Alabama legislator blames Katrina on "God's wrath" on sinful coast

It was only a matter of time, wasn't it, before some religious or political leader (or politician who considers himself a religious authority) came out with this. In this case, it was Alabama state senator Hank Erwin.

Even more bothersome than his quasi-prophetic ranting is that people elected this guy!

Will Willimon, also interviewed for the article, said Erwin is "sure no theologian."

If Erwin's theory holds true, Las Vegas is long overdue for an earthquake or tornado. And Washington DC? Well....

Borderlands Dispatch: Nómadas y Samaritanos

Yesterday I went back out to the desert with another group - Los Samaritanos, or the Samaritans. They drive the roads and trails of the desert searching for migrants who are in need of medical care, water or food. Like Humane Borders, their goal is to keep so many from dying in the desert, but they take a different approach.

We left Southside Presbyterian Church just after 6 a.m. and headed west of Tucson. We parked and headed up and down several washes (dry riverbeds), calling out to any migrants who might be hiding, resting or in need of aid. The two volunteers I was with both have medical training. One is a retired doctor (age 74) and the other (age 62) has run a medical project in Guatemala for 12 years. Both speak Spanish fluently.

We did that for a couple of hours. We saw lots of evidence that migrants had been there - empty water jugs, discarded clothing and old backpacks, a few food wrappers. Often the coyotes make them leave much of what they bring behind, especially when they are near a pick-up point. We picked up some of the trash (basura). The Samaritan woman told me about finding things like a brand new little girl's fancy dress, or eyelash curlers, high-heeled shoes, etc. Some of the migrants do not know how far the trip will be or are told by their paid guides that it is not very far...so they want to look nice when they meet family or friends up north. So it is very sad to see these things in the desert, where they had to leave behind that dream or image of how it would be, in favor of surviving.

We left that area and headed south along a well-traveled paved road. We passed a Border Patrol vehicle parked at a gas station, one of many times we would see la migra during our trip. Generally they wave, and you wave back. Both Humane Borders and Samaritans volunteers seem to have an understanding with most Border Patrol and each respects the other's need to do what they do. Sometimes the Samaritans will stop when they see Border Patrol has apprehended migrants, to offer food packs, water, etc.

A few miles down the road, we spotted two young men - migrants - who flagged us down. They had a little water, no food, and one had huge blisters on the bottom of his feet. The retired doctor examined his feet, helped clean and bandage them and gave both a pair of clean socks. We gave them food packs - gallon-size ziploc bags with vienna sausages, applesauce and other small items - and they began eating quickly. Both looked very young. We asked how old - one was 21, the other, 22. Both were from Oaxaca - in the far south of Mexico. A long way to have come. One was headed to Los Angeles, the other to Santa Rosa, Calif. where his girlfriend and baby daughter were waiting. He pulled a wallet-size photo out of the small plastic bag he was carrying, passed it to us and smiled proudly.

We advised them to rest in the shade during the heat of the day, and they nodded, but I'm guessing they continued on after we left them.

Update from Houston Disciples pastor after Rita

September 26, 2005

From G. Todd Williams, pastor of New Covenant Christian Church in Houston, Texas.

After a long day, my family arrived safely back in Houston. We evacuated last Thursday morning for San Antonio. Today we were allowed back in our neighborhood as part of a “staggered” return to Houston plan.

It was a strange feeling boarding up my home and packing my car with what I felt I would need in the event that I were to loose my home. Things certainly take on a different value when it comes to the idea that you may never see it again.

I don’t think that I have ever felt such anxiety before in my life. Even while driving away, I took one look back and thought, “Okay God, it’s yours.”

To help matters, my father drove straight from Indiana overnight on Wednesday, as the storage place where he keeps his RV called and said that if he didn’t come and get it, they couldn’t guarantee that it would be safe. This actually worked well for all of us, as there were no rooms available south of Waco, Texas.

Dad arrived, slept for an hour while we finished boarding up the house and loading the car, and then we hit the road.

Wednesday night had been filled with phone calls, and trying to make sure that our members were going to be safe. A late night trip into the inner city had me picking up Tony Head, one of our kids from the University of Houston, at the Greyhound bus stop. He was trying to get out of town, but Greyhound has stopped selling tickets, and there were close to 500 people on the street trying to find a way out of the city. Armed police officers prevented people who did not already have reservations from entering the building.

