Neither the fury of Katrina nor inefficiencies of government can stop the people of God.
It saddens me how the politics began even before the people of the Gulf Coast were rescued. It saddens me that no one seems willing to take responsibility but would rather pass the buck. It saddens me more hand are busy pointing, than helping - at least this is how it seems to me. But every so often, there is something -- a gesture, a word, an act of compassion -- that reminds me that there ARE people who care... that the heart of God is at work among souls here on earth. There are people who seek to be the hands and feet of God to a world that is so desperately in need of help.
My husband asked me last week if I thought we should take in a family from New Orleans. I'm sad to say that my immediate response was not a whole-hearted "Sure.. where do I sign up?" My family took in a young girl for most of this summer who had nowhere else to go at the time. She is now happily living with another family, babysitting in exchange for room and board, and we have finally adjusted to having our house back to ourselves.
Taking someone else into your life can be risky business. I'm not speaking about things like theft, or personal security, but rather how the dynamicas of a family are changed when an outsider resides with you. I watched my teenage daughter take on characteristics of our summer boarder... characteristics that I wasn't impressed with. Her behavior was affected, her attitudes were affected, even the apparel she chose to wear. There was also a tension in our home that isn't normally there. It's hard to relax with someone else in your home - at least it was in ours. Now, I love this girl to pieces... but having her live in our home was not an ideal situation. I'm happy that she's found a better arrangement, and that my family unit is back in familiar territory.
Because this is the experience we have been recovering from, my knee-jerk reaction to my husband's question was, "We just got rid of one refugee...I'm not ready to take in more." (whether that technical term applies or not - no insult is intended by the word) I also questioned the wisdom of such a decision. We live check to check, and are trying to dig out of debt. We're not wealthy by any means... I doubted we could afford to take in a family. But then guilt washed over me. The images I've seen on television flashed before my eyes and I hated my reaction. Compared to those families... most of whom now have nothing but the clothes on their backs... we are loaded with riches. I have a nice house in a quiet little town, two cars, and we are not in danger of going hungry anytime in the near future. The story of the Good Samaritan runs through my mind... am I being selfish and callous? Or am I looking out for my family? Where do you draw the line?
My daughter has been out in front of our house each weekend day since Katrina struck, ringing a bell with a jar and a sign that reads, "Please help the victims of Katrina." What have I done up to this point? Pray. Something even my five-year-old son has done each night. The editorial below didn't convince me that taking in a family is the best way for us to help, but it certainly does motivate me to get more involved in the relief efforts... to get my family involved. I'm ashamed that I haven't already done more.
Parable of the Good Church
Neither the fury of Katrina nor inefficiencies of government can stop the people of God.
A Christianity Today editorial | posted 09/09/2005 09:30 a.m.
A group of people were walking to and fro, from Mobile to New Orleans, and they fell into the hands of a robber named Katrina, who beat on them with waves and winds and floods, stripping them of everything they owned, leaving them half-dead in the New Orleans Superdome.
Now by chance, a journalist passed by with a television camera in hand. He took riveting shots of the victims so that viewers all over the world would know about the plight of these people. And when it was the journalist's time to face the camera, he wondered, "Where is the government?"
Similarly, a group of local politicians came to that place. And when the journalist shoved a microphone in their faces, they angrily asked, "Where is the government?" They apparently had forgotten that due to corruption and political infighting, they had failed to adequately prepare their regions for what everyone knew was an inevitable catastrophe. But apparently they weren't talking about their government.
Then along came the federal government, its President beating his breast confessing frankly that the government's relief efforts indeed were "unacceptable." Nonetheless, the creaky wheels of bureaucracy had finally started to churn. Food and supplies were finally making their way to the victims, National Guard troops were arriving to quell the bedlam, and engineers were making progress on the levees.
Finally, a bus pulled up beside the Superdome, and beckoned the victims to get in, which then drove 350 miles to the Houston Astrodome, to a scene that was anything but mud and muck. Nothing luxurious, to be sure, but clean and working plumbing and medical personnel, and plenty of food and water.
And a New York Times journalist, who noted that these victims had formerly been living in "all kinds of unbelievable filth, a screaming mess," noted that they now sighed that "spending the night in a chair was not much better."
"This is what they brought us to?" said one victim.
Yet, even before many victims had arrived at the Astrodome, the church leaders of Houston passed by that place. One member of Second Baptist, Jack Little, broke the bad news: "There is no money to do this, folks. There is no federal money available to handle this emergency in Houston." Nor, he noted, was city, county, or state funding available.
And the people stood amazed. Others beat their breasts. But no one wailed. They just started adding up the needs.
In the Astrodome alone, each of three daily meal-line shifts needed 240 volunteers. The $1.75 daily cost of feeding each person, while sounding like a bargain, meant that it would cost $125,000 a day to feed the Astrodome refugees alone. One month of their meals would cost almost $4 million.
These are figures to test one's mettle. Then Pastor Ed Young, of the 42,000-member Second Baptist, said his church was starting Operation Compassion. He pledged to raise $1 million for the relief efforts, as well as offer his church facilities for training classes for relief workers. Then he turned to the group and said, "All those sermons and passions you've generated, now's the time to put up or shut up for every faith or religious community here. Are you willing to coordinate and cooperate with other people and other denominations? If you're not, sit down."
No one sat.
Then he said something even more shocking. As a pastor with many years of experience, he didn't think of victims as mere abstractions. His church had a track record of helping people in desperate straits.
He knew that some of the needy would, with just a little help, bounce back quickly. These were always a pleasure to minister to. But some, with deep physical or psychological maladies, would never be able to fully take care of themselves. These were a challenge, but their condition was understandable. And then there were others still, people perfectly capable of bouncing back, of taking care of themselves, but who instead had chosen a lifestyle of dependency and complaint. This last group is nothing but trouble for ministries far and wide. And yet Young realized that all these people needed the compassion of Christ showered on them—even those who, like the nine lepers Jesus' healed (Lk. 17), would remain forever ungrateful.
So Young said the most profoundly Christian thing he could say: "We're in this thing for the long haul."
And many marveled in wonder at these words, and some ran from that place in fear and trembling. Some just continued to mutter under their breath about who was to blame, not perceiving in their hearts that the time to call authorities to account was not at hand.
But others, when they heard these strange words, were moved with pity and started bandaging wounds, knowing that neither the gates of hell nor the fury of Katrina, nor the inefficiencies of government can stop the church from doing what it is called to do, now and for the long haul.
Copyright © 2005 Christianity Today.