by Luciano Cozzi In the aftermath of the tragic fire that destroyed the West Warwick night club “The Station” on February 20, 2003, Suzanne and I joined the many people who helped out the grieving families and rescue personnel at the Crowne Plaza Hotel. We signed in on Friday afternoon, when many of the families were still arriving. Suzanne joined the few people from her store who brought food, drinks, toys and stuffed animals to the center. She immediately became busy, helping set the refreshment table and then passing out toys to the little ones and stuffed animals to scared and grieving families. I remember seeing so many adults with tears in the eyes walk around holding those soft, cuddly things as if they were something of priceless value. Her heart and involvement, as it would turn out later, kept me from a terrible fall in the pits of selfishness. As it turned out, I was asked to do a job that at first seemed unimportant, almost unneeded. Together with four other people, primarily counselors and mental health personnel, I was to stand by the hotel entrance and wait for arriving families. We were supposed to approach them and then escort them to the desk where they could initiate the procedures necessary to locate their loved ones who were missing. As the hours went by, we had many moments in which no one was arriving. All around us we could see many people busily helping out in ways that often seemed  so much more important than what we were doing. Some of us felt like children watching a tragic game from the bench. We did not say much about it to each other, but those few expressions we exchanged spoke loudly. There were moments in which we felt useless, unable to make the difference we thought we could make, and unable to bring the comfort and help so many around us needed. We managed, however, to stay at our posts and wait. After all, there had to be a reason for us to be asked to be there. We often engaged in small conversation, trying to kill the time and to distract each other from the pain and the anguish that surrounded us. A quick glimpse at our fidgety hands, however, was all it would take to reveal our anguish and repressed emotions. I remember my thoughts all too well. I had expected to be involved in some “meaningful” way in bringing comfort and help to those who hurt, but there I was, talking to others and waiting. The feelings were mixed, overlapping and often contrasting. I wanted to be part of the action, I wanted to help more, to make a difference and alleviate someone's suffering. After all, I had received a great deal of training that could have been used. Just as I struggled with those thoughts, I saw my wife walking across the large hall with her arms filled with stuffed animals. I saw her eyes, filled with compassion and care as she was handing a little monkey to a frightened lady, then I saw the human warmth and the expression of gratitude in that mother's eyes. I knew that what she was doing was important. I could read it in their eyes. “At least she is making a difference,” I thought as I turned back toward the door to see if anyone was coming. “I just wish I could help as much as she does.”  My thoughts, however, were interrupted by a young man who was walking in with that unmistakable expression that told us he was a family member looking for a loved one. As I approached him, his eyes met mine and for a brief moment I could see some light in them. I told him I would walk with him to the desk where he needed to go, and began talking with him. In just a few moments, an all too common story was unfolding. His sister had left home to spend an evening with some friends at “The Station” the evening before, and had not been seen since. I remember telling him that I would pray for him and for his sister, in the hope that she could be found. By the time we had reached the desk, it was as if the whole world around us had disappeared. In those few intense moments we had connected and had reached out to each other. I will never forget his expression as he thanked me when I left him in the care of the Red Cross staff. As I walked back, my mind became numb as I multiplied the intensity of that encounter hundreds of times. It was as if I could see their thoughts, and feel their anguish as they could not even imagine the horror their loved ones must have seen and experienced. It took a few moments for me to regain control of my emotions. Then, I started waiting again. This time, however, it was different. I asked myself what I would have felt if I was the one passing out stuffed animals, and concluded that I would probably feel just as useless. Then, I began to understand. What I was experiencing was not uncommon. After all, it is normal to feel helpless before so much pain and suffering, unable to relieve it and take it away. The problem was not that, but rather that sense of inner selfishness we all carry in us that tells us that we want to be important, we want the best jobs and the highest recognition. Just like a child sitting on the bench during an important game. I thanked God for helping me see the true face of the problem, asked His forgiveness and help and went on with my duty. Before my replacement arrived, I had to make several trips like the one I described. Some of them were fathers and mothers looking for their children, others were friends. Some needed to talk and express their anguish and fears, others needed a presence, but with a certain distance and privacy. Some, terrified at the thought of what they may find out, did not want to take that walk, and kept themselves a few steps behind me, occasionally slowing down until I encouraged them to go on. By the time the replacement arrived and relieved me, I had spent about four hours at that door. Then, the person who was in charge of debriefings asked me if I could help them debrief the volunteers and staff. I accepted, but soon I received a call for help that I