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It's been a strange summer already. Today, deep in contemplation on the Red Line, I ended up five stations past my stop. Something else was gripping me so strongly I never even noticed the train slow down.
I've been thinking alot lately about what I need as a person to be able to accomplish the things I believe I am most called to do. Up to this point, since returning from the Middle East, I thought it was to join up or align myself with some other established organization. In general, this has not been the right path. There's been a deep sense of 'not here,' 'not here,' 'keep going.' And yet, I also see the entire non-profit and liberal/progressive field is all about the big organizations. The voice, or something, seems to tell me, this also is not the place I belong. But am I good enough, and do I have enough, to start new things on my own? What does it mean to have support? What does it mean to step out on one's own?
On that subway trip, I got a strong sense that I shouldn't go away to the monastery this summer. I don't know exactly why--I do love the place and have been there twice before. I was looking forward to two weeks of volunteering on the grounds and using the afternoons as a writer's retreat. I think I still need the retreat, but perhaps not there. Call it a premonition. I don't know. Hopefully, it's not just anxiety about being away so long.
There are things to be anxious about: for one, my housing situation is once again precarious. I don't know whether I'll have to move by September, and I need to be studying for my ordination exams in August. Moving again would be costly in many ways. Money is an issue late in summer, before student aid arrives. But perhaps something will work out that I can not yet see. I hope so.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Commentary on Faith in Public Life
The following is my brief commentary on the practice of living one's faith in public life. (Whether that means serving in or trying to influence politics, or just trying to be a good citizen of faith):
It isn't about bashing 'the other side' as much as they might bash us. It isn't about dressing like and speaking like and acting like the other side, in hopes of proving that we have something fundamentally different and more valuable to say. In fact, by striving to do just what they do, we look just as foolish. This is not love, and we indeed gain nothing. Let love rather speak in action, conforming not to those with more power and status over us, but to those with less than us.
It isn't about bashing 'the other side' as much as they might bash us. It isn't about dressing like and speaking like and acting like the other side, in hopes of proving that we have something fundamentally different and more valuable to say. In fact, by striving to do just what they do, we look just as foolish. This is not love, and we indeed gain nothing. Let love rather speak in action, conforming not to those with more power and status over us, but to those with less than us.
Gulf Coast Stories
(photos at link on right)
The following are notes and observations from our (re)-introduction to New Orleans, now almost two years after the disaster. We were led around by a church and community organizer, Mary, an energetic woman who is African-American and has lived in the Gentilly neighborhood of New Orleans for many years. This is the neighborhood where our previous delegation was working eighteen months ago.
--
St. Peter Claver's is what I might call a 'full Gospel Catholic' church, a congregation which strives to be both Roman rite and Afrocentric. It is absolutely beautiful, energizing, and welcoming.
Some of you may wonder which part was the 'welcoming.' I say, both; the congregation literally enfolded us, and though our group was worried about the communion practices, I went up to receive a blessing as we were invited to do. The priest assumed I wanted the wafer put directly in my mouth. I opened my mouth to say, 'oh wait! I'm not Catholic,' but in in that wafer went. I pondered the lighter side of Christian unity while chewing that wafer on the way back to my pew.
"We're Home!" signs dot houses throughout the neighborhoods. Other signs indicate that the original occupants intend to return. I notice more life, more stirrings in New Orleans than eighteen months ago, but it is still largely a ghost town. There are lots of 'For Sale' signs.
There are lots of empty shells were building once were. I notice more burnouts than before. Our guide, a local church and community worker, tells us that people desperate after not receiving their insurance money for the storm or flood damage, have tried burning their homes to collect fire insurance. Guessing by the ruins, I worry they are still left with nothing. State Farm, however, was able to post record profits this past year. They are now the subject of a class-action lawsuit of Katrina homeowners.
Private real estate developers now rule this town, if they didn't before. The poorest-looking houses still standing rent out at two and three times the rates pre-Katrina; the selling price is at least double. It is the developers who buy a damaged house for $25,000 and resell for $200,000. Everything which is new construction here is high-end condos--there is really no new affordable housing. The smallest, cheapest units available start at $130-200,000. We saw one single unit was advertised for a million dollars.