I wasn’t about to leave Tony on the street, especially with so many angry and frightened people, so I told him that he was going with me to San Antonio. For me, this was the most terrifying experience I have ever had on the streets of Houston. Being among these people, many of them yelling and pushing, made me realize just how desperate people can be.

On Thursday, as our little caravan struck out, we soon realized that there was no fuel to be found, and had we not packed water and some snack items, we wouldn’t have had food either. Luckily, we had filled our gas tanks, and had additional gas tanks on board.

Late that night, we managed to make our way to San Antonio. We went to a restaurant, and we were surrounded by evacuees from Houston. Many shared stories of how it took them close to twenty hours to escape the city.

I don’t think that I have ever watched so much news coverage before in my life. We gathered and prayed for our friends and families, our fellow Disciples’ who were about to face the storm, and for the strength to return and be ready to face whatever we would find.

Today we returned. Most everyone in our congregation has checked in, and everyone seems to be doing well When I pulled into our drive, I breathed a sigh of relief. The front of the house looked fine. The only damage we sustained was about half of our back-yard fence is now in the neighbor’s yard, and we lost shingles off the roof. Praise God … no water leaked in.

On a personal note, today is my 42nd birthday. I am surrounded by my family, I have (most of) a roof over my head, and my health seems to be in check. My friend Alicia Barnett in Port Arthur shared with me this afternoon, “I still have a home! I know that there is a lot ahead of us, but God has a silver lining just waiting to make itself known.”

Remaining in God’s grip!

Rev. G. Todd Williams

Borderlands dispatch: A day in the desert

We left Tucson at 6 a.m. - eight of us in two Humane Borders trucks, headed west toward Ajo and finally, Organ Pipe National Monument.

Eleven hours later, after making the rounds to several water stations, we returned to Tucson - sweaty, tired, and (for me, at least) with a greater understanding of just how vast, beautiful and unforgiving is the desert backdrop for all the border drama and politics often in the news.

At one water station, we hauled five-gallon jugs
from the truck parked on the dirt road by wheelbarrow and by hand over a rough trail about 1/2 mile up to the water station. We were out there maybe an hour - and that was enough for all of us. Being out there gave me a glimpse of how difficult it is for the migrants. Out here the rhetoric of immigration policy - what it is, what it should be, who benefits - just evaporates in the scorching sun. The desert doesn't give a d---.

We saw Border Patrol all day long - in pickup trucks, in a Humvee at Organ Pipe, in a low-flying chopper over distant wash, with guns drawn at someone or something beside the road, and later, also beside the road, with a group of apprehended migrants.

We ate lunch at a restaurant at the border checkpoint at Lukeville. Here is a view of the 30 mile border fence - chain link, with another row of steel fencing beside it.

Thirty miles may seem like a big fence - but don't be fooled. If you looked at the border on a map, you'd see that there is plenty of room to enter...but the desert gets even harsher out that direction.

Along the way I got to talk to Humane Borders' Robin Hoover. In between jokes - R-rated jokes, Bible jokes, made-up jokes and puns - he told the stories that go along with this place and its recent history. Tragic deaths, rescues, Indian lore, confrontations, wild animals, crazy people who weren't crazy at all...but the main character in most is the desert.

Here is my favorite joke from today, told by Robin: "What happens if you don't pay your exorcist? You get repossessed!"

Borderlands dispatch: Little white crosses

Four year old Maya Wood holds a cross bearing the name of one of more than 200 migrants who died trying to cross the Arizona desert this year. Maya was with her mom, Cathy Wood, at the March for Migrants in Tucson, Arizona this afternoon. The march is an annual event held by Humane Borders. This year's march was not really a march - the Tucson police had some issues with blocking off a lane of traffic or something like that. Instead, after a service in memory of the migrants at First Christian, everyone drove over - funeral-procession style - to the Pima County coroner's office for a final word of prayer. At the coroner's office is a refrigerated semi-trailer where 60 bodies are awaiting autopsies.

So far, according to Robin Hoover of Humane Borders, 238 migrants have died this year - another sad new record. That statistic is for the fiscal year, which ends Sept. 30.

Each year, they have had a march or something to honor and remember the dead. By far the toughest part of the church service is when they read the names. While the names are being read, people come forward and take up the white crosses bearing the names and dates of death.

