The wounds are still fresh even now.
I am always heartened to see friends take to Facebook and commemorate it all anew. A few years back, there was one friend's post, however, that essentially took task to George Bush one more time for being the sole reason why 9/11 happened. Seriously? No Facebook post on this day was more inappropriate than that one. Trust me, our foreign relations over the past several decades has suffered and there is plenty of blame to go around on both sides of the aisle, including the ones currently in charge.
But I digress...
That post reminded me of the toxic bi-polarity we reside in these days. But, it wasn't in 2001. We were one. Our nation had come together. It sadly didn't last for long. But it was possible for the States of America to be...well...United.
I've written before about my world on that day. The transplanted New Yorker watching the dust clouds from 3000 miles away and longing to be there for the comfort and hugs of my friends there. Driving the empty streets of Los Angeles. Seeing soldiers standing in front of the Federal Building in Westwood with rifles pointed to the air. My writing partner and I finding the only place open to eat was Nate and Al's in Beverly Hills. Seated in the booth next to us was Rodney Dangerfield, dressed in pajamas and bedhead.
It all stays with me and as well it should.
But, this year, I recall an earlier part of the day. Driving home after a truncated workday, I saw those aforementioned soldiers. Ready to fight whoever and wherever. It was chilling. I had a sensation come over me. And I am reminded of it today as regular readers know that I am grappling with an issue these days. Whether or not to continue at the church I have called my home for almost 22 years.
I remember that it was my home on that fateful 2001 day.
I called my pastor and left her a voice mail. Since I was the church treasurer at the time, I had a complete set of keys to the building (pictured above). I told her that I was going over to the church to open the doors. I had this feeling people would seek it out.
I opened the front doors wide. I took the American Flag and hung it outside. I didn't care if anybody stole stuff. It was more important for that place to be available.
I went back later in the day. My thought process had been correct. Inside there were four or five folks. All sitting quietly. Staring at the altar. Or with heads bowed solemnly.
Looking for answers to unanswerable questions.
I was moved by the silence as I stood quietly in the background. My small act of simply turning a key in a church door had perhaps touched some or many.
In our own congregation the following Sunday, we had our own catharsis. Our pastor closed the service by having us all stand in the aisle with our hands joined together. We sang "God Bless America."
And cried. Every single one of us.
These days, religion gets knocked around. Thanks to over-politicizing some beliefs or issues, you're almost ashamed to practice what you hear preached. Now there are more and more people who proclaim that they're "spiritual, not religious." I think that's code for "I'm sleeping in until the Rams kick off."
Yet, eighteen years ago, it was a touchstone for folks looking for comfort, solace, and the belief that there is meaning to this world.
More importantly, my church and your church or house of worship can be that conduit for us to get through days like 9/11. A reminder that communities can thrive. And make a difference.
And I think about just that as I wonder if this place remains my spiritual home.
Dinner last night: Bacon grilled cheese at the Hollywood Bowl.
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