"New Orleans is now a white city," our guide tells us as we drive through the neighborhoods. Not exclusively, but predominantly. We can see that for ourselves. It is the whites who can pay the inflated rents. Some areas are visibly gentrified. It doesn't look quite natural.
The live oaks are growing back and it is far more green than I saw last time. The trolley tracks down St. Charles Ave, the Garden District-neighborhood home to many old mansions, hardly looks usable though--it's overgrown and the rails obscured by sand. Other places in the city, a few trolleys were functional. Wires still hang down into the streets and signs are torn even in the upper-class neighborhoods, the 20% of the city considered 'unscathed.' Even the wealthy places look weathered. There is a bridal salon on the corner open for business. Life goes on. The public gardens near downtown are blooming. The Amtrak and Greyhound station near the Superdome look open.
The mayor is planning a $700 million jazz center, despite the basic life needs of much of the city not yet being met--such as electricity, water, and affordable housing. By contrast, City Hall is shining like new. Several police departments are not yet re-opened. There are plenty of board-ups still in the central business district. Our guide explains the owners are trying to find new investors.
At the corner of Canal and Basin, empty hulks of buildings dominate the landscape. Moving along Basin to Conti, some of the public housing units are reopened. The people forced the doors open and moved back in, which opened the way for other residents to re-enter. I notice Covenant House near the French Quarter looking open and well-tended. Our guide tells us the whole area is targeted for more high-end development, displacing the original owners. Katrina, it seems, is a veritable goldmine for these profiteers.
McDonald's and the pharmacies are open. Wal-Mart is closed, and the Sam's Club was demolished. There are still few places for necessities and prices are high.
We head into the Upper 9th Ward, where the schools have recently reopened. On the first day, our guide recalls, the buses didn't come to pick up the children, so the churches organized a pickup. During the storm and levy breaks, our guide tells us, the drawbridges connecting the neighborhoods were raised to prevent residents from moving either to safety, or later to reenter their homes. Meanwhile, the developers were allowed in to assess the real estate. The Holy Cross neighborhood, one of those most heavily hit, now has largely been sold to developers. We drove by a beautiful domed church that was sold out and is now being demolished.
We saw young people on bikes, and our guide tells us these are longer-term rebuilding volunteers. There's quite a crew throughout the city here through some means or another. Often through churches. "The churches helped me with my home, not the nonprofits," our guide tells us of her own experience. Many new nonprofits have formed to absorb aid money being distributed here, and are not passing the aid down to the people. 'Little reaches the ground," she says. She knows what this kind of work involves and what's possible. The churches recently moved $300,000 worth of supplies to direct recipients in just two days. Other organizations have warehouses full of goods that go undistributed. The longer supplies languish in warehouses, the less likely they'll reach their intended recipients.
Mary has been able to get some things from the Habitat for Humanity store, which provides affordable supplies. To buy basic rebuilding items retail here is inflated beyond reach; a simple model front door now sells for $1,000.
Mary tries to be an inspiration to her neighbors, that rebuilding is possible in this seemingly impossible situation. It's too easy to give up. Two years on, she doesn't know if her neighbors are coming back. She tries to keep their lawns trimmed back, remembering how they used to express concern for hers.
Next, we drive past the Martin Luther King, Jr. Elementary School, in the midst of a re-dedication ceremony that day. It was five years old when the disaster hit; the community had to 'break in' to clean it up in time, defying local authorities, or the structure would have been a total loss. This was true of community centers, churches, and other essential civic structures.
As we drive near where the levy was, places where there were once wall-to-wall houses are completely leveled. Only driveways and sidewalks mark their former existence. Some will never be replaced; the government has marked their land for building a new levy.
The following are notes and observations from our (re)-introduction to New Orleans, now almost two years after the disaster. We were led around by a church and community organizer, Mary, an energetic woman who is African-American and has lived in the Gentilly neighborhood of New Orleans for many years. This is the neighborhood where our previous delegation was working eighteen months ago.
--
St. Peter Claver's is what I might call a 'full Gospel Catholic' church, a congregation which strives to be both Roman rite and Afrocentric. It is absolutely beautiful, energizing, and welcoming.
Some of you may wonder which part was the 'welcoming.' I say, both; the congregation literally enfolded us, and though our group was worried about the communion practices, I went up to receive a blessing as we were invited to do. The priest assumed I wanted the wafer put directly in my mouth. I opened my mouth to say, 'oh wait! I'm not Catholic,' but in in that wafer went. I pondered the lighter side of Christian unity while chewing that wafer on the way back to my pew.