I took 3 crosses. When I got back to my pew, I read the names. One, Maria Rudy Aguilar Santiz, died on July 13 of this year, which happens to be my mom's birthday. The other, Hector Carbajal Martinez, died on July 2, a Saturday. While I was probably laying on a raft in the backyard pool, he was dying in the desert, dehydrated and over heated.

The third cross says "Desconocido" which means unidentified. About half of the crosses bear only this word. Still, as a woman named Maria reminded us during the service, somewhere there was probably a family waiting - one that had pinned its hopes of a better life on the shirtail of this traveler, now deceased.

National Benevolent calls its bankruptcy a "disaster," sues its own law firm

Now, millions of dollars and a couple of years later, the lawsuit filed last week by attorneys for the National Benevolent Association (NBA) against law firm Weil, Gotshal & Manges makes allegations that if proven, confirm some of the worst fears about what happened to the non-profit.

First we heard that Cain Bros. was allegedly wining, dining, hoteling and limosine-riding away the assets of the 119 year-old charity.

Now, it may turn out the whole bankruptcy was a sham to generate fees for the lawyers and consultants. All financed by money given by good church folks for the purpose of helping children, the elderly, the disabled, and others in need.

Weil Gotshal, meanwhile, brags on its web site that it was recently named "Law Firm of the Year" among bankruptcy firms in 2004 by Chambers and Partners.

Isn't there a special corner of hell, or at least, heck, available for these folks to roast in?

'Get Off The F---ing Freeway': The Sinking State Loots its Own Survivors

Two paramedics stranded in New Orleans in the wake of hurricane Katrina give their account of self-organisation and abandonment in the disaster zone. Sherri sent this along, and said it matches the accounts she heard from other New Orleans evacuees.

Mother Nature's wrath was only the beginning of what these folks endured. Click here to read it.

Photos of Hurricane Katrina aftermath and response

These photos were taken by Tom Kinton, a fellow traveler with Sherri, Tina, Barb and others who were in Arkansas, Louisiana and Mississippi last week to offer assistance and survey damage from Hurricane Katrina.

Tom's photos: click here.

Sherri Emmons DisciplesWorld update: Covington, Slidell and headed home

Cullman, Alabama

September 8, 2005

Day 5

My friend, Tina Burton, is the only person in the world I could have called last Thursday and said, “Hey, you want to take a week off work and drive down into the hurricane zone on Sunday?”

Her response, classic Tina, was, “I’ve got a tent!”

She has worked tirelessly this week, taking orders (with a smile and sometimes with a comeback) from me, from Barb Jones, from anyone who needs help. She has missed a week of work, slept on church floors (for maybe 4 hours a night), lugged supplies, taken photos, organized kitchen supplies — and never complained once.

Yesterday, driving through Covington, Louisiana, Tina hung out the window of the car, snapping photos. She wanted to come, because she wanted to help. She is not the only one who wants to help.

The response to this disaster is almost as overwhelming as the storm itself. This morning, people stopped by the church in Covington to ask what we need. Their houses are in various states of disrepair; they’re dealing with insurance forms and FEMA and flood waters (with no electricity — and no air conditioning); they don’t know what’s happened to friends, neighbors, and sometimes family members — but here they are at the church, asking what they can do to help. I am humbled by their generosity.

We drove to Slidell, Louisiana, this morning. I thought Covington was bad, but Slidell is worse. Thousands of trees are down, many lying across houses and roads. Downed power lines still lie across the highway. Most of the town is without electricity (and I will just mention this one more time, it is hot and it is humid!). We have been told to watch for snakes and rats. Thankfully, we don’t come across any.

The Disciples church in Slidell is in good shape. A tree is down on the fellowship hall, but the structure has held. Shingles litter the lawn. But the church has survived better than most of the surrounding town. Homes have been completely demolished. Traffic lights are still out. Some stores are open, but most aren’t. It’s a cash-only economy.

We left Slidell, Tina and I, to head northeast. Byron, Lois, and Tom will stay behind to direct Disciples’ relief efforts. This afternoon, Byron and Tom were busy with chainsaws. John, who let us shower at his house yesterday, told us — in perhaps the understatement of the year — “We’ll have lots of firewood down here this winter

Driving northeast, we pass dozens of caravans heading south — church vans pulling campers, the Kentucky coroner’s office, military vehicles, police units from half a dozen places, and a line of fire trucks from New York City. I wish we were heading south again. I wish we were going to help.

