^“If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand.” (Mark 3:24 NIV)

I woke up late that morning.

I was out late the night before. At the time, my then-girlfriend-now-wife, Soo, lived in Glendale and I lived 80 miles away in the Inland Empire.

A friend of mine had invited me to co-teach a storyboarding class in Pasadena on September 10th, 2001, and since I’d be in Soo’s neighborhood (or at least closer to it), we arranged to have dinner together after we both wrapped up work that day.

Soo and I had just started dating several months earlier, spending the summer of 2001 watching feel-good movies like Shrek and Moulin Rouge. That summer had been one extended movie musical in my mind. My lenses on life could not have been any rosier.

We met for dinner at a Thai restaurant, and as we sipped young coconuts while waiting for our order, we talked about how our day went: she told me about her frustrations with one coworker at the company she started working at; I shared how fun it was to be a guest instructor in an art class.

It was all very mundane. Almost boring.

That’s why I remember it so well.

It was the last “normal” day I remember.

I made the long drive home that night and didn’t get to bed until around 2 or 3 AM, so I didn’t wake up until 10:30AM the next morning.

I stumbled out of bed, turned on my computer, and fired up AOL, ignoring the front-page photograph of an exploding skyscraper that I dismissed as a publicity still from a disaster movie.

That voice: “You’ve got mail!”

I clicked on the icon and found a message from Soo. She had written something about it being a scary time. I hadn’t the foggiest what she was talking about. I glanced up at that exploding building photo and read the headline.

Then I read the story.

Then I turned on the news.

By the time I woke up at 10:30 AM on the West Coast, everything had already happened.

The Twin Towers. The Pentagon. United Flight 93.

I had awakened to a horrifying new reality.

As the news unfolded that this was a terrorist attack, my shock and anguish boiled over into anger. I wanted to take up arms and fight back, but at the time, we didn’t even know who it was that had committed such a horrendous act. It wasn’t a specific country. It was a network of terrorists. This was a new kind of enemy in a new kind of war.

I didn’t know what I could do, but I wanted to express solidarity with my fellow Americans and show support for my country.

So, as silly as this may sound, I went out to buy an American flag to mount on my Honda Civic. It was literally the least I could do, a small gesture at best.

I got to the mall and found a line snaking out the door of the only store that still had US flags in stock. I queued up and waited patiently along with Americans of all ages and ethnicities.

At that moment, we weren’t black, white, brown, or any other color. We were all just proud Americans who were hurting together and wanted to stand together in any way we could.

I remember hoping that this sense of unity would last forever.

It hurts to look back at this from a 2018 vantage point.

What would the terrorists think if they saw how fractured we have become as a people? The finger-pointing, name-calling, and overall demonization of other Americans who don’t look, act, think, vote, believe, or sin the same way we do?

I can imagine their smug grins and refuse to give them the satisfaction.

Jesus warned that a kingdom divided cannot stand (Matt 12:25–26; Mk 3:24; Lk 11:17–18), and the Apostle Paul called for unity in the church—a single body of diverse backgrounds, spiritual gifts, and social statuses, united under the headship of Christ (1 Corinthians 11–12).

Does biblical unity mean homogeneity?

Aside from agreement on the core doctrines of our faith, are we supposed to all look, sound, and think alike?

Look at the Apostles—Jesus’ 12 closest disciples—a group that includes Levi/Matthew the tax collector, who worked for the Roman government (Lk 5:27–29), and Simon the Zealot, who may have been part of the anti-Roman government activists known as the Zealots. Would they have agreed with each other politically? I don’t know, but what matters is that they were united in following their master, Jesus Christ.

The story of the Tower of Babel (Gen 11:1–9) shows how sin and pride led to human beings dispersing, separated by language, but the story of Pentecost shows how the Holy Spirit reversed this, overcoming the barriers of language to give understanding to “devout men from every nation under heaven” (Acts 2:4–12).

The Book of Revelation points to a future in which God’s redeemed people come from every nation, tribe, people, and language to worship before the throne together (Rev 7:9–12).

Unity under the Lordship of Jesus Christ is supposed to transcend our differences.

It’s easy to fall into division. Human beings are tribal creatures who will always find a reason to either align with or disassociate from specific groups for one reason or another. Never mind lines of race, ethnicity, or even religion—just think about how many people in your own family or at your church look like you but root for different sports teams, watch different TV shows, or loved/hated The Last Jedi. It’s harder to maintain unity than it is to fall to division.

Pride fuels division. Unity takes humility, hard work, and sacrifice.

Speaking of sacrifice, I’d be remiss to reflect on 9/11 without giving thanks to the brave men and women who have served, fought, and given up their lives to protect the freedoms that generations of Americans have fought to uphold.

I pray for their families, as well as for families who are still reeling from the losses they suffered 17 years ago today.

May we always find ways to honor and remember them.