At the rising of the sun and at its going down,
We will remember them.
At the blueness of skies and in the warmth of summer,
We will remember them.
At the rustling of leaves and in the beauty of autumn,
We will remember them.
At the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter,
We will remember them.
At the opening of buds and in the rebirth of spring,
We will remember them.
When we are weary and in need of strength,
We will remember them.
When we have joys we yearn to share,
We will remember them.
When we have decisions that are difficult to make,
We will remember them.
When we have achievements that are rightly theirs,
We will remember them.
As long as we live, they too will live.
We will remember them.
-Adapted from a Death Liturgy from the Anglican Communion:
Church of England
The start of the school year is a time of transition—from the slower days of summer to the more often frenetic pace of fall, yet it is also a time of opportunities, fresh starts, and renewed commitments. Once again St. Mark’s hallways are filled with energy and new faces, bubbling with anticipation and hope for the year ahead. For some, anxiety and worry linger beneath the surface, as the nagging feelings of uncertainty and self-doubt inevitably arise. However, mercifully, these feelings usually subside as the frenzied and irregular opening days settle into routine, and the pace of the days regulate into a familiar rhythm.
Twenty years ago, on September 11, the school year began like any other year. I remember walking into school that morning: it was a beautiful day, a cloudless blue sky. I was running late, having dropped off my son at daycare and the time was close to 8:50. My colleague, a history teacher and EMT, ran past me in the parking lot, clutching his radio, and shouted: “A plane just hit one of the World Trade Center towers.” Immediately, I imagined a small plane hitting the tower and made a mental note to check the news.
Settling into my office, I heard the loud cries of a student sobbing, as a faculty member ran to comfort her. As I approached, I noticed the trembling hands of my faculty colleague, as she reassured the student in distress. Naively, I responded: “Everything is okay; I think it was a small accident and I’m sure your father is alright.” The faculty looked at me, fearfully, and shook her head slightly. “Let’s go and contact your mom, just to be sure.” As I dialed the number, a busy signal echoed back, over and over again, as we tried to get through to New York City.
The striking September light, the cries of a student, a trembling hand, and a busy signal flash in my mind as I look back on the initial moments of that day. As the horrors of the morning unfolded and we watched the second tower fall, I remember a student, Andre, quietly saying: “My mother works in the second tower and has bad knees. I’m worried she never made it out.”
Like many teachers that day, I will never forget the panicked looks and stricken faces reflecting my own sense of bewilderment and fear. What comfort could I possibly offer in the agony of that moment or in the hours of waiting that followed? Turning to Andre, I said, “Let’s pray.” We bowed our heads and I pattered out an impromptu prayer.
Hours later, we learned through email that the student’s mother was carried to safety by the help of two strangers. I’ll never forget Andre’s look of relief, a small, but nonetheless significant moment of grace on a day scarred by grief and loss. This experience changed me, like so many of us, forever and was one of several experiences that led to my decision to enter the priesthood. As I reflect on my story from this day, I am acutely aware of the thousands whose stories did not end with rejoicing but with profound suffering. As you reflect back on 9/11, twenty years later, what are your stories? How was your life forever changed?
At the rising of the sun and at its going down,
We will remember them.
At the blueness of skies and in the warmth of summer,
We will remember them.
At the rustling of leaves and in the beauty of autumn,
We will remember them.
At the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter,
We will remember them.
At the opening of buds and in the rebirth of spring,
We will remember them.
When we are weary and in need of strength,
We will remember them.
When we have joys we yearn to share,
We will remember them.
When we have decisions that are difficult to make,
We will remember them.
When we have achievements that are rightly theirs,
We will remember them.
As long as we live, they too will live.
We will remember them.
