I sat in on a lunch meeting of the Episcopal Diocese of Louisiana's Office of Disaster Response (ODR) last Thursday. The folks who attended are each in charge of directing some aspect of the Office's business, and each person reported on the work being done in their area. When Mr. Anthony Johnson, Director of Case Management, had his time to speak he informed the group that he had a new addition to the Case Management Department: a waiting list. As of June 14 the case workers of the ODR were averaging over 100 active cases, twice their normal load. When they received over 100 calls asking for help on Monday, June 10, the waiting list had to be started. The summer rush was on.
Many of the people who evacuated New Orleans in the wake of Hurricane Katrina have been looking for an opportune time to make their return. Folks I have spoken to have given two reasons for this summer being particularly auspicious. First, it is difficult for families that have children in school to move during the middle of the academic year. The summer months are much more attractive, since their children can start at a new school in a new grade, rather than having to change schools in the middle of a course of study.
Second, more and more people are closing on their settlements from the beleaguered Road Home program. When a Road Home application is submitted the applicant can choose one of three options:
1. Stay in your home.
2. Purchase another home in Louisiana
3. Sell your home and choose not to remain a homeowner in the state.
Of the 48,970 applicants that have chosen an option, 96.9% have chosen to remain a homeowner in the State of Louisiana and 85.7% have chosen to return to their homes. As of June 11, 2007 Road Home has 3,133 closings scheduled. This means that a lot of people are ready to get back and start rebuilding. A lot of people getting ready to rebuild also means that there are a lot of people coming back to New Orleans who will need help getting their road home cleared. As I mentioned above, many of the resources available to folks on the road home are stretched to the limit with no sign of demand for the services decreasing any time soon.
So what can the Church do to help? While it may be our instinct to try to tend to the spiritual needs of those coming home to rebuild, we need to realize that root of their problems lie elsewhere. When we only address an individual's spiritual issues we are perceived as irrelevant or unhelpful. A Lakeview resident that I spoke to yesterday summed this point up nicely: "When I first came back I would go to the Church for help and they would pray over me. After going to them a couple of times, I got tired of just getting prayed over. I lost everything in the storm. I need some help with that. I lost my house, not my soul." This present day New Orleanian echoes the writings of St. James, "If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, 'Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,' and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead." (James 2:15-17, NRSV)
So what, then, are we to do? Are we destined to become a club for spiritual people, seen as ineffective by those outside of our circle? Certainly not! Rather, we should take the advice that St. James offers to the recipients of his epistle, "I by my works will show you my faith." (James 2:18, NRSV) We are stirred from complacency by the compassion shown to us by a loving God. We are empowered to go out and help people travel the road home by the Holy Spirit. We are transformed from social activists into kingdom agents by the One who is the Kingdom come near to us. In short, the only reason that we are able to do works is by faith.
I would like to issue an appeal to those of you who might want to help, particularly those who have those specialized skills so desperately needed: electricians, plumbers, social workers, mental health professional. Take time in prayer and ask God how He can use you to help your brothers and sisters in New Orleans. Pray on it. Pray for guidance on how you can make a difference. As for me, it is my prayer that God will continue to kindle our hearts and empower our works. I pray that God's work may continue in New Orleans and all of the Gulf Coast until the road home is made clear and all who wander are able to make their return.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Building the Kingdom, One Home at a Time
This Saturday morning I took a trip out to the warehouse. The warehouse is where the Episcopal Diocese of Louisiana stores all of the supplies that they use to do gutting, restoration, and relief work. As you wander down the rows of storage you see foam mattresses, Sheetrock, insulation, pallets of bottled water, and the list goes on. Perhaps, if you come on a weekday, you'll also get to see Deacon Hackett scooting around on the forklift, complete with clergy shirt and collar.
On this Saturday morning the occasion for my trip was not Deacon watching, but to meet with Katie Mears whose office is located in the warehouse. She originally came down to New Orleans with a volunteer crew but decided to stay on and help the diocese with its relief efforts. After a while they decided to hire her on as their site coordinator. I met with her to find out how the Diocese goes about doing disaster response work and to see how that plan works itself out on the ground.
Katie explained that the Diocese began their work by gutting houses. (To date they've gutted more than 800.) After that effort was under way for some time they decided to move into offering rebuilding assistance. The plan was to help people use the money that they received from the federally funded Road Home program (http://www.road2la.org) to obtain building materials at cost. The diocese would then provide volunteers to help do the work that needed to be done so that homeowners could get the maximum value for their dollars. As it turns out, the Road Home money has been slow in coming, so the diocese is fixing the houses now and homeowners are repaying them as their checks come in. They are committed to offering real choices to the homeowners instead of taking a cookie-cutter approach. This attention to the needs and concerns of the individuals permeates that work that they do.
