This day is never an easy one for me.  I, like anyone who lived in Washington DC, or New York, or a little town in Pennsylvania called Shanksville, have my personal story to tell about that day.  That, however, is not the story I want to tell today as we remember the events of 15 years ago.  I want to tell you the story of a man whose name I do not know, a man working in a TSA line, in Columbus, OH.

I was in Ohio (really in Gambier not in Columbus, but that was the nearest airport) to participate in the Kenyon Institute’s Beyond Walls spiritual writing program.  The program was over and I will admit that I was somewhat desperate to get home, because I had just found out that my beloved dog was very sick.  Now, most people who live in DC would have driven to Gambier, but I did not.  I flew, because I do not really like to do a long drive alone.  Imagine my frustration when all flights were cancelled out of the Columbus airport that Saturday evening.  I had rushed to get from Gambier to Columbus, I had turned in my rental car, and now, lucky me, I had the opportunity to spend the night in the airport Marriott and leave on the 6 am flight the next morning.

That’s right.  6 AM.  But it did mean that I would be home for breakfast.

And so, the next day, I rose at 4 am, boarded the first shuttle from the hotel to the airport (along with my fellow travelling companions, also spending an unexpected night at the hotel), and began to walk through the usual airport boarding process.  As I reached the security machine, there was, well, a stall in the festivities.  To my right stood a very serious looking TSA agent, fidgeting with a pair of glasses, and looking nervously at me, as if I might yell at him because of the delay.  He apologized for the delay, told me that they were switching machine operators, and that it would be just a moment before we could continue the process.  I smiled at him, and, offhandedly said, “Don’t worry.  I have plenty of time.”

You never know when a small comment will open the flood gates.  Apparently, those are not words that he often hears, because, hearing them, he began to share his story.  He wished that more people would leave enough time for security.  He wished that more people would be friendly as they went through security.  After all, he just wanted to do his job and keep all of us safe.

This man, you see, knew someone working at one of the airports that boarded the 9/11 hijackers.  He knew someone who had killed themselves because of the guilt.  And he, himself, this relatively ordinary young man, felt the responsibility of his job every single moment.  He just wanted to keep us, those of us in his line, as safe as he could.  He said it, over and over, as if no one had ever listened to him before.

The line began to move again, and I saw (out of the corner of my eye) that indeed, he was the person about to step up to the machine.  It was his responsibility, for the next hour, to look at that screen and judge what we had all packed into our overstuffed bags — to judge whether or not this or that was a hair dryer or a pen or a pair of headphones OR something that needed to be stopped. I saw him take his place on the stool.  He paused, held his glasses firmly in his hand, took a deep breath and raised those glasses to his eyes.  He locked his focus on that screen, and began his work, yet again.

He did his job; he kept me safe.  And he reminded me that we must never, ever lose sight of the humanity of all those around us.  I am certain that he has long ago forgotten me, but I will not forget him.

I am a person who travels often, and, I can tell you, I have taken my safety for granted many times, despite the fact that I too lived through the events of 9/11.  I never will again, however.

So on this 9/11, this 15th anniversary of a terrible day in my lifetime, a day when so many things changed, I will remember differently.  Yes, I will remember the pain and confusion of that day, I will remember the feeling of the earth moving as an airplane hit the Pentagon, just a couple of miles from my home.  But I will also take time to remember the countless thousands who have worked each and every day to make my life comfortable and without fear.  I will remember those who fight battles that I cannot see, and those who carry the mantle of decisions that I cannot begin to imagine.  And I will pray for them, and the world, and do what little I can to seek the peace and love that is the foundation of everything I believe and hold dear.