Writing in the Dust: After September 11

It is rare that one reads a book and finds one's self without words at the end; it is rare - for this reader, at least - to feel a need to re-read the conclusion of a book because something has been stated at the end that must be grasped but isn't on the first reading. It is rare that the conclusion of a book would be - again, for this reader - so utterly profound and unexpected that I simply sat in my local coffee shop, staring at the book that I was holding in my hands before I realized in my fog that I had to re-read Williams' conclusion. The breathing space that he pleads for in his conclusion comes unexpectedly; his reading of the story the Gospel of St. John was more than eye-opening: it was like an unexpected flash of light that left me momentarily dazed. You can read this book in a single sitting as it is a short read. Williams begins with discussing his own time in New York when the towers were hit and subsequently fell; he then digresses a bit and discusses various ways of engaging - and not engaging - the problems raised by 9/11. It is interesting to read the perspective of someone who lives in the UK; this book was written before the USA invaded Iraq, but since the UK was the USA'a main ally in the "war on terrorism", one gets an insight into some of the discussions that were going on in the UK before the invasion. Williams - thank God - is not a thinker who is easy to classify. He think outside of and beyond both "liberal" and "conservative" boxes (which Christianity, at its best, always does); if one may borrow a statement from Pope John Paul II, the Christian is to be a "sign of contradiction" to the secular world - and Williams gracefully is. His main concern in this book is to not merely request but to plead for some breathing space in the aftermath of the attacks. This breathing space is not necessarily pacifism and nowhere does Williams call for pacifism; he notes that there is a time for war. Yet, we must be equally on guard against any desire to find a scapegoat - be it a nation, a people, an ideology, whatever - so that we can again feel in control (especially when we aren't - and let's be honest: we never really are in control). Yet, it is the way the book ends that implants it so deeply in my mind, heart and imagination. Williams offers a short reflection on a passage in the Gospel of John, when the adulterous woman is brought before Christ and before a crowd that is ready to stone her for her sin. What does Christ do? He writes in the dust. As Williams put it, this happens before both judgement and forgiveness; it is this writing in the dust that gives the chance for some of our demons "to walk away." Like many of the Archbishop's other books, I highly recommend reading this one as well. Given the increased tension in the current political climate - which will only increase as the Presidential election nears - Williams' book is a good place to find that breathing space that exists on the doorstep of both

In this small, meaningful text, `Writing in the Dust: After September 11', Archbishop Rowan Williams presents a quick and poignant response to the tragedy that befell not just America, but the entire world, on September 11, 2001. He happened to be in New York City at the time, at Trinity Church Wall Street, just a few blocks away from the devastation as the events took place. He wrote this book reflecting on his eyewitness accounts in the following few weeks. It is not an academic text, nor is it a programmatic text, but rather, it is an extended meditation, and a very personal account of grief, anger, and finally, hope. It is near the end of the text that Williams highlights the story that immediately came to mind for me, and that is of Jesus writing in the dust as the crowd gathered to stone the prostitute. In the gospel of John, many different interpretations have been given to explain Jesus' curious actions in that story. Why did he write in the dust? What did he write? Of course, dust was all around in New York City that day, the dust and grit of debris from the once proud towers and planes that became a symbol of terror and mortality. But writing in the dust, Williams says, is something perishable, too. Something that will not last. In the days following the attacks, America was ready for war. Had there been a clearly defined target and enemy, America surely would have gone to extraordinary lengths for revenge. The murkiness of the situation left America struggling to find an adequate response, a response still being debated, now years later. A lot of talk in the past has focused upon the warlike nature of specific religions, countered by historical examples of our own cultures, religious and quasi-religious. This leads to accusation and counter-claim -- has it led to any real introspection on the part of our culture? Of course, part of the problem with this introspection is that it is impractical for the most part. It also lacks the emotive power and emotional satisfaction of a call for vengeance. When people asked, as they continued to ask, where was God during those moments, theologians of every stripe struggle to find an answer that is at both emotionally and intellectually satisfying. Williams has elements of major modern theological schools in his own theology, including process theological ideas. Williams continues beyond this to discuss the impact on those of us in the West who misinterpret the intentions of Muslim peoples, perhaps deliberately. He discusses a general worldview in which the virtues of the past, the 'just war' and the ideas of heroism and patriotism are in fact more fully exemplified in terrorists like Al-Qaeda and the IRA than in those they combat. The evolution of conflict from World-War types of clearly-defined battlelines logistically and politically have given way to a rather messy world in which the sands shift too quickly for easy answers to have general applicability. He also addresses a certain sense of fut

William's short yet vivid essay on the events of 9/11 is a theological gem. While many clerics in mainline churches quickly jump on political bandwagons in crises like these, Williams offers profound theology which speaks directly to the soul. A must.

In this haunting and deeply meditative reflection, Rowan Williams has introduced a badly needed "breathing space" into the furious debate surrounding the events of 9/11. "Breathing space," in fact, is the central theme that runs through his little book--breathing space as a moment in which time seems to cease, we are caught in a void, and ordinary worries that involve self-concern and competition are momentarily suspended. Our general strategy is to rush to fill the void; humans (even if not nature) abhor a vacuum. But Williams encourages us to explore the void, to let it speak to us, to take time to explore its contours, and to allow ourselves the time to think deeply and honestly and compassionately about 9/11.If we embrace the void--the break in our usual ways of thinking about the world--created by 9/11, we just might rethink our conventional attitudes to retaliatory violence, to heroism, to globalism, and to how we relate to strangers. These are the four themes Williams so provocatively explores. Retaliatory violence may give us the illusion of control, but it doesn't resolve the brokenness that gives rise to violent eruptions in the first place. Heroism, as displayed for example by fire fighters and cops in NYC on 9/11, is frequently anonymous and "ordinary," rather than the dramatic, fireworks-like military display our culture teaches us to crave. The global village has shrunk the world to such an extent that we can no longer deny that whatever we do in this country impacts the world and will bring consequences (deserved or not) back upon us. Consequently, we need to examine our conventionally bordered definitions of responsibility. Finally, people ought to be seen as they are in themselves, rather than as we symbolically recreate them to fit into our preconceived paradigms. Terrorists see Americans as spawn of the Great Satan; we see terrorists as agents of inexplicable, unprovoked evil. With these symbols hiding our true faces from one another, how can genuinely empathic dialogue begin\ between cultures and peoples? If you're looking for quick solutions to the horror and grief that began (for Americans) on 9/11, this book isn't for you. But if you're in search of a companion who will help you reflect deeply on the implications of 9/11, read Williams. It might be especially instructive to compare his message to William Bennett's in the recently released *Why We Fight.* The two go in completely opposite directions.