And a very sad day.

I've been trying to avoid all the news and whatnot surrounding the anniversary today marks, but it's almost impossible to.

The morning of September 11, 2001, was bright and sunny where I was. I didn't have anything I could get done at work until the labs were empty (in the afternoon), so I took the morning off to work on one of by novels. I woke up well before my alarm, and there was lots of hot coffee waiting, courtesy of LullaBelle, who gets up and gone before me almost every day. The fact that I was up so early and already working was an oddity in itself; I almost always write late at night.

The sun was streaming in the windows of the back room, which is actually on the front of the house. It was a very quiet morning, perfect for writing. I put on some music, sipped coffee, and got about an hour of work in.

The phone rang, and my mother in law said something about wanting to know how we were. She sounded very odd, and I thought she was doing some sort of drama-queen thing. "I'm fine," I said, "how are you?"

"Well how the fuck do you think I am?" she asked, as if it was the stupidest question ever asked.

"Is something wrong?"

There was a long silence. "Isn't your tv on?" she asked. I said no. "Turn the tv on," she said, quietly.

"What station?"

"Any station."

When I turned it on, one tower was in flames, and in minutes, I watched as a plane hit the second tower.

Anyone reading this knows the rest. You will have lived it, watched it, grown up with it, or maybe even have read it in your history books.

I felt then, and still sometimes now, like I was suddenly pulled from my planet and dropped on to some alien world. The most persistent thought that I had, and still have, is, Did that just happen? I don't have a point of reference to view terrorism, or even just random violence, from. I don't understand hating people I don't know. Even growing up in Reagan's America, I never hated the Soviets, and I was never convinced they hated me either. I don't really hate the Iranians, Palestinians, Afghans, or North Koreans (though their leaders do make me a little nervous). I'm not really convinced that most of them hate me either.

I don't get it, and I guess in a way, I'm glad. In my world, you might hate people that wrong you, but usually, you reconcile, or you find a way to not have to deal with each other. People in my world don't randomly kill each other in the hope that those murders will "send a message."

Except, now people in my world do.

I don't know what message I'm supposed to get. You went to great lengths to intentionally do something cruel, inhuman and stupid to a lot of people you don't know. That just doesn't make any fucking sense to me.

One response did make sense to me. My hockey league didn't cancel our game on September 11, 2001. When I showed up to play for the team I was managing, I asked my friend who was the captain, should we really be playing hockey that night?

Fuck yes! he said. We have to show them that, whatever they think they might gain, they aren't scaring us into changing our lives. We're going to continue on, just like we always have.

Tonight starts a new season of hockey for my new team. We're continuing on, just like we always will.

A very good day.

I am still (always?), just enough of an English Lit major to enjoy the strange way life is like a badly written novel. There are stark contrasts everywhere, and more than a little irony.

Yesterday, LullaBelle was confirmed, and I was officially received, into the church we have attended for the last 8 or so years. The Bishop came to do the service, and once again wowed us with a fine sermon. He made 2 points that really hit home for me. Firstly, that we should be about "doing that here." The "that" was a reference to providing food, drink, clothes and shelter to those in need. Secondly, he pointed out that where ever we go, we should be aware that God is with us, and thus, we should ask, Is this somewhere I want Jesus to meet me? If you wouldn't want Jesus to meet you there, then maybe you shouldn't be there, whether "there" is a physical place, or just a place in your mind and heart.

When it came time for the actual ceremony, I stood before the altar, my wife on my left, and the couple that were our sponsors flanking us, Professor Computer to my right, his wife the Doc Writer on my wifes left. Doc Writer suffers from MS, and leaned on her cane and my wife for support. Also around the altar were a number of friends and fellow parishoners. They included 4 lesbian women (2 of them partners). Of the 4, one is white, and the mother of a charming young black man who updates me on his ongoing attempts at hockey greatness; the two partners are parents and also foster parents and had their son and two foster sons in tow; and the last of the 4 is trying to become a parent and start a family with her partner. The Bishop is a black man, his assitant (one of his Cannons) is a woman, as is our new Associate Rector. The age ranges of the folks being confirmed or received covered at least two generations, mine and one older, possibly three... but I know better than to ask ages. ;-)

Be patient, now, I'm getting to the point.

When it was my turn to be received, the Bishop laid his hands on me, and said, among other things, that they recognized me as a member of the one catholic (universal) church, and received me into this community. Technically, what this means is that the Bishop, and the ECUSA, recognize me, a confirmed Roman Catholic, as a person confirmed in a denomination that the Episcopal Church acknowledges the sacrements of, and so, I am "received" and not "re-confirmed." (Sadly, the Roman Catholic church has yet to offer this recognition to the ECUSA).

But to me it meant something else. I recalled Jesus speaking about the day of judgement, and saying that on that day, some He will say He knows, and they will be admitted. Others, He will say He doesn't know, and they will not. I have always wondered, would God still recognize me after all the things I've done? So when the Bishop said those words, what I heard was another voice, saying, Yes, we all know who you are, even under all the mistakes. And we know who they are: your wife, your friend struggling with her disease, these women who are lesbians, mothers, and leaders in their church, this black man, blessed with a gift for speaking. I recognize you, I receive you, I confirm you.

There was a time, not long ago, that an upper-middle class white couple would not have received a blessings under the hands of a black man, and certainly not while standing next to 4 lesbians. There would not have been a tremendous "Amen!" and an ovation from the crowd. There are still places today where they wouldn't happen.

But it did.

Which means that I picked the right time, the right place, to come back to the church. A place that challenges me to be where I would want Jesus to find me, and also a place that says to all sorts of people, Yes, I recognize and welcome you to this fellowship.

It was a very good day.