It was with more than a little trepidation that I stepped onto the NYC bound train. It was a wednesday morning in April 2002 and I was making my first trip into the city since the terror attacks that past September.
The purpose of the trip was to serve as a volunteer at St. Paul's Chapel, the "little chapel that stood." St. Paul's is an Episcopal Church that is literally next to the WTC site. Despite it's proximity to the crumbling buildings, the little stone church suffered only minor damage. I was told it was because it was a warm day and some of the windows were open, thus providing a vent for the enormous pressure of the collapse of the towers. I don't know if that's true. But the chapel remained standing.
In the moments and days following the attacks on its neighborhood, St. Paul's became an official respite center for First Responders and rescue and recovery personnel. Volunteers served hot meals, gave massages and foot rubs, provided pastoral care, mental health counseling and medical care. Workers from the adjoining "ground zero" could be found praying or sleeping in the pews.
St. Paul's was also the unofficial memorial site for people who wanted to express grief, sorrow, sympathy, empathy, compassion, faith and hope after the terror. Banners, flags, posters, greeting cards, windsocks, and most touching -- photographs of lost loved ones -- covered the church's fence, its stone front walls, the makeshift police fencing and barricades. The flags were delivered by empathetic tourists from other nations who wanted to stand in solidarity with New Yorkers and U.S. citizens. The banners and other items were mostly hand-crafted "love letters" from churches and school children from around the United States and the world to the thousands of volunteers working on the site and in the chapel.
By the time I had screwed up my courage and made the trip into the city, recovery work was nearly finished. Remains of those who perished had long since been uncovered and the city and other governing bodies were focusing on the transition into a re-building phase. Still, the firefighters, iron-workers, construction crews and other workers sought refuge in the stalwart little church building that had provided so much comfort for so many long, arduous, grief-stricken days.
My job that day in April 2002 was to guard the entrance to St. Paul's. In order to provide privacy and real respite for the workers they were serving. Those managing St. Paul's relief effort (mostly Episcopal Relief and Development) had built plywood walls around the front of the church and left only a couple of entry ways onto the church property. St. Paul's was not open to the general public during that time. Admittance was granted only to those working on the WTC site and visitors who had lost loved ones in the attacks. My job that day was to make sure no unauthorized people entered the building and to make certain that those who NEEDED to enter -- survivors and loved ones of the deceased -- did have access.
As I stood outside, many visitors to "Ground Zero" -- folks from the NY metropolitan area and tourists from around the world -- came by. One woman from Germany told me she had come because her son had been killed in the attacks. I pushed the folding table that served as our "gate" out of the way and led her inside where a more knowledgeable volunteer gave her a tour and an opportunity to visit and pray.
Another woman, Pearl, from Israel, asked me why I wasn't carrying a weapon as I guarded the entrance. Her question shocked me. Why would I need a gun? Pearl told me that if the site were in Israel, I would have been carrying a gun. Thinking back now, she must have thought I was so naive. But I just smiled at her and said, "I don't need a gun. It's safe." In just a few short hours at St. Paul's I had begun to think of the "little chapel that stood" as a sanctuary, a safe place of peace in the midst of chaos.
That day at St. Paul's changed forever how I look at the "function" of a church -- or any other house of worship. Yes, they are sacred places where we honor, praise and give thanks to our glorious Creator. But I also believe that they are the most holy of spaces when they help us to share God's love with one another.
What could give God more happiness than seeing the aching, tired, feet of a firefighter be massaged by a volunteer podiatrist in a makeshift clinic in the aisles of a church building? I believe God longs for the moments when we treat one another with such tender loving care.
Imagine how it delighted God to see banners and flags and posters filled with loving prayers and expressions of faith, hope and sympathy draped on the fences, walls, steps and doors on the inside and outside of a chapel! I like to think that God was as touched as I was by the banner filled with a rainbow of children's handprints that was sent from a church school in another part of the country.
I believe that that banner was just as sacred and gave as much glory to God as even the most intricate Russian icon. And those foot massages? They were sacraments of healing.
For more information on St. Paul's Chapel, click on the link above. Meanwhile, please share your comments about places that you think of as sacred.
I wish you peace.
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