Less than one hour after the Sept. 11, 2001 terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center’s twin towers in Manhattan and the Pentagon in Washington, D.C., Southern Baptist volunteers mobilized and began providing relief for victims, family members and the New York City community, in particular, at large.
And, when the Southern Baptist Convention (SBC) ministry response officially ended 319 days later, Southern Baptists’ legacy of love had a major impact as Southern Baptists volunteered in amazing numbers—3,800 in all from 32 conventions—to pray with and comfort survivors, serve a meal to recovery workers, clean apartments and distribute teddy bears and other stuffed animals to children who had lost a parent or to weary police officers and firefighters to take home and give to their own children.
Oklahoma disaster relief volunteers served a total of more than 500 days and prepared and served 112,965 meals in response to the attacks, Porter said.
Among the first to be called on was a group of chaplains from Oklahoma.
“They want us to come as quickly as possible,” Sam Porter, then-Director of Oklahoma Baptist Disaster Relief (DR) said at mid-day Sept. 11, as he scrambled to organize a response. “We’ll be responsible for assessing the situation and setting up the SBC’s chaplaincy response to this tragedy; it’s going to be so massive a job that we’ll be trying to get a handle on quickly to get it under way. It’s overwhelming to think about it.”
Porter hustled to assemble a response team from Oklahoma to help get the job done. Also packing their bags for New York were Leslie Sias, who was a chaplaincy specialist; Paul Bettis, who was prison chaplaincy consultant, and Jack Poe, then-Oklahoma City police chaplain. Accompanying the group was Baptist Messenger managing editor Bob Nigh, who got “on-the-job” chaplain training over the next two weeks. Nigh later became the third North American Mission Board (NAMB)-endorsed disaster relief chaplain in the U.S. and the first in Oklahoma.
Also, Joe Williams, former Oklahoma Baptists chaplaincy and community ministry specialist, was called to New York as a a chaplain with the FBI.
Relying on God to direct their path and provide a place for ministry in New York City, the Lord acted quickly in providing a private jet from Northwest Aero Services in Enid for Porter, Sias and Poe to fly to New York. Northwest Aero owner Elaine Johns arranged for Steven Epstein, a Jewish businessman with ventures in New York and Enid, to pay for the fuel.
When the national commercial air flights ban was lifted, Bettis and Nigh grabbed a flight to Newark, N.J., just across the Hudson River from Manhattan, and were picked up by the other three Oklahomans in a rented van and headed for the site of the World Trade Center.
“We will be situated at ground zero right at the heart of the destruction in south Manhattan,” Porter said as he prepared to depart for Manhattan. “In addition to setting up counseling services, we will likely be contacting New York City churches that could be used to house SBC feeding units from the four state conventions which have been activated,” he noted. “Those units will prepare approximately 40,000 meals per day.”
God also opened the door for the chaplain’s ministry, even enlisting a ”providential gatekeeper” to allow the Oklahomans direct access to what was to become known as Ground Zero in Manhattan.
Making their way to the south toward Ground Zero from their hotel in New York on foot, the chaplains encountered hundreds of bewildered New Yorkers who were virtually lost amid the towering skyscrapers as their old, familiar landmarks—the twin 110-story World Trade Center (WTC) towers—no longer were visible in the Manhattan skyline. The chaplains edged closer to the site of the terrorist attack and eventually walked up to the first checkpoint at the extreme edge of the perimeter which had been established by NYC emergency officials.
Each of the chaplains wore their official OSBDR ID badges dangling from a yellow lanyard around their necks—except Poe, who had donned his blue uniform and OKCPD ID and helmet—and wore distinctive white hard hats with the SBC disaster relief logo displayed on each side. Familiar yellow DR windbreaker jackets completed their ensemble.
It began to look like Porter and the others were going to have to abandon their mission to get to Ground Zero when a New York City police lieutenant inside the perimeter gate came up to them as they peered through the chain link fence which cordoned off the street and greeted them after seeing their “chaplain” hard hats.
“Are you guys tired? Do you need to get some rest?” the officer asked.
After doing double takes at each other, Porter finally said, “No sir. We’re just now getting here and hope to be able to minister to first responders and others at the site.”
“You’re not hearing me,” the lieutenant said firmly. “You guys look like you can use some rest. I’ve got some cots inside a nearby school where you can take a break.”
The officer’s message finally connected with the group, and after motioning for the group to follow him through the checkpoint, the officer led them inside the school building, pointed out the cots in a room, and said, “OK. Now that you’re inside the perimeter, head south and go do God’s work.”
Over the next two weeks, the Oklahoma group never encountered that officer again as they walked to Ground Zero each day and went through the strata of checkpoints again and again.
The Oklahoma contingent took on a duty none of them really cherished—providing prayer support in the temporary morgue. It was a duty, nevertheless, that none of them was readily willing to surrender, either.
The north entry to the World Financial Plaza on Vesey St., a portal normally traveled by shoppers, tourists and business-people, had been turned into a causeway used by firefighters, police officers and an army of other rescue and recovery workers to make their way south and east to “the pile,” a mountain of 1.2 million tons of debris left behind when the towers collapsed. Pedestrian traffic flow was continuous as platoons of men and women marched in long rows either in or out.
These going in walked with a spring in their step, many of them carrying shovels, sledgehammers or ropes, their faces full of anticipation and hope; those coming out walked a bit more wearily, their shoulders stooped and aching from the long hours of either digging and clawing through rubble, or from standing in “bucket brigades,” helping to remove the debris under which thousands of people were buried. Their haggard faces were drenched in sweat, their clothing coated by the ubiquitous cloud of dust that covered everything.
A few feet away stood the chaplains’ duty station, a small area screened from public view by white plastic tarp walls. The temporary morgue was a private place of honor and respect. Each black body bag carrying the remains of someone who had died was accompanied either by either firefighters or law enforcement officers. Identified firefighters often were escorted by an entourage of members of the company with whom the victim served.
They reached the temporary morgue and encountered a catholic priest from Washington, D.C. who had been serving there since the day of the terrorist attack. He needed to return to Washington and was seeking someone to take over the detail. Porter volunteered to organize the available chaplains on site and establish a schedule. Eight-hour shifts were set up, with either a Catholic, Episcopalian or Greek Orthodox priest paired with a Southern Baptist partner. Two pairs were assigned to each shift; one duo served at the morgue, while the other went to the “pile” to minister to those who were recovering the bodies of victims. That schedule remained in place for the bulk of two days until chaplains from other states arrived to help.
The mix was essential, considering that out of 14,000 New York City firefighters—about 85 percent—were Roman Catholics.
The presence of Southern Baptist chaplains from Oklahoma seemed to visibly lift the spirits of the men and women whose lives had been shattered beyond belief by the events of the previous four days. Their eyes often lit up when they saw the word “Oklahoma” on the group’s bright, yellow windbreaker jackets and hard hats. They reached out to them in gratitude as they did their best to try to provide a comforting or encouraging word.
Meanwhile, the smoke continued to rise over Ground Zero.