did not expect. I was asked to go back to the main door and talk to one of the mental health volunteers who had some problems staying at her job. When I arrived, I could not believe my ears. It was like hearing myself thinking just a few hours before. Together with a colleague of hers, she questioned the wisdom of placing someone with her skills and qualifications at that job, and she told me that she felt wasted there. I remember sharing with her that I had to struggle with similar thoughts at first, but soon I realized how important it was for those families to have someone help them in those crucial first moments. I explained how her skills were utilized in that delicate task, and how important it was to place people who knew what to say and what to do in that position. Just as we were speaking, two more families arrived. You could see the care and the compassion with which the other volunteers escorted them. Having seen that, her colleague understood and returned to the door. She didn't. She just could not stand the feeling of sitting on the bench and not be a key player in her important game. I prayed for her and for the other volunteers, and returned to the debriefing area. My time at the bench, however, was not finished, nor were the lessons I was to learn. When I returned to the Crowne Plaza Hotel the next day, I was determined not to allow my thinking to revolve around me again. As I was driving, I kept praying and placing myself in God's hands. I remember asking for God's forgiveness and discussing my problem with Him. I asked God to take my selfishness away from me and to replace it with genuine love and care for the people who needed help. I made an agreement with Him, placing myself entirely in His hands and refusing to focus on my own selfish needs. I told Him that if He wanted me to help I was more than willing, but if He did not want for me to be used, then I would just be there, available for anything that might be needed. By the time I arrived, my attitude was quite different from the time before. I had surrendered my will and pride to God, and no longer “needed” to help or to play an important role. I was asked to join other clergy in the notification teams. Our job was to assist the families during the process of notification when the identity of their loved ones was confirmed. It was an extremely intense and emotional job, but it had to be done. Most of my clergy and mental health colleagues were visibly tired and stressed. Their eyes were filled with tears and their hearts visibly broken by so much grieving. Yet, somehow they kept calling them instead of me, perhaps because I wasn't wearing the traditional clergy collar. Once again, I found myself watching from the bench, or so I thought. This time, however, I was all right. I knew that I was still part of the team, and that God would use me for something, even though I couldn't yet see what. I kept my eyes and my heart open, and kept praying for God to take over. It was not too long before I noticed that the stress of some of the other helpers had reached dangerous levels. I noticed that some of them were beginning to be ineffective, struggling to deal with their own emotions. I began by casually approaching them, especially those who had been particularly active and were visibly distressed. Soon, I found myself inconspicuously “debriefing” them, helping them defuse their stress level and encouraging them for the next step. The task at hand was overwhelming for everyone, but as is usually the case, some were more resilient than others. I would concentrate my efforts around those who needed more support, yet informally, without being intrusive. The clues came from their eyes and their expressions. It was not long until I noticed the way they would change and begin to relax before the next call. That's when I knew my job had been done. Suddenly I realized that this is what God had been using me for all the time. I had never been put aside, even when I was watching the action from the bench. God had placed me there for a most important job: I was there to help the helpers, those who most of the time don't get any help for themselves. As I realized this, my mind went back to that first day as I waited to meet the families. It all came together and made perfect sense. I had been used to encourage, to help others maintain their focus, to help the volunteers cope with their own stress while they served the families of the victims. A few weeks later, I was attending a meeting with many other ministers and clergy sponsored by the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association on the theme of clergy intervention in disasters and situations of crisis. I was shocked when in the introductory comments I heard them stress how important it was for some of us to go beyond just opening the doors for the families and actually walk with them in those difficult moments. It was defined as a “ministry of presence” which told them that we were there to support them all the way. Many had shared how important that was to them. A lesson in humility, I thought to myself. Right when we thought we were being “wasted” and just watching from the bench, God was using us for some of the most important aspects of what He was doing. I have seen it many times. People who feel left aside or put down because their “qualifications” don't seem to be used as they had wished. Like children on their first team, we want to be in the front line, taking part of the action under the spotlight, and feel bad when we are asked to watch from the bench. So we sit there, pouting and feeling sorry for ourselves, attributing all sorts of unreal motives to others, and not seeing the real opportunity staring right at us in that “ministry of presence” and support that God had called us to carry on with His love. After all, it is not about ourselves, is it? No, it is all about God and those He wants us to reach out to.