A Cassette Tape, a Trial Sermon, and the Sunday After 9/11

25 years ago, the week of 9/11, I was composing what we used to call a "trial sermon."

That Sunday, I was scheduled to preach at Seymour Christian Church. After my sermon, the church would decide whether or not to hire me as their Youth Pastor (for the king's ransom of $18,000/year).

Sometime after the realization settled in that our nation had been the victim of a terrorist attack, I called the pastor at Seymour Christian on our cordless home phone. Not wireless--cordless. Kids, if you don't know the difference, ask your parents.

"Do you still want me to preach this Sunday? The new guy that no one knows?"

To my surprise, he did.

At the ripe old age of 23 years old, I knew that my original sermon concepts had to be scrapped.

Using our boombox, I recorded snippets of news broadcasts onto a cassette tape (kids, ask your parents again).

That Sunday, at the beginning of my first-ever sermon at Seymour Christian, I told the AV guys I wanted to play the cassette recording at the beginning of my sermon during each service.

The speakers boomed with voices that took us back to Tuesday morning.

"I looked up just as the second plane hit the tower."

"There's fire and ash everywhere."

"People were jumping out of the windows. We watched them jump out of the windows."

The news anchor's baritone voice broke in.

"This morning, in New York City, two commercial airplanes struck the twin towers of the World Trade Center. A third plane has crashed into the Pentagon in Washington, D.C., while a fourth went down in a field in Pennsylvania. Death tolls are preliminary, but will certainly be catastrophic."

As the sounds of the hell we were living through echoed through the small sanctuary, we were instantly on the same page of the dystopian horror.

The first service went as well as possible. I attempted to give assurance and hope to a room full of people who had never met a Muslim, visited NYC or D.C., and probably could not identify Saudi Arabia, UAE, or Lebanon on a map. Now we were trying to make sense of all of those things. 

But nothing could have prepared me for what was about to happen during the next service.

A middle-aged man named Mark and his wife, Terri, attended the second service. They were both accountants and handled the church's book keeping. Mark was a non-verbal quadriplegic and he spoke via a spelling aid that relied on Mark blinking his eyes at certain intervals. Terri navigated the system with lightning speed and precision befitting an accountant. I later learned that Mark was brilliant, as was Terri.

But one of the impacts of Mark's injury was a diminished ability to control his emotions.

During my weekend visit for a trial sermon, I didn't know any of this.

But when that cassette started to play during the second service, Mark did what we all wanted to do.

He wailed. 

He lamented. 

Loudly. 

From his wheelchair in the back of the sanctuary, he did not keep his emotions concealed beneath a controlled exterior. 

He didn't hold back.

He bawled a long, soul-crushing howl that shook the room and opened the door for the rest of us to join him.

As the youthful prospective minister, I held the moment carefully. I let my own tears fall. 

Then I recited scriptures about the comfort of the Lord in our times of troubles.

I've had a lot of surreal experiences in my life. That might be the most poignant of my early career. 

Thank you, Mark, for being the man we all needed you to be.

What I know today is that the vast majority of the world, including the Muslim world, wept with us that week–just like Mark and the little congregation wept together. 

Hate that kills is always televised. The everyday camaraderie of normal citizens from every country, religion and language seldom makes headline news.

Enter the World Cup 2026. With Iranians, Irish, Argentinians, French, and Americans all dancing in the streets of Kansas City, Canada, Seattle, Mexico, Boston… with arms around one another’s necks. Fairly normal people (despite their neurotic love for soccer, the world’s most boring sport). They are people who don’t innately hate each other at all.

While I can be a cynic sometimes, the overwhelming evidence is that the World Cup displays of good-natured humanity is one million times more common than the tragedy of 9/11. Thank God. And thank our neighbors. 

Is there violence in our world that needs to be addressed? Obviously. 

Injustice that seems to go unchecked, awaiting the judgement of God and history? Yes.

Competing national interests that need careful consideration and diplomacy? Always.

Then, there are the other 99% of us that generally believe that every person has value, worth, and probably doesn’t wish us any harm.

On the 25th anniversary of one of our worst tragedies, I treasure that 99% that weeps with Mark over the violence and injustice of our world.

Four Years Later

Labor Day, 2022

I laid in the hospital bed. In my own Emergency Department.

“Clear,” I heard the doctor say.

There was a pause.

Then, again, he said, “Clear.”

255 joules of electricity shot through my body while I was wide awake.

My arms and legs lurched skyward. My ears reverbed with a deep bass note that lasted for three seconds.

As I blinked away the shock (pun intended), my coworkers emptied out of the room.

I was okay.

Except, I wasn’t. Not really.

Ten years, hospital leadership, grief, moral distress, leadership conflict, and a worldwide pandemic had kicked my butt.

Recovery

My recovery has been slow, including 13 additional months in that job, followed by nearly three years in a new role.

Recovery has been

Mental | Emotional | Physical | Spiritual

Mentally, my brain was moving way too fast. Today, I am not in a hurry.

Emotionally, watching The Pitt two years after leaving healthcare resurrected feelings my mind had forgotten, but my body remembered.

Physically, regular meditation and nervous system practices have made me less twitchy and anxious.

Spiritually, I have been reminded where my value comes from.

The Keys

There isn’t one key to recovery. Here are some important steps that have been meaningful for me:

1. Recognition.
   I had to come face to face with my own limits. Admit I was feeling broken. And ask for help.

2. Renegotiation.
   I could not continue to work the same way I always had. My workaholism put me in the hospital and plunged me into depression. I had to renegotiate how I approached work.

