9/11, Righteous Indignation, and the Trouble with Human Nature

I still remember that morning clearly. I had just come home from a long ER night shift and collapsed into bed. Around nine, Edith shook me awake—wide‑eyed, shaken, and insisting I look at the TV. Half asleep, I stumbled out just in time to watch the World Trade Center burn… and then fall. Like millions of Americans, I remember exactly where I was when the world seemed to stop. As an emergency physician, I had seen tragedy. But this was tragedy on a scale that felt impossible to absorb.

When Anger Makes Us Forget Our Better Selves

The nineteen hijackers were extremists acting in the name of Al‑Qaeda. In eyes that was righteous indignation. But extremists never represent an entire faith. More than a billion Muslims were not responsible for the actions of nineteen men. The Quran itself forbids suicide and condemns killing innocents. Like extremists in every religion, they twisted sacred words into weapons—something humans have been doing for centuries.

And before Christians start pointing fingers, history politely coughs and says, “Crusades, anyone?” We are excellent historians when discussing other people’s sins. Our own? Suddenly we develop amnesia.

When Religion Gets Too Close to Power

Early Christianity was known for nonviolence. But once church and empire became cozy, things changed. Augustine’s Just War theory was meant to limit violence. Human nature, however, loves loopholes. “Only as a last resort” slowly becomes “Well… this is definitely an exception.” And before long, God conveniently agrees with whatever we already wanted to do.

Funny how that works.

Lessons from the Crusades and the Inquisition

Both were born from the belief that protecting faith justified force. Good intentions mixed with political power produced coercion, punishment, and abuses. The uncomfortable truth: even sincere people can become dangerous when they believe they have a monopoly on God.

The Line Between Good and Evil

It doesn’t run between “us” and “them.” It runs through every human heart.

9/11 showed us humanity’s capacity for evil—but also its capacity for extraordinary courage. Firefighters ran into burning towers. Strangers helped strangers. People gave blood, opened homes, and held one another up. Evil was powerful that day, but goodness was powerful too.

Five Lessons Worth Remembering

Human beings can do great evil—and that should make us humble, not superior.

Jesus calls us to break the cycle of hatred, even when justice is necessary.

In the middle of darkness, people can show astonishing goodness.

Life can change in a moment, so love should never be postponed.

Evil does not get the final word. The Christian story ends with hope.

A Little Less Righteous Indignation

History warns us that once we believe God is always on our side, we may be standing close to repeating old mistakes. The world needs less certainty, less hatred, and more humility. More compassion. More willingness to ask whether we are truly on God’s side—not whether God is on ours.

So yes, we must oppose terrorism, seek justice, and honor the victims and heroes of 9/11. But we must also guard our hearts. Because the moment someone else’s hatred creates hatred inside us, we lose something precious. Let us not use “righteous indignation” to justify violence.

In the end, the greatest victory over hatred may simply be this: Remember the victims. Honor the heroes. Reject evil. Seek justice. And still keep your heart capable of love.

An eye for an eye: “You have heard that it was said, ‘Eye for eye, and tooth for tooth.’ But I tell you, do not resist an evil person. If anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to them the other cheek also” (Matthew 5:38–39).

Love your enemies: “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:43–44).

Laurence Gayao MD, DABFP, BCEM | For The Good Life

Don’t Let the Old Man In: A Flying Adventure From a Desert Clinic to My Seventies

From a Desert Clinic to a Cockpit in the Clouds

In mid‑1973, I was a young doctor with more enthusiasm than experience — and probably more courage than common sense. I had just opened my medical practice in McCamey, a tiny oil town tucked into the arid desert of West Texas. The town was so small that even the tumbleweeds looked bored.

They gave me free use of a fully equipped clinic and a $2,000 monthly stipend, which felt like a king’s ransom to a young fella still figuring out how to keep the lights on. The only catch? I had a temporary Texas medical license and still needed to pass the state board exam. Nothing like a little pressure to keep a man humble.

Meeting Dr. Kaj Turula

One day, out of nowhere, I got a call from a physician named Dr. Kaj Turula, newly arrived in Kermit, Texas. He said he was studying for the Texas board exam and asked if we could review together.

Later I learned he was from Finland, had practiced in Puerto Rico, and spoke five languages — Finnish, Spanish, German, French, and English. Meanwhile, I spoke English… and even that depended on how much sleep I’d had.

Kaj started calling me “Amigo” or “Lorenzo,” and every weekend he’d drive to McCamey so we could study. We took the exam together — and by some miracle (and probably his influence), we both passed.

My Flying Venture

A few months later, Kaj called again. This time he said, “Amigo, I’m a licensed pilot. Want to learn how to fly?”

Now, I was young, adventurous, and apparently allergic to asking my wife Edith for permission. So I said yes.

Kaj rented a plane in Midland, about 50 miles away. We met on a perfect Texas morning — blue sky, no wind, the kind of day that makes you believe you’re invincible. He briefed me on the flight plan, which involved tuning into directional frequencies. No GPS back then. Just radios, maps, and prayers.

He walked me through the pre‑flight check, step by step. Then we taxied to the runway and lifted into the sky. Once we reached altitude, he explained the controls — the yoke, the roll, the pitch — and then handed the plane over to me.

I remember thinking, This is easier than driving a car. Of course, that was before I learned about sudden weather changes, equipment malfunctions, and the small detail that you can’t pull over in the sky.

After my third flight, Edith sat me down and said, “Laurence, I don’t want to raise our kids alone.” That was her gentle way of saying, “Stop being a knucklehead.” And she was right. So my flying adventure ended… at least for a while.

Fast‑Forward to My Seventies

Decades later, in my mid‑seventies, I learned about Dr Condrad R. Zapanta, a fellow UERM meidical alumni — an octogenarian — who was still flying his own plane. I interviewed by him through email exchange for a video and shared my little flying story. He wrote back to me and said:

“Why don’t you take more lessons and get your license?”

I laughed and said, “At my age? I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

He replied, “I started when I was about 51 in 1997.” Lately he told me, “I’m 85 now and and have owned 4 aircrafts and still flying.” He is instrument rated and just passed his flight physical.”

That hit me like a gentle slap from the universe.