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Up and down the streets we saw mud caked abandoned cars, large and small piles of trash along the curb and in the yards. Not empty pizza boxes and soda can kind of trash. Socks, shoes, cd’s and DVD’s, warped wooden furniture, refrigerators, and once soggy books. A few people were rummaging through what was once their home, hauling out what might be salvageable. This neighborhood and others had the feel of lingering disaster. Families in crowded vehicles hurriedly left, believing that they would soon return. Other families that were left behind, by choice and not by choice, found themselves swimming for their lives. Some didn’t make it. The elderly mostly. The people who survived the storm, the ones who watched the water rise into their attic, the ones who witnessed losing their loved ones and life’s work, the ones left wondering when help was going to appear, they knew at some level, returning home wasn’t going to be easy. The winds of Hurricane Katrina did not destroy portions of this historic city. It was the storm surge and ultimate failure of the levees that swallowed up so much status quo. The brackish waters of Lake Pontchatrain mixed with spilled liquids from elsewhere suddenly moved in and up and up and up. It happened fast. Like a thief in the night, sudden destruction steals away peace and security.

"Now concerning the times and the seasons, brothers and sisters, you do not need to have anything written to you. For you yourselves know very well that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night. When they say, ‘There is peace and security,’ then sudden destruction will come upon them, as labor pains come upon a pregnant woman, and there will be no escape! But you, beloved, are not in darkness, for that day will not surprise you like a thief; for you are all children of light and children of the day; we are not of the night or of darkness." (1 Thes.5:1-5)

Metaphorically, we are children of the light. We reflect the light of God, the love of God, the hope, steadfastness and optimism of God. Our lives are lived, mostly, in ways that do not need the cover of darkness. Each day is a gift and our faith encourages us to live accordingly. Who knows when the Lord will return or – more to my way of thinking, who knows when I’ll die. I don’t want to go anytime soon but some things are out of my control. Like a thief in the night, tragedy visits our doorstep.

I had never been to New Orleans before this recent whirlwind trek. I was part of a four member advance team sent by the Central Atlantic Conference to gather information to better shape our response to Hurricane Katrina and Rita. We spent two nights and three intense days breathing, seeing, and listening to the people who call the Gulf home.

Rev. Wil Brown, pastor of New Orleans Central Congregational United Church of Christ was our host Monday afternoon. His congregation is scattered throughout the country. He himself is living in San Antonio, Texas while things sort themselves out. He drives the 12 hour or so drive weekly to check on things. He has gotten in touch with most of his parishioners via cell phone and e-mail. The parsonage is in worse shape than the church, four houses down the street. Wil’s home had recently been remodeled. The new wood floors have buckled from the standing flood waters. The tile kitchen floor, mud layered, might survive. Mold grows in black gray patches on the walls. Most of the furniture has been removed. Books sit on a warped wooden table, bowed in the middle. Wil hopes to keep them. Wil plans to move back into the parsonage come January or so. Who is going to help him? Who is going to work with him and his church leaders to figure out what to do and how to do whatever that is?

Wil is stressed, like everyone trying to cope with sudden unknowns. He didn’t have his key with him so we couldn’t see the church. I suspect it is in worse shape than Wil realizes. Mold is everywhere and has no reason to stop until serious, professional intervention takes place. The church we had visited that morning, Good Shepherd UCC, had already been gutted, sanitized and painted all over with Kilz or some other mold retardant product. Good Shepherd lost its pews, books, banners, paraments, not to mention carpet and some roof fascia. New drywall dust permeated the air in the adjacent education and fellowship hall. The Fellowship Hall is the makeshift worship space. Sunday’s silver Communion ware rested on the table beneath the basketball hoop. The bill thus far for reclaiming a safe worship and meeting space? $500,000. Pastor Gary Arndt says that UCC insurance has a good reputation. He is counting on that to be true.

