Who would have thought that a walk down Broadway could feel like being in a church and visiting all the side altars? The little shrines are everywhere: in front of the St. Luke’s Hospital Emergency Room entry; at the entrance to Central Park; in store windows; on street corners; in bank foyers; outside of Fire Departments. They’re usually a makeshift ensemble of vigil lamps, flower bouquets, pictures of the dead or missing, rosary beads, holy pictures, a poem. One of them I passed this morning featured a large, homemade poster wrapped in cellophane against the elements, which read: “My heart aches for what the world is coming to…when people could kill thousands of others without ever thinking what life will be like for a daughter without a father, a wife without a husband, a brother without a sister. God help us all.”

Who would have thought usually brash and busy New Yorkers would be talking with one another on street corners, in subways, at the cashier’s check-out counter, in locker rooms and doctor’s offices. Sometimes there are just words between strangers that quietly celebrate human solidarity. At other times, as in the dentist’s chair today, both the doctor and the dental hygienist stood and talked for a half an hour about their apprehensions, the long traffic waits over the bridges because of security checks, the fear in the air, the need for faith and trust.

Who would have thought that Americans would be taking a crash course in Islam and Arabs this fall, learning some basic things: that the Koran teaches non-violence and peace, that jihad in the Koran refers primarily to the inner struggle of the spiritual life, and that the holy book offers no support for suicide. That only twelve percent of Muslims are Arabs, and that Arabs are not all Muslims; they are also Jews, Druzes, and the majority of them in the United States are Christian.

Who would have thought that a Vietnamese Buddhist monk would give a talk on “Embracing Anger” in a Christian church and there wouldn’t be room enough to admit all those who came? Thich Nhat Hanh, renowned peace activist, told an overflow crowd at Riverside Church that what needs to be done now is to recognize our suffering, to embrace it and to understand it. We need calmness and lucidity, he said, so that we can listen deeply to and understand our own suffering, the suffering of the nation, and the suffering of others. By understanding the nature and causes of suffering, we will then know the right path to follow.

Who would have thought that the exchange of phone calls, cards, emails and letters that are usually reserved for Christmas would happen this year even before the leaves turn to red and gold? People are asking themselves, “What really matters? What is most important to me?” And they’re realigning their work and their projects to put the people who are dear to them in first place. No one in this city, or country for that matter, is taking getting up tomorrow morning for granted. There’s a gaping hole in the south end of Manhattan, still smoking from the sudden and unexpected incineration of thousands who may have thought they had plenty of time to reorder their priorities. “Some day I’ll…” or “Maybe next year. . . .”

Who would have thought that a single event would undercut the post-modern assertion that truth and morality have no objective validity, or call into question the post-colonial perspective of Western imperialism as an Original Sin that somehow mitigates the gravity of any act against the West by a post-colonial power? Follow that logic to its most extreme conclusions and the rejection of universal values and ideals leaves little room for unqualified condemnations of a terrorist attack, particularly one against the West.

Who would have thought that so much could change so quickly? Some wounds are so deep and pervasive there can be no immediate relief, no consolation. One just stands silent before the mystery of life and death, suffering and loss, holding fast to the insecure security of faith, to the conviction that, while God does not take the suffering away, God is with us in it and that, in some way, all suffering is in God. Thus, if our pain is God’s pain, in due time it will become life-giving and healing in the very measure of its intensity.