"We're Home!" signs dot houses throughout the neighborhoods. Other signs indicate that the original occupants intend to return. I notice more life, more stirrings in New Orleans than eighteen months ago, but it is still largely a ghost town. There are lots of 'For Sale' signs.
There are lots of empty shells were building once were. I notice more burnouts than before. Our guide, a local church and community worker, tells us that people desperate after not receiving their insurance money for the storm or flood damage, have tried burning their homes to collect fire insurance. Guessing by the ruins, I worry they are still left with nothing. State Farm, however, was able to post record profits this past year. They are now the subject of a class-action lawsuit of Katrina homeowners.
Private real estate developers now rule this town, if they didn't before. The poorest-looking houses still standing rent out at two and three times the rates pre-Katrina; the selling price is at least double. It is the developers who buy a damaged house for $25,000 and resell for $200,000. Everything which is new construction here is high-end condos--there is really no new affordable housing. The smallest, cheapest units available start at $130-200,000. We saw one single unit was advertised for a million dollars.
"New Orleans is now a white city," our guide tells us as we drive through the neighborhoods. Not exclusively, but predominantly. We can see that for ourselves. It is the whites who can pay the inflated rents. Some areas are visibly gentrified. It doesn't look quite natural.
The live oaks are growing back and it is far more green than I saw last time. The trolley tracks down St. Charles Ave, the Garden District-neighborhood home to many old mansions, hardly looks usable though--it's overgrown and the rails obscured by sand. Other places in the city, a few trolleys were functional. Wires still hang down into the streets and signs are torn even in the upper-class neighborhoods, the 20% of the city considered 'unscathed.' Even the wealthy places look weathered. There is a bridal salon on the corner open for business. Life goes on. The public gardens near downtown are blooming. The Amtrak and Greyhound station near the Superdome look open.
The mayor is planning a $700 million jazz center, despite the basic life needs of much of the city not yet being met--such as electricity, water, and affordable housing. By contrast, City Hall is shining like new. Several police departments are not yet re-opened. There are plenty of board-ups still in the central business district. Our guide explains the owners are trying to find new investors.
At the corner of Canal and Basin, empty hulks of buildings dominate the landscape. Moving along Basin to Conti, some of the public housing units are reopened. The people forced the doors open and moved back in, which opened the way for other residents to re-enter. I notice Covenant House near the French Quarter looking open and well-tended. Our guide tells us the whole area is targeted for more high-end development, displacing the original owners. Katrina, it seems, is a veritable goldmine for these profiteers.
McDonald's and the pharmacies are open. Wal-Mart is closed, and the Sam's Club was demolished. There are still few places for necessities and prices are high.
We head into the Upper 9th Ward, where the schools have recently reopened. On the first day, our guide recalls, the buses didn't come to pick up the children, so the churches organized a pickup. During the storm and levy breaks, our guide tells us, the drawbridges connecting the neighborhoods were raised to prevent residents from moving either to safety, or later to reenter their homes. Meanwhile, the developers were allowed in to assess the real estate. The Holy Cross neighborhood, one of those most heavily hit, now has largely been sold to developers. We drove by a beautiful domed church that was sold out and is now being demolished.
We saw young people on bikes, and our guide tells us these are longer-term rebuilding volunteers. There's quite a crew throughout the city here through some means or another. Often through churches. "The churches helped me with my home, not the nonprofits," our guide tells us of her own experience. Many new nonprofits have formed to absorb aid money being distributed here, and are not passing the aid down to the people. 'Little reaches the ground," she says. She knows what this kind of work involves and what's possible. The churches recently moved $300,000 worth of supplies to direct recipients in just two days. Other organizations have warehouses full of goods that go undistributed. The longer supplies languish in warehouses, the less likely they'll reach their intended recipients.
Mary has been able to get some things from the Habitat for Humanity store, which provides affordable supplies. To buy basic rebuilding items retail here is inflated beyond reach; a simple model front door now sells for $1,000.
