I was 15 years old on September 11, 2001. I was just finishing a test in my Probability and Statistics class when over the PA system, our principal said that we could turn on the TV if we had heard the news from New York. Since we had a test that morning, and there were no smartphones or social media, no one knew what was going on.
Our teacher looked around the room and asked if anyone minded turning on the TV. No one objected and he turned the TV on. I honestly don’t remember what was on the screen. Because of the timing, I know it must have been a picture of the first tower burning – the second tower hadn’t been hit yet – and people expressing fear and confusion. My math class was quiet and shocked. As the day continued and more information came out about the attacks and some of their causes, I began to feel a change in myself.
I have to admit that as much as I liked Church and religion as a 15 year old, I didn’t really have a concept of what the day-to-day use of religion was. That changed in almost the blink of an eye. As I went through my day, I just kept thinking about what Jesus said in Matthew’s gospel: “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you…” (Mt 5.43-44) It felt counterintuitive to pray for the attackers, to pray for all the conspirators, to pray for those who hated us, but that is what I did. It did not make the day hurt any less. It did not make me like the attackers or understand them any better. It did not change the heart or mind of a single person who hated us enough to kill us. But learning to pray for and love them, changed me. Praying for them began the process of forgiveness, learning to love those who hate me allowed me to be free from the poison of hatred myself.
I think there’s an understanding in the US that love and forgiveness requires condoning what has happened, or forgetting, or needing to be friends. None of those are true. Forgiveness from a human perspective is wound care. We have to tend the deep cuts of life, stitch together the ragged wounds we get from this world, and allow them to heal, and let them eventually scar. They may itch and burn while they are healing. They may from time to time reopen. Scabs are gross. But scars are reminders and lessons. They never feel like the original skin. They are tight, prickly, sometimes uncomfortable, but that is better than the alternative. The Psalmist writes “My wounds stink and fester by reason of my foolishness.” (Ps 38.5) To leave the wounds, big and small, untended is to invite infection, suppuration, and eventually death. Not all wounds can be fully healed on this side of glory, but we are obliged to try. We must tend the wounds of this life.
Jesus gives us harsh medicine and painful sutures to begin the process: “I say to you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you…” He does not qualify which enemies, he just says “enemies.” This is one of those teachings I wish would be qualified or softened. However, the unalloyed strength of this teaching is what makes it powerful and effective.
I woke on September 12, 2001 and prayed for my enemies. When I would speak with peers and elders about this I was frequently called naive, stupid, evil, or many worse and more derogative things that I will spare you from. I often stood alone in my anti-war stances. I would frequently be targeted and called traitor for my curiosity about and learning about Islam. Maybe I am those things. Maybe those who set themselves as my enemies and occasionally persecutors were right. But when those words and actions were thrown at me by my friends and peers, teachers and other adults, I prayed for them. I was already practiced in loving those whose love for me was questionable.
As we move into a new quarter century from September 11, 2001, I pray that this country will learn to pray for its enemies, have its heart softened, and its wounds healed.
St. Augustine's Chapel 