9/11 Reflections: Buddhist Inspiration

Feelings of pleasure and pain, loss and gain, praise and blame, fame and disgrace. We should get to know them, see how they hook us, see how they color our perception of reality, see how they aren’t all that solid. Emotions and moods are often connected with having gained something, having been praised or blamed and so forth. When we really look, we have little or no control over what occurs. Sometimes we’re going to find ourselves completely caught up in a drama. Right then, we can feel that energy, do our best to let the thoughts dissolve, and give ourselves a break. Right there in the middle of the tempest, we can drop it and relax.

The human race is so predictable. A tiny thought arises, it escalates, and before we know what hit us, we’re caught up in hope and fear. Once we abandon hope and fear, we can work to awaken others. We can use our lives this way, to explore these familiar pairs of opposites in everything we do. Instead of automatically falling into habitual patterns, we can begin to notice how we react when someone praises us. When someone blames us, how do we react? When we’ve lost something, how do we react? When we feel we’ve gained something, how do we react? When we feel pleasure or pain, do we just feel pleasure or pain or is there a whole libretto that goes along with it?

When we become inquisitive about these things, look into them, see who we are and what we do, with the curiosity of a young child, what might seem like a problem becomes a source of wisdom. Oddly enough, this curiosity begins to undercut what we call ego pain or self-centeredness, and we begin to see more clearly. Usually we’re just swept along by the pleasant or painful feelings in both directions. Before we know it, we’ve composed a novel on why someone is so wrong, or why we are so right.

We are like children building a sand castle. We embellish it with beautiful shells, bits of driftwood, and pieces of colored glass. The castle is ours, off-limits to others. We’re willing to attack it if others threaten to hurt it. Yet despite all our attachment, we know that the tide will inevitably come in, and sweep the sand castle away. The trick is to enjoy it fully, but without clinging, and when the time comes, let it dissolve back into the sea. This letting go and non-attachment has kindness and intimacy. It’s a desire to know.
A courage to know.

We want to know our pain so we can stop endlessly running. We want to know our pleasure so we can stop endlessly grasping. We want to know about loss so we might understand other people when their lives are falling apart. We want to know about gain so we might understand other people when they are delighted or when they get arrogant and carried away.

When we become more insightful and compassionate about how we ourselves get hooked, we spontaneously feel more tenderness for the human race. Knowing our own confusion, we’re more willing and able to get our hands dirty and try to alleviate the confusion of others. If we don’t look into hope and fear, seeing a thought arise, seeing the chain reaction that follows, if we don’t train in sitting with that energy without getting snared by the drama, then we’ll always be afraid. The world we live in, the people we meet, the animals emerging from doorways will all become increasingly threatening.

We start by simply looking into our own hearts and minds. We start understanding, that just like us, other people also get hooked by hope and fear.

We don’t hear much about how painful it is to go from being stuck to unstuck. The process of becoming unstuck requires tremendous bravery because we are completely changing our way of perceiving reality, like changing our DNA. We are undoing a pattern that is not just our pattern. It’s the human pattern; we project onto the world a zillion possibilities of attaining resolution. We suffer from resolution.

To the degree that we’ve been avoiding uncertainty, we’re naturally going to have withdrawl….from always thinking there’s a problem and that someone, somewhere, needs to fix it. The middle way is wide open, but its tough going because it goes against the grain of an ancient neurotic pattern that we all share. When we feel lonely, when we feel hopeless, what we want to do is move right or left. We don’t want to sit and feel what we feel. Yet the middle way encourages us to go through the pain instead of around it. It encourages us to awaken the bravery that exists in everyone.

Life is a good teacher and a good friend. Things are always in transition, if we could only realize it. Nothing ever sums itself up in the way that we like to dream about. The off-center, in-between state is an ideal situation, a situation in which we don’t get caught, in which we can open our hearts and minds beyond limit.

9/11 Reflections: From a NY Analyst & Baltimore Professor

From An Analyst Living in the Suburbs, and works in New York City

THANKS for thinking about me. It’s been a really rough ride. My office has been closed for several days. Today is my first day back. The view has certainly changed -- and I was at 42nd Street heading downtown when it happened. Couldn't reach anyone -- it was like suspended animation. The trains had stopped and really had nowhere to go. People were panicked and stunned. I wound up spending time at a hotel near Grand Central. The trains out of the city were like cattle cars. Many of our clients were lost and my company is lending office space to those that are still around.

A good friend is in the hospital -- he works on the 104th floor of one of the towers. And another saw people jump from the building in a effort to save themselves. I was in the city once after (last Thursday) and there were bomb scares which meant disruption yet again. There are advantages for living in the suburbs. Aside from that Mrs. Lincoln, how did you like the play? That's the way it feels.

From a Professor in Baltimore who was in Europe during the attack – written on the first day he was able to return home

The sense of change here is palpable. The airports are nearly empty, that was the first change I saw. I haven't spoken to anybody yet - I pretty much went straight to bed when I got home. But now that I'm here and awake, I feel a change in my own perspective. I think being away did isolate me from the changes at home. I’m now just numb. Numb.

9/11 Reflections: From a Press Release

A Press Release that went out on September 13

For Immediate Release

September 13, 2001

PFAW President, Ralph G. Neas, Addresses Divisive Comments by Religious Right Leaders

I am deeply saddened that in the wake of this week's devastating terrorist attacks, Religious Right political leaders Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell have chosen the path of division rather than unity.

