Two young Trojan watchmen, of their own initiative and with the approval of Command, advanced late at night beyond the safety of their besieged fortifications and through the enemy camp. The Mission: Find their leader, Aeneas (often referred to as, “Pius Aeneas – the pious or dutiful Aeneas”) who was away, in search of allies. The message to be delivered to this Hero who had led his remnant countrymen’s escape from the burning City of Troy? “The enemy has besieged us! Return to the fort before he prevails against your people!”
“Nulla dies umquam memori vos eximet aevo,” the Roman poet, Virgil both predicts and makes a pledge to these warriors, Nisus and Euryalus in book IX, line 447 of his, Aeneid. There, before him as the third person omniscient author of the text, lie the lifeless bodies of the two brothers-in-arms, the one who had reached safety first and then gone back to assist the other who had been captured. Hazarding everything, they both met their end together.
You may have heard about Nisus, Euryalus, about Pius Aeneas, about the epic poem that Virgil wrote about him, and how Aeneas’ courage and endurance gave rise in the mythology “altae moenia Romae – to the lofty walls of Rome.” This is why Virgil is a fitting guide and father to a medieval exile of Florence named Dante on his pilgrimage through Hell and Purgatory before he is left in hands that were more fitting to lead him into Paradise.
Let us invoke Our Lady of Sorrows to accompany us on today’s difficult pilgrimage. Both piety and charity demand we remember. It is our duty to remember 11 September 2001. It is our duty to pray for the dead.
The poetic meter that Virgil bequeathed to that line of poetry – dactyl, spondee, dactyl, spondee, dactyl, spondee – beat in the heart of each member of each search team at Ground Zero (the Pile), in the field at Shanksville, in the rubble of the E Ring at the Pentagon. They were like so many mournful, muffled drum beats played by the members of the pipe and drum corps in their bearskin hats at the many, many funerals and memorial services after the attacks. The line, itself – “No day shall erase you from the memory of time” – appears across the central wall of Memorial Hall beneath Ground Zero, written in 15 inch letters fashioned from materials salvaged from the fallen Towers.
Every one of the 2977 born and 10 unborn people who died in the attacks that day, and each of the six born people and one baby in utero who died at the Towers in 1993 has his or her own story that might fill volumes. Flight attendants who notified the airlines, passengers and building occupants who informed loved ones and left heart-filled and heart-wrenching goodbyes. A pilot who fought hijackers hand-to-hand, a flight attendant who boiled a pot of water, passengers who planned a revolt and who drove a weaponized plane into the ground. Police and Fire and EMS who entered and reentered places that no one should want to go, and civilians who stepped up in the same way. They all have stories about how they acquitted themselves that day, and about a lifetime that led them to their final moments. The same goes for each World Trade Center or Pentagon survivor, each responder who got to go home, each operator or dispatcher, and each air traffic employee and each pilot climbing in or willing to climb into each F-16. God knows each and every story, each and every step taken on the Pilgrim Way. He knows the story of each pilot or crew member of each privately or publicly-owned watercraft that participated in the impromptu boatlift that is universally recognized as the largest maritime evacuation of human beings in recorded history.
Yes. Whether leading others, bringing oneself to follow, or subjugating one’s thoughts and feelings just long enough to perceive what the next good step might be, God knows each story. Each pilgrim’s way.
Every year, on or around 9/11 and at other times, we have the tradition of the Memorial Stair Climb. Organized by the National Fallen Firefighters Foundation and coordinated with sporting venues throughout the country, we recall the heights reached by an unspecified group of FDNY and NYPD members in the North Tower (54th Floor) and by Battalion Chief Oreo Palmer, Fire Marshall Ronald Bucca and members of Ladder 15 in the South Tower (78th Floor). Some firefighters don their turnout gear. Some add to that an air pack, a high rise pack (made up of 150 feet of hose), a set of irons (an ax and halligan bar), maybe an American Flag or the Fire Service Flag. Other members put on or take up some combination of that gear and equipment; it’s not a competition. Family members join in, too, and you often see them in workout clothes and maybe a commemorative helmet or a tee shirt depicting the face of a Fallen Hero. Some bring children, even infants in their arms. Any member of any department anywhere, and any member of the public is welcome.
Most importantly, everyone wears an accountability tag with the image and name and assignment of an FDNY member who gave his life that day. And we climb. 2200 steps – the equivalent of the 110 stories of World Trade Center One and Two. Signage along the route of the ascent lets us know when we reach Floors 54 and 78. No one quits. No one leaves anyone behind. One way or the other, however long it takes, everyone makes the top floor. There, over the stadium loudspeaker, each climber announces the name and assignment of the Hero whose tag he or she has been carrying. The bell is rung and it echoes through the stands. However high he made it on 9/11/2001 when the Towers collapsed – that member has made it to the top floor.
“Si cuius opus arserit detrimentum patietur ipse autem salvus erit, sic tamen quasi per ignem. – If any man’s work burn, he shall suffer loss: but he himself shall be saved, yet so as by fire,” says St. Paul (I Cor 3:15). The events of 11 September 2001 constitute one length of the pilgrimage. Whether a passenger or crew member aboard a plane, or whether one was making his way in or out of a building in New York or in Virginia, it remains one length of an individual pilgrimage. Whether one was pushing his way forward to the cockpit or up the stairs or down, it remains one length of an individual pilgrimage. Whether one was boarding a boat at the edges of Lower Manhattan, managing a way northbound into the Bronx, or seeing that the bad did not become the worst in a Pennsylvania field, it remains one length of an individual pilgrimage. Living these past twenty-five years is but one length of an individual pilgrimage.
This world was always going to pass. As much of the Pilgrim Way as Our Lord has intended for each of us to travel in this life – often with happiness and accomplishment to urge us on, and trial and grief to make satisfaction, conquer ourselves and teach us to rely on Him – it was never going to be a lasting city.
We were always going to be prompted through the fire by Our Lady of Sorrows, to stand with her and wait on the Triumph of the Holy Cross if we desired to reach our proper end. We were always going to need to be led and brought in montem sanctum tuum. Time, too, will burn up and pass away. Finally, please God, we may be in tabernácula tua where Our Lord has entered first. That’s why “every day is a training day.” One great thing is, no one needs to make the climb alone, just as no one on that terrible day did, either.
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis. Requiescant in pace. Amen.
I hope they made it, one and all. Let’s help them with our prayers.
I hope to see you on the top floor, fellas.
Mater Dolorosa, ora pro nobis!
SALVE CRUX, SPES UNICA!