wfn.org | The whole world changed on September 11

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2001-281

The whole world changed on September 11

by Daniel Paul Matthews

     Dust, everywhere. Everywhere, everywhere, dust. Everything was covered in 
dust. It was unbelievable. We couldn't imagine how the whole southern part of 
Manhattan Island could become covered in dust. 

     It wasn't long before we began saying: What should we dust first? What 
should be the priority? We decided the first thing was the pews, so people could 
come in and rest and pray and reflect and receive some counseling. 

     What next? Well, what about the prayer books? People need to pick up the 
prayer books and find the prayer that speaks in this moment to them. Dust the 
prayer books! 

     What next? The votive candles of course. There'll be people coming in who 
will want to light a candle for someone who has died or someone who is missing.

     Dust the votive candles! 

     And we're still dusting.

     But the dust did not just fall in the southern tip of Manhattan. The dust 
fell all over the world on September the 11th. Not one inch of this earth is 
without dust. Little villages all over the world, people, nations, religious 
groups of all traditions, all faiths--everybody is covered with the dust of the 
World Trade Center. None is without dust. Of course, they are saying the same 
thing we did: What do we dust off first? What's most important to us? What do we 
need to use immediately? What's secondary? And what's not very important?

Different lives

     They are saying that around the world because the world changed on September 
11. Values are different. People are saying what's it all about and what do we 
need to dust off and keep? You and I are saying the same thing. What about your 
life? What about my life? What about our lives? What's important to dust off, 
right now, to preserve and keep and use? What seems superficial and empty now? 

     Have you ever been in an antique store? You walk in and see all this stuff 
from bygone times. Then maybe if you are interested enough, the owner offers to 
take you out to his barn in the back. So you follow him out, he unlocks the big 
padlock, opens the door and turns on all the lights. You walk in and the place is 
full of things from bygone eras, all covered with dust.

     Everything is so covered in dust you can't tell one thing from another. You 
begin to wander through the barn, trying to distinguish one thing from another, 
and you come across a table that has something on it, and you say, "I believe 
that's what my grandfather used to use, and I haven't seen one since."  You reach 
in your pocket, pull out your handkerchief and begin to dust it off. Pretty soon 
you discover, yes, that's exactly what my grandfather had in his house. I 
remember it as a little boy. You smile and say to yourself, no matter what it 
costs, I'm going to buy it, because it reminds me of him. It bespeaks my 
traditions. As you leave the barn, you look around and say, such a treasure among 
so much junk.

Our treasures

     That's what some of us feel like. What are our treasures? What are those 
things that really matter? Some of them are covered with dust. Some of them we're 
visibly trying to dust off and polish because we have ignored them. Some of these 
treasures are not things, but are people, ideas, and beliefs.

     What's true and what's false? What's real and what's junk, what's to be 
preserved and what isn't? It's like everything's changed as a result of September 
11th. Our value systems' all being adjusted. 

     St. Paul's Chapel on Broadway, completed in 1766, is part of our parish. The 
oldest public building in continuous use in Manhattan, it is the place where 
George Washington said his prayers after he was inaugurated and it has served as 
a refuge during times of revolution and war. On September 11th, despite being 
directly across the street from two 110-story towers which collapsed, that little 
building miraculously survived.

     In the midst of this terrible tragedy, President Bush called for prayers and 
ringing of bells at noon on Friday September 14th. I called the engineers who 
operate our churches and office buildings downtown and asked them if they could 
ring the bells of St. Paul's at 12 noon. One of them, Mike Borrero, said, "Dr. 
Matthews, I'm sorry, we can't possibly do that. You can't imagine what it's like 
down here. We just can't do that."

     About an hour later, Mike was on the phone and said, "Guess what? We got in 
the church. Crawling up the wooden bell tower, I saw an iron bar. I picked it up 
and crawled up to that bell, and I beat the hell out of it, 12 times, while Jim 
held the flashlight so I could see. When I got back down, they told me that all 
the police officers, all the firemen, and all the volunteers heard that bell, and 
when they did they took their hats off."

     The rescuers stood in silence, as if to say: "The Lord God reigns, even in 
this hell." The Lord God does reign! And sometimes in the midst of the most 
horrible tragedies, we see with eyes with which we haven't seen before.

     I wonder how many people even knew there was a bell in that tower. Now, God 
willing, we hope to ring it at 12 noon every day as long as we exist, remembering 
to announce to the world, "God reigns."

Symbols of life

     At times like this a bell becomes more than just a bell; it becomes, in our 
language, a sacrament. When we celebrate the Eucharist, it's not just a little 
bread and a little wine, it's a sacrament saying God loves me and God loves you, 
and God gives himself to you and to me. 

     A lot of us have little things that have happened that have been powerfully 
big. We'll never forget the voice of the man speaking to his wife from that 
doomed plane over Pennsylvania--words that you and I need to dust off. Words that 
you and I need to say more often: "I love you. I love you. I love you!" It needs 
dusting off. We know that nothing is more profound for that widow, and nothing is 
more profound for you and me, than to know that God loves us, and that we love 
each other.

     I have my own symbol, my sacrament. When that smoke was so thick after the 
collapse of the first tower, and we thought we were going to die--we all admit it 
now--someone handed me a little white mask to over my nose and mouth to help me 
breathe. I can't tell you what a treasure it was, and I've worn it every day I've 
been down near Ground Zero. I'm going to save it because it symbolizes life to 
me--a little inexpensive mask. It means more than I could ever imagine such a 
simple thing could mean. 

     Lots of simple things are meaning a lot more to you and to me than they ever 
have before. Maybe someday my grandchild will find this and say, "My grandfather 
wore that and it saved his life, back in 2001." 

     Providence has a way with us at a time like this. The Collect for today is 
so powerful, so profoundly prophetic and appropriate, I hope you'll go home, put 
it on your refrigerator and say it every time you grab that door. 

     Grant us, Lord, not to be anxious about earthly things, but to love things 
heavenly; and even now, while we are placed among things that are passing away, 
to hold fast to those that shall endure; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives 
and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

--Matthews is the rector of the Parish of Trinity Church, Wall Street, New York. 
He watched from Trinity's offices as the second airliner hit the World Trade 
Center on September 11th, and he was forced to evacuate lower Manhattan with the 
parish's clergy, staff and the children at the parish's pre-school. This is a 
slightly adapted version of the sermon he preached on Sunday, September 23, in 
the Shrine of St. Elizabeth Seton, where Trinity's Sunday congregation is 
temporarily worshipping until New York City authorities allow them to return to their church.