3. Daily practices.
   Meditation. Gentle exercise. Mantras. Nervous system practices.

4. Remembering my value.
   It doesn’t come from production. It comes from presence.

5. Slowing my pace.
   After years in a Trauma Center, I was moving too fast. Even after I left that job, the habits of speed were hard to kill. Three years later, I still need reminders to slow down.

Tattoo Thyself

I might get a tattoo that says “IJAJ.”

That stands for “It’s just a job.”

Is it an important job? Probably.

Is it still just a job? Yes.

It’s not my life. It’s not my identity. It’s not my value.

It’s just a job.

And I am so much more.

Back to the Crash Cart

If I could go back in time, and see myself when I walked out of the ER on Labor Day, 2022, I’d meet him with a long embrace.

I know he feels empty. Trapped. Scared.

So, I’d hold 2022 Patrick until he was all cried out.

Then, I’d look deeply into his eyes. And I’d say, “I love you. Loving yourself is the way forward. Not white-knuckling it. Not working harder. Not ‘figuring it out.’”

Softness not hardness.
Compassion not competency.
Slowness not speed.
Desire not deadlines.
Bucket lists not to-do lists.
Alignment not doing everything right.

Why? Because you can, actually, after all, love yourself.

My New Favorite Essay

I’ve done a lot of writing in the past 8 years.

10 books, countless blog entries, an entire education platform.

Most of it is pragmatic. Explanatory. Helpful.

But last week, a new friend shared a piece I wrote—just for his community.

And it’s one of my favorites.

His tribe? Overworked and haggard professionals who want to return to the joy of occasional idleness.

Not rest in order to recharge. Truly being idle. Like a kid spening an hour playing with rocks, or a dog chasing bubbles.

His eloquent posts on the topic, which I found through Kate Bowler, captured my imagination.

It’s an echo of many of my sentiments. Bucket lists, enjoying life before it ends, and rediscovering ourselves beneath the malaiase of our weekly schedules.

Plus, this essay ties together two of my great interests—grief and burnout.

Read this non-useful, yet heart-wrenching, entry here.

Attendee reviews that mean the most

Thousands of attendees have reviewed my presetentations.
Some comments stick out more than others.

Amid the pile of common sentiments like...

"Amazing!"
"Fantastic Presentation!" or
"Thanks for the added humor 🙂"

...there are unique messages from attendees.

Earlier this summer, I was honored to give the opening keynote for the Association of Community Health Nursing Educators Annual Institute in Spokane, Washington.

Two comments stuck out:

"You may have kept my Colleague from leaving!!😭"

and

"Loved your talk—honestly felt like you just walked in, lifted a giant “it’s all my fault” weight off everyone’s shoulders, and said, “Nope, not today!” 🙌 Your reminder that burnout isn’t a personal failure but a response to overloaded systems was both comforting and a little bit revolutionary. I think you just gave a whole room of people permission to unclench their jaws and breathe again—thank you!"

Nursing professors have an uphill battle--one they are prepared to fight! It was a blessing to spend time with them in Spokane.

On being irresponsible

My professional world is topsy-turvy right now. And I needed a break.

In May, I began looking for traditional work again.

I love speaking, coaching, and creating resources for leaders and coworkers who desperately need a more positive work experience.

I am humbled by how many opportunities I get.

In the next few months alone, I will serve

American Hospital Association
Indiana Association of Nursing Professional Development
Wells County Chamber of Commerce
Wellness Council of Indiana
Metropolitan State University of Denver
Association of Rehabilitation Nurses (ARN)
Indiana Organization for Nursing Leadership IONL
The Metro Detroit chapter of the Oncology Nursing Society
Mental Health America
Community Health Network
Ohio Public Health Association, and the
Crossroads Emergency Conference

I’ll be in
🛫Minnesota
🚗Michigan
🚗4 locations in Indiana
🚗Ohio
🛫Washington, D.C.

👨‍💻And I will serve audiences across the country through virtual sessions.

And yet… I know that I need more stable income in our next season of life.
🧑‍🎓We have a third child entering college and the up-and-down of self-employment is a little too unpredictable. If you know, you know.

I’ve been applying to jobs since May–with the hope of continuing to speak whenever possible.

😵‍💫If you are looking for a job right now, you know–it can be a miserable experience.

AI and the economy have disrupted the workplace and job hunting looks different now.

I haven’t followed a linear “progressive” path with my career. That makes my applications difficult to read for AI bots and HR recruiters reviewing my information.

Topsy. Turvy. Need. A. Break.

📅Last Sunday, Kristen and I dropped our daughter off for a week-long mission trip. Our schedules were mostly clear for the first time in… our lives?

“We should get away together,” I said, an hour later, over a vanilla chai latte.

“Yeah, who knows how much longer before we are both back at traditional jobs?” she replied.

Usually, we are too responsible. Noses to the grindstone. Task-oriented.

But we are learning to have fun and embrace the moment.

🚶‍➡️“How about Hocking Hills, in Ohio?” Kristen suggested.

“Let’s do it,” I answered on Sunday afternoon.

We booked an AirBnB, a cute little shipping container in the middle of the country, and left the next morning.

We hiked trails.
We soaked in the hot tub.
We ate dinner at a state park.
We did not work, apply for jobs, or otherwise act responsibly.

😁As a happy surprise, the world did not fall apart while we were off the grid.

Maybe being overly responsible isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

🧘‍♂️Maybe, even when our world is topsy-turvy, we can take a break. Be idle for a little bit. And enjoy ourselves.

Thanks to Leo Umilio for his encouragement to embrace idleness.