Twenty-five years after September 11, 2001, we remember a morning that changed the country and the lives of people around the world. We remember the nearly 3,000 people who were killed, the families who have carried their absence through a quarter century, and the first responders and ordinary citizens whose courage emerged amid unimaginable danger and mind-numbing uncertainty.

About a week after the attacks, President George W. Bush spoke of a nation wounded but united. In an address to Congress on September 20th, he described Americans lighting candles, giving blood, praying in English, Hebrew, and Arabic, and making “the grief of strangers their own.” He called the country to defend its freedoms, while also warning that no one should be targeted because of ethnic background or religious faith.

“We respect your faith,” President Bush said, speaking to Muslims listening. “It’s practiced freely by many millions of Americans, and by millions more in countries that America counts as friends.  Its teachings are good and peaceful, and those who commit evil in the name of Allah blaspheme the name of Allah.  The terrorists are traitors to their own faith, trying, in effect, to hijack Islam itself.  The enemy of America is not our many Muslim friends; it is not our many Arab friends.  Our enemy is a radical network of terrorists, and every government that supports them.”

At the Islamic Center of Washington several days earlier, President Bush had insisted that Muslim women should feel safe wearing their head coverings and that freedom of religion was central to the American cause. Today, it is more than noteworthy that the President went to the Center before he spoke to Congress, and that his spirit was one of reassurance that Americans’ humanity toward others would not be lost, even in the face of a horrific attack.

A quarter century later, those words and his actions remain a measure of the country we hope to be and a challenge to the country we are

Religious News Service Muslim columnist Dilshad Ali and Boston Globe Opinion columnist Garrett M. Graff see that clearly in their 9/11 reflections. President Bush’s promise on September 20th (met with Congressional applause) has not been fully honored. Muslim Americans face hate crimes, suspicion, surveillance, political scapegoating, and the enduring burden of being asked to prove that they belong. In the years since, we have seen the immigrant community fall victim to similar indignities. Hate has expanded in America.

We see this every day in the news as ICE raids, arrests, and the threat of detention have spread fear through immigrant communities across the country. Families have hesitated to go to work, shop for groceries, attend appointments, or move through their own neighborhoods. New research shows that fear reaches beyond immigrant households, contributing to sharp declines in visits to local businesses and inflicting more than a billion dollars in economic losses.

The human cost, of course, cannot be measured in lost revenue. It is found in the parent afraid to take a child to school, the worker reluctant to report for a shift, the neighbor who fears that a routine encounter could separate a family. When people are made to feel that their mere presence is grounds for suspicion, the damage extends through the whole community, permeates our psyche, and wounds our soul.

Tragically, today we find ourselves in a country edging ever closer to widespread rejection of human dignity as the foundation for our freedom, a principle which President Bush strenuously urged us to uphold even in dire circumstances. To remember September 11 honestly is to hold several truths together: that the attacks were an act of mass murder; that the victims came from many nations, religions, and communities; that Muslim Americans were among those who died and among those who responded; and that defending freedom requires protecting it for everyone.

The life and death of Father Mychal Judge offer another way to understand what we owe one another. A Franciscan priest and chaplain to the New York City Fire Department, Father Mychal was killed while ministering to firefighters at the World Trade Center. His was the first official death recorded that day.

In the remembrance delivered at his funeral, Father Michael Duffy recalled Mychal’s extraordinary capacity to make people feel known and loved. Fr. Duffy’s words have endured because they name what violence cannot destroy. “We come to bury his body, but not his spirit,” he said. “We come to bury his voice, but not his message.”

As people of faith, we are called – obligated might be the better word – to extend that message beyond one priest, one firehouse, or one city: We come to bury the dead, but not the compassion they awakened. We come to mourn the lives lost but not surrender the values they embodied.

As we mark this day, may we remember the bravery of passengers, rescuers, firefighters, police officers, medical workers, and strangers who reached toward one another. May we remember the families who still live with a void that cannot be filled. May we remember that the world stood with the United States, and that our strength was found not only in resolve, but in solidarity, generosity, prayer, and care.

In a time when fear is again being used to isolate communities and justify intimidation, remembering September 11 requires more than looking backward. It requires asking whether we are living by the freedoms and principles we claim to defend. Can we live up to the ideals President Bush laid out? With faith and courage, we can, and must, do better.

With remembrance and hope,
Tom Dwyer, President and Executive Director
Katie Connors, A Faith That Does Justice Editorial Team