The volunteer stood in a parking lot in the baking hot sun. When the Red Cross vehicles park in a neighborhood, people appear as if from nowhere. A neighborhood that seems deserted is, in fact, inhabited by the walking wounded, and their wounds are not always visible to the eye.

This volunteer, along with some of his partners on the team, presents a rugged exterior. He’s lost a few teeth. Tattoos decorate arms and legs. His voice is husky, if not gruff. Tough exterior.

In this poor section of New Orleans those left behind, either through lack of ability to get out or by their own stubborn choice to remain, come to the truck looking for clean water, food, cleanup supplies, trash bags, diapers–all those everyday things that one needs and takes for granted until an emergency throws life into a loop.

One man comes looking for MREs. Ready-made military meals. Another wants only a sponge and mop. A woman, displaying a multitude of insect bites on her legs, wants repellant. One man comes clutching a prescription medicine container. And one frail, dangerously thin man slowly negotiates his way down two flights of stairs from a low-rent apartment and shuffles across a parking lot and a street to get whatever food the volunteers will give him.

After making this long trek he sits on the front bumper of our van to gather his strength. He asks for water, food and a sponge. A long scar on his back evidences surgery, now heeled.

Given the supplies, he discovers he’s too weak to lift them. The volunteer in the truck jumps down to help but two young men from the neighborhood offer to carry his burden to his apartment. They ask only that the truck leave them some diapers.

Four National Guardsmen stand around the truck, witnessing to the toughness of this block. As the young men return from the older man’s apartment he hands them the sponge he’s just received from the volunteer. Payment for their help. He shuffles slowly back across the lot, rests on a concrete pylon and then slowly, agonizingly steps up the two flights of stairs to his apartment.

Back in the parking lot the hard-bitten, tattooed volunteer recounts in a soft voice that one man came to him in this same spot and said, “My wife and daughter died in my house. I’m not leaving now.”

“People tell you the most personal things,” he said. His voice cracks, tears well in his eyes, he looks down and covers his face. His tough exterior has been penetrated by the suffering humanity he has come to serve.

The pain in New Orleans is beyond the obvious. Souls have been wounded here, and strong, caring people, no matter how tough their exterior facade, can see more than damaged buildings.

After ten days of the most extreme stress imaginable, the people of New Orleans are at the edge. Talk with anyone from aid workers to residents and you hear stories. Many pause, weep and slowly regain their composure. The stress of this disaster is affecting everyone.

In a neighborhood at the edge of Metarie and Jefferson the electricity has just been turned on. As a Red Cross vehicle drives through the neighborhood announcing a food drop-off on a loudspeaker, residents emerge from damaged apartments and houses. A few push grocery carts. One man stacks bottled fruit drinks on a bicycle seat. Another leans on a crutch as he struggles to balance two boxes on his shoulder.

A woman stops to tell me she has 18 people in her small home. She intends to stay here but knows this may be impossible. She says energetically, “There are no services, no businesses and no way to earn a living. Do you have any of the $2,000 debit cards?” We don’t.

Another woman whose husband has leukemia and daughter is five months pregnant, says she has taken in 18 family members. The family had $300.00 before the storm. Gasoline for the evacuation and return took $170 of that. She’s been unable to connect with social services. Emotionally overextended and overloaded with responsibilities, she collects a load of fruit drinks, peanut butter crackers, diapers and water and drives off.

Three young people, neighbors in the same apartment complex, collect food and drinks in a grocery cart and stop to tell me they are working together as a team to survive. Sharon, a single-parent head of household with three children at home, says “We’re doing OK. Well, as OK as you can be in conditions like this. We’re surviving. The electricity came on last night. We’ve got water. We’re helping each other.”
Her neighbor Johnny picks up the conversation quickly. “We’re a team. If we work together we can make it. We’re doing OK because we’re helping each other.”
The three-some thank the Red Cross volunteers and two of them push the grocery cart down the street.

They disperse as quickly as they gather. Every survivor laboring under a load whose weight is both a physical burden and a symbol of the struggle to hang on in this devastated city.

New Orleans–Friday morning another phase of this tragedy moved inexorably forward, one necessary and most difficult, the reclamation and identification of bodies.

The Red Cross estimates 100 to 175 familes a day will be moving into its disaster mortuaries. However, the estimate is only that, an estimate.

The magnitude of the disaster makes it nearly impossible to know with precision how many have been killed even at this stage of the recovery.

Meeting with officials of the Louisiana Conference of The United Methodist Church, a Red Cross official told the group that temporary morgues need trained clergy to be present in the mortuaries where the bodies are being brought in. In addition, family support centers are being set up to receive and care for families coming to identify and claim bodies.

In addition, prayer teams are being assembled to offer support to those who desire prayer. The prayer teams will carry out twenty-four hour prayer vigils to support both families and the communities in which the disaster morgues are located.

