Grace at Ground Zero
Written for Faith at Work 2002

I believe that grace overcomes karma. Bono

The man swaggered over to our Salvation Army tents and said in a bold voice, “Whaddaya got to drink tonight? Any beer? Ha, ha, ha! Ahh, I guess you guys are never gonna bring anything strong in to us are ya?”

This was our introduction to Frankie, a small, muscular, bony, Italian ironworker who evidently came every night for food, warm drinks, fellowship and solace. We had just arrived so he kindly came over to welcome us to the edge of Dante’s Inferno. “I just wanted to tell you guys you’re welcome to New York. Whereyafrom?”

Frankie was sensitive to our needs. He knew we were green as gourds and he wisely decided to make us comfortable as we entered into purgatory. Like most of the ironworkers, heavy equipment operators and truck drivers, Frankie had a tough exterior with a tender heart. Tattoos, short sleeves in cold, rainy weather and teary eyes.

“My old man built those towers and now I’m tearing them down. I just can’t believe it. All the years it took to put them up and they came down in a couple of hours.” He went on to proudly say that he still had his dad’s blueprints at home. “Back then they could put up three stories at a time but now they are only allowed to build two stories. That is why it is so hard to pull those long steel girders out.”

Every night on our 1:00 AM until 1:00 PM shift Frankie and his pals came over for food, warm shirts, waterproof parkas and TLC. He taught us about putting up and tearing down structures, building codes and how it felt to find half a body or only one arm. “Some of these guys can’t take it but I’m Ok,” he bragged one morning at about three.

The next morning, Frankie came in with eyes looking like two holes burned in a blanket. He discovered that we were counselors and he wanted to talk. “Hey doc, I need some help. I can’t sleep.” I gave him some hot chocolate to hold back the morning chill of a 45 degree wind and he let it all pour out.

“I’m working twelve hour shifts but I am too tired to work and too stressed to sleep. When I lay down I see things and I just can’t let myself go under. I don’t know what to do.” As he rambled I prayed silently for insight and wisdom. After about an hour of clarifying, nodding and sharing hot drinks, I asked him a question.

“Frankie, you have been talking about how difficult this work is but it doesn’t all make sense to me. May I ask you a couple of questions to help me understand better?”

“Sure,” he replied. “Shoot and see if you hit anything.”

“I am wondering if finding bodies here at Ground Zero brings back any memories of loss in your own life? Did any of your family members die when you were young?”

“Oh yeah. As a matter of fact, I lost both parents to a drunk driver when I was a kid of seven or eight. It was terrible. I never got to say goodbye.”

“How did you make it through that time? Did you have someone to support you?”

“My sister and brother raised me. They were great. I’m the youngest of the family and my married sister took me in. My big brother was a teenager and he was my hero.”

We spoke about that loss for a good while and Frankie teared up several times. Then he said, “Oh yeah. My brother was killed when I was fourteen. He died of a drug overdose.”

Frankie is a gutsy blue-collar guy who would never have thought about “grief counseling” until he met us over drinks and dry socks. He needed permission to admit that he couldn’t go on in the same old way but it took three days of friendship before he opened up to the pain that was there all along.

“Could you take a few days off to be with family?”

“I also lost them to divorce and a move to Georgia. I think about my kids a lot now and really miss them. All those guys just went to work and didn’t come home to see their kids any more. I don’t want to end up like that.”

“Well, do you think it would be a good idea to call them up and see if a trip to Atlanta is possible?” Frankie agreed that he needed to re-connect with the children he had not seen for a couple of years. “Thanks, doc. I’m going to go over to the Red Cross tent and call them on those free phones as soon as it gets daylight. It might be too early right now. At three in the morning they might not be too happy to hear from me.”

Frankie received the grace to overcome his karma of doubt and grief. Without a cup of cold water (or hot chocolate) in the name of Jesus (Matthew 10:42) he could have stayed in denial, depression and despair. However, with the cup came the grace, mercy and love of God sufficient to the task of restoring the soul of a little boy that lives within the heart of a hard-bitten iron-worker.

Ps. For all the ordinary people offering God's mercy to the survivors of the hurricane sisters, remember that it is God's goodness that leads us to repentance.