Yesterday

Yesterday was the tenth anniversary of the Oklahoma City bombing. In 2001 I visited the National Memorial there, so naturally I was recalling it yesterday.

It was actually late September of 2001 that I was in Oklahoma City, only a couple of weeks after 9/11. I’d left the East Coast without going anywhere near Manhattan, let alone Ground Zero, because I couldn’t bear to see that gaping wound on the city’s face. But going to the Oklahoma City memorial helped me to grieve, both for the victims there and for those of 9/11, in a way I hadn’t yet been able to.

The memorial is really well done. From the blasted wall of the building across the street (now a museum), left just as it was that day, to the Survivor Tree alone on its little hill, to the quiet, shallow reflecting pool between the gates that mark the moment of the explosion, to the 168 chairs standing starkly on the gentle slope beyond, everything strikes just the right note of grief, remembrance, and hope. The chairs are probably the most affecting, because they allow you to reflect on each of the lives lost that day, every one of them attached, as if by silken spider thread, to a myriad of other lives, every one of them brimming with love and joy and sorrow and anger and hope and disappointment and dreams. The small ones, of course, hit you the hardest. I pretty much started crying the moment I stepped onto the grounds, but seeing those small chairs is when I really lost it. I really hope that the memorial to be built at the World Trade Center site works as well.

Although my whole experience at the Oklahoma City memorial is indelibly imprinted on my memory, one image stands out: a part of one of the outer walls of the building was left standing, and the twisted rebars emerging from the torn concrete are a visceral reminder of the destructive power of ignorance and hate. But as I stood there looking up at it, the morning sun crested the wall and shone through the broken metal in a way that lent it a strange kind of elegance. It struck me as a potent symbol of the transformative power of hope.

Also yesterday, the Roman Catholic Church got a new pope. Unfortunately I don’t see a lot of cause for hope there, nor do advocates for ecumenism, or women, or lesbians and gays. I’ve seen words like “disaster” and “catastrophe” thrown around. I’ll reserve judgement for now, but this is at best a step to the side, at worst a step--or more--backward.