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He wept and was so grateful—and headed for the pit.

We are very mindful of the growing threat of disease. No one knows what germs are now in the air, how bad the air might be for our lungs. The smell of death has really settled in now, and we occasionally get terrible waves of it. But somehow, even though we are cautious, we care less for our own safety and more for bringing Jesus' love to these wonderful men and women.

Gail and I talked about the phrase in 2 Corinthians 2 that speaks of "the smell of death" and "the fragrance of life." Now we know what death smells like. That passage will no longer be an abstract thought.

Late in the evening I sat down (for the first time, I think) with two police officers, one a man, the other a woman.

"What's your world like?" I asked.

Both bit their lips and looked at each other. "It's more than we ever thought we'd face." And then, "But you know what keeps us going? It's how thankful everybody is. People keep thanking us, cheering us on. Everyone asks, 'Need a drink?' And everyone does exactly what we ask them do to."

They seemed amazed by this.

I had a good conversation with a firefighter who was leading a team in the pit. He said that there were several fires still burning in the basements of the towers, and every time they get a "breath" of air, they flare back into flame. It creates a very dangerous situation for those men who go into the little passageways in the rubble, seeking bodies. Still they go. We said a prayer together for their safety.

Later in the night, I wandered over to the first-line medical tent, which is staffed by military personnel who are schooled in handling battlefield casualties. The head of the team, a physician, and I got into an interesting conversation.

He was scared for the men in the pit, he said, because he knew what was coming "downstream." He predicted an unusual spike in the suicide rate and a serious outbreak of manic depression: "These firefighters in New York are more tightly bound to one another than at any place in the country. Almost every one of them has had his life saved by someone else in his company. … It creates an incredible bond. Many of the men will be unable to live with these losses at the WTC. It's going to take an unspeakable toll on them."

I think I can already see the evidence of what he is saying. The number of men coming in with headaches is increasing. The despair is very clear in their eyes. We see more and more of them walking slowly out of the pit and finding places to sit alone, where they simply stare out in space. Men ask for cigarettes and often admit that they don't ordinarily smoke. But they want to smoke now, simply to keep their nerves under control.

One firefighter talked with me during the night, and when I asked him if he had buddies in the rubble, he said, "Yeah, 14 of them." He said that they'd all been in the midst of a shift change when the first plane hit, and everyone grabbed a coat and started down the block toward the WTC. They never looked back as they charged into one of the buildings.

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November 12 2001, Vol. 45, No. 14