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Showing posts with label St. Paul's Chapel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label St. Paul's Chapel. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 31, 2008

The St. Paul's Chapel-New York (Part 2)

Here is a note about St. Paul's Chapel that made a history in the whole wide world.

For nearly a year after the 2001 attack on the World Trade Center, St. Paul's Chapel served as a relief mission for recovery workers at Ground Zero. Over 14,000 volunteers worked in 12 hour shifts to provide solace, comfort and care for 2,000 workers each day.

St. Paul's Chapel became the spiritual home of Ground Zero.

For many, it was the first time they had ever volunteered, and they discovered that one individual's efforts could indeed make a difference. The poet Chester Johnson was one of the many who came to St. Paul's offering his help to those who needed hope and healing. Like many who volunteered their time, he discovered that what he took away from this place of extraordinary ministry was far greater than what he brought in.

Saturday, December 20, 2008

The St. Paul's Chapel - New York (Part 1)



On November 29, 2008, I got the chance to visit St. Paul's Chapel. This chapel is so far Manhattan's oldest public building in continous use. There are long stories about this chapel that made itself a part of American and world book history when the 911 attack happened. There are so much things to be shared as well, but let me just share to you a poem by J. Chester Johnson that describes this chapel when that fateful day happened:

It stood. Not a window broken. Not a stone dislodged.
It stood when nothing else did.
It stood when terrorists brought September down.
It stood among myths. It stood among ruins.

To stand was its purpose, long lines prove that.
It stands, and around it now, a shrine of letters, poems, acrostics, litter of the heart.
It is the standing people want:
To grieve, serve and tend celebrate the lasting stone of St. Paul's Chapel.

And deep into its thick breath, the largest banner fittingly from Oklahoma climbs heavenward with hands as stars, hands as stripes, hands as a flag;
and a rescuer reaches for a stuffed toy to collect a touch;
and George Washington's pew doesn't go unused.

Charity fills a hole or two.

It stood in place of other sorts.
It stood when nothing else could.
The great had fallen, as the brute hardware came down.

It stood.