I’ve been thinking a lot about those drops in the ocean of need. My drop is a small one — hell, it’s miniscule. I want to do more — stay in Covington with Lois and Byron and Tom, cut trees or pound nails, or cook for the people who could do that better than I could. Instead, I’m going home to write. It’s a very small drop, indeed. And I’ve worried about that all day.

Tonight, Tina and I are staying in Cullman, Alabama. We drove to three hotels before we found a room. Finally, we pulled into a Best Western. The parking lot is filled with cars bearing Louisiana license plates.

“We need a room, any room,” I tell the desk clerk.

“We only have one left,” she drawls, checking her computer. “It’s a mini-suite with a Jacuzzi.”

Tina and I look at each other, aghast. I’m on a church magazine budget. We cannot afford a Jacuzzi.

“Are you all coming from down South?” the young woman asks.

We nod.

“It’s $79,” she says.

I stare at her, then say sheepishly, “Oh no. We’re not evacuees. We’ve just been down in Louisiana, writing about the story for our church magazine.”

“It’s $79,” she repeats firmly.

Drops in the ocean. Small drops, inadequate, inconsequential in themselves. Today I am realizing all over again that small drops multiplied by millions can drown a major city — or they can change the world.

Sherri Emmons is managing editor of DisciplesWorld magazine, the journal of news, mission and opinion of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). Visit our web site for updates on the church's response to Hurricane Katrina.

Sherri Emmons DisciplesWorld update: Little Rock to Covington, La.

September 8, 2005

I will never complain about the humidity in Indiana again. The air here is heavy with wet. We sweat, drink water, and sweat some more.

On Tuesday, we pull out of Little Rock in a caravan carrying six generators, gasoline, food, chainsaws, cots, emergency supplies, and bottes and bottles of water.

We are led by Barb Jones, the regional minister of the Great River Region. Her cell phone is permanently attached to her ear. She is fielding between 500 and 800 calls and emails a day from people who want to help, people who need help, people looking for loved ones. She is amazing.

Byron and Lois Lasater drive just behind us. Byron has experience in disaster relief. Lois is a nurse. They have left their home in Ozark, Arkansas, to set up the region's first relief center in Covington. They don't know how long they will be here. They're in it for the long haul.

Bringing up the rear of the caravan is Tom Kinton. He is just back from Iraq and his truck and trailor are loaded with MREs, water, and canned goods. He arrived in Little Rock on Monday, ready to go wherever he's needed. Tom is our go-to guy. He has a song or a joke for every occasion. He also has a gun. We are glad he's with us.

In Mobile we stop for dinner with a group of Disciples pastors. Some are still without electricity and hot water. They share stories of the storm and worries for their colleagues further south. They can't get into Biloxi or Gulfport. The phones work sporadically. There's no Internet access. People in south Mississippi are complete cut off. We can't get to them. We can't talk to them. We don't know who made it out, who rode through it, who didn't make it. The anxiety at the table is high but the fellowship is warm.

The plan is to leave Mobile that night and drive to Covington, Louisiana. Just a three-hour drive, we think. We can make it. But there's a curfew in Covington. The roads must be clear by 9:00. There is no electricity in most of the city. Trees and wires lie across the roads. We rethink our plans, and decide to stay the night in Jackson.

Wednesday morning we head south. In southern Mississippi we begin seeing Katrina's aftermath. Huge oak trees have been snapped in half. Empty houses with no roofs line the roads. Most of the gas stations are still closed. We can tell the few that are open by the long lines of cars. We're glad our tanks are full.

Barb is still our lead car, and she drives fast. Pulling onto the Interstate, our car hits a huge pothole. Thunka, thunka, thunka. We pull over to the side of the highway. The rim is bent. Still, the wheel itself looks okay. Back on the road. A mile later, the tire is flat.

Tom is a good man to have on this trip. He changes the tire without breaking a sweat. One more delay, but we're on our way again.

Covington looks like a war zone. I've seen tornado damage before, but not on this scale. Mile after mile after mile of devastation. Traffic lights are down and cars snake slowly along the road, pulling over from time to time for caravans of buses, military vehicles, ambulances.

Just inside town, the traffic comes to a complete stop. We turn off the air conditioning, open the windows, and wait. We don't know what the hold up is, until we pass the Episcopal church. Hundreds of cars are parked in the lot, in the yard, along the road, down side streets. This is FEMA, and people need help.

