I wrote this piece in 2001 as an article for the monthly newsletter of a Christian mission organization that I was working with at the time. I hesitated to write it, but finally did. The editor hesitated to publish it, and decided not to. The time did not yet seem right. I never did use this anywhere; until now. The questions asked are still relevant, still difficult, and still painful. But they are important questions that go to the heart our Christian faith and mission, even if the issues raised are unpleasant.
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“There is a time to be silent and a time to speak.” –Ecclesiastes 3:7
We will never forget the horror of what we saw on September 11, 2001, one of the bloodiest days in American history. Almost 3,000 people died in just a couple hours, as all the world watched. I thought about what I always think about when I hear of even one death: I was hoping they all believed in Jesus as their Savior and died with the promise of eternal life. Of course, I was quite sure that some did believe in Jesus and some did not. That became clear in the many interviews with surviving family members in the days and weeks that followed. It was great to see so many people speak of their faith and the faith of their loved ones, of their hope for a reunion in heaven, and of last-minute cell phone prayers. Especially moving was this hurried last e-mail message from a father: “I love you, son. I’ll see you in Heaven. –Dad.” It was great to see their testimonies broadcast on international television to a world with hearts wounded, open to the Word of God and to the hope of the Gospel. But at the same time, it was sad to see the interviews with those who had no such hope and saw September 11th as not the beginning of a new life in heaven for their loved one, but the absolute end of them; persons and personalities obliterated forever, as were their bodies. This saddens any Christian who knows of the hope they could have had.
But as heavy as these thoughts were on my heart and soul, I did not speak of them at that time. It was too painful. We were all too sad. We were all still in shock. It was a time for silence; for prayer, for mourning, and for quiet respect and compassion.
It was also a time for unity. I was deeply moved as I watched the services at the National Cathedral, the Minnesota State Capitol, and Yankee Stadium. Not only were political barriers overcome for a moment, so also were the religious barriers lowered. Not only were Democrats and Republicans together, but so were Christians, Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, and more. This ‘spiritual unity’ led to an awkwardness in the worship services (more on that later), but there was also something very nice about it all. In a world so devastated by hate, this spirit of togetherness and unity was wonderful to see. It was a time to be silent about our differences.
In fact, it even made a part of me want to forget about our differences forever. I was especially moved by the prayer of a Hindu Sikh at the Yankee Stadium prayer service. As he devoutly sang his haunting chant with his eyes closed, it looked as if he was alone with God, even though he was in a stadium with thousands of others. One could not help but admire his devotion to God and his spiritual fervor. I too strive for and have sometimes felt such devotion, such ‘separation’ from the world and unity with God. I truly wanted to consider him a ‘fellow pilgrim, traveler, seeker,’ a brother in ‘faith and devotion to God.’ I wanted us to be on ‘the same side,’ not merely as fellow Americans, but also as brothers in faith. I thought I would like to meet that man, and if I did meet him, I would not like to have to think that it was my task to change his firmly held beliefs or tell him anything different. Much of what I saw that week made me want to forget all about evangelism and just agree with what I heard so many people say those days (including some pastors), “Hey, what’s the difference, we all believe in the same God, don’t we?” One part of me still wanted to argue the point or at least clarify for people what we believe about that; but another part of me wanted to just say ‘yes, we’re all the same,’ and leave it at that. But as I said, it was a time for silent grief, and so I did not say anything.
It was, for me anyway, just too painful and too soon to say anything at all about the eternal destiny of those who died on that terrible day. However, there were two important people who had the opportunity to speak to the nation in those days and did say something about that eternal destiny. They were Billy Graham and Oprah Winfrey. (continued…)
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