Mary tries to be an inspiration to her neighbors, that rebuilding is possible in this seemingly impossible situation. It's too easy to give up. Two years on, she doesn't know if her neighbors are coming back. She tries to keep their lawns trimmed back, remembering how they used to express concern for hers.
Next, we drive past the Martin Luther King, Jr. Elementary School, in the midst of a re-dedication ceremony that day. It was five years old when the disaster hit; the community had to 'break in' to clean it up in time, defying local authorities, or the structure would have been a total loss. This was true of community centers, churches, and other essential civic structures.
As we drive near where the levy was, places where there were once wall-to-wall houses are completely leveled. Only driveways and sidewalks mark their former existence. Some will never be replaced; the government has marked their land for building a new levy.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Stories from the Gulf Coast, pt. 1
Greetings everyone,
It is the end of our first full day at Camp Coast Care, (www.campcoastcare.org), a joint Lutheran-Episcopal 'volunteer village' near Gulfport, Mississippi. It is indeed the coast: we're about a mile from the Gulf of Mexico. Weathered wooden beams poked up above above the water and stretched far out from the shoreline as we drove by; these are the piers, planks ripped away by the storms, still destroyed--a sobering contrast to the deep blue of water and sky and the white sand beaches, nearly vacant. Serene, and also lonely.
It is in some ways like driving along Clear Lake, IA, and wondering where everything went.
I would have liked to see this place before the storm. All at once, it is a little like Wisconsin, Gaza, Honduras, Lebanon; there is destruction and greenery and sadness and everywhere sandy soil. I did not know grass could grow on it, but I mowed the lawn today and the sod is thick if uneven. There are thin 'scrub' trees in groves that go on for acres, not quite forest. There are live oak(s) everywhere also; for us Northerners, these are like enormous yet short oak trees with vinelike growth covering the trunk. When healthy, you can barely see the sky through their canopy of leaves. You would not know this unless someone told you, that they were now only half of what they'd been.
There are, like Gaza and like post-hurricane (Mitch) Honduras, foundations without homes. The construction styles are much the same, and in contrast to New Orleans--rather here, they are more on pillars, and with sculpted concrete and stucco; ornate Cinderella-like front staircases rise up out of the ground, but go nowhere anymore.
I spent the day on grounds crew here at the camp--the folks who have never been here before wanted to start on houses right away; I figured once they got sore muscles, I'd get my turn. The work in Mississippi is turning from gutting to rebuilding now; in some places it is far ahead of Louisiana and New Orleans especially. It was a rich experience nonetheless, to be in the country, and to do outdoor work paced with the weather. Our crew chief, Jerry, reminded us to pace ourselves in the heat. It was about 100 degrees today with about 100 percent humidity. Still, when a coastal breeze came through, it was not intolerable and sometimes even pleasant.
Jerry planned the work day for us depending on where the shade would be at what times. I have not needed to plan my work responding to the environment in such a close way as this for a long time. Storm clouds rolled in just as we were completing our last tasks.
We worked in the tool shed most of the morning; then cleaning and fixing and pulling up concrete forms from completed slabs, and two of our volunteers 'beached' the four-wheeler and trailer on a corner of the large lumber platform. ATV's apparently don't go in reverse. I don't know how we'll get that one figured out. At least we didn't back into the building as has happened in the past. By the end of the day, especially after mowing, I resembled an abominable sandman. Off to the showers with us all...
Jerry, seemingly quietly, keeps the camp in order and is himself an Indiana native. He owns a house up the road, two stories...the lower story is open-air now as he describes it: gutted out after filling completely with water. The top story is still habitable. He thought at first, after evacuating back to Indiana, that he would sell the property and quit the area. Then he got involved in the relief effort back here. His son is in the Navy, and isn't around to help rebuild right now. The house waits. Meanwhile, Jerry comes to the camp.
We are fed extraordinarily well in the camp. There is Southern cooking three meals a day. Vegetarians are still somehow accommodated. Most of us are noticing how much our appetites have expanded in even one day, and yet, many of us will go home a little lighter. It feels much like the Middle East in this respect also, where I felt like I was always eating, and still always dropping a clothes size each trip I made.
There are about sixty volunteers here this week, from at least three groups. One large group is from Park City, UT, and two people from the group have Mason City roots--one is a woman who grew up in my home church and whose parents still attend there. The other is the adult son of a pastor who spent much time in small-town North Iowa.
