Some Scattered Thoughts on New Orleans
My thoughts on the NCAA Tournament will come after the second round is completed.
My thoughts here on New Orleans are a mere sketch of what I felt and what I want to write about. I'm hoping this might actually become a bit of a project, if only for my personal edification.
This year, again, I spent Spring Break doing service work in New Orleans. Eight of us went from SLU, took a 10 hour jaunt down the Mississippi, passing Cooter, MO (the subject of MUCH discussion), Arkansas, about 10 minutes in Tennessee, and Mississippi. Upon entering the vicinity, one thing was clear. Not much had changed. New Orleans East and Gentilly were still much as I had remembered leaving them last year. I was under the impression we'd be doing more reconstruction work, but that presupposition was ill-founded. As it turns out, we gutted 3 houses (with our friends from Maryland, Wisconsin, Arkansas, Seattle Pacific, and a couple from the state of California). We also did yardwork for another lady, whose deck had been ruined by the hurricane and whose backyard was in need of sprucing up.
Before all this, though, we did get out to explore the city, somewhat. The first night, we ate dinner near Tulane - authentic po-boys and fries - and saw some beautiful houses and neighborhoods around the area. Never mind the shoddy roads, it was beautiful to see the flowers and the architecture. The next day, we made it to Palm Sunday mass at St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square. Archbishop Hughes gave a memorable homily, encapsulated by the words, "Suffering can either destroy us or we can let it transform us." Every word of it seemed to speak to us - the volunteers - and afterward he thanked us very much as we shook his hand after mass. It was a brilliant and moving homily coming from a man who seemed to genuinely care for the flock with which he was entrusted.
The rest of the day was spent in and around the French Quarter, though we did get to go to the Superdome and tour around there. While I went with Brian, one of the grad students on the trip who is doing his dissertation in American Studies on Katrina and the Superdome, to take pictures, some other met some New Orleans VooDoo fans (yes, the Arena football team there - they had just won a game) to share some beers and such. The fans said some unsettling things, such as: "All they help is the black people. The white people don't get a damn thing." Turns out, we'd later find out, that's somewhat true. Unfortunately, though, the unsettling part of it was when they turned that into a launching pad for a racist invective against blacks in general. It seems to be an oddity, since, as we learned later, racial tensions seem to have died down after the storm. Whether that's because of the great diaspora of New Orleanians or a notion of shared trauma, I know not.
The next day began work. We were first sent to a community center where we were supposed to help out. We were greeted by a pastor (I believe, Baptist) who gave a quasi-sermon to us, which also was unsettling. Aside from the place's general lack of organization and vague idea of what we were supposed to be doing, we heard him very surreptitiously lump homosexuals into the same category as rapists and murderers. Not quite the comment for the average intelligent person ... much less the modern college student. It made me wonder what happens when people are spiritually fed with this. Perhaps this is an intellectual bias, but I cannot help but think that without conscientious thought simply beating people over the head with quotes from the Bible is like feeding people with empty calories. There is no richness or depth behind it all.
[Personally, I think it is an abomination to cast homosexuals in the same category as rapists and murderers. I also think that we all are meant to live chastely. The issue of gay marriage is not a clearcut issue because of its numerous political and economic entanglements. Insofar as I consider a true marriage a sacred religious institution, I am against it. In terms of civil unions or some such thing that is a legal equivalent, I am not against it (I have yet to consider whether I am an advocate for it; I'll claim an agnostic stance for now. It depends, ultimately, on the role of legislation in shaping the character of a state's citizenry and the manner in which legislation may contribute to overall human flourishing. I fear that we may have a bad idea of what actually constitutes flourishing that may be built into our laws and the ethos of our contry and thus we are caught in somewhat of a bind.). Nevertheless, returning to the original point of this aside, all life deserves the utmost respect.]
The pastor, I should note, soon drove away. In a Hummer (H2). Something smacked of hypocrisy in that scene as he left.
