One could say I moved to Vermont as a direct result of 9/11—or at least back to the northeast. I grew up in New Jersey within view of the Empire State Building on a clear day (the Twin Towers were built after I’d left home). I ended up in Indiana doing stints in campus ministry and as interim pastor for struggling churches with traumatic pasts. I lived in Bloomington and then Indianapolis, but for many of my 17 years as a Hoosier, I camped part of each week in parsonages 60-90 miles away in small, very conservative towns. In my last two years in Indiana, I lived in a parsonage in the tri-state area near Cincinnati. A case study of that parish and my two years there could fill a book; by the end of the summer, 2001, I was reaching the end of what I could do to help them move forward—and I was experiencing challenges in the aftermath of cancer treatment. Despite numerous interviews for full-time permanent positions, it didn’t appear I would get a "call" any time soon in the state. I got feedback from more than one that, while they thought I was a great candidate, they didn’t think the congregational vote would approve calling a woman. Then came that Tuesday morning. I was not feeling well so didn’t turn on the Cinci NPR station for news. After lunch, I checked email and got my first hint that something had happened. Naturally, I broke my own rule and turned on the TV to see what was being described. It was confusing at first to see the familiar image of the Twin Towers still standing but shortly, the feed showed first one and then the other falling. I spent the afternoon putting together an emergency worship service for that evening. Within days, we saw hyper-patriotism and saber-rattling begin—even before we really knew what had happened. I prayed that, like the Oklahoma City bombing a few years earlier, it would prove to be the work of Americans so that there wouldn’t be a push to go to war, but no such luck. I realized quickly that I would be too far out of sync with the parishioners to have an effective ministry any more. And I longed to go back "home" to the east coast. I had my papers sent to bishops in the northeast and ended up at a little Lutheran church in Jericho less than five months later.

Ann Larson