My heart is still hurting by painful memories of September 11, 2001, but prayer, writing and researching history have all been my consolation. That quiet relief, however, is short-lived, broken by the echoes of the fresh death and destruction in Afghanistan, Ukraine, Gaza, Sudan and Iran. I'm moved to silent reverence for the 3000 cherished lives lost, a moment of compassion for the hearts that are still broken; anger over hatred, terror, blindness, fear; and a moment of compassionate solidarity and prayer for all victims of violence and war. My heart cries out: God, when will we ever learn that war is not the answer? Enfold us in your love, transform our hearts, use our voices, let there be peace. Pope Leo echoes these feelings every single day of his pontificate so far.
May we be blessed and never forget the tragedy that
rocked our world on 9/11. May we be blessed to never forget the spirit that
ceaselessly tries to unite and strengthen us as one human family and one world:
grieving, healing, reconciling, praying and hoping together. The Earth herself
joins our voices as her land, water, flora and fauna are poisoned. Together, we
plead to be heard, to be listened to by hearts of hope, who are moved to care
and restore.
May shattered hearts be healed, bodies be mended,
lives be freed of fear, and new strength be found to help peace and justice
become the new reality for all people. Let us remember all those children
who lost parents that day, most of whom are adults themselves today – their parents
killed that day are true martyrs, the New York martyrs, for whom I always pray,
particularly on this day, since 2001.
Today in the Times of Malta, I wrote an article about my memories of 25 years ago. As access to it is limited by registration, here is the text of the entire article, published as an opinion piece in the back page......it is reproduced here in small print.....
My Memories of September 11, 2001
Exactly a year ago, on September 11, 2025, my great-niece Emilia was born,
and so for the first time in 25 years, I will look back at that date with joy
and celebration as we witness the Quċċija
of a year-old girl trying to grab a pen, an egg, a 5 Euro or Rosary beads. But
until a year ago, my memories of September 11 were always haunted by sadness,
recollecting what I’ve experienced on that tragic day as 3000 innocent victims
were killed by ruthless terrorists in 2001.
Back then I was a parish priest leading a parish in a suburb of New York
City, precisely in St. Stanislaus Kostka church
in Pleasant Valley, 65 miles north of Manhattan. On that sunny morning, I had
just finished saying the 9 AM Mass, and after visiting our Nursery school
children, I headed to my room before starting my communion calls as I did every
Tuesday.
As I was leaving, the phone rings and it was my mother screaming
frantically asking me if I was OK. Our phones calls were usually happy events,
but something in her voice certainly alerted me that something was not right.
Maybe something happened to my dad, or my nephews, or siblings. Little did I
know that she was calling me from 4,600 miles away to see if I was still alive
because of a catastrophic event that was unfolding a few miles away from my
parish, and the Twin Towers would soon implode causing devastation all over New
York City and repercussions world-wide. Unbelievably, I had to hear from my own
mother in Malta about this tragic event, and I immediately assured my family
that I was fine and pondered how my life and everyone’s life was going to
change within minutes.
Following the horrendous scenes on TV, I knew right away that I was going to be very busy over the following few weeks and months, calming and counselling parishioners who came to pray and ask for moral strength. Within a week I wrote an article for the ‘Times of Malta’ entitled ‘A 5-day diary of a priest in New York,’ which was published, and even reproduced in a book published by Book Surge entitled ‘09/11 8:48 AM – Documenting America’s greatest tragedy.’ I also instantly became RTK Radio’s live correspondent, giving weekly interviews for a 5 month period, updating the Maltese people of the status quo in New York.
But without going through the facts which we all know about, and the statistics that saw 2,997 victims, 25,000 injured and irreparable damage to the New York skyline, I highlight here just a few reflections of what I experienced. Soon after the second tower imploded, I got a call from the Klein family, Hans and Ruth who had lost their 22 year-old son Peter, possibly one of the first victims, as the first plane hit right into his office, on the 83rd floor of Tower 1. By mid-afternoon I was sitting with Hans and Ruth, trying to console them, sharing with me special memories of their family and their son. Peter was married a year earlier, and was an altar-boy and boy scout in our parish for many years.
Then I spent three hours waiting on-line to donate blood, a process that normally takes half an hour. Hundreds of Americans gave the gift of life by donating blood for the survivors. Many others turned to prayers. I did a lot of counselling, even on the phone and through e-mail with parishioners. In the evening we scheduled a Mass for the victims, and obviously the church was packed, and people stayed afterwards, to confess, to talk and receive comfort. The stories of many of the survivors and victims were constantly being relayed on TV. Since I was on Long Island for 18 years, I knew many people who worked in the business district, around Wall Street and in the World Trade Centre, and hoped and prayed that they survived. A former Youth Group member, Matthew Gryzmalski from a former parish also died in the attack.
Some of the parishes on Long Island and New
Jersey, where most of the victims resided, had to do as many as 30
funerals over the next 3 months, the majority without a body, including over
300 police officers and firefighters, with thousands of their comrades in
attendance for each funeral.
I watched
on TV the heart-breaking story of Howard Lutnick, CEO of Cantor Fitzgerald who
lost 658 of his employees who were on the very top floors of one of the
Twin Towers, including his brother. Howard survived simply because he
took his son Kyle to his first day of Kindergarten, and was heading towards
work a little later than usual, when the tragedy happened. 60 of
the male employees who died left pregnant wives, whose babies would never know
their dads.
A few days later I visited again my friend
Hans, where I spent 2 hours with him, and he was calmer, and talked more about his son. His family
will be getting together in a few days, after they sent all the information and
paperwork about his absence, including a toothbrush, an item requested by the
Police to check for DNA in case they can identify his body (or body parts.)
Three weeks later I celebrated Peter’s
funeral Mass in our church. His mother had crafted a quilt with his picture and
the hobbies he liked, which we displayed at church, besides plenty of flowers. Peter’s
loss brought the family closer to God and closer
to each other. I shared a touching
homily which comforted the whole family, as well as some representatives of the
local Government who attended the funeral Mass.
Next
to the World Trade Center is Holy Trinity Church, surrounded by a graveyard.
While all nearby skyscrapers were also badly damaged, the cemetery was littered with rubble and
debris, but the Church remained intact, with the spire still standing. Visiting
Ground Zero in mid-October, there were many memorials and items which family
members had left along the railing of the church, in memory of their
loved ones, from teddy bears to rosary beads, from scarfs to hats and T-shirts,
flowers and plenty of photos. A large tarpaulin had quotes and messages in
every imaginable language. I added mine: ‘Il-Bambin jiftakar fikom u l-Maltin
jitolbu għalikom.’ The Lord will remember you and the Maltese will pray for
you.
❤️🙏
ReplyDelete