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Wednesday, the day after the attacks, it dawned on me that I had already written much of what I believe about the problem of pain. I wrote Where Is God When It Hurts? in 1977, as a 28-year-old who had no right to tackle questions of theodicy—and also no ability to resist, for there is no more urgent question facing those of us who identify ourselves as Christian. In 1990 I revised the book, adding about 100 pages and the perspective of middle age.

That night I e-mailed a proposal to my publisher, Zondervan, suggesting that we find a way to get that book out as cheaply as possible to as many people as possible. I could forego all royalties, and they could forego all profit as our contribution to a grieving nation. They jumped on the idea with amazing speed. Already they had been discussing "instant books" and other publishing responses. Instead, they decided to put their full resources into getting Where Is God into as many hands as possible. They called the next morning (Thursday, two days after the tragedy) saying they were mobilizing for a special edition.

By the end of that day Zondervan had sold 300,000 copies of a one-time-only edition with all proceeds directed to the American Red Cross. Retailers had to order at least 20 copies, and the package included a poster explaining the special edition to consumers. By the end of the next day, Friday, they had sold 750,000 copies. In short, they sold more copies in 24 hours than they had sold in 24 years. Wal-Mart ordered 125,000; airport bookstores ordered scores of thousands. It seems that retailers, too, felt helpless and grasped at a chance to offer a book that might give perspective on questions their customers were consumed with.

The folks at Zondervan told me how remarkable it was that such a project happened. Against all odds, they found available printing press time, and paper, and by Saturday, four days after the bombings, copies were being printed. They just barely got permission to use the Red Cross logo on the cover; by the time news reached the New York lawyers, who blanched at seeming to sanction a Christian book, the books were already printed. Wal-Mart sent their trucks directly to the printers, rather than go through a distributor. Some retailers volunteered to donate all their proceeds to the victims' fund as well.

The flurry of activity, occurring at such speed with almost instantaneous results, made me feel considerably less helpless. Within two weeks I had received my first response from a reader of the special edition. Her choir director had driven from Florida to North Carolina to be by the side of a family member undergoing surgery. He had planned to fly, but airplane cancellations forced him to drive. He never made it; an auto accident killed him. Standing in a bookstore, weeping, this woman had noticed my book on pain and bought it—one of many who suffered "collateral damage" from the terrorist acts.

My wife Janet and I had originally planned to spend the week of September 17 on vacation, on a houseboat on Lake Powell, Arizona, with three couples from Illinois. When their flights got canceled, those plans changed. Instead, we took a three-day trip to Telluride, Colorado. We've climbed seven "14ers" this summer (14,000-foot mountains) and we attempted an eighth the week after the terrorist attacks. Wilson Peak is rated most difficult, and in the end we had to turn back because of a September snowstorm. Yet the interlude pulled us away from nonstop television and gave an important reminder of the goodness and grace that exists in this world alongside the ugliness and evil.

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October (Web-only) 2001, Vol. 45