At a time when political leaders of both parties are urging bipartisanship and national unity, it is truly unfortunate that Americans who watched today's edition of Pat Robertson's 700 Club television program received a far different message from Robertson and Falwell.

This is a time for a shared national commitment to bringing those responsible for the terrorist attacks to justice. It is also a time to renew our commitment to protecting the constitutional liberties and democratic values that sustain our free society. Today's comments by Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell can only impede efforts to bring the nation together in pursuit of these goals.

Below is a partial transcript of the 700 Club television program from Thursday, September 13, 2001.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Partial transcript of comments from the Thursday, September 13, 2001 edition of the "700 Club"

JERRY FALWELL: And I agree totally with you that the Lord has protected us so wonderfully these 225 years. And since 1812, this is the first time that we've been attacked on our soil and by far the worst results. And I fear, as Donald Rumsfeld, the Secretary of Defense, said yesterday, that this is only the beginning. And with biological warfare available to these monsters - the Husseins, the Bin Ladens, the Arafats - what we saw on Tuesday, as terrible as it is, could be miniscule if, in fact - if, in fact - God continues to lift the curtain and allow the enemies of America to give us probably what we deserve.

PAT ROBERTSON: Jerry, that's my feeling. I think we've just seen the antechamber to terror. We haven't even begun to see what they can do to the major population.

JERRY FALWELL: The ACLU's got to take a lot of blame for this.

PAT ROBERTSON: Well, yes.

JERRY FALWELL: And, I know that I'll hear from them for this. But, throwing God out successfully with the help of the federal court system, throwing God out of the public square, out of the schools. The abortionists have got to bear some burden for this because God will not be mocked. And when we destroy 40 million little innocent babies, we make God mad. I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People For the American Way - all of them who have tried to secularize America - I point the finger in their face and say "you helped this happen."

PAT ROBERTSON: Well, I totally concur, and the problem is we have adopted that agenda at the highest levels of our government. And so we're responsible as a free society for what the top people do. And, the top people, of course, is the court system.

JERRY FALWELL: Pat, did you notice yesterday the ACLU, and all the Christ-haters, People For the American Way, NOW, etc. were totally disregarded by the Democrats and the Republicans in both houses of Congress as they went out on the steps and called out on to God in prayer and sang "God Bless America" and said "let the ACLU be hanged"? In other words, when the nation is on its knees, the only normal and natural and spiritual thing to do is what we ought to be doing all the time - calling upon God.

PAT ROBERTSON: Amen

9/11 Reflections: From an Online Article

From an Online Article, Friday, September 14

The terrorists gave America "probably what we deserve"?!!
The below comments by Pat Robertson and Jerry Falwell, blaming gays and lesbians and other liberals, for the terrorist bombings in NY and DC are the most disgusting thing I've ever seen. If these statements are confirmed, then Falwell and Robertson are literally putting the lives of millions of gay Americans, and others, at risk by putting out this inflammatory bigoted bullshit during a time of war. They have just told millions of their militant followers that their gay neighbors are responsible for the murderous attacks of the last few days, and the danger that all American families now face. It is only a matter of time before one of their followers acts out on their statements, and takes revenge into his own hands.

This horrendous anti-gay bigotry is especially ironic as it was a gay man, Mark Bingham, who was one of the heroes of the hijacked flight that crashed in Pennsylvania. At a time that a gay American has proven to our country that gay people are equal citizens who share their values and are willing to lay down their lives to protect this country, these radical pigs are willing to use the deaths of thousands of Americans in New York and DC for their own prejudiced political gain.

I have checked the People for the American Way's Web site and this press release is there for you to read. We must tell every single person we know about this affront to decency, and launch an immediate campaign to end the careers of these two bigots immediately. No cable station, or any other TV station, should EVER carry the 700 Club ever again. And no TV station should ever interview these two radical opportunists ever again. This truly is war.

9/11 Reflections: From a Survivor

Pentagon Attack 11 September 2001

By Chaplain (Colonel) Robert J. Jenkins, survivor

September 11, 2001, day one. All ten of us Command Chaplains serving Commander In Chiefs (CINCS) from around the world (ten of us) had just concluded morning devotions in the Office of the Secretary of Defense (OSD) conference room in the Pentagon, had been given an overview for the week's annual Strategic Planning Conference conducted by the Joint Staff Chaplain
and were on a ten-minute break when we were all called immediately back together to pray for the victims of the Trade Center attack now flashing on the briefing screen. Right after that prayer I was on the phone returning a call to my deputy command chaplain in Korea when I heard a very deep "boom."

Immediately everyone was exiting the conference room and franticly waving at me to follow. I hung up the phone and followed the orderly mass of people exiting the building. As we turned around we could see dark billowing rolls of smoke rising directly opposite from where we were. No one was panicking. No one was running. All of us were stunned in disbelief. We moved to the
edge of the walkway and watched the smoke rise. Some were asking if it was a bomb. No one knew.

Word quickly passed through us that a plane had crashed into the other side of the building. The smoke was worse now. Suddenly security personnel began yelling at us to move off of the walkway and across the road to the river. Another plane was supposedly inbound for a second strike. No one seemed to panic, but anxiety obviously rose as folks now very quickly moved
down the steps and across the road. I lost sight of my master sergeant, but I knew she got out ahead of me. In utter disbelief, I too moved to the road. An F-16 suddenly screamed by overhead and caused everyone to duck. Some uttered words that probably reflected what many others were at least thinking. A policeman said the aircraft had been identified as friendly. We were relieved.

