From Revenge Fantasies to Forgiveness: Letting Go of Anger After 9/11

“We come to spiritual depth in many ways, but two surefire ways to get there are love and great suffering.” —Richard Rohr

In April 2001, Lyndon Harris, a former Episcopal priest, was asked by Trinity Church in lower Manhattan to develop a new church community at the historic Saint Paul’s Chapel, where George Washington had often prayed. Then the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center took place September 11, which changed everything for the church and for Lyndon. As he stood at the foot of the South Tower, he watched the building collapse following the impact of the hijacked plane, and felt the fear that seared the city streets. The following day, Lyndon worked at the site to help with the search and rescue mission and performed last rites on the bodies that were recovered. Then he opened the church, which became a support center for first responders.

9/11 Relief Operation

At the mission, Lyndon worked tirelessly, helping thousands of rescue workers and their families endure the tragedy of 9/11. Yet something else was also beginning to bubble up behind the scenes: a lack of support from his superiors for the hardships of his work at the church. Resentment grew within Lyndon, along with the significant trauma he was experiencing because of 9/11. While he was working 12-hour shifts, his supervisor and the people he reported to were not at St. Paul’s or even in New York City. Lyndon was doing things he didn’t have the authority to do, yet he persisted, convinced he was doing the right thing, which created a conflict. After serving 240 days and breathing in black, polluted air, he resigned, burning all his bridges. Lyndon was clearly coming from a heartfelt place, tending to volunteers and human remains while experiencing his own trauma and butting up against administrative issues and bureaucracy.

The Poison of Unforgiveness

Lyndon became deeply entrenched in being right—he wondered why his superiors didn’t see what the Gospel commanded, and held on to many negative feelings. As Nelson Mandela once said, it was like “drinking poison and waiting for someone else to die,” and for Lyndon, it was the sweetest Kool-Aid he ever had in his life. In that moment, he had no interest in forgiveness. He, like so many of us, was nursing his revenge fantasy. Then, in a phone call, someone suggested that he needed to forgive these guys. Lyndon shouted back, slammed down the phone and threw it against the wall. Someone offered help, and all he could think was, “Don’t you know what they did to me?”—the epitome of unforgiveness.

This is where many of us get stuck. We hold onto our self-pity and need to be right. Lyndon wanted revenge of the worst kind. After resigning from the church, Lyndon sank into depression, left his marriage, lost his job, and soon after lost his house. He was running from the pain he couldn’t face. People were happy to play along, thinking they were being supportive—but that only reinforced Lyndon’s victim narrative, a story that takes away our power. Yet when people suggest forgiveness, there is usually resistance.  People hold tight to being a victim, not realizing that their claim to victimhood is claiming their life.

Yes, Lyndon was treated badly, and he did suffer, in part, because of his own bad choices. He did go through real pain and difficulty. It took a total falling apart for him to realize he couldn’t do this anymore, and he reached a point when he asked himself: “What else can I do?” It was only then that Lyndon began to entertain the thought of forgiveness.

From Helplessness to Agency Through Gratitude

Lyndon had an unshakeable faith that God still had a role for him, even with the mess he had made, and that he had to dig deep into his heart and soul to find the courage to face what he had done. He realized he had to take responsibility for his life, and little by little, he started to reclaim it. When he really took that to heart, he began to think about what he was grateful for and the blessings he had in his life. He was lucky to be alive—after all, so many people were killed in his vicinity the morning of 9/11, and he was still standing. Gratitude helped him move from helplessness to agency, from blame to taking responsibility. This is gratitude’s power. When we start feeling love and gratitude, we can feel the energy shift in our bodies and in our thinking. This is what forgiveness is about. We choose to see the world from a different perspective; one based on greater understanding.

Permission to Grieve and Make Mistakes

Opening his heart to gratitude enabled Lyndon to forgive himself. His belief and expectation—especially for not being perfect as an Episcopal priest—was that he couldn’t make a mistake. When Lyndon could finally forgive himself, he could own his humanity and give himself permission to grieve. He had so much anger, which he later realized was just a disguise for grief. He accepted that he makes mistakes like everyone else, and he needed to be kind to himself. He realized he could take responsibility for his mistakes, care for himself, embrace his future, and stop being miserable about the past. When he was able to be kind to himself, he found that he could be a whole lot kinder to others for their mistakes.

The irony is that when Lyndon left the priesthood, he truly became the priest he wanted to be. It took him a long time to get to that place, but as Lyndon said himself, quoting Nietzsche, we should be lovers of our fate. At first, Lyndon wasn’t so sure about that, but now that he has gotten to the other side, his fate has become easier to love—and that is the power of forgiveness.

To hear Lyndon Harris’ story in his own words, check out my latest podcast episode, Shedding the Victim Story: Lyndon Harris on Forgiveness After 9/11. Subscribe to Voices of Peace: Personal Forgiveness on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, YouTube, or wherever you get your podcasts.