We set up camp at Grace Christian Church. Other than a few downed trees, the church is undamaged. The day before we arrived, electricity was restored. Blessed relief --- air conditioning.

We visit the house of a church member. His wife and kids are still further north, but he's come home to assess the damage. He has a tree through his roof, but he has running water. We shower at his house. Byron and Tom go up on the roof to nail plywood over the hole.

Tina, Lois, and I sit outside, gaping uselessly at the chaos that just two weeks ago was a beautiful neighborhood.

The scope of this disaster is almost unfathomable. Try as a might, I can't wrap my mind around it. So many people need so many things, our little convoy seems like a drop in the ocean of need. Still, the drops add up.

Today (Thursday), the first work crew will arrive from Baton Rouge. Byron and Tom will take them to Slidell to start cutting trees, patching holes, taking food and water. All of that is needed. But I think the greatest gift they are bringing is their presence. Everywhere we go, people want to talk, to tell their story, to be heard. They want to know they're not alone. They've been cut off for a week and a half. They need to know help is coming.

I have never in my life felt so useless as I do on this trip. Our efforts are so small, just a drop. But the drops add up. Everywhere we've been, we've met people doing ministry -- a ministry of water, canned foods, chainsaws, cots, and MREs. But mostly, it's a ministry of presence.

Sherri Emmons is managing editor of DisciplesWorld magazine, the journal of news, mission and opinion of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). Visit our web site for updates on the church's response to Hurricane Katrina.

Images haunt KY man who drove evacuees from Superdome

Rick Jouett, a bus driver with Bluegrass Tours and a member of Crestwood Christian Church in Kentucky, volunteered to drive evacuees from the Superdome to Houston. Read about his trip in this story from the Lexington Herald-Leader.

Flat tire in MS

Posted by R. Woods:

Just got a call from Sherri around 11 a.m. Weds. They had a flat tire and were pulled over by the roadside in Mississippi. They've been traveling in a group and had someone changing it. Headed to Covington, La. and Slidell today.

Hopefully more later today from Sherri once she gets back to an area with internet access. She stayed last night in Jackson, MS and was grateful just to have electricity.

Photo: Barb Jones

Sherri Emmons DisciplesWorld road trip, Day 2 - Pine Bluff, Ark.

September 5, 2005

We drove today to the convention center in Pine Bluff, Arkansas, home to hundreds of people displaced by Hurricane Katrina. It's a day I won't forgot.

The center itself is amazing. Thousands of people show up every day, wanting to help. In fact, the volunteer registration table is swamped, telling folks they can't be used until Thursday or Friday.

The Red Cross, Salvation Army, city and state officials, and countless churches and civic organizations have set up an efficient, compassionate, humane place to receive people. Hundreds of cots, showers, laundry facilities, meal service, clothing, personal hygiene items, and an amazing assortment of things I would never have thought of are available.

People coming in can bathe, eat, sleep, apply for food stamps and other services, register their kids for school, get their hair cut, choose clothing, use computers to look for relatives, make phone calls to call loved ones, the list goes on and on. The one thing they can't do is go home.

Pine Bluff received the last buses out of the Superdome in New Orleans this morning. People piled off the buses, dirty, dazed, clutching bags and children and pets. The stories are unbelievable, almost unfathomable.

A mother of three told us about spending two days in her attic with her kids, her sisters, and their kids, plus several neighbors. They had no car to leave, no bus fare to get to the shelters. On Tuesday, they tore a hole in the ceiling and climbed onto the roof -- where they stayed for three days, waiting for someone to come. "We kept hearing the helicopters," she said. "But they never came for us."

Finally, they were rescued, not by government workers but by men in fishing boats, who dropped them off on dry ground. Then they walked for hours, guided by neighbors and other New Orleans residents, toward the convention center. At one point, they turned a corner and were faced with soldiers, guns drawn, shouting for them to get down.

"We were just trying to get out," she said. "And they treated us like criminals."

Now she sits outside the Pine Bluff community center, five dollars in her pocket, wondering where she will go next. One thing she knows: She won't return to New Orleans.

An older woman sits nearby in a wheelchair, a small dog in her lap. She appears nearly catatonic, until my friend Tina asks if she can pet the dog. She smiles slightly, tells Tina the dog's name. She says she was at the Superdome, but she can't talk about that. The only thing she can focus on now is her dog. She has nothing else.

