I also remember the day the government besieged the Waco Branch Davidian Compound. I still have a copy of the newspaper.

I remember the day Kurt Cobain died. On MTV, a somber Kurt Loder informed the world that this Seattle grunge rocker had died from an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.

I remember the day the Oklahoma City Federal Building was bombed. On television, I saw the building torn open-people scrambling to rescue those injured.

And I remember the day two students at Columbine High School opened fire on the student body, and then, killed themselves. I watched SWAT teams guide students away from the building. Once again, the television was my eye into this exposed moment.

And this past Tuesday, I remember taking my students to the computer lab. The lab teacher received a phone call. Her face melted in disbelief: “Oh my God. Are you serious? How did this happen?”

As she continued talking on the phone, she wrote on a post-it pad: WORLD TRADE CENTER HIT BY AIRPLANE. TERRORISTS? I went to a computer, got online, and began searching for information. Yahoo! News confirmed the information. I looked at my students, working on their assignments, unaware. A day they would remember, and I would be the one to tell them. At first, I just wished for them to get the news from Dan Rather or Tom Brokaw---but not me. Asking for their attention, I told them what happened. They didn’t understand exactly what was wrong, but they knew it was a terrible moment.

Excusing myself, I stepped out and went to the teacher’s lounge. Other teachers stood in front of the television. The image was surreal-only one of the World Trade towers standing. “It fell?” I asked in horror. The other teachers nodded blankly. Someone mumbled, “Another plane also hit the Pentagon.” First thought: we’re under attack. This is it. We’re under attack. How many lives were in those buildings?

And then, the second tower fell. I began to cry. My stomach ached with the cold realization---what was unthinkable became even worse. All the while, the calculated voice of Dan Rather shared with me in this experience.

For the rest of the day, I had my radio on at school. I checked all the major news websites every minute. When I got home, I turned on the television. In the evening, I left my apartment. Our mother church held a prayer vigil, which I attended briefly. The local news affiliate had their van outside our sanctuary to capture the people’s grief. On the way home again, I listened Bush’s remarks on the radio. Once home, I continued to watch until one o’clock in the morning.

The repetition. I was captivated by the hypnotic repetition of the moment. A plane collides with the 110-story building. And then from different angles, it hits again. People run in terror from the approaching cloud of dust. They cannot run fast enough. Each one is slowly enveloped in the cloud. A man in a business suit and tie jumps from the tower, nothing more than a few pixels on my television screen. Struck dumb with awe, I realize I am watching a very sacred and intimate moment along with millions of other viewers.

By “sacred,” I do not suggest what happened was a “blessed” event. By no means! Instead the event is sacred, because life is sacred. At the moment of the falling man’s deepest fear, he is alone and yet not. Why do we watch? Maybe we want to be informed. Maybe we have a fascination with tragedy. Maybe we want guidance in our grief.

The news media tells us how to grieve. A moment of silence. A flag hung from a balcony. A candle lit. But there are other, more peculiar sacraments of grief---We post on message boards. We send forwards. We buy the newspaper---a front page assessment of the situation: “America in Agony.” We adjust our websites to function as temporal memorials to the victims and their families. And we watch television. The repetition, like a rosary, guides us through the experience.

I do not wish to belittle the integrity of journalists, but I must ask myself: “How do I separate the tragedy from the media catharsis?” Because in truth, words and images fail to fully describe the reality of our fallen world. Did we forget, while living our golden lives, that our world is fallen? This tragedy is a physical reminder of a spiritual reality we deal with daily-that of evil, sin, and death. These events cannot find resolution on the front page.

Pain and suffering would be meaningless, if not for Jesus himself willing to share in the experience on the cross. In Christ, the tragedy of death is transformed. We still mourn, but we have a foundation of hope and new life that cannot be shaken. We are not distant observers to the cross. Like the falling man, Christ’s death was a public spectacle. We cannot help but watch. Not because of our fascination with death, but from our fascination with life. It is a horrible, sacred moment within a fallen world.

News media cannot offer a clean and polite “happy ending” to this story; neither can the Church. This day is one to be remembered and mourned. But the Church can look forward to a day when true deliverance from this world is upon us. The smoke of war and destruction will pass. And as the dust settles, we find redemption.

Our deepest sympathy and prayers go out to the victims and families of those devastated in the terrorist attacks on New York and Washington. Let us mourn with those who mourn (Romans 12:15) and continue to hope for the day when we will be with the Lord forever. (1st Thessalonians 4:17)

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