Embracing the Silence of the Cross With Our Lady of Sorrows
Twenty-two years ago on September 14, 2001, the Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, I walked into one of the darkest moments of my life. At the time, I was oblivious of the spiritual significance of it. I didn’t yet understand how my life will primarily be lived under the shadow of the Cross and that this would in many ways be the beginning of a journey with Our Lord and Our Lady of Sorrows on the Way of the Cross.
It was the day, a Friday that year, when I walked into a room to help hundreds of grieving family members whose loved ones had been murdered three days prior at the Pentagon when terrorists flew American Airlines Flight 77 into the side of the building killing 184 people. I was 20-years-old.
Most of us expect to live ordinary lives. We do not think we will be a part of world history making kinds of days. Days packed with immense spiritual significance in God’s Divine plan. We often forget to see that God is guiding every moment of our lives. He has every single millisecond—and smaller—in the palm of His hand. He is weaving a beautiful tapestry in our lives that we will only understand in the next life.
A profound journey into the heart of the Cross began that afternoon. If memory serves me, I arrived during the 3 o’clock hour: the Hour of Mercy. The first task I was assigned was to hand out roses to grieving families as they walked into the 4:00 pm briefing led by Lieutenant General Van Alstyne—who was in charge of the Pentagon Family Assistance Center where I served as a relief worker.
As Catholics, we know roses are very often a symbol and sign of Our Blessed Mother. It is no accident that my first task on that day when we lift high the Cross, late in the 3 o’clock hour, was to hand roses to those enduring the agony of the murder of their loved ones. An agony Our Blessed Mother knows more than any other human being created by God. What I didn’t understand until years later, is that a year prior to this moment, the Lord began laying the groundwork for leading me to understand that my place in this life is with Our Lady of Sorrows at the foot of the Cross enduring the silence of the Cross with others.
I enlisted in the U.S. Navy in September of 1999 on the Memorial St. Vincent de Paul. I ended up stationed at the Defense Language Institute after bootcamp and spent 15 months living in Monterey, California. On a bright, beautiful September afternoon—there seem to be a lot of those in my life—I was making a day trip with friends from Monterey to Big Sur down spectacular coastal Highway 1. We had just passed through Carmel when I spotted a beautiful monastery on the left hand side of the road situated across from the Pacific Ocean. It was at the base of Mount Carmel in California. It was in a picturesque location near where the mountain meets the sea. A “thin place” as Celtic saints would have called it.
God’s plans are so much greater than we can imagine or understand. I was not practicing my Catholic Faith at the time, but He had plans to lead me to Himself. Like so many of my generation, I was sacramentalized, but never truly evangelized. I had reduced the Faith to an intellectual pursuit. I read a lot of theological works, but I rarely went to Mass. I was haunted by Catholicism, but didn’t know how to be a disciple.
As we drove by, I asked my friends—who were not Catholic—if we could stop at the monastery. I was nervous because I didn’t know if we should be there, but I felt a magnetic pull to the place. It was September 1, 2000. I know this because I found an old photograph with the date stamped on it from a time that didn’t yet know smartphones.