Casualties began emerging toward us from inside the building. Some were walking on their own while others were being helped or carried. Voices were calling for anyone with medical experience to identify themselves. Chaplains were assisting the wounded. Some were holding IV bags in the air, others praying, comforting and encouraging those injured. I moved from victim to victim to offer support. Prayed with a few. Stayed with some till we could put them in a vehicle headed for a hospital. One black major was badly burned and his skin was hanging off his arm. It was a frenzy of activity.

They asked for volunteers to gather to try to go back into the building to bring out any more survivors. Time was of the essence. I stepped forward and was made leader of team 2. No one in that group was thinking of their own safety. We were now focused on getting our comrades out of there alive and to safety. With surgical masks and gloves on we quickly moved across the road and back into the building. We could see through the smoke, but the air was thick with fumes. It was hard to breath, but we kept moving until we emerged into the courtyard and fresh air. Firefighters were trying to put out the spreading fire. No one yet knew the extent of damage or
fire.

The volunteers were organized into search and rescue parties. I was now made team leader of team four. Each of us shook hands and introduced ourselves by our first names. A two-star general was on my team, but rank or service status wasn't even a thought among us. We were American volunteers focused on only one thing, i.e., getting our folks out of a burning building alive. I was asked by our team to pray before we went in. No one asked what "faith" I was. It didn't seem to matter. I was a chaplain and I prayed for us all. Soon a firefighter yelled for our team to follow him into the building. Though we could see through the smoke, the fumes were so strong that after about a hundred feet in we had to withdraw back out into the courtyard to wait. We exited coughing and moved toward better air.

The longer we waited the more we realized the chances of getting anyone else out alive were diminishing. The fire was spreading. We had no news. Some began using their cell phones to let their loved ones know they were okay. An agent let me use his to call Carol. I let her know I was okay. She said to me, "I believed in my heart that you were okay and, if you were, you would be ministering to those hurt." My own emotions began to rise and I couldn't talk more to her. I knew from my Viet Nam and Desert Shield & Storm experiences that I needed to keep my own emotions in check and my mind focused on the mission at hand. That mission to me was twofold: one, inspire those around me to hope and, two, to do what I could to help. I dismissed the thought of what if none of us here could get out of the courtyard alive. Me saying to those around me to "stay focused on our task" helped me to stay focused as well. It was about 3 PM now, the fire was
still spreading and we were still waiting. Waiting was getting harder to do.

I went over to the folks responsible for setting up a temporary mortuary on the far side of the courtyard. They were anxious too. One soldier shared her concern about her son coming home and seeing that she wasn't there. I offered words of encouragement, support and prayer. They were all grateful and said so. I moved back to my group as were now told were now going to
have to move through the building to the blast side. Our anxiety rose.

A firefighter who knew the way led us back into the building. We could still see through smoke, but the fumes were worse. It was a very long and winding walk and I had no idea where in the Pentagon we now were, but we kept moving. At one point we had to turn around and go a different direction. Some voiced concern that we might be lost, but no one panicked. We stayed together and kept moving through the smoke. As we went by then Army Chief of Chaplains office I instinctively gave a thumbs up. I heard several behind me chokingly utter, "Hooah." I didn't look back. We kept moving. Breathing through the wet towel around my face helped a little, but when we finally emerged out the other side of the building I joined the others who were coughing out the smoke. It was awful.

Moving around to the side of the Pentagon we could now clearly see the impact area to the outside of the building. We were as awestruck as we joined the thousands of other people looking on. No one could believe this was actually happening. Moving into place to wait to be called forth, folks shouted words of comfort and support to us. Bottles of water were passed our way. I saw some of my fellow chaplains and left my team for a few minutes to greet my brothers. They were as stunned as we were, but were already actively providing ministry all over the grounds. After about 30 minutes, 16 teams of 12 each volunteers moved into place to attempt to enter the
building from the impact side to rescue any survivors. I was now leader of team 4. We were instructed to not lose sight of the buddy we were paired under any circumstances. I asked a blessing upon our team. We were ready. Emotions were high. It was now about 5 PM. Just before we were going to be lead in, LTG Van Alstyne came over and asked for the volunteer leaders to
huddle around him. We did.

LTG Van Alstyne thanked us for volunteering and for what each of us was willing to do, but we were not going to now be needed. He said it was much too dangerous, we didn't have the proper safety equipment and enough search and rescue workers were now on the scene. He told us that probably no one else would be thanking us, but he thanked us for what we were willing to
risk for others. He told us the Old Guard was arriving to assume responsibility for the operation along with the other various agencies responsible. As we dispersed he recognized me and stopped to speak to me. It was good to see him in charge.

Now the Old Guard had the mission to bring out remains. It was no longer being considered a rescue operation. No one believed anyone could still be alive in the intense heat, smoke and toxic fumes. Still some were hopeful, praying. One young soldier told me his fiancé was on the phone talking to her friend and suddenly screamed and then phone went dead. He said he believed she saw the plane just before it hit near the window of her office in despair. He said he knew she was dead, but he wanted to join the mortuary team and go in to help retrieve her body. I asked if she was a Christian and he said that she was and so was he. We talked about the eternal hope we
Christians have Christ and the resurrection yet to come. He was comforted and so was I.

Across the way I saw General Shelton being led our way with others in tow. As he passed by I saluted and he nodded. I remembered I had told him as his Command Chaplain at USSOCOM that I felt he would be leading our nation during one of its darkest hours. I wondered if he remembered and I wished I had been wrong.