We were relocated later, and would be working on a few houses in the Lower 9th Ward through Wednesday. Some still have not been touched. I could hardly believe it. On Tuesday, we entered a house and began to take things out of it. I could start to piece together the life these people had. I saw pictures of the person who owned the house, her kids, and so many artifacts that gave me a glimpse into what life was like perhaps before the storm. The mother was a nurse. She had, I believe, 2 or 3 kids. One was a boy, who loved football. He had a whole album of football cards - some good ones too! - and Ricky Watters (PHI) and Jim Everett (NO) jerseys on the wall. I saw someone take out his football shoulder pads. The baby's room was particularly hard to gut. The crib, the Winnie the Pooh dolls, everything signifying the start of a life - now being discarded. In another house, we saw some X-Box games and a small motorcycle, as well as several tapes and some good sound equipment. You can oddly see the life being pieced back together in those piles. In a few days, those piles would be discarded. Those lives will be lost but for our memories and theirs.
Patrick was one of the first responders to the disaster and he took us on a tour of the city and told us stories, some of which were horrifying (Six Flags ending up reflooding a dry part of town when they decided to break their own levees, the shoddy work of the Army Corps of Engineers to repair the 17th Street Canal, the city's incompetence) and some of which were hopeful (the banding together of people from different races, the efforts to rebuild, the stories of people willing to sleep on top of levees after 48 hours of rescuing the stranded). I cannot begin to speak of what he said and what we saw and felt. I cannot begin - at least not here.
We saw the REAL New Orleans - not the parodied French Quarter view - but real jazz bands, including the fusion-ish band Rebirth. They were one of the first to get to raising money and awareness of Katrina with their shows. It was a rocking atmosphere in the Maple Leaf Bar. Toes were tapping and people were toking (you can't miss the smell, I suppose), and we listened late into the night. We also saw jazz at Preservation Hall, near Patty O'Brien's pub in the French Quarter. We tasted real New Orleans cuisine, from those po-boys (which I might actually go and make for myself right now) to Patty O'Brien's to a fantastic small restaurant named Ignatius. They give you the beer (Dixie is one of the local brews you can hardly find anywhere else; you can almost taste a bit of the brackish saltiness of the water in the beer) in a paper bag - so you can take it outside!
I would be remiss if I did not mention and thank all the people at the house and, in a special way, all of the people who accompanied me on this trip: Angela, Fr. Peter, Deb, Tina, Jonathan, and Brian. From our total inappropriateness ("cooter" and "douchebag" were spoken more times than probably any other time in history in one trip :-p) to our equally inappropriate games of catchphrase (pussy willow?), to your openness, candor, and insight in reflection time, to your conscientiousness and care, to your hard work and leadership - I for myself enjoyed this trip and found it edifying spriritually and personally. Thank you for your friendship. More than what I will say on this public forum, this trip has helped me to grow. Thank you all again.
There is much more to say, but I won't take any more time now. Much moreso than last year, I felt immersed in the culture. I felt a lot more connected to the people. I felt that I gained a ton of new friends - both those working with Katrina Corps and those with whom we shared the house. Unfortunately, one of the neighbors has taken offense to the volunteers shuffling in and out of the house. He went so far as to get several (30ish) signs made to put up around the community to "stop the illegal boarding house" that Katrina Corps was running. You spent upwards of $900 for signs like that - could you not have spent that on food, or something to fix your own house up - or to help the relief effort if only so slightly? There is still so much that needs to be done. I entreat you, my friends, to keep New Orleans in your thoughts and prayers. If you can, help them out with your time. I don't know if money will get there easily or will make it into the right hands, but help out. Even if you don't help out in New Orleans, as the gospel says, "You always have the poor around you." Help them. Serve.
We live in a world of infinite need and finite resources. If we do not believe we can make a difference, we will never act. By contraposition, logically it follows that if we act we will believe we can make a difference. Funny how logic can work for you once in a while. And if we believe we can make a difference, we will put our hearts and souls into our work and follow where it goes without fear.
