The following is the full text of Archbishop Ronald Hicks’ homily given Sept. 10, 2026, at St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

SPANISH:  Hoy estamos reunidos aquí con fe,

 rezando por todos los que fallecieron en la tragedia del 11 de septiembre.

 Y con apoyo y solidaridad, estamos acompañando

 a todos los que fueron afectados por este evento tan terrible.

Healing takes time. Hope is eternal.

Twenty-five years ago, on September 11, 2001,

our nation suffered a wound unlike any we had ever experienced.

If you are old enough to remember that day,

chances are you remember exactly where you were.

Maybe you were at home.

Maybe you were going to work or school.

Maybe you were driving in your car listening to the radio.

Maybe you were walking the streets of New York.

I know exactly where I was.

I was a priest in Chicago back in school for graduate studies.

And in the middle of class,

the dean came in and interrupted us with the news.

I remember my classmates and me sitting there numb.

And while I remember spending the rest of that day

and much of the following days glued to the television,

watching with horror and disbelief,

I cannot even begin to comprehend what it was like

for those of you who lived those terrible days in real time.

And like so many people, I found myself wondering:

Would we ever be happy again?

Would we ever smile again?

Would we ever feel whole again?

Healing takes time.

And healing does not happen in a day.

It takes time to grieve.

It takes time to say goodbye.

It takes time to rebuild.

It takes time to pray.

It takes time to remember.

And for twenty-five years,

that is exactly what we have been doing.

At first we attended funerals, countless funerals.

We comforted grieving families and friends.

We gathered for Masses and prayer services.

We cared for first responders and survivors.

We donated to human service organizations that led multi-year efforts of continued assistance and aid.

We read the deceased names every year.

We built memorials.

We rebuilt Lower Manhattan and the World Trade Center.

We created the 9/11 Museum.

We established foundations and scholarships in memory of those who died.

We came together across religious traditions to pray for peace.

And all of those things,

All of it has mattered!

Yet even twenty-five years later, the grieving continues.

A tragedy of this magnitude never completely disappears.

There are still tears.

There is still sadness.

There are still questions.

Even now, there are families and first responders

who continue to carry the physical and emotional effects

of that day.

There are memories permanently etched into our minds, hearts and souls.

Healing takes time.

But hope is eternal.

And through these twenty-five years, we never lost hope.

We never lost hope in ourselves.

And we never lost hope in God.

And I think it is important to say what hope is

and what hope is not.

Hope is not optimism.

Optimism says, “Tomorrow will be a better day.”

Now, optimism is good.  

I like optimistic people more than pessimistic people.

But hope is different.

Hope focuses on today!

Hope says, “God is with me today.”

Today, in the good times and the bad.

Today, in the ups and the downs.

Today, in moments of celebration and moments of grief.

Hope is knowing that God is walking with us.

We are never alone. We are never abandoned.

God is with us,

even when we cannot see the entire path ahead.

That kind of hope sustained this city.

That kind of hope sustained our country.

And that kind of hope has sustained us for twenty-five years.

One of the signs of that hope has been our commitment to healing together.

Since becoming Archbishop of New York,

I have been deeply impressed by something I see here again and again.

Whenever there is a major gathering at St. Patrick’s Cathedral,

it is not only Catholics who are present.

There are rabbis.

There are imams.

There are Protestant ministers.

People from all different faith traditions…

Standing together.

Praying together.

Listening together.

Seeking the common good…together.

One of the lessons of the last twenty-five years is that we need each other.

We need ongoing dialogue.

We need understanding.

We need to see one another first as brothers and sisters

created in the image and likeness of God.

And that work, my friends, is never finished.

It requires attention, humility and effort.

But it is part of the healing process.

Another sign of hope I want to point out today is right here in this cathedral.

In the back of this Cathedral is a mural depicting immigrants, saints, civic leaders, and first responders.

Yet the section that draws most people

is the one showing the first responders.

That mural represents the First Responders,

the countless unknown heroes of that day

and ALL the people and human service communities who continued to respond.

People stop there. They pray there. They take pictures there.

Why?

Because it represents the very best of who we are.

Men and women who put others before themselves.

People willing to sacrifice everything because it was the right thing to do.

Their example continues to inspire us.

It continues to give us hope. 

As people of faith, our hope is in God.

Hablando de la esperanza.

La esperanza significa que Dios no solamente estará con nosotros mañana, sino que Dios está con nosotros hoy.

En nuestras penas y alegrías,

en nuestras lágrimas y risas,

Dios está con nosotros. Nunca estamos solos. Nunca estamos abandonados.

Que Dios nos guíe hacia la vida eterna.

In today’s Gospel, Martha and Mary are grieving the death of their brother Lazarus.

Their hearts are broken.

Their grief and pain are real.

And Jesus does not tell them to move on.

He does not tell them to forget.

He does not dismiss their sorrow.

Instead, Jesus comes to them.

He stands beside them.

He enters into their suffering.

And then he asks Martha a question.

He says:

“I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live.”

“Do you believe this?”

I think Jesus has been asking us that same question for the last twenty-five years.

Do you believe this?

Do you believe that love is stronger than hatred?

Do you believe that life is stronger than death?

Do you believe that God can bring hope even out of tragedy?

Do you believe that God has remained with us

through every tear, every funeral,

every memorial, and every prayer?

And like Martha, I hope we can respond

“Yes, Lord. I believe that you are the Christ.

The Son of God, the one who is coming into the world.”

At the same time, faith does not allow us to stop at remembrance.

Because one of the lessons we have learned over the last twenty-five years is that healing is not passive.

Healing does not just happen.

Peace does not just happen.

Justice does not just happen.

Unity does not just happen.

We have to work for it.

Day after day.

Conversation after conversation.

Relationship after relationship.

Agreement after agreement.

And we have to strive for it…together.

Twenty five years later, we still remember.

We still pray.

We still honor those who died.

We still thank God for the heroic witness of our first responders.

We still are grateful for the multi-year commitment of the human service community.

We still work for justice and peace.

We still try to see one another as brothers and sisters,

And we do so with hope,

not because the road has been easy,

but because God has been with us every step of the way.

Healing takes time.

Hope is eternal.

And God who has carried us through the past twenty-five years

continues to walk with us today, tomorrow, and always.