I reported to the Chaplain's tent. The Military District of Washington (MDW) Command Chaplain was in charge of ministry operations on the grounds. He welcomed my help. I walked among the various types of workers-police, fire, rescue-offering words of support and encouragement. I was surprised at how many voiced their thanks and appreciation that chaplains were so visible and directly involved. As I visited the soldiers setting up mortuary affairs, I was asked to help and so agreed. A civilian there who had been a soldier in Korea said his girlfriend had been in the area of the blast. He didn't think she was alive, but he wanted to help bring her
remains out. Understandable, but I knew that was not going to be permitted. An emotional reaction could jeopardize the safety of the whole team. We stood silently together still staring in disbelief at the burning building for a long time.

Teams were now formed to go into the building to remove bodies. There were four of us chaplains. After the FBI would photograph and tag the remains inside the build and indicate location found, the Old Guard soldiers would put the remains into body bags, two chaplains (protestant and catholic) would pray a blessing over the remains before they were carried out of the building to a refrigeration truck waiting with a medical team and chaplain inside. A doctor would pronounce death and, after that the remains would be escorted to a controlled FBI holding area at the end of the Pentagon. Respect for the dead and chain of custody were of paramount importance. I was designated the Protestant Chaplain and Chaplain Rick Spenser designated
the Catholic Chaplain who would pray over the remains inside the building. Both of us could feel the weight of the responsibility, but both of us also found relief and strength through prayer and the knowledge that what we were doing for the living and the dead was necessary and a sacred honor.

Father Spenser and I hit it off instantly. I could sense in his demeanor a quiet confidence and see in his eyes deep spiritual strength. Neither of us knew what we were getting into, nor just how much we ourselves would need God's grace and strength in order to provide meaningful and effective ministry to those assembled around us. We walked among the soldiers listening, offering words of encouragement and hope, praying with some and silently praying for all and for each other. The fire continued to consume and nightfall was upon us when we were told there would be no entering the building tonight. After being told to report back at 0700 the next morning, Chaplain Spenser and I looked for something to eat as we headed to the MDW
Chaplain operations tent.

now 2220 hours. I was exhausted and very aware of the intense pain in my left heel and in my right calf. I hadn't noticed I was limping till someone asked if I was okay. Someone else gave me a sandwich to eat and a bottle of water. I couldn't remember how many bottles of water I had
already consumed, but I needed a few more. I kept my black sweater on all day because I didn't have all the stuff that goes on the military shirt. That made me sweat more, but also provided additional protection. Besides, I was in the military and was not about to appear disrespectful at a time like this.

I started walking toward my hotel (Sheraton National near the Marine Corps Barracks at Henderson Hall, about a mile), but the pain in my foot and leg wouldn't allow me to get very far. A policeman offered me a ride and I took it. Glad I did because up the hill I would have had to walk through hundreds of media folks spread across the hill. I thanked the officer and limped up the walkway. My Master Sergeant saw me and headed toward me. She hugged me and was so relieved to see me because she didn't know if I had made out for sure. It was a touching moment, but I felt bad I had caused her so much additional worry. I told her to go ahead drive with the Navy Chief back to South Carolina, but to be careful.

My room was as I had left it at 0700 in the morning. It had not been cleaned because the FBI locked down the top floors and put snipers on the roof. All the cleaning teams were confined to the first floor. Made sense. No one knew what was happening or what could happen next. What a day. I called the desk and they sent up some towels. I was a mess. Sunburned, dirty, exhausted and still stunned by the day's events. After a long hot shower, I listened to eleven voices messages on my room phone. I called Carol and told her I was okay, but continue to pray because we didn't know what tomorrow would bring. I couldn't talk more. It was midnight and I fell asleep.

September 12, day two. After a very restless night's sleep, I awakened before my alarm was to go off at 0500. Pain exploded up my heel and shot up my leg as I stood up and that meant I was alive. I wondered how many were not. Looking out my window I could see smoke drifting across the skyline from the Pentagon. CNN showed the tragedy in New York. I couldn't believe my eyes. It looked like a movie and somehow Bruce Willis would end it all okay, but this wasn't a movie and the dead and injured were truly many. My mind was still struggling to embrace the enormity of it all as I began my morning devotions by turning to the readings for the day in "For All The Saints, A Prayer Book For and By the Church."

After some time in meditation I wrote the following prayer:
It is now the first morning following our darkest day. Oh God, I affirm you alone are almighty and your love endures forever. As we the living are this morning bowed low in grief for those who suffer in this disaster that has come upon us, let us not rise in vengeance for vengeance is yours alone. Rather, O God, let us turn to you and in our turning may you renew your spirit within us all. Enable us to again take to heart the words, "In God We Trust" In our trusting you, enable us to not just "say" we love you, but enable us to "show" we do indeed love you in how we love all of our neighbors. We acknowledge that you, O God, birthed our nation free and it is by your grace and mercy that we remain so. Raise our spirits from the ashes around us and let us more deeply embrace the understanding that the foundation of our country and our people is not ultimately built upon our military or economic might, but our ultimate power and wealth is centered in those enduring values that make us truly American and for which our flag stands. Lead us out of this dark night-one and all, O God-to rededicate our national and personal life to you. Raise our flag from half-staff to symbolize to all of the nations of the world that America and Americans stand firm for freedom with righteousness and justice with mercy for all. Enable each one of us to serve both God and country with a renewed sense of integrity befitting honor-no matter what or where. Amen.