After our conversation, Katie offered to take me out to one of the sites so that I could see the actual work that was being done. When we arrived the crew was hard at work. I was anxious to see the progress that the volunteers were making, but Katie suggested that I let the homeowner show me herself. We walked up to the FEMA trailer parked in the front yard and Katie knocked on the door.
"It's open baby! Come on in, " called a voice from inside.
We entered and sat down with the homeowner. She was a congenial, middle-aged black woman, seated at her kitchen table. After offering us refreshments, she told us about her situation. After evacuating during Katrina and moving through five shelters, she was finally able to make it back to New Orleans. Her house had been under seven feet of water, so she had to move into a trailer. She said that she was overwhelmed with what she was supposed to do and disheartened by how far she had to go. One night, at her wits end, she cried out to God and asked Him to show her how she could start rebuilding her life. As she prayed, she looked up at her television and saw the number for the Episcopal Diocese of Louisiana's Office of Disaster Response. She wrote down the number and called them early the next morning. She was able to get in touch with someone who put her on the path to recovery. The crews of volunteers sent by the diocese helped her gut her house, get the plumbing and electrical work done, hung Sheetrock, laid tile, talked, laughed, and cried.
"I just thank God for what the church has done for me. I don't know what I would have done without them," she told me.
After our conversation, she walked with me around her house. Inside volunteers were painting the walls with bright, cheerful colors, such a marked contrast from the drab interior of the trailer. The bright colors of the room were mirrored in her eyes and a smile split her face. Watching her house being resurrected before her eyes transformed her as well.
"Doesn't it look so good?" she asked.
That the house looked "good" was an understatement. In the midst of the decaying lots that lined the street, her home looked like a little slice of heaven.
On this Saturday morning the occasion for my trip was not Deacon watching, but to meet with Katie Mears whose office is located in the warehouse. She originally came down to New Orleans with a volunteer crew but decided to stay on and help the diocese with its relief efforts. After a while they decided to hire her on as their site coordinator. I met with her to find out how the Diocese goes about doing disaster response work and to see how that plan works itself out on the ground.
Katie explained that the Diocese began their work by gutting houses. (To date they've gutted more than 800.) After that effort was under way for some time they decided to move into offering rebuilding assistance. The plan was to help people use the money that they received from the federally funded Road Home program (http://www.road2la.org) to obtain building materials at cost. The diocese would then provide volunteers to help do the work that needed to be done so that homeowners could get the maximum value for their dollars. As it turns out, the Road Home money has been slow in coming, so the diocese is fixing the houses now and homeowners are repaying them as their checks come in. They are committed to offering real choices to the homeowners instead of taking a cookie-cutter approach. This attention to the needs and concerns of the individuals permeates that work that they do.
After our conversation, Katie offered to take me out to one of the sites so that I could see the actual work that was being done. When we arrived the crew was hard at work. I was anxious to see the progress that the volunteers were making, but Katie suggested that I let the homeowner show me herself. We walked up to the FEMA trailer parked in the front yard and Katie knocked on the door.
"It's open baby! Come on in, " called a voice from inside.
We entered and sat down with the homeowner. She was a congenial, middle-aged black woman, seated at her kitchen table. After offering us refreshments, she told us about her situation. After evacuating during Katrina and moving through five shelters, she was finally able to make it back to New Orleans. Her house had been under seven feet of water, so she had to move into a trailer. She said that she was overwhelmed with what she was supposed to do and disheartened by how far she had to go. One night, at her wits end, she cried out to God and asked Him to show her how she could start rebuilding her life. As she prayed, she looked up at her television and saw the number for the Episcopal Diocese of Louisiana's Office of Disaster Response. She wrote down the number and called them early the next morning. She was able to get in touch with someone who put her on the path to recovery. The crews of volunteers sent by the diocese helped her gut her house, get the plumbing and electrical work done, hung Sheetrock, laid tile, talked, laughed, and cried.
"I just thank God for what the church has done for me. I don't know what I would have done without them," she told me.
After our conversation, she walked with me around her house. Inside volunteers were painting the walls with bright, cheerful colors, such a marked contrast from the drab interior of the trailer. The bright colors of the room were mirrored in her eyes and a smile split her face. Watching her house being resurrected before her eyes transformed her as well.
