this tragic situation that had struck our nation. Now that I was there, no longer watching it on CNN or CNBC, I stood on a battlefield where our president made a declaration of war against terrorism. I stood on a site that was so horrendous, yet it felt like holy ground at the same time. I couldn't help but wonder what I could possibly offer these guys in the form of hope and encouragement. I felt so ill-equipped, so inadequate for the task at hand. If I were a cop again, I could help dig, give directions, set up a temporary headquarters – everything a cop or emergency services worker instinctively does. But I was in a different place. I was a man of the cloth, a representative of God in the midst of what had every indication of godlessness. Starting at what became known as "the pile" with a sense of grief, pain, rage and helplessness running through me – I considered returning home, wondering what possible good could I lend to such an enormous disaster. In that moment, I was reminded of a verse from the Bible, Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. (2 Corinthians 4:16-18). New sense of purpose I was given a whole new sense of hope and purpose from that moment on. I felt called to be an extension of God's love to the men and women who were in such anguish. Leaving the site that night, after members of the Red Cross cleaned the dust from my shoes at the washing station, I looked back from ground zero at all the years God kept his hand on me, perhaps for that very moment in time. Ten years later, I believe that over the next three months serving as a police chaplain at ground zero, I was far more blessed than I blessed others. What I learned was to practice the ministry of presence. The firefighters, police officers, ironworkers and others were not looking for verbal mini-sermons, but rather sermons acted out without speaking a word. I wish I had a dollar for every cop and fireman I just hugged and allowed to weep into my chest. My ground zero experience revealed to me the very best our nation is capable of delivering. It wasn't about Democrats or Republicans, evangelicals or progressives. It was about serving your neighbor, sharing God's love through action – putting faith into practice. The number of volunteers from around the country and world was staggering – all of them just wanting to lighten the load of New Yorkers. It was so heartwarming, even in the midst of such a great loss and tragedy. I occasionally see signs that read, "9-11: We Will Never Forget." Whether that is true or not, I cannot judge or say. But I can speak for myself – I will never forget for as long as I live.
The young remember 9/11 A 22-year-old student at Martin Methodist College in Pulaski, Tenn., G. Alan Brown was serving as the pastor of a small-membership United Methodist congregation in Wartrace, Tenn., in 2001. "The ancient worship patterns and sacraments of the church – even in the midst of turmoil – proved to be an anchor," he said. "I found reassurance in the small-group conversations that were held around tables in restaurants (and) classrooms and youth group meetings." More at http://www.umc.org/site/apps/nlnet/content3.aspx?c=lwL4KnN1LtH&b=5259669&ct=11205383#Brown. See complete coverage of the 9/11 anniversary at http://www.umc.org/911. |
|
||||||
 |
 |