At 0640 hours I painfully walked down the hill and reported in to the MDW Chaplain operations tent and then rejoined the mortuary affairs group to begin the day's work. After some time of sorting through jurisdiction and procedural concerns the team was ready to move into place. I stepped up onto a box and reminded everyone though the day's task would be hard and
gruesome; it was our sacred duty and honor to remove our fellow Americans with care showing the proper respect and dignity due each of them. Then I asked God's blessings upon us all and there were many "Amen's."

We were stopped from moving into place because of renewed fire concerns and additional structural concerns on the left side of the building. All agreed however, it would be even worse if we got rescuers injured or killed. No one around us believed we would find anyone alive. We understood that our task was now removal of remains. Chaplain Spenser and I moved among the
waiting troops. Many were anxious and nervous. Most had never done this before. Some were not sure they could. Waiting and thinking made it more difficult. Food was brought to us by a group of the Red Cross volunteers and it was most appreciated. It helped to divert our thoughts to something more pleasant, at least for a time.

New instructions. We were going to move to the right side of the blast area and bring out the remains through the far right door of the building. Trucks and covered fences would provide security and privacy for the operation. No one wanted any media to show pictures of our fallen comrades in newspapers or on TV. We did not want to give the enemy any thing else to gloat about!

The FBI was ready for the first team of us to go in. Chaplain Spenser and I assured each of them and then followed them into the building as they followed CSM Butts' (Old Guard) lead straight in and then left down a long and dark hall through four inches of standing water and debris and then right to where the remains were tagged and ready for removal. One soldier returned. He couldn't handle the confinement of the darkness. Lights were brought in and he passed by us on his way back in. Father Spenser and I stood in polluted water against the wall and waited.

The longer we waited, the more time we had to think. The more time we had to think, the heavier the ordeal became. We were in polluted water with him in army boots and me in low quarters. While we both had masks over our noses our eyes were not protected. Besides that, we wondered what the mask wasn't filtering out. Then we wondered about the structural integrity of the building.... These thoughts were not at all comforting, but they were real and we didn't want anyone else to be hurt especially those risking their own lives trying to help. We stood in silence and continually offered prayer.

As each stretcher came and stopped we each simultaneously blessed the deceased. Every body removed from the disaster would have a Protestant and a Catholic blessing offered. If anyone knew that some one was Jewish or Muslim, we were prepared for that as well. However, none of us knew anything of the sort. We did with deep respect what our conscience and duty
as chaplains called for. We comforted the living and honored the dead. It was difficult duty.

Father Spenser and I noted the nervous look in the eyes of the soldiers as they first went in. As they carried remains out their eyes told a different story. Some were now stoic, focused on the task, not allowing him or her to think about what they were seeing and doing. Others looked profoundly disturbed and still others shocked. Imagination was made to flee in the face of reality and the reality was most gruesome. Remains would be brought out and then we would come out and wait till the FBI finished their processes and then we would go through it all over again.

While we waited, Chaplain Spenser and I would talk to the troops and then go back in with the next group. It was hard on the soldiers. Even the Rescue professionals and the FBI said they had never seen anything like this before. I had and I had to control my thoughts because they wanted to take me to a place I could not afford to go. Not now for sure. My own training in Critical Incident Stress Debriefing told me I would need to go there later, but certainly not now. We continued to pray and we continued to minister to the soldiers, firemen, safety inspectors, structural inspectors, air inspectors, and FBI agents, everybody involved in the process where we
were. It was a very long and hot day, but at 1730 it was over. Structural concerns would not allow us to continue for the rest of the evening. We were exhausted as Chaplain Spenser and I headed back to the chaplains operations tent.

A regional Police Chaplain asked if I could use a ride to the hotel and I gratefully accepted, but couldn't leave due to the President's momentary arrival. Then we noticed firemen up on the roof of the Pentagon building unfolding a large American flag. The President arrived and actually passed by where Chaplain Spenser and I were standing. We each shook his hand and noticed his moist eyes. He shook my hand firmly and looked me in the eye and said, "God bless you." I was very deeply moved and could barely respond with, "God bless you Mr. President." His strength was obvious and his compassion real. I found myself thinking as he passed by reaching out to
others, "God, I am so glad I voted for you." Then Mrs. Rice came over to us and shook our hands as well and thanked us for what we were all doing. As the President moved along, the firemen unfurled the large American flag next to the caved in face of the building and spontaneous clapping began followed by the singing of "God Bless America." It was a deeply moving and emotional moment. I could barely take it in, or keep it in. My cup was full and I needed to go.

The Police Chaplain put me in a police car and I was driven up the hill to the Sheraton. Along the route the policeman driving also thanked me for what I was doing as a chaplain with the army. He had learned the value of a chaplain soon after he had joined the police force.

Inside my room, I sat on the bed and all the locked up emotion emptied out my eyes. I gave thanks to God for the incredible privilege of serving as a chaplain to soldiers, sailors, airman and marines as the USFK Command Chaplain on the scene here for such a time as this. I looked at the three themes embroidered on the stole I had made in Korea and had been wearing each day. "Joining Hands, Linking Hearts and Building Bridges." That was exactly what was happening with all of us involved here, in New York, around our country and even with countries outside of our own. It was a very humbling day and a most exhausting one.

After another hot shower, I propped up my painful leg and foot and called Carol to tell her again that I was okay. It was really good to hear her voice. I was blessed. In spite of everything, America was blessed too. We would rise from this catastrophe as a one nation even stronger and more united under God like never before in our history. May it be so, O God! Amen.

September 13, 2001, day three. Up at 0520. Very tired, but cannot sleep. Still cannot believe this is happening at one level and am almost overwhelmed on another. Devotions, prayer and back into the same dirty uniform, down the hill I go and report in at the chaplain operations tent.