"Doesn't it look so good?" she asked.
That the house looked "good" was an understatement. In the midst of the decaying lots that lined the street, her home looked like a little slice of heaven.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Finding a High Cliff in the Swamp
I was reading over the Daily Office today and I came to this passage from the Psalter: "I waited patiently upon the LORD; he stooped to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the desolate pit, out of the mire and clay; he set my feet upon a high cliff and made my footing sure." (Psalm 40:1-2, NRSV) These two verses of Scripture jumped out to me because are packed with meaning for the citizens of New Orleans these days.
In a post-K New Orleans getting your feet set on a high cliff is the name of the game. I was walking around the neighborhood by St. Paul's with some other volunteers and saw my first newly raised houses since I came back to the city. Folks are jacking their houses up and setting them on pillars in order to avoid flooding should the waters rise again. Other folks haven't gotten to that point yet. They're still stuck down in the mire and the clay, searching desperately for a way out.
One such person is an older woman I met in the Lower 9th Ward yesterday. She told us that she just moved back into her house about one month ago. She needed to get her plumbing fixed and her gas lines inspected before those utilities could be turned back on. Her son recommended a contractor that claimed he was working out of a local church. He assessed the situation and gave her an estimate of $9500. The woman was unsure if this was a fair price (it wasn't), but she was so desperate to get the repairs made that she paid the man what he asked. He, in turn, never finished the job, took the money, and hasn't been heard from since. Now, out almost $10,000, this poor woman's life is looking a lot like the desolate pit that the Psalmist spoke of.
So, how does she get out? Luckily for us, God is willing to kneel down. He gets down and works in and through His creation and creatures. God has taken his followers up in his hands and breathed the breath of the Holy Spirit into their mouths. He has given them the determination and desire to come down and volunteer, to help their brothers and sisters in need. The Spirit has blessed these volunteers with the gifts of faith, hope, and love, and they've come to New Orleans to give these gifts to those in need.
In the case of the woman above, a group from Manhattan has taken her under their care. This evening, after putting in a day of work mucking houses, they're renting a plumbing snake, returning to her house. This woman was a complete stranger to them yesterday, but today they're getting her ready to help her get the water turned back on. Will an act of compassion by these Christians set to rights the wrong done to this woman? No, it will not. However, it is a start. Tonight, in one little house in the Lower 9th, a group with a plumbing snake will offer their hands. Their hands will be reaching out to lift one woman out of the mire and clay of despair to set her, if just for a moment, on a high cliff of hope.
In a post-K New Orleans getting your feet set on a high cliff is the name of the game. I was walking around the neighborhood by St. Paul's with some other volunteers and saw my first newly raised houses since I came back to the city. Folks are jacking their houses up and setting them on pillars in order to avoid flooding should the waters rise again. Other folks haven't gotten to that point yet. They're still stuck down in the mire and the clay, searching desperately for a way out.
One such person is an older woman I met in the Lower 9th Ward yesterday. She told us that she just moved back into her house about one month ago. She needed to get her plumbing fixed and her gas lines inspected before those utilities could be turned back on. Her son recommended a contractor that claimed he was working out of a local church. He assessed the situation and gave her an estimate of $9500. The woman was unsure if this was a fair price (it wasn't), but she was so desperate to get the repairs made that she paid the man what he asked. He, in turn, never finished the job, took the money, and hasn't been heard from since. Now, out almost $10,000, this poor woman's life is looking a lot like the desolate pit that the Psalmist spoke of.
So, how does she get out? Luckily for us, God is willing to kneel down. He gets down and works in and through His creation and creatures. God has taken his followers up in his hands and breathed the breath of the Holy Spirit into their mouths. He has given them the determination and desire to come down and volunteer, to help their brothers and sisters in need. The Spirit has blessed these volunteers with the gifts of faith, hope, and love, and they've come to New Orleans to give these gifts to those in need.
In the case of the woman above, a group from Manhattan has taken her under their care. This evening, after putting in a day of work mucking houses, they're renting a plumbing snake, returning to her house. This woman was a complete stranger to them yesterday, but today they're getting her ready to help her get the water turned back on. Will an act of compassion by these Christians set to rights the wrong done to this woman? No, it will not. However, it is a start. Tonight, in one little house in the Lower 9th, a group with a plumbing snake will offer their hands. Their hands will be reaching out to lift one woman out of the mire and clay of despair to set her, if just for a moment, on a high cliff of hope.
