Every year I go back to this passage from the late Brian Doyle's essay "Leap":
A couple leaped from the South Tower, hand in hand. They reached for each other, and their hands met, and they jumped.... I try to whisper prayers for the sudden dead and the harrowed families of the dead, and the screaming souls of the murderers, but I keep coming back to his hand and her hand, nestled in each other with such extraordinary, ordinary, naked love. It's the most powerful prayer I can imagine, the most eloquent, the most graceful. It's everything we're capable of against horror and loss and tragedy. It's what makes me believe that we're not fools to believe in God, to believe that human beings have greatness and holiness within them like seeds that open only under great fire, to believe that who we are persists past what we were, to believe, against evil evidence hourly, that love is why we are here.
I love this poem by Joey Garcia, former advice columnist for our weekly free newspaper which sadly has gone online now. She also was a theology teacher at a local Catholic high school that one of my daughters attended for a while.
This is intensely meaningful for me; in late July 2015, we distributing the ashes of my dear mother off the central coast of California early one morning; the stiff onshore breeze blew those ashes right back at us and we couldn't help but breathe them in.
"Call it communion"....I'll take my holy communion in any way it is offered...
Two of those calls went to direct relatives of mine. Those chants are part of our family's heart song. I'm glad it is now transformed into a format that others can hear as well, and that being said I'll pass on listening to it for now.
On another note: thank you for this beautiful and tactful acknowledgement. I absolutely understand how and why many people view 9/11 to be a day that is nothing more than a rallying point of dangerous nationalism; and at the same time, for those of us living out our daily lives in areas that were under official states of emergency that lasted far, far longer than the national state of emergency did, the grief, loss, and sorrow still feel very local, personal, and alive each year when this date rolls around.
Thank you, Pastor Nadia. I wasn't going to "commemorate" this now horrible day that had dawned so beautifully on the east coast of our once United States of America, a lovely clear, blue-skied early autumn day with a refreshing hint of coolness on the breeze before the fires that raged and traveled all around the world for years to come and which blaze still. But after reading your beautiful post, I'll now share it to Facebook and hope it does its small part to help make for peace. Love you, Sister!
Ever since my daughter died in January, I have been delighted to find myself more open and loving to those around me. Thank you for putting into words what the grief monster does to us. But today I am having trouble extending that good will to people who will vote for the former president. I was moved by Jeff Chu's post in response to the hateful words spoken during the debate. https://www.facebook.com/share/p/AdLoEYsqBjpYCHJU/ Thank you, Nadia.
Thanks for your effort in keeping this important moment alive, there are young folks starting to show up in the work force (and the vote force) that hadn't been born yet.
Listening to these messages chanted like psalms wrecked me. I wept. I sobbed. And then I realized that in the midst of the violence and chaos and destruction and death, the one consistent message repeated in all those brave, measured voices was, “I love you.” I love you. In the aftermath of that horror as we reached out to each other for reassurance and comfort we repeated their last words to each other over and over again. I love you. This was the voice of God.
My prison group will, perhaps, find a new way to commemorate loss through this essay. I can't give them the actual recording, but, hopefully, they will hold onto their meditations packet and look it up at sometime after they are released.
Thank god for love. That in moments of pure terror and unbelievable crisis, we can turn to our loved ones and share our last thoughts and exclamations of love with them. This recording is so incredibly moving.
Amen. The memory of this day 23 years ago, and your words, really help to put so many things into perspective. Like the silly argument that my wife and I had at the start of our morning. And over what...nothing very significant in the bigger scheme of things. Thank you!
Thank you for sharing this.
Every year I go back to this passage from the late Brian Doyle's essay "Leap":
A couple leaped from the South Tower, hand in hand. They reached for each other, and their hands met, and they jumped.... I try to whisper prayers for the sudden dead and the harrowed families of the dead, and the screaming souls of the murderers, but I keep coming back to his hand and her hand, nestled in each other with such extraordinary, ordinary, naked love. It's the most powerful prayer I can imagine, the most eloquent, the most graceful. It's everything we're capable of against horror and loss and tragedy. It's what makes me believe that we're not fools to believe in God, to believe that human beings have greatness and holiness within them like seeds that open only under great fire, to believe that who we are persists past what we were, to believe, against evil evidence hourly, that love is why we are here.
I love this poem by Joey Garcia, former advice columnist for our weekly free newspaper which sadly has gone online now. She also was a theology teacher at a local Catholic high school that one of my daughters attended for a while.
https://www.capradio.org/news/insight/2016/09/09/insight-090916b/
This is intensely meaningful for me; in late July 2015, we distributing the ashes of my dear mother off the central coast of California early one morning; the stiff onshore breeze blew those ashes right back at us and we couldn't help but breathe them in.
"Call it communion"....I'll take my holy communion in any way it is offered...
Stunning. Thank you for sharing this!
Two of those calls went to direct relatives of mine. Those chants are part of our family's heart song. I'm glad it is now transformed into a format that others can hear as well, and that being said I'll pass on listening to it for now.
On another note: thank you for this beautiful and tactful acknowledgement. I absolutely understand how and why many people view 9/11 to be a day that is nothing more than a rallying point of dangerous nationalism; and at the same time, for those of us living out our daily lives in areas that were under official states of emergency that lasted far, far longer than the national state of emergency did, the grief, loss, and sorrow still feel very local, personal, and alive each year when this date rolls around.
Sending you and your family much love.❤️
Thank you, Pastor Nadia. I wasn't going to "commemorate" this now horrible day that had dawned so beautifully on the east coast of our once United States of America, a lovely clear, blue-skied early autumn day with a refreshing hint of coolness on the breeze before the fires that raged and traveled all around the world for years to come and which blaze still. But after reading your beautiful post, I'll now share it to Facebook and hope it does its small part to help make for peace. Love you, Sister!
I stole your stuff and added my voice to the cry for peace. Thank you again!
https://themjkxn.substack.com/p/blessed-are-the-peacemakers
Ever since my daughter died in January, I have been delighted to find myself more open and loving to those around me. Thank you for putting into words what the grief monster does to us. But today I am having trouble extending that good will to people who will vote for the former president. I was moved by Jeff Chu's post in response to the hateful words spoken during the debate. https://www.facebook.com/share/p/AdLoEYsqBjpYCHJU/ Thank you, Nadia.
We sure need his words now.
Thanks for your effort in keeping this important moment alive, there are young folks starting to show up in the work force (and the vote force) that hadn't been born yet.
Listening to these messages chanted like psalms wrecked me. I wept. I sobbed. And then I realized that in the midst of the violence and chaos and destruction and death, the one consistent message repeated in all those brave, measured voices was, “I love you.” I love you. In the aftermath of that horror as we reached out to each other for reassurance and comfort we repeated their last words to each other over and over again. I love you. This was the voice of God.
My prison group will, perhaps, find a new way to commemorate loss through this essay. I can't give them the actual recording, but, hopefully, they will hold onto their meditations packet and look it up at sometime after they are released.
God bless us all in these troubled times as we remember those we lost that September day.
As always, you hit the spot; you write the things I need to read. ❣️
Just thanks.
Thank god for love. That in moments of pure terror and unbelievable crisis, we can turn to our loved ones and share our last thoughts and exclamations of love with them. This recording is so incredibly moving.
Thank you, Nadia.
Thank you for sharing this.
Amen. The memory of this day 23 years ago, and your words, really help to put so many things into perspective. Like the silly argument that my wife and I had at the start of our morning. And over what...nothing very significant in the bigger scheme of things. Thank you!
Wow