The disaster mortuary is run by FEMA in collaboration with other organizations. Teams are gathering information on websites to identify families looking for family members. Necessary as it is, it’s a job no one really wants, yet one that is obviously critical at this time of great tragedy.

Baton Rouge, Louisiana–
The cameras and the re-telling of the stories of evacuation begin to capture a glimpse of the depth of dislocation that is taking place along the Gulf Coast in the aftermath of Katrina. But images and words alone can’t fully convey how utterly devastating this dislocation is to the individuals who have experienced the loss of their loved ones, neighborhoods and towns, homes and possessions, churches, schools, places of employment and businesses.

It’s unseen. Hidden behind faces that seem calm and less troubled. However, talk for a few minutes, ask a question that cuts below the surface that says, “We’re OK. We’re grateful for all the help,” and you get tears and fears.

And why not? When any one of these losses experienced singularly sends us tumbling into the whirlwind of grief, how can we comprehend the loss of the whole constellation of our lives and not be thrown into unknown and frightening territory.

People here not only don’t know where loved ones and friends are, they don’t know if they have jobs; don’t know where they will find shelter in a couple of weeks, nor how they will survive, nor if their homes can be re-built, nor whether their communities can be recovered, nor when. Imagine the feeling of being left without a single, familiar support–whether it’s going to familiar grocery store, one’s own doctor, or a local church.

Whole towns have disappeared. Families are scattered from coast to coast. Friends can’t be located. People talk to strangers about this common experience of disloation.

The unseen wounds of grief and dislocation will be around for a long, long time.

This is not to say that welcoming and hospitable treatment has gone lacking. It hasn’t. Ask the evacuees and they tell a story of gratefulness to those who have taken them in. Yet, there is this haunting reality. All is gone. No one knows when, if ever, life will return to a semblance of what was normal. It’s this, the unnseen and unknowable that is now taking its toll on virtually all involved in this great diaspora of humanity along the Gulf Coast.

For the second time, The United Methodist Church was advertising when a major disaster struck. The first was 9/11. Now it is Katrina. Inevitably, I receive queries from people asking why the church would spend money in this way when there is so much obvious human need.

These are legitimate questions arising from an authentic desire to see the church do the right thing. I’m not defensive about this. It’s a question born of genuine concern and it deserves a fair, considered response.

In a practical vein, the monies dedicated to this initiative were appropriated months ago and committed to the purchase of time long before the hurricane. It’s virtually impossible ten days into the schedule to pull the ads, get refunds and expend it on emergency relief. But that’s just a realistic and very practical reality.

As the communications agency of the church we anticipate contingencies and allocate funds for communicating during such events. Admittedly, in a disaster of this magnitude, we don’t have an abundance of reserve funds, however, we will be creative and adaptive and we’ll get the stories told and get the word out. But the point is, communicating during a disaster is an important, integral part of humanitarian response and the costs of communicating do not take away from contributions that are given for humanitarian response. In fact, it’s vital to communicate so that people will know where and how to volunteer, contribute and otherwise support compassionate service to those affected.

In The United Methodist Church administrative costs for underwriting humanitarian efforts are provided by an offering known as One Great Hour of Sharing. This offering allows the relief agency of the church to pay for salaries and travel, among other expenses, that make it possible for relief and long-term rehabilitation to be carried out. Most importantly, it also means that no monies given by donors for human service are channelled to pay for advertising or administration. One hundred percent of your donation goes to people in need.

The outpouring of compassion and frustration at the slowness of response to the poor of New Orleans reveals so much that is hopeful and positive, as well as frightening and discouraging

Poverty, racism
and neglect
kill.

I heard a United Methodist bishop say that the flood washed away the illusion that poverty and racism are not problems today.

These are problems and no matter how we try to cover them, or change the subject, they have become all-too-apparent.
Widows, the sick, orphans, the poor–these were the ones left behind. Poverty, racism and neglect kill.

I’m not critical in the least of the first responders. They did not reject anyone. They are heroic people who did all they could to find and rescue people. This is not criticism of these brave people.

On the other hand, the leaders of the nation, those who are responsible for tax cuts and who have made demeaning statements about government as part of their political platform, turned their backs to the poor long ago, and continue to do so. In addition those conversations that sow division and exclude people, the so-called hot button issues, also occupy us and use time that we could better allocate to fighting poverty, not fighting each other.

These are the discouraging things.

On the other hand, the churches in the affected region stepped out in faith and showed the way. They are among the heroes in this massive human dilemma. They demonstrate that we are at our best when we are united in common mission and ministry. We accomplish our mission and minister effectively when we choose to address real needs and when we choose servanthood over berating each other. This servanthood leads us to our strengths–building inclusive communities, ending poverty, making disciples who are deeply committed to following Jesus Christ as a life commitment, and serving others as an expression of Christian faith.

