Taken from: Christianity Today

Where I Minister, Grace Abounds Over Sin
At Ground Zero, a New York pastor strives to be a symbol that God is present and available.

by Tony Carnes


September 24, 2001

Editor's note:
The Rev. Richard Del Rio is the head of Abounding Grace Ministries in New York City and was among the first pastors on site after the World Trade Center towers collapsed on September 11. He ministered among firefighters, police, and rescue workers. He described his experiences for ct senior news writer Tony Carnes at the Port Authority Police Crisis Command Post at Ground Zero. Across from them stood a chart listing missing officers and recovered dead officers. The chart included a prayer writ large: "Lord, my brothers have lost their way. Give me the strength to bring them home."

I always ask the local police precinct where the toughest drug-crime corners are and then set up our ministry truck right there.

So, when the World Trade Center towers were attacked, I instinctively thought that that was the place where I could pastor effectively. Besides, our ministry's trucks feature the towers outlined in red, and as a construction-company owner, I had helped to build the towers. It was personal. That's my building and those were our guys getting destroyed out there.

I dropped my toast, ran out and jumped on my big hog, a Harley-Davidson Electra Glide. On the way, I put on my pastor's collar and police identification tag.

Ash, Debris, and Fire Hoses

Coming down FDR Drive on the east side of Manhattan, I rolled through the smoke at Houston Street, then the ash piled up, beginning at the Fulton Street Fish Market. Rolling off the drive, I parked my hog because there were too many obstructions for a cycle.

Right away, a cop came running up. "Father, can you come over here and bless these body parts?"

He had mistaken me for a priest, but I came over. There was a torso, a detached head, shoulders, and a leg all piled up. I prayed with him, while cars exploded and burning papers floated through the air. All around us, cops and firefighters with looks of utter despair were running through the roar of noise and the awful smell.

After praying, I then joined the stream of rescuers. I had hardly gone a block when an Asian woman came running out of a novelty store, crying, "Please help me! My husband is in a wheelchair and trapped!"

The store was filled with ash and smoke, but the old guy still had a little fight in him. He insisted, "I'll be okay." Of course, he wasn't and he couldn't move his wheelchair through all the ash, debris, and fire hoses.

I told him, "Don't even try! You can't get there by yourself. Let me try." It was tough to get him out, but we made it over to a safe zone.

I went back to join up with some cops from my home precinct, the Ninth. They were trying to dig out a police van so that they could drive to the World Trade Center site. We used bottled tea to clean the windows and [bottled] nectar to fill the radiator. We got it going and made it to pretty close to the site. There was just utter devastation on the way. A bridge had fallen on a fire truck and had crushed it down to 2 feet high.

We hopped out and struggled through the ash and smoke. On my right was the cemetery of St. Paul's Church. Some of the tombstones had been blasted down, and all around them were little fires like burning bushes in the cemetery. There were men's and women's shoes scattered around.

I also passed my friend's church, Faith Exchange Fellowship. It was in a building next door to the Marriott Hotel. A fire was raging in it, but I was pretty sure that my friend had gotten out.

No One to Be Found

Going up with hundreds of rescuers, we scoured the Pile, as it came to be called, for anybody moving or any sound. There just was not time to think, but I kept praying to myself.

It was an indescribable and pathetic sight. Someone would call out, "Move this!" Someplace else on the Pile, another person would cry, "Over here! Bring a ladder!" Sometimes, when we pushed a big piece of metal over, fire would come whooshing out. It was hard to listen for cries of survivors because of the roar, yelling, popping, and the sloshing of the fire hoses.

And we didn't find anyone. There wasn't anyone to be found.

So, I went back to the morgue, which was being set up in the Brooks Brothers clothing store. Unbelievably, some of the dummies were still standing in the windows. They were elegantly dressed, with their shoes laid out, and all of it was covered by the white ash from the death of the towers.

Inside, there was one body in a dark green bag laid off to the side. People were trying to clear out space, so I grabbed a shovel to make a path out front.

I remembered back to when I was a young punk kid, messing with girls and drugs, and how Arlene, who became my wife of 28 years, told me about the Lord. Now, I wondered, What can I say? There was no joking around and little conversation. The rescuers really just needed someone to be there. So, I thought, That is what I'll be, a presence and a symbol that God is present and available. I kept praying to myself for everyone. For a week, I only slept an hour or two or three a day.

Of course, the rescuers would come up to me for comfort and prayer. I didn't realize at the time that I was the only pastor there. I found out latter that the firemen's priest [Mychal Judge] had been killed. I made the prayers simple so that the men and women could remember and repeat them later.

Worse than Vietnam

A few days into the rescue effort, a big, burly fireman came over. I put my arm around his shoulders and asked, "How are you doing?"

He told me, "Rough. I was in Vietnam, and this is worse."

I noticed that he had numbers tattooed in different places on his body, so I asked what they stood for.

"That's my Social Security Number," he said, "because there is no guarantee that they can identify me if I am in parts."

I was stunned. Not knowing what else to say, I asked him if he would like to pray. He said, "Yes," and started weeping. As we prayed, he called out, "Jesus, save me!"

I was absolutely unprepared for this catastrophe. Most everyone in the church was. And I am absolutely changed by it. Perhaps we all are. The people are gone. That's the reality—that will hit us. But Jesus gives abounding grace even where sin has reigned unto death.