A Look Back: September 11, 2001

Growing up, I heard the question asked, 'Where were you when Kennedy was shot?' Every American born before 1958 had a story. Their world stopped on that day. The first assassination of a U.S. President in recent memory. And a beloved president at that. The funeral ensued. Little John saluting the casket. The drums and the clip clop of horses' hooves.

Now, every American born before 1996 has a story. Where you were when the planes hit?

I had arrived just a couple weeks before at St. John's Seminary in Boston, MA for my second year of pre-theology. Classes had already begun. We seminarians were getting reacquainted with the busy schedule. Tuesday mornings meant Morning Prayer in the small chapel for the pre-theologians. Young and middle-aged men dozing in the padded chairs before the tabernacle. A warm, hushed place of comfort.

We all went down for a quick breakfast and then back up to our rooms. I didn't have class that day until the afternoon, so I lounged around the hallway with the others. I remember having a disagreement with a friend, though about what I can't say for sure. And then we went into our rooms to sulk. I came out of the room at about 8:55 and a new pre-theologian named Dan Kennedy - imagine a Kennedy in Massachusetts - was walking down the hallway toward the third floor common room. He said - in passing - 'a plane just hit one of the World Trade Center buildings; it must have been an accident'. 'What?' I knocked on my friend's door and told him. We walked down to the common room together.

As I walked into the room, I glanced at the television and literally saw the second plane crash into the second tower. The room - as I'd imagine most rooms in America did - froze. No one breathed. I sat. And we all proceeded to watch and listen to the live coverage. In fact, we sat and listened for three full hours. Numb. Stunned. We watched as the towers fell, seemingly demolished in an eerily controlled way. But how could it have been? We watched as news of the Pennsylvania plane - we all hoped an isolated incident not linked to what we were seeing - came across the airwaves. And the Pentagon plane. All too much. Airports shut down. Fears of attacks elsewhere in the US. Why not Los Angeles? Chicago? We all waited to see what would happen next.

Classes were canceled that day and Monsignor Lennon had a special prayer service in the chapel at 12:30. We heard the sound of jets in the sky. We felt the weight of the world.

I looked back to my journal entry on that day. I leave you with it:

9-11-01 SJB (Saint John's Bedroom)
8:35 a.m.
'It happens again. Formation strikes at the heart and soul. Escape is impossible if I open my heart. Where do I go now? The heat swarms around my tired form. A great weight upon my shoulders. Lord help me with the weight of this yoke.'

11:59 p.m.
'Thomas Merton warned that these attacks, these wars, begin with the sins of the world's people. We must all take some of the blame.

Lord God I pray for this world. We must pray. We must invite You into our lives. Come, Lord Jesus, though we are not worthy.'