9/11 hit a little differently this year. I thought about it all day yesterday and when today came, my mind was a complete mess, which got even hazier as the day wore on.

I’m not entirely sure what made it so different. It could be the already horrible weight of the global pandemic.
It could be the reminder that 9/11 is a childhood friend’s birthday with whom I cut ties recently because of my support for BLM.
It could be because deconstructing religion has made me more aware that most of the awful evils ever done were done in the name of a god by indoctrinated people across all beliefs.
It could be because I never fully grasped thus never fully grieved the loss and terror of that day, as I was a child when it happened.

Sad to admit, but I too, believed in part some of the conspiracies going around about 9/11. My embarrassment at this fact, coupled with disgust and horror that those theories are still alive and well, could also be a reason for why this year it all hits a little harder.

My 10 year old self was in school that day, and we were excitedly preparing for the annual open house when our parents would meet our teachers and mingle. I vividly remember catching a glimpse of another teacher’s TV as my class walked past his classroom. That’s when I saw that surreal image of the towers up in smoke. Settled in at my desk, much to my dismay, we were informed that the open house is cancelled. The rest of the day was chaos and confusion. We mainly sat around until dismissal while the teachers whispered in the hallways. I don’t remember if my teacher had said anything as to what is actually going on, but it was clear that something very serious has happened.

When I got home, my mom ran out of our apartment to collect me from the bus stop which was maybe 30 meters from our front door. She ran towards me and with fear and trembling in her voice said: “Terrorists! Get inside! Terrorists!” I did not know what terrorists were. I actually thought that she said “tourists,” so I imagined a throng of overweight white people, in wide brimmed hats and Hawaiian shirts, getting off of a tour bus and walking like zombies. Oh to be 10 again—reality was not so kind and well-humored.

As someone who is just now coming to grips with the reality of that fateful September day, I’ve not much useful insight to add, but through all of this, I’ve again learned that life can be unrelentingly cruel sometimes. Most of the time as of late, thanks  2020. Today I am also reminded of just how short and volatile life is. How precious and rare are moments of comfort and calm. How important it is to love people, to be kind, and to consistently check our beliefs to make sure that they are not hindering our ability to show love and compassion towards others.

In Christianity specifically, the second most important commandment uttered by Jesus is: “love your neighbor as yourself”. Who is my neighbor? Using a parable, Jesus beautifully illustrates that one’s neighbor is the one others would consider an outsider. It is the one who is hurting, the one who is in need, the one who may cost you some of your own resources. Our neighbors are those who the church has cast out and distanced themselves from, deeming them “unclean”. Loving our neighbor can look like inter-faith friendships, diverse community, social programs/assistance, giving a voice to the voiceless, making room at the table for the marginalized, using our privilege and platform to benefit those who could be drowned out by us instead.

As I write this, it’s all coming together.

THIS is the true gospel that I’ve been deconstructing towards. It’s not interpretations and hermeneutics, not even the trinity or atonement, *gasp*.

It is loving our neighbor enough to give them a chance at enjoying and living a full and beautiful life, because life is precious, but damn, it. Is. Fleeting.