After 9/11, some run toward faith, some run the other way

(RNS) Sean Tallon was nearing the end of his probationary training as a
New York City firefighter when the two hijacked planes hit the twin
towers of the World Trade Center on 9/11. Tallon, 26, ran up the North
Tower to save others.

His family would never see him again.

"As my mom and dad said, `This isn't it,"' said his older sister,
Rosaleen. "God has promised us an eternal life. That gave us the only
comfort that could help us at that time."

Tallon and her parents, all faithful Catholics before 9/11, began
going to Mass every day, sometimes more than once a day. They rebuilt a
grotto at St. Barnabas Church in the Bronx to memorialize Sean. They
composed a prayer in his honor.

"I don't know how people could get through this without faith,"
Tallon said.

For many 9/11 families, faith has been the lifeline that sustained
them through the loss of a parent, child or sibling. But for others,
faith was lost that day and has been a cold comfort in the years since. 

Hal French, who teaches the psychology of religion at the University
of South Carolina, said such disparate reactions are entirely normal.
French's stepdaughter survived the attacks at Ground Zero and found
her comfort in family, he said. He's talked with Japanese survivors of
the atomic bombs in 1945 who found solace in nature and the annual
reappearance of the cherry blossoms.

"We're not all made from the same mold," he said.

Ruth Green also knows something about faith and 9/11.
Green said it would be easier to cope with faith, but her religious
faith disappeared that awful September day along with her son,
29-year-old Josh Aron, a newly married equities trader for Cantor
Fitzgerald.

"My faith is shaken? Earthquake is a better word," said Green, who
is Jewish. "In the end, I found myself saying, `What kind of God would
allow this?"'

The 10 years that have passed since her son's death have not made
surviving without him any more bearable. "Every year is another year I
don't get to talk to Josh," she said.

But she still recites the Hebrew prayers for the dead for her son,
and attends synagogue services. As she does every year, she will join
her Manhattan congregation in reciting the names of those who died on
9/11.

"I can walk away from God," Green said. "But there's something about
the rituals; I think Josh would be very upset that I didn't do them,"
she said. "I am drawn to them but I am not comforted by them."
Lisa Miller, a scholar of religion and mental health at Columbia
University, said losing faith is an understandable and normal reaction
to tragedy, especially the loss of a child.

"There is nothing more devastating than losing a child," she said.
"It's the most devastating psychological pain we can imagine. It's a
violation against creation, a violation against life itself."

For some survivors, reclaiming lost faith has been an arduous
journey. Susan Kim was in her office at the insurance company AIG near
Ground Zero on 9/11 when she saw the fireball of the second plane
hitting the South Tower.

In the street, she heard screaming and moaning and watched the tower
fall. "I thought my children would never see me again," she said of her
sons, who were preschoolers at the time.

Since then, Kim's struggle with post-traumatic stress disorder has
kept her from returning to the job she loved; on days when the
precariousness of life overwhelmed her, she could barely get out of bed.

She also lost her deep connection to Judaism, the religion of her
husband's family, to which she had joyously converted before they were
married. Going to synagogue drove her to tears, and the ritual Passover
meals that she had once so eagerly prepared became a burden.
"That day I lost that belief, I lost that comfort, that somebody
upstairs a lot stronger than me would take care of me," Kim said.

A therapist earlier this year suggested that talking to a rabbi
might help Kim return to the Jewish life she once enjoyed. Kim followed
up, and is slowly reclaiming her religious self. She said she wants to
pass her religion on to her sons, whom she has sent to Jewish schools.

"I want them to have God and some belief that's not going to change
because we go to another continent," said Kim, whose family emigrated
from South Korea when she was a teenager.

Miller said religious leaders can help rebuild a person's shattered
faith, though it's not always an easy job.

"It's a crisis of faith, and one-on-one direct healing with clergy
allows you to work through the pain," she said, "to deal with questions
of faith and estrangement." 

And there are others -- those who should have been victims, but were
spared by a twist of fate. And that has left them with a sense of
renewed mission.

U.S. Army Col. Franklin Childress had recently been transferred to
Washington and was supposed to have been at his desk in the Pentagon on
9/11. But he was home, waiting for movers to arrive after a clerical
error delayed the delivery of his belongings.

"Everyone who was around my desk perished," he said. "A friend
called me and said, `God works through incompetent transportation clerks
too."'

In the days after 9/11, Childress was wracked by survivor's guilt,
so he joined a Bible study group with other Pentagon employees. The
gatherings became an important source of spiritual strength for
Childress, a devout Christian.

Looking back 10 years later, Childress, now 50, says God must have
wanted him to survive that awful day. He's used his chance to spend more
time with his family, help others deepen their faith and appreciate his
own life.

"We are not guaranteed another day," he said.