The Salvation Army was on scene within the first hour. They’re used to disaster: earthquakes, hurricanes, floods—but nothing like this. The terrorist destruction of the World Trade Center had the number of deaths at first projected to be in the tens of thousands, and the rescue effort would be like nothing experienced outside the theater of war.
Similar to the Red Cross but with spiritual motivation, the Salvationists rolled in with 21 mobile canteens, preparing and serving 1.7 million meals over the next eight weeks. More than 2,600 officers led the work of 10,000 volunteers. When the effort turned from rescue to recovery, the Salvation Army would report immediately helping more than 60,000 victims with mental health and social services—a shoulder to cry on and help paying the bills. In two months, the Salvation Army raised $56 million to aid victims.
In the din of jack hammers and crane engines, to the west side of the smoldering graveyard that had been the mighty towers, a white tent became a respite for relief workers. It was the on-site headquarters for the Salvation Army’s counseling operation.
The day we arrived, two months after September 11, the city of New York had just ordered the removal of all non-essential personnel as they tightened the perimeter. Firefighters and iron workers objected to the removal of the Salvationists—they’d grown close in two months—and the city relented. The tent was renamed a hydration station. The Salvation Army would remain and their ministry would continue on site.
Heading the counseling operation is Major Molly Shotzberger, a 35-year veteran of the Army. When we meet her, she is bright and upbeat, despite the wear of two months in Gehenna. Her uniform is crisp, and as we talk, she has occasion to snap a salute. Her voice is firm, but trails off a few times as she recounts her experiences at Ground Zero.
We were moved by her stories. And we learned something about ministry from her.
Molly Shotzberger is someone you should know. And we’d like you to hear from her, in her own words.
—The Editors
I was on the counseling team after the crash of the TWA 800 flight on Long Island in 1996. We kind of flew by the seat of our pants out there, learning through our mistakes. That’s why they asked me to head up the counseling effort for Ground Zero and the Medical Examiner’s Office.
We thought it was critical to have pastors minister to workers and families on the scene and at the morgue. We also had people who are trained in critical incident stress management as part of those teams—36 people on 12-hour shifts.
When we first went in, we thought, We’re just going to counsel these workers. And we did that, but soon the whole scope of our ministry changed. We did whatever was needed.
Foot soldiers
Our first center was in the American Express building where the medical examiner was working just outside the entrance. They would bring the bodies through while other rescue workers were there for rest. We thought, This is not a good idea.
Then we set up the tent a block away, but the workers didn’t have time to come to us. Everything at Ground Zero was so unorganized in the beginning. The men and women were working non-stop. So some of our counseling team got very creative about getting to the men on the pit.
They climbed over hot, twisted metal and walked through ankle-deep water to get to them. They carried buckets of ice and water, Gatorade—they liked Gatorade—and chocolate bars. For me, it became not so much a psychological ministry but a practical ministry.
As the steel workers and iron workers and firefighters came out of the rubble—it was very hot during those first few weeks—their boots were literally being burned through. They would come to the tent and sit in our chairs. We would take their boots and wet socks off for them, dry their feet, powder them, massage them, and put on clean socks and boots.
While we were doing this we would listen to their stories and help them walk through that tragedy.
I remember one gal with the corrections department said to me on her first day at the scene, “I thought I was prepared for this.”
I said, “You can never be prepared for something like this.”
Looking for the stares
Everybody handles tragedy in their own way. You have two categories here: those who want to tell what they’re seeing and get it out, and those who don’t want to talk about it at all.
We looked for “the stare,” that blank expression on the faces of workers staring into space. It was too close, too personal. We would begin to talk with those people about their families: “What do you do when you’re not here?” They would start talking about their children and go on from there.
For those who can talk, it’s a healing process. But for those who don’t, talking might not be a good idea. We’re not here long term, and we don’t want to bring out all the stress they’re dealing with day to day.
This is what I call “crisis in a moment” counseling. Either we help them get back to the job, or we tell them, “You need to take a break.”
The mission of the Salvation Army is to bring a calming presence to any situation we’re in. One of the policemen who was guarding the truck where they brought the remains of the firefighters told me how he had been trapped, how he thought he was going to die. He wept. “I can’t share this with my family yet.”
So we’re kind of a buffer.
God in the hands of an angry sinner
Although our ministry at Ground Zero is relatively short term, we found that the relationships we developed with the workers were very important, especially with those who initially didn’t want to talk.
We try to keep the same Salvation Army staff in place for ten days to two weeks, so we can build a trust relationship. A lot of times it will start over a cup of coffee. Someone who is laughing the whole thing off, because that’s their way of dealing with it, will open up after a couple of days. Then you can talk to them about their faith if the door opens: “How is your faith helping you in all of this? What are you struggling with spiritually?”
One man was so angry at God, I just let him vent. Three days later he returned. “Remember our conversation about God?”
I said yes.
“I think I’d like to talk more about that.”