We slowly walked the street of Central Congregational Church. We entered abandoned homes that belonged to the church. Wil called the church a slumlord. Prior to the flood these homes were in poor repair. Now, they are totally gone. It became difficult to breathe the mold and other smells were so intense. We ambled to the next block.

A pickup truck was parked in the street. A family was in for the day trying to get their house ready to gut. A weary woman recognized Wil and took off her face mask. "We are here to get the last of some things. Each time I come back, it looks like nothin’ has changed. There was a note in my door saying the power was back on. I didn’t try it. I’m scared to touch anything." A few of us begin a conversation.

Diane is maybe in her late forties. She and her husband had invested their lives and their dreams in this house. They bought the side by side duplex, knocked out walls and slowly made improvements. They had just finished some big project. Her husband had terminal cancer. They were able to evacuate and go stay with relatives north of New Orleans. While away, her husband died. The service had to be up there, away from their friends of thirty years. But, their friends aren’t here anymore. Everyone has gone. "They would have liked to come to her husband’s funeral, if they could," she lamented. Diane wipes tears from her eyes. Her one year old granddaughter sits quietly in the lap of her young adult daughter. "I have a 13 year old boy, our youngest. He is back in school where we now live. I’m worried about him. He doesn’t leave his room."

A heavy comfortable silence moves between us. So much loss. A father. A home. A neighborhood. A school. A city. A way of understanding self. We hold one another.

"I lift up my eyes to the hills – from where will my help come? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. God will not let your foot be moved; he who keeps Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade at your right hand. The sun will not strike you by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all evil; she will keep your life. The Lord will keep your going out and your coming in from this time on and forevermore." (Ps. 121)

Coming in and going out. Water. A pounding surf and an overfilled bathtub. Coming in and going out. People. Returning for things, something or anything. Leaving with … fatigue? despair? resolve? thanksgiving? Coming in and going out. Faith.

Our God is a God of day and a God of darkness. Life and faith journey in all seasons and in all phases of the moon and sun. It’s not an easy journey. Sometimes it is incredibly hard and unfair. I got the sense that the folks we talked with in New Orleans and in Biloxi, Mississippi didn’t have time or room in their psyche to analyze this dark time. In the midst of the darkness there is light and that is where one goes. Not that trauma is ignored, it’s impossible to ignore. Signs of disruption and loss are 300 miles wide. Yet, life is resilient, in both day and darkness.

CCC is part of the Central Atlantic Conference response efforts. We are helping re-settle a family, the Duroncelay’s, here in a Rockville apartment from New Orleans. I bet if asked, home would still be New Orleans. The Board for Social Witness will coordinate a possible work camp team from CCC to travel south, most likely to Back Bay Mission in Biloxi Mississippi. Back Bay Mission needs skilled adult workers. They have lost every building but one, plus several homes the Mission (through its work camps) had rehabbed. Back Bay Mission, a ministry of the United Church of Christ, specialized in housing and advocating for the poor. The hurricane wiped out housing. There are no houses to renovate or rehab. Their new call is to advocate for affordable housing in the midst of pressure to re-locate neighborhoods making way for casinos and resorts. Their immediate need is to demolish buildings on their small campus in order to make way for temporary or permanent buildings.

The Youth Global Experiential Learning Initiative, Y-GELI, will travel this summer with its senior high youth to New Orleans. CCC along with Little River and Heritage UCC will likely "campout" at Good Shepherd in Jefferson Parish. The service component of our trip will include painting repaired homes, possible landscaping and working with the church to help others do whatever they need to tackle.

I have shared with you a thumbnail sketch of what I experienced this past week. Like many emotional events, articulating feelings and noting insights come later. None of us had ever seen such massive destruction. It is overwhelming. Julius Jefferson, Heritage senior minister and member of our team, has lived in New Orleans on and off thirty years. He has family there. Because of Julius, we heard and saw other dimensions of the Deep South story. I know I am a different person than one week ago. Stay tuned.

For the American people, her decisions and their consequences, Christe Eleison.

Amen.