I originally wrote
this fictitious conversation between a young father and his young son on the 10th
anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. In honor of the 15th anniversary of
Patriot Day, I’m publishing it in print for the first time. When I wrote it, I
didn’t have a son. Now I do.
“Papa?”
I looked in the rearview mirror of my car at the questioner,
my 8-year-old son. We were returning from a Saturday summer BBQ; the rest of
the family had already gone home while Patrick and I had stayed to help
clean-up. I recognized the inquisitive tone in my son’s voice.
“Yes?” I replied, mentally gearing up for what could likely be
a longer discussion than most dads have with their 8-year-old sons. Patrick had
always been more perceptive than most boys his age; and after becoming a
follower of Jesus at age 5, his perceptiveness, even on matters adults would
find complex, had only increased. So, I anticipated that the question might be
more than just what we were having for breakfast the next morning.
“Mr. Rice said something at the BBQ tonight about tomorrow
being Patriot Day.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I heard some other people talk about it before at church.
Is it some sort of holiday, Papa?”
“Well, sort of…Not exactly.” I hadn’t anticipated a question
about this topic, even though I’d
been reminded about the tenth anniversary of September 11 all week. I knew my
answer wasn’t going to be satisfactory to Patrick, and before I’d gotten
anything else out, he was already looking for more.
“Well Papa, if it isn’t a holiday, then why is it on the
calendar, and why is there a name for it?”
“You saw it on the calendar too, huh?”
“Yeah. September 11. That’s tomorrow.”
“So it is.”
“But Papa, you still haven’t told me what it’s all about.”
“Well,” I paused for a moment, not sure how to delve into
telling my young son about one of the most evil, horrific terrorist acts in
history.
“Well, it’s a day we remember something that happened 10
years ago, something actually very sad. You see, Patrick, on September 11,
2001, a group of men took over some airplanes and flew them into some big
buildings in New York City, and in Washington D.C. They took over one more
airplane that ended up crashing in Pennsylvania.”
Patrick processed this for a few moments. “You mean on
purpose, Papa?”
“Yes, Patrick. On purpose.”
“Were a lot of people hurt?”
I paused again, not quite sure how to communicate the
incomprehensible.
“Yes, Patrick. A lot of people were not only hurt. A lot of
people were killed.” I paused again, thinking of how to give my son an idea of
just how large the number of the casualties of 9/11 was. “Almost as many people
died as who live in our town.” Patrick was intrigued with demographics, even at
this young age, so I knew he already had our town’s population statistic down
pat.
“3,000 people, Papa?” he asked in astonishment.
“Just about.”
He was silent again, this time much longer.
“Papa?”
“Yes, son?”
“Why did those men do that to all those people?”
I’d figured this question would come, but I was still
deciding how to answer it. How would I give an 8-year-old an answer to that
question without going into a hundred other topics along the way? How could I
explain to him the roots and nature of Islamic aggression? How did I explain to
him the concept of national sin and God’s judgment for it? How did I explain to
him the paradox of God’s sovereignty and man’s responsibility for his actions? “Lord,”
I silently prayed, “how do I tell a little boy the answer to a question I’m
still figuring out myself?”
Meantime, Patrick repeated his question. “Papa, why?” he
insisted. “Why would those men want to make all those people die?”
In a moment, a clear answer came to my mind.
“Because they believed in a lie, son.”
“Huh?” Patrick queried.
“Patrick, the men who flew those planes in those buildings
and killed all those people, didn’t know Jesus. You know that Jesus wants us to
be kind and loving, even to those who are mean to us. Well, these men believed
that they would be following their god by killing people who didn’t follow
their god. Pretty scary, huh?”
Patrick was silent for a few seconds. “But why would they
ever believe that?”
“Well son, when you don’t believe the truth, you’ll believe
just about anything. Because these men believed a lie, they ended up doing something
pretty dreadful.”
I paused for a moment. It was indeed unthinkable that the
Islamic jihadists who perpetrated the attacks of September 11 were convinced
that they were performing acts of holy war, pleasing to Allah, and meriting
salvation. What a horrible shock they must have had to discover the opposite
was true. But there was another side of the 9/11 attacks I wanted my son to
understand.
“But you know what, Patrick?”
“What?”
“Those men weren’t the only ones who were believing a lie
that day.”
“They weren’t, Papa?”
“No. You see, son, our country had been turning away from
what is true for many years before those men did what they did. In fact,
Patrick, a lot of people in our country had begun to think that we didn’t really
need God anymore. We were smart enough, had enough money, and a big enough army
to take care of ourselves. We didn’t need to listen to God.”
“That’s pretty dumb,” Patrick replied quickly.
“Well, yes it is. But it’s what we often do as people,
Patrick. We tend to forget we need God every day, every moment. We each need
Him, and we need Him as a country. But we’d stopped believing that.”
“So when those men flew those planes into those buildings
and killed all those people, it helped us remember that we needed God?”
“That’s right, son. It helped many of us to understand that
just because we might have the most freedom, the most money, and the biggest
army of any other country in the world, we still needed the God of Heaven’s
help and protection.”
“And that we still need to follow what He wants us to do,”
Patrick added. Once again, I marveled at his understanding. “So Papa,” Patrick
continued, “have the people in America stopped believing those lies and started
believing in the truth again?”
I paused once again. My initial thought was to tell him what
he probably could already conclude from his 8-year-old deductive abilities. No,
most Americans were still believing a lot of the same lies they’d believed before
9/11. A trip to the local mall was proof of that. But as I gave it more
thought, I realized that there was more than that to tell my young son.
“Patrick, sadly, most Americans are still believing lies.
But at the same time, there are many, many people in our country who love Jesus
and who are telling others the truth. And even though they may not seem like
very many compared to everyone else, God is using those people to help many
Americans to stop believing Satan’s lies, and come to know Jesus.”
“You mean like Mr. Ham and the big Creation Museum we saw
last year that tells people about Genesis?”
“That’s right.”
“And Mr. Bowers who brings food and tracts to people who don’t
have very much money?”
“Yep.”
“And Pastor Sam who preaches from the Bible every week?”
“Yes, Patrick, and all the families at church, and in many churches
and places all across the country that are teaching their children about Jesus
and His Word and who are telling others about Him through all kinds of ways.
Like Mrs. Jones who helps ladies who don’t have a husband to help them take
care of their babies. And the Roberts family who pick all those kids up for church
who don’t have parents who can take them. And you know what else, Patrick?”
“What?”
“Jesus is also using people here in America and in many
other places in the world to help people like those men who flew the planes on
September 11, come to know Jesus too. And many of them are.”
“That’s pretty super, Papa!”
“Yes, it is.”
Our ride home was almost through, but we hadn’t pulled into
the driveway before Patrick made one final observation.
“Hey Papa?”
“Yes?”
“I think I know what Patriot Day is all about now.”
I smiled. “You do?”
“Yeah. It’s about helping people know about God’s truth, so
that they can be free, like the Bible says. Then those men won’t fly airplanes
into buildings anymore, and America will always remember to follow God.”
I turned around to look at my son. “I think that’s about the
best anyone has ever put it, buddy.”
That night, in the wee hours of 9/11/2011, I lay awake
pondering my conversation with the
8-year-old sage. The notes of a song, blaring from a distant radio somewhere in
our rural neighborhood, drifted through the open window and into our bedroom.
It was a patriotic tune, and with a little effort, I could make out the words:
In
the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea
with
a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me.
As
He died to make men holy, let us live to make men free,
while
God is marching on.
“May it be so, Lord Jesus,” I quietly prayed. “May it be so
indeed.”