Therefore, friends, I urge you: act.
My thoughts here on New Orleans are a mere sketch of what I felt and what I want to write about. I'm hoping this might actually become a bit of a project, if only for my personal edification.
This year, again, I spent Spring Break doing service work in New Orleans. Eight of us went from SLU, took a 10 hour jaunt down the Mississippi, passing Cooter, MO (the subject of MUCH discussion), Arkansas, about 10 minutes in Tennessee, and Mississippi. Upon entering the vicinity, one thing was clear. Not much had changed. New Orleans East and Gentilly were still much as I had remembered leaving them last year. I was under the impression we'd be doing more reconstruction work, but that presupposition was ill-founded. As it turns out, we gutted 3 houses (with our friends from Maryland, Wisconsin, Arkansas, Seattle Pacific, and a couple from the state of California). We also did yardwork for another lady, whose deck had been ruined by the hurricane and whose backyard was in need of sprucing up.
Before all this, though, we did get out to explore the city, somewhat. The first night, we ate dinner near Tulane - authentic po-boys and fries - and saw some beautiful houses and neighborhoods around the area. Never mind the shoddy roads, it was beautiful to see the flowers and the architecture. The next day, we made it to Palm Sunday mass at St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square. Archbishop Hughes gave a memorable homily, encapsulated by the words, "Suffering can either destroy us or we can let it transform us." Every word of it seemed to speak to us - the volunteers - and afterward he thanked us very much as we shook his hand after mass. It was a brilliant and moving homily coming from a man who seemed to genuinely care for the flock with which he was entrusted.
The rest of the day was spent in and around the French Quarter, though we did get to go to the Superdome and tour around there. While I went with Brian, one of the grad students on the trip who is doing his dissertation in American Studies on Katrina and the Superdome, to take pictures, some other met some New Orleans VooDoo fans (yes, the Arena football team there - they had just won a game) to share some beers and such. The fans said some unsettling things, such as: "All they help is the black people. The white people don't get a damn thing." Turns out, we'd later find out, that's somewhat true. Unfortunately, though, the unsettling part of it was when they turned that into a launching pad for a racist invective against blacks in general. It seems to be an oddity, since, as we learned later, racial tensions seem to have died down after the storm. Whether that's because of the great diaspora of New Orleanians or a notion of shared trauma, I know not.
The next day began work. We were first sent to a community center where we were supposed to help out. We were greeted by a pastor (I believe, Baptist) who gave a quasi-sermon to us, which also was unsettling. Aside from the place's general lack of organization and vague idea of what we were supposed to be doing, we heard him very surreptitiously lump homosexuals into the same category as rapists and murderers. Not quite the comment for the average intelligent person ... much less the modern college student. It made me wonder what happens when people are spiritually fed with this. Perhaps this is an intellectual bias, but I cannot help but think that without conscientious thought simply beating people over the head with quotes from the Bible is like feeding people with empty calories. There is no richness or depth behind it all.
[Personally, I think it is an abomination to cast homosexuals in the same category as rapists and murderers. I also think that we all are meant to live chastely. The issue of gay marriage is not a clearcut issue because of its numerous political and economic entanglements. Insofar as I consider a true marriage a sacred religious institution, I am against it. In terms of civil unions or some such thing that is a legal equivalent, I am not against it (I have yet to consider whether I am an advocate for it; I'll claim an agnostic stance for now. It depends, ultimately, on the role of legislation in shaping the character of a state's citizenry and the manner in which legislation may contribute to overall human flourishing. I fear that we may have a bad idea of what actually constitutes flourishing that may be built into our laws and the ethos of our contry and thus we are caught in somewhat of a bind.). Nevertheless, returning to the original point of this aside, all life deserves the utmost respect.]
The pastor, I should note, soon drove away. In a Hummer (H2). Something smacked of hypocrisy in that scene as he left.
