I feel very much as The Reverend Joseph Griesedieck felt before he went to Ground Zero. Fr. Griesedieck, an Episcopal priest in Manhattan, was interviewed by the PBS series "Frontline." "Frontline" recently aired an edition entitled "Faith and Doubt at Ground Zero," which will be rebroadcast this week. In it, he tells "Frontline": "I realized that I couldn't talk about what was going on unless I was a part of it, unless I had the dirt on me...I didn't want to preach about something I hadn't experienced firsthand, because I didn't believe I had any credibility to truly discuss the depth of what had happened unless I actually saw it."

Unlike Fr. Griesedieck, however, I never actually saw it, at least not up front and personal like he did. But I am grateful for his words, for I stand in relation to him as all of us stand in relation to Doubting Thomas of old, who dared to touch the wounds so that "we who have not seen" may "yet come to believe."

Fr. Griesedieck, who is just two years older than I, decided to volunteer with the recovery effort just days after the attack. "I wanted to put some flesh on what I was saying; little did I know what I'd find," he says. The story he tells is hard for me to repeat. Like a good Episcopalian, I even questioned whether it was in good taste to do so. Yet in its graphic representation of reality, it bears some resemblance to the bloody and violent stories of the crucifixion, stories that must have been just as difficult for the first witnesses to tell, if not more so, yet all the more important to pass along for the truth such stories convey.

At one point, Fr. Griesedieck found himself standing atop a pile of rubble. He says:

By this time, I had ash all over me. Then another rescue worker said to me, "Father, we need you over here." … I went over to where the rescue worker called me, and he said, "We need you to bless the buckets." I didn't know what he was talking about until the first bucket was put under my nose.

As I looked into the bucket, I saw the unspeakable. I saw a forearm. It was clear to me that the whole of humanity was represented in that one bucket, because there were parts of various individuals together. It was much like a crude burial service. The only thing I could do was add some semblance of dignity to a rather undignified situation. So I made the sign of the cross over the buckets as they came to me, holding my breath, numb, but all the same trying to add some sense of dignity to a horrible situation. I asked one rescue worker, "That was a body part?" And he said, like a robot, "Yes, Father," and on he went to the next bucket. I realized then that I was in the right place. ...

There was an effort to handle the body parts with care, even at this point. So the smallest little body part was given its own bucket at times. Even if only a little piece was found, it was given its own bucket, and it was passed along from person to person. Then it was deposited at my feet, where I made sure I looked at it and made a sign of the cross over it and said a prayer silently. I felt nauseated, sad, angry, confused, and completely lost. Yet I knew I was supposed to be there. I knew that somehow this ministry I have was being forged on the fires of that heap of Ground Zero.

So the body parts continued to be passed, and they were small. The largest piece of human remains I saw was the size of the forearm, which didn't look like a forearm. ...When I looked into the first bucket that was passed before me, I looked into it and I couldn't believe what I was seeing -- flesh, bone, and muscle covered with ash. It didn't look human, but I knew that it was... As I looked deeper into the bucket, I was convinced of a truth that I had always paid lip service to, but now knew was undeniable and as real as it gets: that we are all one. It doesn't matter what our race, creed, gender, or background happens to be. We're all one. We live together; ultimately, we all die together. ...

After I blessed the buckets, they were then passed on to particular body bags where they were taken off. But what kept striking me was the care these big, burly rescue workers were taking in making sure that the human remains were given their own sense of dignity, their own special place apart from the steel and the dirt and the grit and the ash. ...

I know enough by now -- and I knew this then -- that words could be cheap. So I didn't go there with Christian platitudes. I knew better than that. I went there to be a presence, to help. I hoped to show that somehow God hasn't given up on us. I certainly saw that through those who were working alongside of me, handling human remains without complaining, helping each other, supporting each other…

So what compelled me to leave the parish and go to Ground Zero was to truly get a sense of what it is we proclaim in the church, what we supposedly believe as Christians, which is that resurrection follows crucifixion, in a way that's real and connects with real people, and has meaning, and is upfront and close to the pain and death. But how can I proclaim resurrection if I haven't been up close to the crucifixion? ...

Through this story, and many like it, we are drawn up close to the crucifixion. And I hope we are drawn up close to the resurrection as well.

So here we are, a year later, farther away in time, but still too close for comfort. And what do we have to say? I look around and see signs of hope, but also signs of fear. I now live in a nation that knows it is not immune to the same kinds of suffering that people in other parts of the world have been enduring for years, decades, centuries, millennia. I now know that to "let love be genuine" is not an easy thing to do when we have seen terror. And yet, we are given these words today from Paul:

Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all. Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God; for it is written, "Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord." No, "if your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink; for by doing this you will heap burning coals on their heads." Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.

At Ground Zero, our enemies literally heaped burning coals on our heads, in the burning wreckage of fallen buildings, yet here we are told that to give our enemies food and drink is to do the same. The burning coals we are to heap upon our enemies are intended, if I understand Paul's quote from the Book of Proverbs correctly, to lead to the repentance of our enemies and our eventual reconciliation with them. Or, even if our own burning coals do not lead to reconciliation-after all, let's be realistic here: some folks will never want to be reconciled, no matter how much we feed and water them-we are still to meet evil with good. It is the only form of revenge Christians are legitimately afforded. For even without immediate results, I am convinced that Paul is right, that the only way to overcome evil is by doing good no matter what the cost.

Paul, after all, should know. For before he was Saint Paul, he was Saul: a Middle Eastern fundamentalist terrorist hell-bent on destroying the infidel Christians. Yet when he was struck blind on the Road to Damascus, burning coals were heaped on his head when the Christian, Ananias, came and laid hands on him and fed him. So at least there is some precedent for redemptive revenge. And that's something to ponder.

I had nothing to say this morning. But I hope, somehow, the right words were spoken. If nothing else, know that I'm glad you're here, and I trust that no matter what happens to us in the days ahead, we will continue to "love one another with mutual affection" in our plight to "let love be genuine." May God's blessing be with us always. Amen.