Thursday's Thoughts from Pastor David Dendy 9-10-26

Tomorrow marks twenty-five years since September 11, 2001.

I was in Cleveland, Ohio, consulting with Grace Church. When I walked into the church, someone said, “A plane flew into the World Trade Center.”

Five or six of us gathered around a little black-and-white television. Then, to our horror, we watched the second plane strike the South Tower.

We knew immediately that this was no accident.

The images remain unbearable: smoke pouring from the towers, people jumping from windows, firefighters climbing stairwells while everyone else was trying to escape, and finally, those magnificent buildings collapsing into clouds of ash.

Our world changed that day.

New York changed. 
Washington, DC changed. 
Shanksville, PA changed. 

Air travel changed. Security changed. Taking off our shoes, passing through body scanners, and no longer saying hello or goodbye at the gate became routine reminders that September 11 had permanently entered our lives.

 Two days later, at 9:30 in the morning, I began driving my rental car from Cleveland to Houston. Flights were grounded, GPS did not exist, and I had been married to Julie for only three months. Every couple of hours, I called her, and she helped me navigate the interstates and highways.

Twenty-one hours later, I arrived home—into the arms of my new bride.

Looking back, that journey feels like a small parable of those terrible days: when the road was unfamiliar and the world seemed frightening, love kept guiding me home.

My children, now twenty-one and twenty, have no personal memory of September 11. They know it as history. That means it is now our responsibility to remember—and to tell them not only how nearly 3,000 innocent people died, but also how countless ordinary people rose.

Firefighters ran into burning buildings. Police officers carried the injured. Boat captains transported hundreds of thousands away from Manhattan. Churches opened their doors. Strangers fed, clothed, sheltered, and comforted one another.

FDNY Chaplain Father Mychal Judge administered last rites to a fallen firefighter and returned to the North Tower, where he was killed by debris. His death certificate was numbered “0001” - the first officially recorded victim. He died doing what pastors are called to do: moving toward suffering rather than away from it.

I still remember seeing firefighters’ shoes hanging on the wrought-iron fence at St. Paul’s Chapel - silent reminders of those who would never return to retrieve them.

Psalm 46 declares:

“God is our refuge and strength,
an ever-present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea.”

On September 11, it seemed as if the earth gave way. Towers fell. Thousands died. Families were shattered.

But love stood up!

Twenty-five years later, our hope is not that we have forgotten the darkness. Our hope is that the darkness did not overcome the light.

So tomorrow, let us remember the lives lost, honor the heroes who ran toward danger, and recommit ourselves to becoming helpers in a hurting world.

When hatred tries to have the last word, let us answer with love.

When fear attempts to divide us, let us stand together.

And when someone is struggling to find the road home, may we become the voice on the other end of the line—patiently, faithfully, lovingly guiding them home.