I think we are hungry for this unity, hope and justice. I think the hurricane has presented us with an opportunity to heal, reconcile and engage in our society. I pray we will seize it.

This column by Nicholas D. Kristoff speaks for itself, the hurricane of poverty is America’s shame.

There is considerable discussion today on the cable news shows about the lack of preparation for a disaster of the magnitude of the New Orleans tragedy.

No doubt we need to learn from New Orleans about this nation’s lack of preparedness for a major emergency in a metropolitan area.

In its concentrated geography the city reveals how we have overlooked social disparities and inequalities that are now dealing death to some of us. But the human suffering is so much more widespread than the city. Rural areas in Mississippi have received virtually no coverage. Only limited stories have been filed from other parts of the disaster area. I’m concerned about this.

However, it is the city that is becoming the signature for the disaster and the tragedy lays bare more than lack of disaster preparedness. It lays bare the economic neglect of the poor that has been simmering for decades in this country. It reveals the results of declining support for city services, cutbacks in health care, accommodation to gambling as a source of revenue rather than a more stable tax base, the abandonment of urban areas as living habitat.

As many commentators have pointed out, the tragedy in New Orleans is about race and class.
But it’s also a learning opportunity for the Christian community as well. We’ve seen the decline of many tall steeple churches in urban areas as population shifts have occurred. We’ve seen the weakening of urban ministry in the mainline denominations so that today it is a pale reflection of what it was in the Sixties, for example. And we’ve seen the weakening of small membership churches in town and country .

Not only is the loss of New Orleans a wakeup call for emergency planners, it should be a wake-up call to those of us in the church to re-engage ministry with the poor, not only in urban areas, but in small town and rural settings as well. This isn’t just a natural disaster, it’s the exposure of a social wound that has been left unattended for a long time. Advocating to end poverty and establishing justice are not incidental to Christian faith, they are fundamental.

The voice of the church needs to be heard in concert with other voices to support funding for public schools, health care for all, decent, affordable housing and adequate public transportation. It’s clear that this voice is needed.

It’s also clear that we need to re-think ministry with the poor. It’s a fundamental part of the historic tradition of The United Methodist Church. And, more importantly, it’s what Jesus told us to do. It’s integral to meaningful, vital faith.

We’ve seen Jesus on the flooded sidewalks of New Orleans, pleading from the rooftops, sleeping under the bridges and marooned in the buildings. We must not lose that vision. We must see that it is our responsibility to address the disparities that are laid bare in this tragedy, for the good of us all, because this is what is required of faithful disciples today.

The response of everyday folks to those affected by Katrina is not only inspiring, it’s instructive.

What I find most encouraging is the spirit of compassion that hundreds of thousands of people have demonstrated by volunteering, taking people into their homes and contributing to relief efforts. It’s more than inspiring, it’s also instructive.

It’s a tacit expression that there is a reservoir of compassion and community that we don’t always see in the course of our day-to-day affairs.

What strikes me is how people mobilized spontaneously. They didn’t wait for someone in Washington or New York to call them together, they just stepped out in faith and did it. It’s humbling and inspiring.

There is hope in this response, and much more. There is the potential for a re-awakening of our need for responsive, competent government; the recognition that government is about all of us. There is hope that we will understand leadership in a new way. A major function of leadership is about serving the the common good.

We may re-learn that we are strong when we work together and we are vulnerable when we exclude and divide.

These remarkable volunteers are embodying a new understanding of compassionate community, a community of generosity, justice and inclusion. I pray we will not only be inspired but that we will also, to paraphrase Ghandi, be moved to create the change we want to see in the world.

Now we know.

Now we know why we need government. Because it’s us. It ‘s us taking care of each other, especially those who are poorest, sickest, smallest and most vulnerable in our human community. It’s about all of us working for the common good.

Now we know why we need leadership and not politics as usual. Politics is the art of getting things done, for the good of the whole. As it’s been practiced lately it’s been about getting your piece of the pie and the rest can take the hindmost.

Now we know why we need a civil, compassionate national conversation about justice and equity for all. It’s been a conversation of harsh rhetoric, blaming and finger-pointing, Bible-blessed prejudice. We need social policies that reflect the compassion of the people of this nation, include those who need a helping hand and provide needed services like public education, health care and job training, among others.

Now we know why people of goodwill and people of progressive religious faith must come together to change the unacceptable. Because we must recover traditional values of community, compassion and justice. We must recover respect for those who serve the public good and provide them the resources necessary to carry out their responsibilities competently. It’s unacceptable to denigrate and mock responsible government. It’s not just unacceptable to have incompetent cronies running the agencies of government, it’s dangerous.

Now we know.