When Tragedy Strikes...

It doesn't take long before the news comes that a third jet has slammed into the Pentagon. A fourth drives into the ground 80 miles away from Pittsburgh--no readily apparent connection, but by this time all your senses are on edge and you just feel that there has to be a connection, it cannot be a coincidence.

Within an hour after the attack on the World Trade Center, the first tower crumbles, weakened by the steel-melting flames and the weight of the top stories and a jet it was never built to support. And even though one tower collapses, the second collapse was equally surprising and horrifying. Police and Fire personnel, believing they had time to rescue victims, became victims themselves. Estimates run into the thousands, ten thousand possibly, although many pundits feel that is a conservative estimate. Even as I write this, there is hope in that victims trapped in the rubble are calling on their cell phones.

Which makes us pause. Security has suddenly become iffy--in fact, many areas were closed and evacuated because of uncertainty about what might be hit next. Life is a fragile and precious commodity. Ball games and concerts are cancelled because, well, large congregated crowds are a target and no one feels like enjoying sports and the arts when death and destruction hang heavy in the air.

On a typical Tuesday morning, real people were living real lives. A couple making plans for a romantic dinner that evening. A group of office employees planning an outing at a ball park. People swapping jokes at the water cooler. A husband calling his wife, letting her know he arrived safe at work. Computers were booting up getting ready for another workday. Managers and executives compiling financial data collected on the desktops overnight. E-mail and newspapers being read. Some may have been eating breakfast at their desk, or returning to their desk with a fresh cup of coffee. Everyday events we take for granted. And, likely, workers in one tower looking out the windows at the tragedy next to them unaware that another jet was about to hit their building.

And in the midst and aftermath of the tragedy we learn there are no promises. We are not promised another birthday. We are not promised another month, day, or hour. We are not even promised a proper Christian burial.

Later in the day, a wife will not see her husband

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