It is almost daylight now. Chaplain Spenser and I marry back up with our team. Waiting. Getting ready. Someone calls in a bomb threat to the Pentagon and everyone is moved across the road. With so many security forces here, no one believes there is a real bomb and many of them express their anger. God help the phone caller if some of the policemen I was standing beside catch them! All clear is sounded and we finally move back in, but this time we all pass through a single entrance and are given a bracelet to identify that we are authorized to be inside the area.

A different Old Guard company arrives for duty and gets suited up in rubber boots, gloves, masks and safety helmets. I again step up and inform the group that though the day's memories will be gruesome and those they will not wish to recall, it is our sacred duty to remove our fellow Americans with dignity and respect as we seek on this day to serve both God and country with integrity befitting honor because we ARE Americans. They were ready and Chaplain Spenser and I were ready too. Chaplain Bradfield who would again be inside the refrigeration truck with the doctor and nurse was ready too. This would be another very hard day, but none of us knew that
yet. We moved to our places and began.

The FBI was ready to lead us into deeper carnage. It was harder to breath the air. Day three odors would be much more nauseating. Our thoughts were less controlled and our emotions were beginning to overload due to the visual trauma experienced. In fact, had the three of us chaplains not been specifically asked to return as a team for this third day, none of us would have. For the sake of the soldiers and teams we had bonded with and established a strong ministry link, we each stayed. It was our duty and we clearly knew that and embraced it without hesitation. The work continued.

Standing deep inside watching the soldiers work after the FBI backed out, one of the FBI agents said to me, "Chaplain, I can't express how comforting it is to us that you two are in here standing with us." I remarked to Chaplain Spenser how surprised I sometimes am by "who" makes those kinds of comments than I am by the comments themselves. Structural safety engineers cleared us from the building with concerns that a wall may collapse and trap us inside. Quickly we went outside and waited.

Up inside an exposed 4th or 5th floor office on the left side of the blast area you could see a Marine Corps flag standing. The entire wall was blown away, but that flag was standing tall. I pointed it out to the Marines among us. I told them, "Though covered in ashes and amidst destruction all around, that flag still stands. Look at it long and hard. Remember this day Marine, never forget it and be proud. THAT is the heritage you are a part of." Even the faces on the army soldiers were glowing and when the Marine Corps major with us actually pulled the flag from that office as a crane raised him to it, all of us started clapping wildly. It was a great
moment indeed!

Still waiting to go back into the building. Chaplain Spenser and I are told to report back over to the chaplain operations tent. We get there, but no one knows who sent for us so we head back. We are stopped by two senators and are asked how we are doing. We share what we are doing and they are particularly moved that every body removed from the disaster is being given
a Protestant and Catholic blessing before removal from the building. They thank us and we move back to our troops wondering if THAT was why we were to go over there... Who knows?

Still waiting. Chaplain Spenser and I moved among the troops checking to seeing how everyone was doing. One soldier took Father aside and asked for prayer of reconciliation. That is what we chaplains are about. Reconciling soldiers to God and soldiers with themselves and others. "Bringing God to Soldiers and Soldiers to God," is more than just our Army Chaplain Corps
motto. It is what we do and we do it where the soldiers are. We share in their hardships and challenges, in their joys and in their terrors and sometimes we die with them too. It is our sacred honor and duty and we can do no less.

It is now 5 PM; two Navy and one Coast Guard Chaplain are now replacing day three and Chaplains Bradfield, Spenser and me. Our duty is done, our fellow sister service chaplains will continue. We have finally been relieved of the watch. We say goodbye to the troops, FBI, rescue workers, medical personnel and one happy Marine Corps major, and the three of us report back
to the chaplain operations tent.

As we stood talking among ourselves, we each realized it was good we were relieved two hours early. My cup of trauma work was full and almost overflowing. My body felt exhausted and my emotions wanted to again burst. The pain in my foot and leg was even more pronounced and I needed to eat something more than just a sandwich. Father Spenser and I headed over to
the Red Cross food center set up in the Pentagon parking lot. What a shock we were in for.

Standing in line waiting for chicken and barbecue, a man grabbed me and hugged me. When I looked at him and heard him say, "Robert, I am really glad you are here," his affirmation as my Chief of Army Chaplains deeply touched me more than I can say. He invited Chaplain Spenser and me to join him at his table and we did. Our Deputy Chief of Chaplains was there too, as was our Sergeant Major-in my view the best threesome our corps has ever had! The Chief looked under my very hot black sweater and immediately knew why I was wearing it. He smiled at me and chuckled. Everything I needed on my shirt beneath was missing. We had a good laugh. It was an appropriate conclusion to a long hard three days and days none of us ever wanted to repeat.

With our duty here now done, Chaplain Spenser and I joined hands, prayed for each other, hugged each other and departed in the peace of the Lord and in the satisfying knowledge that our ministry had made a difference to those tragedy had so ruthlessly thrown together, but God had so wondrously caused to prevail.

Looking back at the flag draped from the Pentagon building and saluting one last time, I started the painful walk up the long hill to the Sheraton. A security man saw me limping and gave me a ride. I was grateful indeed!

September 14, 2001, day four. I slept long and hard, but awakened before 0600. My lungs don't feel completely clear. I am in emotional overload. The images are too intense and I find myself still shaking my head in disbelief. It is all so surreal.

None of the chaplains who flew in from over seas can fly back before next Thursday. I call the airlines and the best I can do is next Wednesday the 19th out of National. My flight is rebooked, but then the TV says National is now closed indefinitely. What to do?