Of our seminary group, sponsored by a new national organization called the Beatitudes Society, four women are from Fuller, several are from GTU (Berkeley), three of us are from CTS, and a few individuals from various places. We are finding much in common across denominational lines, which includes evangelical as well as mainline churches. Curiously, all the students are young and white. There is one black professor. Some are LGBTQ and most are straight. Lots are going into joint theology/psychology degrees. Most have not been to the Gulf Coast before. It was hard to find enough applicants for the scholarships for the trip; that's partly why I'm also here. We've talked quite a bit so far about the makeup of our group and what it means and how it might be different next time.
--
I wanted to write all of this to you first, these beautiful if somber images now, before writing about the day we spent in New Orleans yesterday, visiting the churches and the organizations and the neighborhoods. I took dozens of photos, but in many ways I did not need to because so little has changed since I last came eighteen months ago, especially in the places where the people are most vulnerable. That is the topic of my next long letter. Still, even in these places, there were signs of life where there were none earlier. That is some hope.
They say it will take ten years of rebuilding fifty homes a week to recover from the storms. For as long as they are accepting volunteer groups, which will be a long time, I plan to make sure that groups are coming from the Chicago seminaries. Wherever you are, plan a group also. It doesn't cost as much as you think, it isn't as dangerous as you think, and you probably know more or can learn more than you think about how to rebuild a home. So come, won't you?
peace,
Le Anne
It is the end of our first full day at Camp Coast Care, (www.campcoastcare.org), a joint Lutheran-Episcopal 'volunteer village' near Gulfport, Mississippi. It is indeed the coast: we're about a mile from the Gulf of Mexico. Weathered wooden beams poked up above above the water and stretched far out from the shoreline as we drove by; these are the piers, planks ripped away by the storms, still destroyed--a sobering contrast to the deep blue of water and sky and the white sand beaches, nearly vacant. Serene, and also lonely.
It is in some ways like driving along Clear Lake, IA, and wondering where everything went.
I would have liked to see this place before the storm. All at once, it is a little like Wisconsin, Gaza, Honduras, Lebanon; there is destruction and greenery and sadness and everywhere sandy soil. I did not know grass could grow on it, but I mowed the lawn today and the sod is thick if uneven. There are thin 'scrub' trees in groves that go on for acres, not quite forest. There are live oak(s) everywhere also; for us Northerners, these are like enormous yet short oak trees with vinelike growth covering the trunk. When healthy, you can barely see the sky through their canopy of leaves. You would not know this unless someone told you, that they were now only half of what they'd been.
There are, like Gaza and like post-hurricane (Mitch) Honduras, foundations without homes. The construction styles are much the same, and in contrast to New Orleans--rather here, they are more on pillars, and with sculpted concrete and stucco; ornate Cinderella-like front staircases rise up out of the ground, but go nowhere anymore.
I spent the day on grounds crew here at the camp--the folks who have never been here before wanted to start on houses right away; I figured once they got sore muscles, I'd get my turn. The work in Mississippi is turning from gutting to rebuilding now; in some places it is far ahead of Louisiana and New Orleans especially. It was a rich experience nonetheless, to be in the country, and to do outdoor work paced with the weather. Our crew chief, Jerry, reminded us to pace ourselves in the heat. It was about 100 degrees today with about 100 percent humidity. Still, when a coastal breeze came through, it was not intolerable and sometimes even pleasant.
Jerry planned the work day for us depending on where the shade would be at what times. I have not needed to plan my work responding to the environment in such a close way as this for a long time. Storm clouds rolled in just as we were completing our last tasks.
We worked in the tool shed most of the morning; then cleaning and fixing and pulling up concrete forms from completed slabs, and two of our volunteers 'beached' the four-wheeler and trailer on a corner of the large lumber platform. ATV's apparently don't go in reverse. I don't know how we'll get that one figured out. At least we didn't back into the building as has happened in the past. By the end of the day, especially after mowing, I resembled an abominable sandman. Off to the showers with us all...
Jerry, seemingly quietly, keeps the camp in order and is himself an Indiana native. He owns a house up the road, two stories...the lower story is open-air now as he describes it: gutted out after filling completely with water. The top story is still habitable. He thought at first, after evacuating back to Indiana, that he would sell the property and quit the area. Then he got involved in the relief effort back here. His son is in the Navy, and isn't around to help rebuild right now. The house waits. Meanwhile, Jerry comes to the camp.
