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Revs. Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson had a televised discussion
this week about the terror attacks.
"Pagans
and abortionists, feminists, gays and lesbians ... the ACLU, People
for the American Way, I point the finger in their face and say,
'You helped this happen,' "Falwell said, saying that God has
lifted his protection of the U.S. because of such people. Robertson
said, "I concur."
Well. As an
observant Catholic and social conservative, I can accept that God
allowed this horror to happen as a form of chastisement upon our
sinful nation, though it seems to me unlikely that the Almighty
will be so eager to smite the ACLU that He will overlook the business
alliance a certain Virginia Beach televangelist made with the late
Mobutu Sese Seko, a vicious African dictator who controlled access
to a coveted diamond mine. While we're at it, it seems unlikely
that the Almighty will overlook the failure of a certain Brooklyn-based
NRO contributor to practice love of God and neighbor to the extent
that he has been able. We are all sinners in need of repentance
and conversion.
Still, Falwell
and Robertson have a point. It is possible, perhaps probable, that
this monstrous act, and the plagues likely to follow (war, economic
depression, etc.), is part of God's permissive will, meant to call
all of us back to righteousness. There is Scriptural precedent in
God's dealings with the nation of Israel, whose prophets foretold
doom from Heaven if its people did not repent of their sins. Those
of us who believe in God must allow for this brutal mystery.
However.
I saw the first
tower fall, and fled across the Brooklyn Bridge, as part of that
terrified exodus of humanity, just ahead of the dust cloud. I held
my sobbing, shaking wife in my arms when she opened the front door,
saw me covered with dust, and knew for the first time in an excruciating
hour that I had not died.
I went to mass
two nights ago, and prayed with church members who lost family and
friends in the disaster. I am hearing from friends on the scene,
who are telling me what they're not showing us on TV: body parts
everywhere, strewn amid the rubble. I went yesterday to pay my respects
to Engine Company 205 in Brooklyn Heights. They lost their entire
ladder company in the collapse. The wives of the missing men kept
vigil at the firehouse door, comforted by the survivors.
My two-year-old
loves firemen, and we used to take him by there to play with the
guys at that firehouse, and sit in their truck. Last night, as I
was putting my boy to bed, he said, "Pray for firemens."
We pray for
firemens in this house.
I held a candle
on the Brooklyn Heights Promenade, on Thursday night, standing silently
with 3,000 of my neighbors, weeping and mourning and praying as
we beheld the somber skyline across the harbor, a pall of smoke
rising, still rising, from the valley of the shadow of death, in
which brave men labored day and night to save those who might still
be alive. A group of elderly Hispanic ladies from a nearby parish
sang hymns. Someone asked, "Why don't they sing patriotic songs?"
A woman with them said, "Because they don't know any English."
They gave what they could.
Someone put
a small statue of the Virgin Mary at the base of a flagpole in a
tiny park, and gave her a mantle of a small American flag. The flagpole
stands on the site where Gen. George Washington's headquarters were
in the Battle of Brooklyn, a battle on which the fate of our nation
turned. If not for a miraculous fog settling over the British fleet
in New York harbor on a fateful night in 1776, the silent evacuation
across the river of the beaten Continental Army from that site would
not have been possible. The destiny of this nation, and indeed the
liberty of all mankind, would have been unthinkably altered.
My neighborhood
is one of the most liberal precincts in the country. Last night,
though, I stood next to a lesbian couple, holding each other and
their candles, with tears in their eyes, and I thought: I am with
you, ladies. I watched my neighbors, flags, and candles in hand,
gaze over the harbor at the Statue of Liberty in the distance. Some
held their candles high in salute to her.
Someone put
up a sign at the base of the flagpole, a message that was illuminated
by all the candles burning for the dead. It read: "Whatever
our faith, whatever our belief, let us stand together and pray for
the victims and their families." Yes, I thought, this is how
it should be. Last night, standing at that flagpole with my rosary
in my hand, I felt all our political and cultural differences dissolve.
We were one in grief, and love of country.
Moments like
this rarely come in the life of our nation, and though we will become
aware once again of our disputes and division, for this moment in
history, I have nothing but love for these people.
Neighbors.
Citizens. Patriots. My fellow Americans. Any other sentiment at
this time strikes me as unspeakably profane.
So, bearing
in mind the pain those of us who live in and love this great city
are suffering now, you know what I have to say, with hot tears in
my eyes and cold rain falling on the living and the dead here? Jerry,
Pat, you heartless bastards, your timing is awful.
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