Remembrance

Five years. Funny thing about time. It keeps on going. No matter how much you try to stay in the moment, time just moves forward.

September 11, 2001. Time seemed at a standstill for me that day. Mostly because I don't recall doing very much besides watching the news networks. That was all I did. I felt powerless. I didn't know what to do or have any idea of what was unfolding around me. All I could do was watch it happen and stand frozen next to my classmates at SFC.

I think we all felt that feeling of powerlessness that day.

Now, five years later, do I still remember it? I'd like to; I want to. I saved both editions of my local newspaper as well as the days immediately following it. I look at photographs of the World Trade Center twin towers now and then, as well as the Pentagon and the Shanksville, PA memorial site. Not out of any morbid fascination, but to keep my senses fresh. I want to preserve my feelings of that day. I want to remember. It's painful, but I do.

I hope other people haven't forgotten, but I'm sure some have. It's part of the curse of time. Time robs the raw. Emotions become dulled. The present turns into the past. We can't stop it. We can't live in the moment forever.

On one hand, that's a good thing. Nobody wants to live with intense pain and grief for the rest of their days. It's theraputic how time "helps us." I thank God for lessening the pain of losing my grandfather to pancreatic cancer. For easing my grief over my dog getting hit by a car and having to be put to sleep as a child. Do I want to keep the pain as fresh as it was "in the moment?" Absolutely not. I couldn't live like that. I fear what it would do to me.

But still, part of me wants to remember. I don't want to become de-sensitized to pain. I don't want to construct a callous that blocks out the raw intensity of grief, rage, anguish, and sorrow. When something like September 11 happens, I want to feel violated. Indignant. Offended. Incensed.

One year after 9/11, my Bible/History teacher Mr. Sell came to me and asked me to present a speech in our chapel service at Shannon Forest. As the calendar would have it, our Wednesday chapel fell on September 11 that year and it was decided that we would hold a remembrance service. I agreed to do it, but inside I balked. What could I possibly say? I felt terribly inadequate and unworthy of speaking on the events of that day. But I said I'd do it. I gave my speech that morning and spoke about freedom. I kept the focus on Christ, our true source of freedom. I guess that's one instance in which time was a blessing. Never could I have given that speech in the moment when my feelings were still raw. I know I would have been fumbling and groping for words. One year later, I managed to speak somewhat coherently. Honestly, I don't even remember if I stumbled or got choked up at any point. As I talked, I couldn't help but wonder about something. It's niggled at me for a while, but it's somewhat related.

What if I had lived in the time of Jesus? What if I was in the 11th grade (let's assume for the sake of argument), and my day suddenly stopped for the breaking news of his arrest in the Garden of Gethsemene? What if I stood in the outskirts of the crowd jeering and mocking Jesus as he carried his cross to Golgotha? What if I watched farther away as his hands and feet were nailed to the cross, his blood streaming down the wooden plank? What if I saw Him bow his head and utter the words, "It is finished?" What if I scrambled for cover as the sky darkened and the temple curtain was torn in half?

Five years later, would I still remember how it felt?

What about 2000 years later?

I thank God for keeping my memory of the disaster as fresh as humanly possible. I also thank Him for His peace that calms, that eases, that sustains and grows. I thank Him that we don't live in the moment always. I thank Him for giving up his own life so that we could be free. And I thank Him for using tragedy, whether it's September 11 or in my own home, to help me gain a greater understanding of the anguish he experienced in dying on the cross.

I hope you take time to pause today. To reflect. To remember. To mourn.

Because time rushes on.





















"And he took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, "This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me."
In the same way, after the supper he took the cup, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you." ~ Luke 22:19-20