The Arab lady working in the hotel restaurant won't let me pay for my coffee and says, "God bless you" to me as I leave. I take a cab to Ft. Myer to pray in the chapel and we are stopped in a long security line with the meter running. I pay the cabby and ask for a ride from the driver in the car ahead. He gladly lets me in and tells me he is a retired Naval aviator and has already volunteered to the Navy that he is ready to do a suicide mission on any target they name. I understand. He drops me off at the chapel for prayer and after prayer I sit at the computer to write from daily journal the above. It is now 1830 hours. I am finished and I am okay.

My task now is to quickly find my way back to Korea. May God help me and may God Bless America.

9/11 Reflections: From Cheers Producer

This letter - and the following articles - were sent by David Lee, one of the producers of CHEERS, WINGS and FRASIER, whose longtime business partner David Angell was on the plane that crashed into the World Trade Center

I sat this morning still reeling from the deaths of my writing/business partner David Angell and his wife Lynn who were on board the first plane to hit the World Trade Center. My sorrow turned to anger when I heard that Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson had blamed gays, pro-choicers, liberals and others for inviting the wrath of God to visited on the US. "I guess we got what we had coming" said one of them on "The 700 Club".

At a time when unity is essential, these two "men of God" have chosen divisiveness. They are sad pathetic creatures, yes, but I have suspected that for a while. Now they have proven it in spades. The great irony is that when we have been the victims of hate borne out of religious extremism, Falwell and Robertson seem to have no problem fomenting the same.

9/11 Reflections: From a Canadian Newspaper

From a Canadian Newspaper sometime the week of September 11

Tribute to the United States: America: The Good Neighbor
Widespread but only partial news coverage was given recently to a remarkable editorial broadcast from Toronto by Gordon Sinclair, a Canadian television Commentator. What follows is the full text of his trenchant remarks as printed in the Congressional Record:

"This Canadian thinks it is time to speak up for the Americans as the most generous and possibly the least appreciated people on all the earth. Germany, Japan and, to a lesser extent, Britain and Italy were lifted out of the debris of war by the Americans who poured in billions of dollars and
forgave other billions in debts.

None of these countries is today paying even the interest on its remaining debts to the United
States. When France was in danger of collapsing in 1956, it was the Americans who propped it up, and their reward was to be insulted and swindled on the streets of Paris. I was there. I saw it.

When earthquakes hit distant cities, it is the United States that hurries in to help. This spring, 59
American communities were flattened by tornadoes. Nobody helped. The Marshall Plan and the Truman Policy pumped billions of dollars into discouraged countries. Now newspapers in those countries are writing about the decadent, warmongering Americans.

I'd like to see just one of those countries that is gloating over the erosion of the United States
dollar build its own airplane. Does any other country in the world have a plane to equal the
Boeing Jumbo Jet, the Lockheed Tri-Star, or the Douglas DC10?

If so, why don't they fly them? Why do all the International lines except Russia fly American
Planes? Why does no other land on earth even consider putting a man or woman on the moon? You talk about Japanese technocracy, and you get radios.

You talk about German technocracy, and you get automobiles. You talk about American technocracy, and you find men on the moon - not once, but several times - and safely home again.

You talk about scandals, and the Americans put theirs right in the store window for everybody to
look at. Even their draft-dodgers are not pursued and hounded. They are here on our streets, and most of them, unless they are breaking Canadian laws, are getting American dollars from ma and pa at home to spend here.

When the railways of France, Germany and India were breaking down through age, it was the Americans who rebuilt them. When the Pennsylvania Railroad and the New York Central went
broke, nobody loaned them an old caboose. Both are still broke.

I can name you 5000 times when the Americans raced to the help of other people in trouble. Can you name me even one time when someone else raced to the Americans in trouble?
I don't think there was outside help even during the San Francisco earthquake.

Our neighbors have faced it alone, and I'm one Canadian who is damned tired of hearing them get
kicked around. They will come out of this thing with their flag high. And when they do, they are
entitled to thumb their nose at the lands that are gloating over their present troubles. I hope Canada is not one of those."

Stand proud, America! Wear it proudly!!

This is one of the best editorials that I have ever read regarding the United States. It is nice that one man realizes it. I only wish that the rest of the world would realize it. We are always blamed for everything, and never even get a thank you for the things we do.

I would hope that each of you would send this to as many people as you can and emphasize that they should send it to as many of their friends until this letter is sent to every person on the web. I am just a single American that has read this, TRIBUTE TO THE UNITED STATES.

9/11 Reflections: From the Houston Chronicle

From The Houston Chronicle the week of September 11

Houston Chronicle, by Jack Reimer

On November 18, 1995, Itzhak Perlman, the violinist, came on stage to give a concert at Avery Fisher Hall at Lincoln Center in New York City. If you have ever been to a Perlman concert, you know that getting on stage is no small achievement for him. He was stricken with polio as a child, and so he has braces on both legs and walks with the aid of two crutches.

To see him walk across the stage one step at a time, painfully and slowly, is an unforgettable sight. He walks painfully, yet majestically, until he reaches his chair. Then he sits down, slowly, puts his crutches on the floor, undoes the clasps on his legs, tucks one foot back and extends the
other foot forward. Then he bends down and picks up the violin, puts it under his chin, nods to the conductor and proceeds to play.

By now, the audience is used to this ritual. They sit quietly while he makes his way across the stage to his chair. They remain reverently silent while he undoes the clasps on his legs. They wait until he is ready to play.

