Twenty years ago, on a clear Tuesday morning, I was driving a forklift on a long loading dock in King of Prussia. My boss drove up to me, stopped, and said,” a plane just crashed into the World Trade Center.” We went back to work thinking what a horrific accident it was. A short time later he drove up again and said, “another one just hit the other tower.” We all finished loading trucks in silence, for delivery to Philadelphia; but Philadelphia was closed. A third plane had sliced into the Pentagon, as if it were a wedding cake, killing 125 people on the ground. A fourth plane had gone down in a field outside of Shanksville Pennsylvania. It is assumed the fourth plane was headed for D.C. also; probably for the Capital Dome or the Whitehouse. Four planes had just changed the world.
We tried to do a couple local deliveries, but no one wanted to work. Wherever we went people just stood and stared at the TV, horrified. We would stop and join them. There were sickening scenes of people leaping one hundred stories to their deaths to avoid the heat and the flames and the burning jet fuel. How terrifying must the room you are in be if your only hope is to jump a thousand feet to the pavement below, just to have a few more seconds of life? It is estimated that 200 people jumped that morning. Then America watched stunned and sickened as two of its mightiest towers collapsed, killing thousands.
A total of 2,996 people died in the attacks. At the World Trade Center 343 firefighters and paramedics, and 60 police officers perished in the line of duty as they struggled to evacuate office workers. The courage of these first responders; running into buildings that everyone else was running out of; selflessly trying to save others as the world around them burned and collapsed, must never be forgotten.
The skies were eerily empty for days afterward; all planes had been grounded. I remember throughout the 70s and 80s when hijacking was a regular occurrence. But no one had ever used the planes as missiles before Bin Laden. His sick death cult had ended hijacking, (silver-lining?), now everyone on every plane would protect the cockpit with their lives.
Most of my children have only ever known a nation at war. My wife hung this Blue Star Service Banner on our front door here in Phoenixville when our first-born son went into the Marine Corps and was deployed to Iraq as a grunt. He did one tour there, and two in Afghanistan, along with various other deployments. I don’t think she will take it down until he retires from the service. We no longer think of this as a war; it is just the way things are now. As if we have all grown to accept a certain level of violence; if the casualties are low, and it is far away.
I remember, as a kid, seeing Vietnam vets shouted at, and spit upon, when they returned home. Because of a distant war that had become unpopular. Can you imagine being sent into a far-off jungle cauldron of fear and death; to try your best to help your brothers survive; to watch them die. Then to return home and be ridiculed and spat upon? No parades. No songs. Just anger, and insults.
As far as I know, this has not happened to this generation of warriors. Our young veterans are honored. I have seen stories of people sitting silently on airlines, as a flag-draped coffin is unloaded for a waiting family. whatever your politics; whatever your position on the wars have been, you have treated these young veterans with dignity and respect. Well done America. Well done. When our son returned from one of his deployments with another marine from this area, they were greeted at Philadelphia airport by hundreds of bikers. Many of them were Viet Nam vets; determined to not let this generation be dishonored. They lined the stairs and the escalator and the baggage claim area. Holding American flags, and POW flags, and various service flags. The civilians in baggage claim were bewildered. My wife and I just wept as we walked, with our son, through rows of bikers who were there to honor, bless and protect, total strangers. They proceeded to escort us down 95 and up the Blue Route, to this area. Does this happen anywhere else in the world?
Our middle son came of age during this time. He was finishing high school and working in the kitchen at a local brew pub called The Sly Fox. He asked me if I thought he should enlist. His willingness to do whatever is needed always touches me. I told him no. I told him his gifts and strengths were needed here. I reminded him that my father served in the Marines at the end of WW2, and that I was Marine Corps tanker during the Cold War, and that his brother was serving in this nations’ recent hot wars. That was enough from one family, for now.
What I did not tell him was that his parents could not take another child in a combat zone for months on end. The endless prayers. The sleepless nights. I would sit in my living room, watching the news until two or three in the morning. Waiting for updates and casualty reports from Helmand Province, or some other place, in a silly attempt to make sure my kid was ok. At such times parents can age seven years in seven months. When a government car pulls up in front the house and two marines get out, it is bad news. Then families know their prayers have gone unanswered; their hope has died. I work long hours, sometimes away from home for days at a time. I would pray fervently that if, in Gods’ providence, there must be bad news. It would not come unless I was home. That his mother would not have to take that hammer-blow without me. I would pray, through tears, “God, please don’t let that happen when I am away.” Such are the prayers of a military family.
For us, the news never came; the car never showed. Our son is alive and well, still serving this nation as an EOD instructor. Yes, we live in a world that requires experts in “explosive ordinance disposal”. In large part because we live in a world of IEDs. (Improvised explosive devices) They are not new, but they have been elevated to a primary tactic by the enemies of civilization. Roadside bombs, car bombs, pipe bombs, etc. They have taken their toll. The other day I saw a young man walking up Gay Street with some kids. On his right side he had only half an arm and half a leg. Do you remember a time when we would see such things and wonder what could have happened to him? We no longer wonder, how sad. He had one of those new robot-looking prosthesis on his leg. I am grateful such technology exists. I am grieved that it must. If I could enact one universal law of warfare it would be that only men over fifty years old could be sent into battle. We have had our fun; we have lived. Let the young keep both their arms so they can hold their children. Take one of mine instead.
I am not a pacifist. But I hate war. The number of American troops killed since 911 is approaching 8000. There have been 53,000 wounded. There are no easy solutions to human conflict. But someone is coming…
“He shall judge between nations and shall decide disputes for many peoples; and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.”
You may ask why God is taking so long. Why doesn’t He come back and end war now? Why does He delay? I don’t have those answers. Maybe it is because there are many yet to be born who are meant to be. Maybe it is because when He comes back and puts an end to war, He will also be putting an end to many other things. Including some of us? I see His patience as a mercy. And I know that when the play is over; when the curtain falls, and the Author walks on stage. No one will be questioning His decisions. In the meantime, we must do all that we can to make peace. Peace is not something to be wished for; it is something to be made. Make peace in whatever relationship you are able. For He has also said, “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.”
For all the families who have watched and waited; worried and wept; paced and prayed. And for all the dinner tables that will have an empty place tonight. Because of those four planes twenty years ago.
Shalom. Peace.