“Where were you on 9/11?” was a common question my first year in seminary. You see, I [...]]]> On September 11th, I actually prefer the New England skies to be gray, just like they are today. No, when September 11th appears on the calendar, I don’t like clear blue skies; it’s too reminiscent of that terrible day.

“Where were you on 9/11?” was a common question my first year in seminary. You see, I enrolled in a Master’s of Theology degree in September 2002 and many of my new friends had worked in Manhattan. After a year of enduring the events and aftermath of 9/11, they were looking for a different life. Some of them had worked in publishing, others in finance. All of them, it seemed, wanted to get away. They said they were interested in a career change, to contribute to something more important and lasting than their former careers, but I wondered how many just needed the time to contemplate the evil they had seen and to reconcile it with their Christian faith. It’s important to wrestle with those questions and it seemed seminary was the best place for them to do that.

So where was I on 9/11? I was working for a University. It was a private, Christian college which held chapel every Tuesday. Our office was typically closed during Chapel hour and each office had been encouraged to attend as much as possible. As we placed our closed sign on the door, a coworker from a nearby office told us that a small commuter plane had just hit one of the towers. We expressed our concern and wondered if this “commuter plane” was a tourist plane that had veered too close. We filed in to the chapel, which was full of students, and chatted about how nice it was to have the students back after a quiet but busy summer. Chapel began with students sharing about their summer mission trips and plans for the following year. Twenty minutes into it, the chaplain, a typically good-humored man, walked on to the stage with the most painful expression on his face. He commenced to tell us that two commercial airliners had hit both towers of the World Trade Center and that another had struck the Pentagon. He then explained additional airplanes were in the air, the number unknown, and that it had been speculated that the White House and US Capitol were likely the next targets.

I imagine the same reaction you had when you first learned of it was no different than mine: shock, horror, confusion, fear of what would happen next.

I knew my uncle was headed to the Pentagon for a meeting that morning. I don’t normally know about his schedule but somehow I knew about this meeting. I gasped. I froze. I began praying silently. I wanted to leave and call my dad and find out more but here we were, all together, in a state of utter shock. The chaplain led us all into prayer. We prayed with a unified desire for God to intervene and keep further tragedy from happening. I was sure they were going to dismiss chapel earlier or turn it into a prayer meeting for our nation. Instead, the scheduled speaker came out on stage and … began his planned speech. Here we were, listening to this man talk about how he rose out of poverty due to the challenging and encouraging approach of his 3rd grade teacher meanwhile our country is being attacked. Any other day, I’m sure this would have been a very stirring testimony of the influence teachers have with their students and the ability students have to end the cycle of poverty by demanding more of themselves and their teachers and not settling for the status quo. But not that day.

We all hurried out of the chapel as soon as the man finally stopped talking and headed over to the Student Center to gather around a television to see what was happening. We could not believe our eyes. A coworker of mine had been able to get in touch with my mom and, if I remember it correctly, the meeting scheduled for the Pentagon had been moved to a different location earlier that morning. I experienced a wave of relief. That relief was quickly followed by more horror as we stood watching the first tower fall. A hush fell over the room. Everyone stood with their hands covering dropped jaws.

A faculty member sitting nearby began to exclaim, “It’s all the fault of the Israelis! If we didn’t stand with Israel, we wouldn’t have any enemies!” Who in their right mind starts blaming people while one tower has fallen and the other is on fire? My mind wasn’t focused on the USS Cole and how we hadn’t responded to that attack. Those thoughts come later. She kept stating this over and over, hysterically. I took a few steps toward her. She turned to look at me, her eyes glaring. I calmly but firmly stated, “Now is not the time for politics.” She finally ceased her tirade and eventually left.

The next few days my roommate and I were glued to our television, rarely sleeping, constantly agonizing over what the people of New York and DC had witnessed and what the passengers of American Airlines Flight 11, United Airlines Flight 175, American Airlines Flight 77 and United Airlines Flight 93 had endured as they realized what was happening. We sobbed for the families of the lost and prayed for the emergency workers who tirelessly searched for any evidence of human life.

9/11 was an unprecedented attack on our country. American Thinker has two articles today that I resonated with this morning regarding the significance of 9/11. “I Remember” by Straley Thorpe and “Eight years and still many don’t get it” by Kyle-Anne Shiver. Andy Levy captured AllahPundit’s twitter stream on HotAir from last night where I read each line in anticipation of the next. Be sure to pause between his recollections to get a true sense of it.

I remember watching George W. Bush speak to the emergency workers at Ground Zero. I remember when it didn’t matter if you were red or blue, liberal or conservative, moderate or non-political, our nation was united in grief and united in resolve.

We will never forget.