But this time, something went wrong. Just as he finished the first few bars, one of the strings on his violin broke. You could hear it snap -it went off like gunfire across the room. There was no mistaking what that sound meant. There was no mistaking what he had to do. People who were there that night thought to themselves: ³We figured that he would have to get up, put on the
clasps again, pick up the crutches and limp his way off stage - to either find another violin or else find another string for this one.²

But he didn¹t. Instead, he waited a moment, closed his eyes and then signaled the conductor to begin again. The orchestra began, and he played from where he had left off. And he played with such passion and such power and such purity as they had never heard before. Of course, anyone knows that it is impossible to play a symphonic work with just three strings. I know that, and you know that, but that night Itzhak Perlman refused to know that. You could see him modulating, changing, recomposing the piece in his head. At one point, it sounded like he was de-tuning the strings to get new sounds from them that they had never made before.

When he finished, there was an awesome silence in the room. And then people rose and cheered. There was an extraordinary outburst of applause from every corner of the auditorium. We were all on our feet, screaming and cheering, doing everything we could to show how much we appreciated what he had done. He smiled, wiped the sweat from this brow, raised his bow to quiet us, and then he said, not boastfully, but in a quiet, pensive, reverent tone, ³ You know, sometimes it is the artist¹s task to find out how much music you can still make with what you have left.²

What a powerful line that is. It has stayed in my mind ever since I heard it. And who knows? Perhaps that should be the way of life - not just for artists but for all of us. So, perhaps our task in this shaky, fast-changing, bewildering world in which we live is to make music, at first with all that we have, and then, when that is no longer possible, to make music with what we have left.

9/11 Reflections: From a Wall Street Journal Columnist

From a Wall Street Journal Columnist who was in New York City on September 11

I slept in the World Trade Center Marriott Monday night, after giving a dinner speech there to a convention of economists -- the National Association of Business Economists. (I talked about the Internet.) The morning of the attack, I left the hotel, which is as you know attached to the WTC, at 8:10 am -- about 30 or 40 minutes before the first plane hit.

I took a taxi uptown to a meeting at IBM, at 57th and Madison. I actually saw one of the planes flying very low over Manhattan as I walked into the IBM building about 8:45. It seemed very large and appeared to be heading right down Madison Avenue from my vantage point, and I thought that was odd because I knew they didn't ever fly directly over Manhattan. I wondered whether they had added a new air lane due to congestion at LaGuardia.

During my IBM meeting, my cell phone rang and it was my assistant asking me in a shaky voice whether I was okay. I had no idea what she meant until she explained that "a plane just crashed into the World Trade Center." A few minutes later my wife called with the same question.

A couple of hours later, I escaped from NYC in the car of an IBM PR guy, who was going home to Poughkeepsie, NY, about 90 miles north of Manhattan. As we drove up 3rd Avenue, we could see the huge plume of smoke and dust from the WTC collapse behind us. I kept thinking that, at 8 a.m. I had been in my room on the 21st floor of the hotel attached to the towers, a hotel which I assumed was just rubble now. We got out of the city without incident because we used local streets and a tiny, obscure bridge to the Bronx called the Willis Avenue bridge. As we crossed this little metal bridge, we saw hundreds of people walking across it to get out of Manhattan.

9/11 Reflections: Why They Hate America

Received on September 17 from someone at the University of Chicago

Why They Hate America, by Frederick Turner

Because they have a child in their basement,
An odd-skinned child, that has gone mad with the beating,
And America would set that child free.

Because their woman would not lie still
And be mounted again and be silent
If America came and unlocked her shrill voice.

Because America is the young father of the world
And fathers should be old and love punishments.

Because they killed their own father--not to be free,
For that would make others, also, dangerously free:
But instead, to take over his power without the expense of his love.

Not because of America's faults, which are many, but because of its virtues.

Because the bright young merchants at the street corner sell tapes of Madonna
And cellphones and CDs of pirated software.

Because America would not murder the Jews
Nor allow them to be murdered.

Because America is like the Jews:
Successful because it is good,
Clever, pushy, loud, transparent in motive,
Apologetic, optimistic, embarrassing, affectionate,
And laughs irreverently at serious things.

Because America is rich,
And what more perfect sign could there be
That one has done real favors for others?--
Favors that have not been returned--
And we hate those to whom we owe favors.

Because America has fought and killed and won
And always less cruelly than any other nation.

Because America sinned with its black slaves
And repented, and wounded itself, and sinned again,
And wounded itself, and confessed,
And made sin come out in the open,
And reminded everyone of his secret shames.

Because America monopolizes the hope of the world
By monopolizing its shame.

Because white girls and black boys walk hand in hand.

Because America is all the promise of life,
All its mysterious scent of spring,
All the shining machines,
"Moon River" playing on your first plane journey,
All its not yet abandoned glamor of naive wealth, of shopping,
All its sexual anticipation,
Its lovely blonde long-stemmed American Beauty Roses,
Its Cary Grant, its Nat King Cole charm,
That will carry you away to the Oregon cottage on the coast,
To the Manhattan apartment overlooking the Hudson;
And it's all life's delay in paying off the principal,
The vulgar rock music, heard in the dark
Under the jessamine-arbor, with cigar-smoke as the rain falls;
All the illusions of brotherhood, freedom,
Of lighting out for the territory;

Because America is all the promise of life
And we hate what we have ceased hoping for,
We hate what is full in others and empty in ourselves,
We hate the stars that rise
On the first night we gave up our dream.