I'm walking through the center, clutching my notebook, trying to process what I've heard, when an older man grabs my arm. His English is broken. He is from the Philippines, but he lives now in New Orleans ... or he did.

"I need bag," he says, holding my arm tight. I look to where he is pointing. A trashbag holding everything he has left in the world lies split open on the ground. "I need bag."

"Okay," I say. I know where the bags are. This I can do.

I lead him to the area where people have been dropping off suitcases, duffel bags, grocery bags. I know where it is because Barb Jones, the Great River executive regional minister who brought me here, dropped off several suitcases and duffel bags earlier.

A woman gives the man a duffel bag. It is one of Barb's. He breaks into tears, hugs me, hugs the woman, and walks away with his bag.

I feel completely inadequate.

Bruce Bixler, the pastor of First Christian Church in Pine Bluff, has been listening to stories, too. The stories he's heard are much worse. I'm grateful he heard them instead of me. I'm grateful the church is here, has been here, to help.

And I'm grateful for the opportunity to be here now, to witness and to hear.
------------------------------------

DisciplesWorld is a journal of news, mission and opinion of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ). Sherri Emmons is managing editor of the magazine. Visit the DisciplesWorld web site for more news coverage of the Disciples' response to Hurricane Katrina.

Sherri Emmons DisciplesWorld road trip - Day 1, Osceola, AR

Sept. 4, 2005

Heading south on Interstate 57, we begin seeing them. Long convoys of military vehicles, line after line of camoflage green trucks snaking south toward the hurricane zone. Open-windowed, unair-conditioned, moving steadily in the right-hand lane, they are filled with clean-cut young men and women. Every time we come upon one, traffic slows.

In the rear window of one vehicle, we see a cardboard sign, hand-lettered, that reads "Show Love." We honk and wave.

We pull off Interstate 55 in Osceola, Arkansas. There's only one exit to Osceola. In front of the Shell station by the interstate, we see a sign: "Red Cross shelter" with an arrow. The sign went up today.

Jim Roberts, pastor of First Christian Church of Osceola drives us around town. Osceola, Arkansa, whose claim to fame is a mention in the Huck Finn story. Osceola is Mark Twain's Plum Point.

Jim takes us to the Osceola Community Center, which has been transformed, literally overnight, into a Red Cross shelter. The center is bustling with people, sorting clothes, food stuffs, books, medical supplies. Everyone is busy. The local Red Cross person staffing the shelter stops briefly to talk with us. She looks exhausted. It's 3:30 and she hasn't had time for lunch yet. In the last two days she has trained nearly 90 people to be shelter workers.

There are maybe 40 cots in the shelter so far. Jim tells us they had hoped to receive more from the Red Cross, but they've all been sent further south. One of his parishioners is networking in Little Rock, trying to find more cots. They have sheets, blankets, pillows, and towels for hundreds. They need the beds.

More than 100 refugees are camped out in the three local motels. Most have run out of money. These are the folks who had the means to get out of Katrina's path before the hurricane hit. But they packed for two days. Now they are stranded, perhaps for months, perhaps permanently.

First Christian and the other churches in town have mobilized to take care of these folks. The churches are taking turns bringing in potluck suppers to the Baptist church. Next week, sometime, the Red Cross will take over with the meals. The agency offered to take over this week, but the churches had already worked out a schedule for the week. They want to take their turns. The Red Cross meals will wait intil next week.

I am awed and inspired by the passion of these folks. They are working 24 hours a day, trying to anticipate the needs of their uninvited guests, tracking down medications, formula for a lactose-intolerant baby, undergarments, laundry facilities.

Everyone seems to know one another, but Jim says that's a recent occurrence, a result of the situation. Baptists, Methodists, Catholics, Episcopalians, Church of Christ, Assemblies of God, Disciples, and others have worshiped separately here. Now they are all working, praying, and eating together. The town, Jim says, will never be the same.

While we tour the center, a family arrives from Mississippi. A couple with two girls, an older woman in a wheelchair, and an infant wearing only a diaper. While they are being processed, I ask the Red Cross director how they screen newcomers.

"We don't, really," she says, "If they are from the affected areas, we'll take them. We won't deny anyone food and a place to stay."

