I have to be honest with you guys. The 25th anniversary of the terrorist attacks that we mark today has been weighing much heavier on me than I ever anticipated. At that point, I had only been a priest for two years. I was 27 years old — around the age that would make me one of your peers right now — and I was very much at that point of not knowing what I didn’t know about being a priest. And, as it turned out, about a lot of other things in the world.
Thank you for taking the time to read this homily for the 25th Anniversary of the September 11th terrorist attacks.
The readings for today can be found here
Follow Fr. Jim Chern’s Homilies on Apple Podcasts so the new homily is waiting for you every Sunday HERE or on SoundCloud HERE
Thank you for being part of this ministry and for helping these homilies reach far beyond the place where they are first preached.. Sincerely in Christ -Father Jim
I was reflecting with some men last night and sharing our own experiences. Up until September 11, 2001, when my parents talked about the assassination of JFK, or my grandparents talked about Pearl Harbor, those things felt like ancient history to me. They happened outside of my lifetime.
September 11 was different. Something so horrific was happening less than 15 miles from the front steps of our parish. We could see the Twin Towers burning. We could hear Air Force jets flying overhead.
It wasn’t simply a “where were you when it happened?” moment. It was something we were living. Something we were mourning.
Funeral Masses without bodies began and continued for weeks and months. Among them were two grandsons of parishioners of mine — Brett Bailey and Bobby Coll, two cousins, 25 and 29 years old. One was engaged. The other was married with two babies.
I never met either of them. But I’ve never forgotten them since concelebrating their funeral Masses.
And I share all of that not simply to add to the collective reminiscing that happens on an anniversary like today. It was just all sitting there in the background as I prayed with the Scriptures for this Mass and asked, “Lord, what do You want me to hear today?”
And strangely — because I almost never do this — I kept coming back to the Psalm: “My soul yearns and pines for the courts of the Lord.” And then: “Blessed they who dwell in your house.”
There’s something about those words that hits differently today. Because one of the things September 11 shattered for so many of us was the illusion that somehow we can make life completely secure. That if we plan enough, protect enough, prepare enough, we can guarantee tomorrow.
We can’t.
That doesn’t mean we live afraid. Quite the opposite. For the Christian, it means we know that this world was never meant to be our final home.
The Psalm says, “Blessed they who dwell in your house.” So maybe the question today isn’t simply, “Where were you on September 11?” Maybe the deeper question is:
Where are you making your home now?
What are you building your life on? Your plans? Your career? Another person? Success? Approval? Control?
None of those things are necessarily bad. But none of them are strong enough to be God. None of them can carry the weight of your whole life.
Which is why St. Paul says today: “Run so as to win.” He talks about athletes training, disciplining themselves, living with purpose.
His point isn’t that heaven is a competition. His point is: If something matters, live like it matters.
If Christ is really our life, then we can’t continually put Him off until later.
I’ll pray later. I’ll go to Confession later. I’ll deal with that sin later. I’ll forgive later. I’ll get serious about my faith later.
Paul says: Run now.
And then Jesus says something similar in the Gospel: before you start worrying about the splinter in somebody else’s eye, look at the beam in your own.
In other words: wake up to your own life. Look honestly at where you are going.
Twenty-five years ago, thousands of people woke up expecting an ordinary Tuesday.
Remembering that isn’t supposed to make us afraid. It should make us grateful. It should make us awake. It should make us unwilling to waste the life God has given us.
So today we pray for those who died. We pray for their families. We pray for peace.
But maybe we should pray this too:
Lord, don’t let me waste my life. Open my eyes. Teach me to run with purpose. And teach me to make my home in You.
Because the question isn’t only, “Where were you?” The more important question is:
Where are you going?
