Sermons
The Wilderness of New Orleans
Gracious God,
may your call in the wilderness
rouse us from the safety of our routines
to the intimacy,
uncertainty,
and vulnerability of embodying your faith
in us all. In your Holy Name we pray—Amen.
(please be seated)
Good Morning!
There is a voice crying in the wilderness;
There is a voice in the wilderness crying,
calling us,
coaxing us,
compelling us,
to prepare the way of the Lord.
A voice in the wilderness
—inviting us—
we who would venture close enough
to hear that voice,
a voice in the wilderness
asking us
to make the crooked paths straight,
the valleys high
and the mountains low,
a voice in the wilderness—
calling us
to make the rough ways smooth—
so that all—
all will see the salvation of our God.
A voice asking us.
Who? You? Me?
Making God’s salvation known to all people.
Indeed.
Two weeks ago—
a group of 30 of us
went down to New Orleans
under the able leadership
of our co-warden Joey Sylvester.
Eighteen of us came from All Saints’, two from Messiah-St. Bartholmew on the south side, three from Christ Church, Winnetka, one from Church of the Atonement over on Kenmore and six from St. Matthew’s Church, Westminster, London.
Our ages ranged from 18 to 73.
Thirty of us went
—for a week-
-to gut houses,
to carry
the material contents of people’s lives to the curb,
to remove the mud,
sludge, slime and mold
from houses
some of which have not been touched
in fifteen months.
Let me say—
right up front—
I wasn’t very excited about going.
Unlike many people in this congregation
New Orleans has never been
much of a draw to me.
I dislike Jazz and Blues
—even good jazz and good blues—
and its taken me years of therapy
to be able to say that aloud—
but it’s true.
I’m allergic mold,
dust bothers my eyes,
even though I grew up in Hawaii
where the bugs are super-sized
—if one comes running at me,
I turn, run and shriek like a girl.
I dislike manual labor.
Did I mention-- I’m not particularly adept with tools. Lastly,
I cannot sleep in a room
with more than one person.
So this was not a trip
upon which I was dying to embark. But…
I’d heard Joey,
Ruth, Jeff, Val and Elizabeth
talk about their experience in the spring.
I’d seen their pictures,
heard their stories—
more importantly
the stories of the people they’d met.
And I’d seen the look on Kevin’s face—
each time he spoke
of the city he’d left—
the home he’d lost
in so many different ways.
As they all spoke I heard a small, nattering voice,
like the constant whine of a fluorescent light,
I heard a voice calling me—
to the wilderness of New Orleans—
A call that would not stop.
So Armed with my tent—a two person-- four pound—Sierra Design—
which is readily carried and easily stowed—
Armed with my tent--because there was no way I was going to sleep in a room with 22 other people-
-I went to New Orleans. I got on that plane--
And my life changed. I am not alone.
I asked folks on the trip to send me some of their reflections
so that I might incorporate
some of their thoughts into today’s sermon.
With one call I received 28 pages of reflections.
Some of which I hope we can post on-line.
Let me give you some facts,
60 per cent of the population of New Orleans
has not returned.
Huge neighborhoods of middle class homes are empty.
The lower nineth ward is filled with stairs
that lead nowhere because the houses are gone—
pushed down the street.
At one point during one of our days
all of our vans were supposed to gather across the street from a park.
I never found the park. I never found the park
because I thought it was an RV sales lot.
Then I looked again and realized
that sure it was a park—
a park with 400 FEMA trailers
arranged in rows one next to the other with their above ground PVC sewer piping connecting each.
The vast majority of the money generated
for the State of Louisiana came from the city of New Orleans—
a city whose economy is largely dependent upon tourism. Hence there is little money,
no money to speak of from the state government for Katrina recovery.
The army core of engineers
has just issued a 6000 page document
detailing what went wrong with the levees.
(at 6000 pages it’s almost a levee).
Some of the cliff note—highlights from this government epic is—
the levees were supposed to have been built
to withstand a category 3 hurricane.
When Katrina hit—
it was a category 3 hurricane.
However—the Levees—
were supposed to have been built
30 feet deep
—incased in a water impermeable substance—
concrete.
Instead many were just 15 feet deep
surrounded by peet.
Peat-- a word
frequently followed by the word bog.
Peat a porous dirt—know for its ability to absorb—
and not repel water.
Of course the Levees failed.
New Orleans looks as if
the storm happened 3 months ago—
not almost a year and a half ago.
We cleaned out houses,
hauled the contents of a family’s life to the curb—
of a home that had not been touched since August 2005. Us and the critters—
we were the only ones who’d been there.
Why? For many people its just too painful.
Imagine your entire house—turned upside down—
imagining that a bomb has gone off in it
and then filled with toxic water.
As one person on our trip said,
“At first, to the casual observer, it looked like normal neighborhoods; but upon closer look, the neighborhoods were empty with large black or white x’s painted on the doors or walls—marking when the building had been searched. The lawns were overgrown. The stip malls were shuttered. The schools were closed, as were the libraries and very many churches…
The majority of the population has not returned.
Although the one’s who are home—
can muster hope—
everything they do is twice as difficult
as it was before.
The school next to our partner parish
—St. Luke’s— has 700 students, 11 teachers, 30 security guards.
And
A phenomenal principal—
who came after Katrina, and a student body who organized themselves and went down to city hall—to the board of Ed. to protest their situation.
Their’s a voice crying in the wilderness—my friends. There is hope—but we need to continue to help.
What good did we do?
We gutted 7 houses in four days.
We took each house to its bare bones
—the studs and foundation—
so that the home ownwer can now get the best possible estimate on the house’s worth.
Many will be demolished—some will be rebuilt—
but at least our work will enable
the owner to now move on with their lives
no longer trapped in August 2005.
On Friday—we did work for our friends at our sister parish St. Luke’s. Some of us moved furniture, washed plates, dusted furniture, painted and prepared a home to be reentered. Dusting? Dusting for Jesus. Being a witness to the wilderness that was—so that when people return—they do so knowing that they are not alone—their story—their continuing precarious situation has not been forgotten.
We painted a house—for an older woman—a woman whose daughter has been trying to redo the place, work her job and take care of her own family. Twelve of us—painted a home in 6 hours—something it would have taken her daughter alone—weeks to do.
We worked at the convention center—a place of such hardship—volunteering as 2600 people gathered to express their hope, their dreams, their vision for a new New Orleans.
We played, we prayed, we danced, we shoveled an inordinate amount of sheet rock, we drank a fair amount of beer, some of us listened to Jazz—others went for the
B-52’s, we laughed, we cried, we ate beignets, gumbo and raw oysters—we got lost—some of us more than others.
But mostly we heard the voice in the wilderness, and we did what we could do—to make the crooked straight, the rough smooth, the valleys high and the water low. We watched as our lives got changed—so that we could come back and be the ones calling others.
Consider this your call to the wilderness—there’s another trip in April—and God probably wants you on it.
Amen.