That welcome may well be put to the test in the coming weeks. Jim expects that soon the town will be receiving busloads of refugees from New Orleans, folks who won't even have cars and a change of clothes. I wonder how long the cheerful determination will hold up. For now, though, it's a positive experience.

We leave Osceola heartened at the good works happening. We feel comfortable, safe. Things here aren't so bad.

Of course, we haven't hit the hurricane zone yet.

Read Sherri's story about her visit to Osceola on the DisciplesWorld web site.

The view from Houston

Todd Williams is pastor of New Covenant Christian Church in Houston. It's a new church known for its ministry to the city's homeless and in particular, the youth. It's a tough gig. Williams has been at times a relentless advocate for the homeless, like when the city moved them all from under an overpass to various "hotels" (if you could call them that) in outlying areas, away from the programs and services that keep them alive and give them hope.

Since the hurricane, Williams and New Covenant have been front-and-center in the city's organizing of how to serve all these refugees pouring in.

Yesterday, he sent us this reflection, to use however we wanted. It gives you a look at life on Houston's streets, through the eyes of a wise and compassionate pastor who admits that sometimes, we can only take small steps.

Read Williams' reflection here.

DisciplesWorld hits the road...and I get to stay home with the chicken pox

DisciplesWorld, the magazine of news, mission and opinion of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) is gearing up for a road trip to cover some of the stories coming out of the churches and regions following Hurricane Katrina. Our managing editor, Sherri Emmons, will be leaving tomorrow morning, headed for Arkansas, where many refugees are being housed and more are arriving. From there she will head into south and east. Hopefully, Sherri will be able to post from the road to this Weblog, so stay tuned. I'm sure she will also have some great stories for the magazine and the web site.

And as we were working out the logistics over the past few days, I was developing a case of the shingles. Shingles is caused by the chicken pox virus which can lie dormant in your nerves and then come out much later in life. I won't bore you with medical details except to say it's painful and it means resting instead of going on the road and potentially spreading chicken pox to those who have not had it or been vaccinated.

Aside from the road stories, we have some great writers working on coverage. Rev. Jayne Ryan Kuroiwa is working on a story about the Houston interfaith effort to serve the many refugees (up to 250,000) there. Nathan Hill is writing about the response by Disciples colleges and universities.

I'll be holding down the fort - or at least the outpost in Cincinnati, writing a few stories and staying comfortably numb. Tomorrow morning, I will be sitting at my computer at 11:30 Eastern time to participate in a worship service via email, conducted by Rev. Michael Oberlender, of First Christian Church of Greater New Orleans. The congregation started a listserv in 2003 and has been using it now to report on the whereabouts of members and family, the condition of homes and areas of town, etc. The service, in keeping with Disciples' tradition, will include communion - BYOBread and Juice. I'll be writing about that.

Works out well since I can't go to my own church anyway, with the shingles...

US to accept aid from other countries

A follow-up to my Fox News posting....

Although Condoleeza Rice said we will accept the aid, Bush's comments say to me that he just doesn't get it. "It" being both the gravity of the situation (which he has yet to see except for the fly-over), and the spiritual notion of the humility and grace that comes from accepting the help and gifts of others.

Contrary to any notion that accepting aid equates to an admission of weakness, it would be an acknowledgement of common humanity and a much-needed replacement of paternalism with the egalitarian ideal the US espouses.

http://www.salon.com/wire/ap/archive.html?wire=D8CBN4OO0.html

Disciples' Great River region message board for hurricane

The Great River region of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) is working hard to match up people in need and seeking refuge with those who have space or items to offer or can help in some way.

But their message board is more than that. People have posted stories, prayer requests, amazingly generous offers, etc. Some of these are tough to read. It's almost like a living shrine to the spirit at work among these good people. May God bless us and keep us tonight, as we struggle to make sense of this, to keep hope alive for those in seemingly hopeless situations and to find the best ways to help those who need it.

Church lawsuit alleging oil company fueled Sudan genocide

I came across this AP story today and wanted to link to it so that it doesn't get lost in the shuffle of news. The US and Canadian governments tried to get it dismissed. The lawsuit alleges that Talisman Energy, a Canadian company, was in cahoots with the Sudanese government to talk about ways to "remove" people who were in the way of where it wanted to drill for oil One of those ways was ethnic cleansing, rape, kidnapping. So far most of the spin on the Sudan genocides has been religious or tribal or involving low-level greed and grasping for power. This is a whole new level.