On Sunday, a group of us got together in the afternoon to pray a rosary in memory of the victims of the 9/11 terrorist attacks that occurred 15 years ago to the day. We gathered on the American Veterans Memorial pier in the Bay Ridge section of Brooklyn where a full view of the Manhattan skyline can be seen. There were eleven of us including some of our young children, who came and stood in the middle of the pier facing the location where the horrific attacks took place.

The peacefulness of our gathering and the beauty of the day was a striking contrast to what we were praying about. It seemed so contradictory. Yet, looking at my small band of friends, and listening to us calmly pray, it was a sign of hope and love in front of a great evil.

Rita, who took the initiative to invite us to pray together, began by saying this moment had a special significance for her since these attacks are what led to the recent death of her dear friend Tiffany Gulla, whose scleroderma was a direct consequence. It struck me that there was no bitterness in her voice but rather a peaceful acceptance. How? Could it be that this small gathering of friends was the sign that gave her this peace?

All we did was pray. There were no speeches, no protests—only praying the prayer handed down by the Church over the centuries for us to follow. It seemed like nothing, but as one of us remarked: we have a place to put this loss—whereas many in this city seem not to know what to do on this day. He also observed that immediately after the attacks, people in NYC were different, they became more human, more filled with compassion and concern. Now it appears that people have forgotten what happened and we are back to being distracted with a greater lack of compassion and empathy for each other.

This simple gesture of prayer was an invitation to not forgetting but it was also doing the most reasonable thing in front of such sadness—to ask, plead, and beg God for His mercy and love. One of us remarked: there is no answer in front of what happened there. We can only beg for His Presence.

In the very act of doing that it seemed to me that He already provided an answer which was the very fact of our unity. It wasn't an answer that closed my questions, but one that allowed me to have real hope again, because the beauty and incomprehensibility of our being together challenges my reason, awakens my heart, and gives me comfort. Evil cannot be the last word if we exist like this.

At a certain point during our prayer a man got off his bicycle and began taking photos of us with a professional looking camera. He took many pictures and then rode off. One of the young boys who was praying with us questioned why he did it—did he think we were protesters? I responded by saying that he took it because we were a striking presence.
One is reminded of Father Giussani's description in his book Why the Church?, of the early Christians who gathered under Solomon's Portico. Like them, on that pier in Brooklyn we were a sociological, documentable fact in reality- a presence that was noticeable by others in the world. And like them, our gathering seems so insignificant, yet within it, as history has shown, it has the power to change the entire world because the Lord of reality chooses to dwell among us.