September 11th, 2001. The Day My Hatred was Born

We will read many perspectives over the next few days about how to honor the 11th anniversary of the September 11th attacks on US soil, and we would do well to read them. Some will call us to unity. Others might promote our nation’s inherent pluralism. However September 11th, 2001 marks a very different anniversary for me. For me, it is a solemn day, a dark day.

September 11th, 2001 marks the day my hatred toward religion was born, and it all began with Islam.

Eleven years ago today, I was a Christian in my Evangelical prime. I witnessed to those I perceived as “lost” (for me, everyone was lost), I read my Bible daily, and I was convinced that Jesus was indeed the “way, the truth, and the life” (Gospel of John 14: 6). My world was contained in a Bible-sized box, and if one found others outside that box, they qualified as prodigal sons, squandering their lives on vain idols of pleasure among Epicurean hogs.

Then, as those towers collapsed in a pillar of dust, smoke, and fire, something happened. My passion for Christ mutated into a crusade for vengeance. Vengeance against whom?

Muslims.

I knew nothing about Islam or any other religion prior to September 11th, yet from my point of view, the perpetrators of the attacks had delivered all the information required. Two weeks later, I joined the United States Marine Corps with one goal: slaughter as many Muslims as possible.

Fortunately, my plans for “holy” slaughter never came to fruition; however, the slope that led to my abandonment of faith and eventual abhorrence of religion began soon after my discharge from the Marine Corps.
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