Reflection

by The Rev. Thomas N. Mousin,
Rector of St. John’s Episcopal Church

at The September 11th 10th Anniversary Memorial Event
City Square Park, Charlestown, Massachusetts
September 11, 2011

I am a newcomer to this community, having just started my work at St. John’s Church this week. But whether any of us is a newcomer to Charlestown, a long time resident, or a visitor here today, what most of us share in common is the experience of living through the traumatic events of 10 years ago. And today, our gathering is but one of many as people gather across Boston, the Commonwealth, the country, and indeed the world.

These gatherings include observances at the sites of the original attacks. In New York City, the new 9/11 Memorial is being dedicated. If you have seen photos or videos of it, then you know that it is made up of two deep pools covering the footprints of the original towers of the World Trade Center. The names of those who died there are inscribed on bronze plaques that surround the pools, and on all four side of each pool, enormous waterfalls cascade down over 30 feet to the base of the pools.

As I watched images of those waterfalls, I was reminded of some words from the Psalm 42. The psalmist, in the midst of despair over the threat and oppression of his enemies, cries out:

Deep calls to deep
at the thunder of your cataracts;
all your waves and your billows
have gone over me.

(Psalm 42:7)

The psalmist is overwhelmed, and the depth of his despair is hard even for him to comprehend. Deep calls to deep.

On September 11, as individuals and as a nation, we experienced profound grief. In the last week, as we have listened to remembrances of that day, hearing those who lost loved ones speak of their grief and hope for healing, we know that the depths of human experience were made manifest in so many ways – and in ways that may seem everlasting. Indeed, no matter how close the tragedy may have come to us, we may have experienced a depth in our souls that we never knew existed: a place where there was fear, despair, anger, and an utter inability to comprehend how other human beings could take so many lives with so little regard. And in those depths, it may have seemed that there was only silence.

But deep calls to deep. And in the experiences of that day, we saw more than despair. We saw, for example, the depth of commitment in firefighters, police officers, and others responding to the depth of need of all those in the towers.

And deep called to deep.

We saw the depth of courage in passengers on a plane, responding to the depth of love they had for their country and giving their lives so that others would be spared.

And deep called to deep.

We saw the depth of compassion poured out in communities across this land, responding to the depths of sorrow seen in friends and families.

And deep called to deep.

Within the tradition of the Christian faith that I represent, we believe that when one is brought to those places of deep hurt and despair, there is ultimately, not silence, but rather a response – a voice and a presence that comes from another depth: the foundation of love and compassion on which the universe is built.

And so I invite us on this day, as we remember and honor those we love and see no more, to allow ourselves to go to the deep places in our lives. In those places, may we discover levels of compassion, courage, and commitment that we may not have known we possessed. And having discovered them, may we use them to bring healing and reconciliation to a broken world.

Amen.