We are fed extraordinarily well in the camp. There is Southern cooking three meals a day. Vegetarians are still somehow accommodated. Most of us are noticing how much our appetites have expanded in even one day, and yet, many of us will go home a little lighter. It feels much like the Middle East in this respect also, where I felt like I was always eating, and still always dropping a clothes size each trip I made.
There are about sixty volunteers here this week, from at least three groups. One large group is from Park City, UT, and two people from the group have Mason City roots--one is a woman who grew up in my home church and whose parents still attend there. The other is the adult son of a pastor who spent much time in small-town North Iowa.
Of our seminary group, sponsored by a new national organization called the Beatitudes Society, four women are from Fuller, several are from GTU (Berkeley), three of us are from CTS, and a few individuals from various places. We are finding much in common across denominational lines, which includes evangelical as well as mainline churches. Curiously, all the students are young and white. There is one black professor. Some are LGBTQ and most are straight. Lots are going into joint theology/psychology degrees. Most have not been to the Gulf Coast before. It was hard to find enough applicants for the scholarships for the trip; that's partly why I'm also here. We've talked quite a bit so far about the makeup of our group and what it means and how it might be different next time.
--
I wanted to write all of this to you first, these beautiful if somber images now, before writing about the day we spent in New Orleans yesterday, visiting the churches and the organizations and the neighborhoods. I took dozens of photos, but in many ways I did not need to because so little has changed since I last came eighteen months ago, especially in the places where the people are most vulnerable. That is the topic of my next long letter. Still, even in these places, there were signs of life where there were none earlier. That is some hope.
They say it will take ten years of rebuilding fifty homes a week to recover from the storms. For as long as they are accepting volunteer groups, which will be a long time, I plan to make sure that groups are coming from the Chicago seminaries. Wherever you are, plan a group also. It doesn't cost as much as you think, it isn't as dangerous as you think, and you probably know more or can learn more than you think about how to rebuild a home. So come, won't you?
peace,
Le Anne
Friday, June 08, 2007
Sojourners' and the Presidential Forum
Greetings everyone,
I have just returned from the Sojourners' Pentecost 2007 conference on poverty in Washington, DC. Part of the event was a forum with the top three Democratic party contenders on faith and poverty. Here's a few shots, and a few thoughts, from the event:
The stage at George Washington University's Lisner Auditorium
John Edwards and Soledad O'Brien
Barack Obama answers Jim Wallis
Hillary Clinton answers a panelist
Getting ready for the Poverty March
My initial thoughts were that Edwards and Clinton came off better in person at this forum than I've experienced them previously. Clinton especially seemed less scripted and more human. I'm not sure that I bought her argument that she won't apologize for voting for the war, because she can't go back and change it and now has to look forward to getting us out of the war, but otherwise she did well. Obama was a terrible disappointment to me on the question of Israel and Palestine. He put so much emphasis on justifying the actions of the Israeli military and government, and seemed not to even acknowledge the human rights abuses against Palestinian civilians. I don't know why he felt the need to do this. He did answer very well, however, on Iraq and Katrina and poverty issues in general.
I have just returned from the Sojourners' Pentecost 2007 conference on poverty in Washington, DC. Part of the event was a forum with the top three Democratic party contenders on faith and poverty. Here's a few shots, and a few thoughts, from the event:
The stage at George Washington University's Lisner Auditorium
John Edwards and Soledad O'Brien
Barack Obama answers Jim Wallis
Hillary Clinton answers a panelist
Getting ready for the Poverty March
My initial thoughts were that Edwards and Clinton came off better in person at this forum than I've experienced them previously. Clinton especially seemed less scripted and more human. I'm not sure that I bought her argument that she won't apologize for voting for the war, because she can't go back and change it and now has to look forward to getting us out of the war, but otherwise she did well. Obama was a terrible disappointment to me on the question of Israel and Palestine. He put so much emphasis on justifying the actions of the Israeli military and government, and seemed not to even acknowledge the human rights abuses against Palestinian civilians. I don't know why he felt the need to do this. He did answer very well, however, on Iraq and Katrina and poverty issues in general.
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