We were relocated later, and would be working on a few houses in the Lower 9th Ward through Wednesday. Some still have not been touched. I could hardly believe it. On Tuesday, we entered a house and began to take things out of it. I could start to piece together the life these people had. I saw pictures of the person who owned the house, her kids, and so many artifacts that gave me a glimpse into what life was like perhaps before the storm. The mother was a nurse. She had, I believe, 2 or 3 kids. One was a boy, who loved football. He had a whole album of football cards - some good ones too! - and Ricky Watters (PHI) and Jim Everett (NO) jerseys on the wall. I saw someone take out his football shoulder pads. The baby's room was particularly hard to gut. The crib, the Winnie the Pooh dolls, everything signifying the start of a life - now being discarded. In another house, we saw some X-Box games and a small motorcycle, as well as several tapes and some good sound equipment. You can oddly see the life being pieced back together in those piles. In a few days, those piles would be discarded. Those lives will be lost but for our memories and theirs.
Patrick was one of the first responders to the disaster and he took us on a tour of the city and told us stories, some of which were horrifying (Six Flags ending up reflooding a dry part of town when they decided to break their own levees, the shoddy work of the Army Corps of Engineers to repair the 17th Street Canal, the city's incompetence) and some of which were hopeful (the banding together of people from different races, the efforts to rebuild, the stories of people willing to sleep on top of levees after 48 hours of rescuing the stranded). I cannot begin to speak of what he said and what we saw and felt. I cannot begin - at least not here.
We saw the REAL New Orleans - not the parodied French Quarter view - but real jazz bands, including the fusion-ish band Rebirth. They were one of the first to get to raising money and awareness of Katrina with their shows. It was a rocking atmosphere in the Maple Leaf Bar. Toes were tapping and people were toking (you can't miss the smell, I suppose), and we listened late into the night. We also saw jazz at Preservation Hall, near Patty O'Brien's pub in the French Quarter. We tasted real New Orleans cuisine, from those po-boys (which I might actually go and make for myself right now) to Patty O'Brien's to a fantastic small restaurant named Ignatius. They give you the beer (Dixie is one of the local brews you can hardly find anywhere else; you can almost taste a bit of the brackish saltiness of the water in the beer) in a paper bag - so you can take it outside!
I would be remiss if I did not mention and thank all the people at the house and, in a special way, all of the people who accompanied me on this trip: Angela, Fr. Peter, Deb, Tina, Jonathan, and Brian. From our total inappropriateness ("cooter" and "douchebag" were spoken more times than probably any other time in history in one trip :-p) to our equally inappropriate games of catchphrase (pussy willow?), to your openness, candor, and insight in reflection time, to your conscientiousness and care, to your hard work and leadership - I for myself enjoyed this trip and found it edifying spriritually and personally. Thank you for your friendship. More than what I will say on this public forum, this trip has helped me to grow. Thank you all again.
There is much more to say, but I won't take any more time now. Much moreso than last year, I felt immersed in the culture. I felt a lot more connected to the people. I felt that I gained a ton of new friends - both those working with Katrina Corps and those with whom we shared the house. Unfortunately, one of the neighbors has taken offense to the volunteers shuffling in and out of the house. He went so far as to get several (30ish) signs made to put up around the community to "stop the illegal boarding house" that Katrina Corps was running. You spent upwards of $900 for signs like that - could you not have spent that on food, or something to fix your own house up - or to help the relief effort if only so slightly? There is still so much that needs to be done. I entreat you, my friends, to keep New Orleans in your thoughts and prayers. If you can, help them out with your time. I don't know if money will get there easily or will make it into the right hands, but help out. Even if you don't help out in New Orleans, as the gospel says, "You always have the poor around you." Help them. Serve.
We live in a world of infinite need and finite resources. If we do not believe we can make a difference, we will never act. By contraposition, logically it follows that if we act we will believe we can make a difference. Funny how logic can work for you once in a while. And if we believe we can make a difference, we will put our hearts and souls into our work and follow where it goes without fear.
Therefore, friends, I urge you: act.