If I had forced the issue the other day, when he wasn’t ready, he wouldn’t be here now, talking about God. I have to believe that’s the Holy Spirit. I have felt God’s presence in so many conversations.
As we were helping one rescue worker with his feet, he said, “Isn’t there something in the Bible about Jesus washing people’s feet?” And that’s how a discussion about faith would begin.
The first thing I told my group was not to preach. Salvationists are always ready to lead people to Jesus Christ; that is our ultimate goal. But our first goal here was to be present and to let the person take you where they wanted to go.
We would open a conversation to find out where they are spiritually. And we have led some people to the Lord. People have turned back to church. But our first goal was to meet them where they were and serve them.
We can’t preach hell fire and brimstone. They’ve seen that right in front of their eyes. They don’t need that from us.
The typical question we’re asked: “How could God let this happen?” I can’t tell you how many people we prayed with are really angry with God. About as many as were surprised when we said, “It’s okay to be angry with God.” It would throw them when we’d say, “Don’t you think we’ve asked questions? Our faith is being tested, too.“
The best we can do is be perfectly honest.
Facing harsh realities
At the medical examiner’s office, on the second day, six college students came by. They had six shopping bags and they were full.
“We just wanted to give these to the Salvation Army.”
I said, “Thank you very much. Can you tell me what’s in them?“
With great smiles they said, “Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.“
It was their way of doing something—and I have been so encouraged by people wanting to do something to help—but that’s not the end of the story.
I took the sandwiches over to the canteen. They had just run out of sandwiches. One of the guys from the medical examiner’s office was there. We gave him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He opened it up and said, “Thank God, it’s not meat.“
While we were at the medical examiner’s office, they asked for flags. We have tried to do whatever they asked. When we looked over later, they had draped the flags over the truck where the remains were. We all shed a tear over that.
When bodies were found, our counselors often prayed over the body and with the folks there.
Sometimes they escorted the body to the morgue. There they draped a flag over the body bag and we would all stand at attention in two lines. They folded the flag like at a military funeral. When the captain said, “As you were,” our counselors would walk among the crowd. Sometimes someone reached over and squeezed your hand, a tear fell, and you just nodded.
Our work here is some talking, a lot of doing, but especially the ministry of presence—tears and hugs, lots of hugs.
We continue to meet with workers at the hydration tent. Mostly we deal with the frustratation of not finding too many remains. Today, they may find a small body part. That’s the job now.
Where God is
I am so much more aware of the presence of God since this tragedy. It started on the second day. We were right next to the site. Other buildings were unsafe, and we had been told, “If you hear somebody yell ‘Run!‘ don’t ask questions, don’t look back. Get out of there.”
Suddenly I saw workers coming out of the rubble yelling, “Run! Run! Run!” I started running. I didn’t know I could run so fast. I clasped my ID badge between my hands, in case they found my body, and I ran. And through it all, I felt such peace. But that’s how our God is.
I felt God’s presence as I prayed with the college girl who was on her way to report her friend, from another country and with no family, missing.
I felt God’s presence in conversations with Sam, the man who lost his dog while running from the falling tower. His wife had died two years earlier, and now the only friend he had left, his dog, was gone, too. He came many days asking, “Have you seen my dog?” We would have hot chocolate and talk.
And God was there when the iron workers went into the Census building. I get goosebumps thinking about it. They were checking the structure. Inside, the steel beams had fallen, and they had formed not one, but three crosses.
The man leading them was a Christian. He said to the men with him, “Look, here’s Calvary.” They all got down on their knees.
Steve, one of the guys, came out and rushed over to our tent. He said, “You know, I can’t tell you the last time I’ve been to church, but I’ll be there next Sunday.“
People ask, “Where was God in all of this?” He was there. He still is. I look at these men and women out there digging until their hands are raw, going beyond what they are able to do. The incredible ways people have found to work through their own grief, when they couldn’t be at Ground Zero, who still asked, “How can I help?” And the applause of hundreds of people who lined the streets, cheering the workers as they left the site.
For us, God has been everywhere, giving us strength in overwhelming circumstances. I have sensed his presence more in the past two months than at any time I can remember.
The ministry of presents: the Salvation Army distributed half a million cases of bottled water at Ground Zero. Hundreds of trucks brought donations from across the country, 24 warehouses full: shirts, socks, frozen chickens, chow for the rescue dogs, eyedrops, and Vapo-Rub which the workers stuffed up their noses to cover the smell of death. The Army’s ministry was, as national commander John Busby said, to serve the servants.
Captains courageous:
Moises Serrano was in his new position only one month when the World Trade Center towers were felled. “Mo” (above, in white helmet) is director of Salvation Army disaster services in New York. He called the shots from the field in the first hours of the disaster, then established command centers in New Jersey, in a semi-trailer brought in from Chicago, and at an auditorium in the divisional headquarters on 14th street.
In two months, 12,600 Salvation Army workers logged 104,000 hours at Ground Zero, the New Jersey center, and Pier 94 on Manhattan’s west side, where victims continue to come for counseling and financial help.
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