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Remember?
I arrived in New Orleans in the evening on May 29. WWOZ was playing on my radio, trumpets blared their sultry sound out of my speakers as I drove my car down Napoleon. Rain was coming down like crazy, not one of the daily afternoon showers, but a real deal rain storm. The water fell off of the branches of the oak trees that overhung the street and onto my windshield. Twilight was coming on.
Just like I had pictured it.
I had spent the last quarter of the semester at VTS anticipating my arrival in the city and I was finally here. That arrival shifted the gears in my brain from forward to reverse and the memories came flooding in. What is it about New Orleans that jogs the memory? (I have a sneaking suspicion that New Orleans, as a city, has forgotten more than it has remembered, so it seems rather counterintuitive.) Whatever the reason, whenever I come back to New Orleans my memory starts working overtime. I remember the people with whom I've shared the city, though most of them are long gone from these parts, and wish they were here. (I've started calling some of them, trying to coax them back. No luck so far, but I'm still hopeful.) I remember long nights, both in my lab at Tulane and out at the bars, and promise myself that I'll pay those old haunts a visit. I remember the music, and the melodies seem to float through air again: Galactic at Tip's on Lundi Gras, George Clinton at City Park for VooDoo, the Decemberists at Twiropa when the AC broke.
Your remember Twiropa? Great club. I think that it turned out to be my favorite in the end. Best thing about the place for my money: the parking cone lights. Don't know why. Or maybe how the loading dock door rolled up in the front of the warehouse to reveal the entrance to the venue. How bout O'Flaherty's Pub? Remember sitting in that upper room, all of us in one place and oblivious of our impending diaspora, listening to Mr. O'Flaherty sing to the patrons below? We told them it was a graduation party so they'd rent us the room.
You remember the storm? Everyone here does. In a lot of cases they don't have to do much remembering. They're still living with Katrina every day. They show up at St. Paul's, Lakeview, the church where I'm working for the summer, looking for help with something. Sometimes they need a caseworker to help them get a plan together to tear down, or repair, or rebuild. Other times they need to notarize a document, get help from some of the volunteers in residence, or do a load of laundry at the washateria.
Sometimes they just need someone to talk to. Used to be they'd just call up their neighbors, but a lot of these folks don't have neighbors any more. Lakeview was hit hard and it has taken a long time for folks to make their way back home. God knows it has taken me a while to get here myself, but I'll tell you one thing for sure: It's good to be back.
Just like I had pictured it.
I had spent the last quarter of the semester at VTS anticipating my arrival in the city and I was finally here. That arrival shifted the gears in my brain from forward to reverse and the memories came flooding in. What is it about New Orleans that jogs the memory? (I have a sneaking suspicion that New Orleans, as a city, has forgotten more than it has remembered, so it seems rather counterintuitive.) Whatever the reason, whenever I come back to New Orleans my memory starts working overtime. I remember the people with whom I've shared the city, though most of them are long gone from these parts, and wish they were here. (I've started calling some of them, trying to coax them back. No luck so far, but I'm still hopeful.) I remember long nights, both in my lab at Tulane and out at the bars, and promise myself that I'll pay those old haunts a visit. I remember the music, and the melodies seem to float through air again: Galactic at Tip's on Lundi Gras, George Clinton at City Park for VooDoo, the Decemberists at Twiropa when the AC broke.
Your remember Twiropa? Great club. I think that it turned out to be my favorite in the end. Best thing about the place for my money: the parking cone lights. Don't know why. Or maybe how the loading dock door rolled up in the front of the warehouse to reveal the entrance to the venue. How bout O'Flaherty's Pub? Remember sitting in that upper room, all of us in one place and oblivious of our impending diaspora, listening to Mr. O'Flaherty sing to the patrons below? We told them it was a graduation party so they'd rent us the room.
You remember the storm? Everyone here does. In a lot of cases they don't have to do much remembering. They're still living with Katrina every day. They show up at St. Paul's, Lakeview, the church where I'm working for the summer, looking for help with something. Sometimes they need a caseworker to help them get a plan together to tear down, or repair, or rebuild. Other times they need to notarize a document, get help from some of the volunteers in residence, or do a load of laundry at the washateria.
Sometimes they just need someone to talk to. Used to be they'd just call up their neighbors, but a lot of these folks don't have neighbors any more. Lakeview was hit hard and it has taken a long time for folks to make their way back home. God knows it has taken me a while to get here myself, but I'll tell you one thing for sure: It's good to be back.
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