Ascending by Steps

Fr. Scott Haynes

A Meditation on Psalm 84 for September 11

“My soul longeth and fainteth for the courts of the Lord. My heart and my flesh have rejoiced in the living God…. Blessed are they that dwell in thy house, O Lord: they shall praise thee for ever and ever. Blessed is the man whose help is from thee: in his heart he hath disposed to ascend by steps…. The Lord will give grace and glory.”— Psalm 84:3–6, 12

Twenty-five years ago today, on September 11, 2001, an ordinary Tuesday morning suddenly became a day of unimaginable suffering. Men and women went to work. Travelers boarded airplanes. Firefighters reported to their stations. Police officers began their shifts. Families said goodbye without knowing that, for thousands of them, those ordinary words would be their last words on earth.

Today the words of the Psalm seem to carry a particular weight:

“My soul longeth and fainteth for the courts of the Lord.”

For those who died that morning, earthly life ended with terrifying suddenness. Some had only minutes to understand what was happening. Some had no warning at all. Yet the Christian looks upon death with a hope that reaches beyond what can be seen. We pray that those whose earthly dwelling was taken from them so violently may have found the dwelling spoken of by the Psalmist:

“Blessed are they that dwell in thy house, O Lord: they shall praise thee for ever and ever.”

There is another line in this Psalm that is almost impossible to hear on September 11 without thinking of what happened inside the World Trade Center: “In his heart he hath disposed to ascend by steps.”

On that morning, thousands were trying to descend the stairways of the burning towers toward safety. But another group was going in the opposite direction.

They were climbing.

Firefighters carrying heavy equipment climbed step after step toward the fire. Police officers, emergency personnel, and ordinary civilians helped strangers down while they themselves continued upward. Many knew that the danger was increasing with every floor. Nevertheless, they climbed because somewhere above them were people who needed help.

The Psalm speaks of the spiritual life as an ascent. Holiness is rarely reached in one dramatic leap. We ascend by steps: one prayer, one sacrifice, one act of forgiveness, one decision to remain faithful, one act of charity offered when it would be easier to turn away.

On September 11, that image became frighteningly literal.

There were men climbing staircases toward people they had never met. They did not ask whether those people were rich or poor, important or unknown, believers or unbelievers. They knew only that human lives were in danger, and so they climbed.

Christ Himself gives us the measure of such love:

“Greater love than this no man hath, that a man lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13).

Some of those who climbed the stairs that morning would never come down again.

Yet there is something deeply Christian in the direction they chose. While instinct says, Save yourself, charity says, Someone needs me. While fear says, Go down, love sometimes says, Go up.

That does not mean that every person who died that day consciously thought of his actions in religious terms. God alone knows the secrets of each heart. But whenever a human being forgets himself in order to save another, we glimpse something of the sacrificial love revealed perfectly upon the Cross.

The Psalm continues:

“Blessed is the man whose help is from thee.”

September 11 also reminds us how fragile our earthly security really is. Buildings that appeared permanent disappeared within hours. Plans made for the afternoon were never fulfilled. People who expected to return home that evening entered eternity instead.

We spend much of life building our own little securities: our schedules, possessions, careers, homes, savings, ambitions and plans. These things have their proper place, but none of them can finally save us. There comes a moment when every human soul must stand before God with nothing except what it has become.

Perhaps this is why the image of the sparrow in the Psalm is so beautiful:

“For the sparrow hath found herself a house, and the turtle a nest for herself where she may lay her young ones: Thy altars, O Lord of hosts, my king and my God.”

The smallest bird seeks a place of safety. The human heart does the same. We search for somewhere permanent enough to hold the weight of our hopes and fears. Yet ultimately there is only one refuge that cannot collapse, burn, disappear or be taken from us.

God Himself.

And so today, twenty-five years after that terrible morning, remembrance should become prayer.

We remember those who died in New York, at the Pentagon, and aboard United Airlines Flight 93 in Pennsylvania. We remember firefighters, police officers, emergency workers, military personnel, office workers, passengers, flight crews and ordinary citizens. We remember families who waited for telephone calls that never came, children who grew up without parents, parents who buried children, and countless people whose lives were permanently changed.

But we do more than remember. We entrust them to God.

We ask the Lord whose mercy is greater than our understanding to receive the dead, console those who still grieve, and heal the wounds that hatred leaves behind. We also ask Him to protect our own hearts from hatred, because evil is not defeated when hatred simply passes from one heart into another.

The Psalm gives us a different road:

“For God loveth mercy and truth: the Lord will give grace and glory.”

Mercy and truth belong together. We do not pretend that evil is not evil. We do not forget injustice or call hatred something harmless. Truth requires us to name evil for what it is. Yet mercy refuses to allow evil to have the final word.

That is the Christian answer to September 11.

We remember. We mourn. We pray. And then we begin again to ascend.

Perhaps the most fitting memorial to those who climbed those stairways twenty-five years ago is that we ourselves should learn to climb the spiritual stairs placed before us. We may never be called to run into a burning building, but every day gives us smaller opportunities for courage. We can climb another step by forgiving someone. Another by helping a person in need. Another by returning to prayer. Another by going to Confession. Another by refusing bitterness. Another by performing a hidden act of charity. Another by choosing Christ when following Him costs us something.

The distance between earth and heaven is traveled through countless acts of fidelity.

“In his heart he hath disposed to ascend by steps.”

Twenty-five years ago, many climbed stairs to save others.

Today we pray that those who never descended those earthly stairs have completed a greater ascent and entered the courts for which every human soul was created.

And we ask God for the grace to continue climbing ourselves, step by step, until the longing of the Psalmist becomes our own eternal joy:

“Blessed are they that dwell in thy house, O Lord: they shall praise thee for ever and ever.”