Providence At Ground Zero

Some thoughts, after visiting Ground Zero on Friday, September 9, 2005:

Our nation in the 21st century has now received two stunning wounds, one from man, the lastest from nature. The combined terrorist attack on 9/11 dealt a traumatic blow to the world's only superpower, launching it into Afghanistan and Iraq, where fighting continues, though two opressive regimes have been toppled. The wound of 9/11 struck the symbols of our economic and military power in the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, and citizens particularly in those regions bore the brunt of the loss of life and the shocks to our national life, though those effects have rippled across the nation.

The natural fury of Katrina devastated our nation's busiest port, through which much of our exported wealth from our agricultural heartland flows out to the world. In the New Orleans flood, the great heartland of the country, as it receives the refugees of Katrina into its towns and schools and shelters, has seen a terror of another kind, rippling  far beyond New Orleans and Gulfport. It is also a reminder of the fraility of man and the fallibility of his technology.

I was able to visit one of the physical sites of this first great wound, Ground Zero in Manhattan, while the newspapers continued to run headlines and photos about the unfolding tragedy of Katrina. While in New York this past Thursday and Friday for the Kairos Award ceremony, I also had two appointments on Friday morning on behalf of our Crux Project. Dawn Eden was my second appointment, and she promptly appeared as arranged at the NoHo Star for coffee at 10 AM. Dawn kindly had asked me if there was anything I would like to see in NYC while there. I said Ground Zero.

  We made our way there, stopping just west of it in the church yard cemetery of St. Paul's Chapel, an Episcopal church that had been spared significant damage on 9/11 and had served thereafter as a spiritual haven for many of the rescue workers. From the graveyard of St. Paul's, then,  I took my first look at Ground Zero. Dawn told me about how she had been doing publicity for free concerts that had been performed in the plaza between the two towers of World Trade Center in the weeks just prior to 9/11.

There were many people milling about, and I realized that preparations were also being made for 9/11 commemorative ceremonies this weekend. On hand were several dozen police officers from Toronto, in smart dress uniforms, with white gloves tucked neatly into their belts. We made our way around the perimeter to see how close we might be able to get: we'll just see what happens, we said.

What happened, we're both convinced, was no mere luck, but one of those providences for which we cannot plan but oftentimes revises our expectations.  Inside a gutted storefront on Liberty street facing Ground Zero, we stumbled upon a closed press conference that had been scheduled.

It was being held in the new home of the The Tribute Center, a project of the September 11th Widow's and Victims' Families' Association.

The Association was formed in November 2001 to provide resources and information for those most  directly affected by the attacks on the World Trade Center. Since that time, it has established the single largest database of family members, created an informative website and distributed newsletters to over 4,000 families, giving them a place to look to for reliable information, resources and comfort.

Through Dawn's press pass, some quick talking and my meagre business card from Chicago, we both gained access to the last few minutes of the press conference. Gov. Pataki and Mayor Bloomberg were there, but had spoken; we only caught the remarks of former Mayor Rudy Guiliani. He pointed out of the window of the room in which we stood, saying that he "remembered seeing that cross" out there--pointing to the steel girder cross that somehow emerged from the collapse of the towers. It became a place for gathering, he noted, in the days after 9/11. As we exited the front door to go on a brief walking tour of the site with the politicians, I looked at the cross and saw it standing alone.

Guiliani's instinct was correct, if I may assume this on his part. In any case, as many of us tomorrow remember the dead of 9/11, even in the midst of the unfolding sorrows of Katrina, there is no other place where an invincible grace and an unfailing love may be found that are strong enough to bind and heal the wounds that we bear in this life, no other place than the Cross of Christ. It is the beginning place of our hope.