I lived in New Orleans when Hurricane Katrina devastated the Central Gulf Coast region on August 29, 2005.  Rather than staying in my dorm at the time, I evacuated east to my hometown of Mobile, Alabama.  When I left, I had no idea I wouldn’t be back for months.  When I moved back in June 2006, I immediately took stock of what was gone, what was left, and what was being rebuilt in the city.

From UNO Lakefront Arena in New Orleans, Louisiana | June 2006

One of the first places I went was north to the University of New Orleans campus at the lakeshore. UNO didn’t flood and many of those who were stuck in their homes after the waters rose found their way to the campus. After the city drained, the parking lot of the UNO Lakefront Arena became home to hundreds of FEMA Trailers, creating what my friends and I called a FEMA Farm.

From the Lower 9th Ward in New Orleans, Louisiana | July 2006

Largely considered the most devastated neighborhood in New Orleans, the Lower 9th Ward’s condition was pretty well covered by the media. I’m still not sure how I feel about the big bus tours and disaster tourism that became the norm after Katrina. Making money from others’ destruction just doesn’t feel right. As someone who lived in the city, I did make it a point to visit the area though. My friend Doug took a few of us through the Lower 9th, where I took the photos above and below.

From Chalmette, Louisiana Near New Orleans | July 2006

The boat photos were taken in Chalmette, just downriver from the 9th Ward. Chalmette is not a part of Orleans Parish (it’s in St. Bernard Parish), but it backs up to Arabi and the Lower 9th. Water from Lake Borgne to the north topped the levees and swept the SS Dolphin into someone’s front yard. I’ll write it again: the water rose so high that a shrimping boat floated across the levee into this front yard.

I barely remember my first day of classes back in August 2004.  I know I had a roommate who flew in from Korea just days before, speaking virtually no English.  I went to chapel for the first time that day, and it would be one of less then five times I’d go throughout my seminary career.  I mentioned the now cliche’ statistic that 89% (it’s up to 91%) of Southern Baptist Churches are plateaued or declining.  Four years later and I’ll miss hearing Dr. Kelley make use of his ancient Hebrew word: “Wow!”

I spoke about leaving NOBTS after just one semester, but by October I knew I was where I needed to be.  The Spring semester was better, and I had the opportunity to hear NT Wright and John Dominic Crosson speak about the resurrection of Jesus.  It was probably one of the greatest lectures I’ve ever heard.  I’ve had a good seminary experience, despite a lot of the complaints I’ve made about how much better things could have been.  There’s always room for improvement, but I can walk away from here satisfied that even if I didn’t learn everything I thought I would in class, the last four years’ experience taught me more than I ever imagined.

I lived in New Orleans when the worst natural disaster in United States history occurred.  The events of that period still feel like they were yesterday.  My mentor and his wife were in the hospital downtown watching their first son being born just two days prior to the landfall of Hurricane Katrina.  The fear and confusion of that period is something I can’t forget.  I think we all learned so much during that time.  For all the talk of being “the church scattered,” I truly began to grasp the gravity of what that means.  The last line of my scattered post was, “Pray for the city. It’s grown on me, I’d like it to still be there when I go back.”

It wasn’t, and sometimes I can’t help but feel like the last couple years have shaved off a few from the end of my life.  They say seminary is one of the dryest times in your spiritual life.  I agree.  Coming back after Katrina was just that much harder.  I have so many friends who had such more complicated situations moving back, but they did.  Nothing I experienced was as difficult as those who struggled to bring their families back into a post-Katrina New Orleans, search for a suitable home, and pursue God’s mission here.  I’ve got a lot of heroes among those I’ve known here.  You can read the post I wrote on the second anniversary of Katrina, and what I had to say last June, having been back in New Orleans for a year after Katrina.

But there’s more to my New Orleans experience than seminary and the flood.  One of the most significant aspects to my time here has been as a member of Edgewater Baptist Church.  It’s not a perfect church, but it’s the best church family I’ve ever been a part of.  My first semester here I became a member, leaving behind what was a difficult and frustrating time in Mobile.  Through Edgewater I joined a small group that became the support I needed to make it through the first year in New Orleans and in seminary.  Those brothers (and sisters) of mine were such a huge reason I came back after Katrina, and I owe them such a huge debt of gratitude.  After four years, there’s no question that the New Orleans I’ll miss most has Edgewater at its center.

Edgewater has always had a large group of seminary students, which makes its membership pretty transient.  One of the traditions at Edgewater that impressed me was that when a member left, the church body gathered around that person, laid hands upon that person, and prayed as a church body for the person and ministry.  I don’t know if a lot of other churches do that (my past experiences say they don’t), but I know it made an impact on me then, and still does today.  This past Wednesday night was my night.  It was just as humbling and just as much an honor as I thought it would be.  I’m going to miss them greatly.

It seems easy to experience something new every day in New Orleans.  Friday night I drove through City Park on my last errand before the move.  Just south of City Park in the Esplanade area of Mid-City, as the legend goes, someone let out their parrots, which took up residence in the trees along the avenue.  My last new thing as a resident of New Orleans was seeing a flock of parrots on the side of the road in the middle of City Park.

So long, New Orleans.  Thanks for that last new experience.  The next chapter begins.  Fort Worth, here I come.

I went down Lakeshore Drive the other day. It’s the first time I’ve been able to drive from Franklin Avenue to Metairie along Lakeshore in a pretty long time. Before the hurricane, it was my preferred route west. It took much longer, but it was worth the time to see Lake Pontchartrain. It reminds me of the Mississippi Gulf Coast where I grew up. Looking out over the lake I see waves crashing onto the seawall on a cloudy day just before a storm rained down upon the city; lightning crashes down all around me.

Maybe that’s the image that best fits the last two years. There’s beauty in the pending devastation. You know it’s coming; you can feel it raising the hair on your arms; the suspense is overwhelming; the calm becomes unbearable. Then it’s here. Nothing will ever be the same. And from the depths of that revelation comes the hope of renewal. A chance to start over. Hope rises out of the rubble.

I don’t know if any of this means something to you. It might not even make sense. All I know for sure is that for the last few days, these words have run through my head:

After night, comes a light
Dawn is here, dawn is here
It’s a new day, it’s a new day

Everything will change
Things will never be the same
We will never be the same

Oh, the glory of it all

I guess maybe it’s somehow fitting that I haven’t stopped thinking about John 1:1-18 for the last few days either.

In August 2004, I moved to New Orleans to attend seminary. In August 2005, I left thinking I’d be back in a few days. It took nine months. June 1, 2006, actually, was the day I moved back. The first day of hurricane season. It’s been a year now. Ray Nagin was re-elected. So was William Jefferson. And Cynthia Hedge-Morrell. The National Guard were deployed here. I still remember the strange feeling that I was in a war zone when I saw the first convoy of Guardsmen driving in. That was just in the first month. At one point, we started selling t-shirts asking, “C. Ray Nagin? Not me.” At least we have a sense of humor.

In August 2006 the city tested our newly installed pumps (which are technically supposed to pump water out of the city when it floods. You see, since we’re a bowl, we built levees to keep the water out. But the levees also tend to keep water in.) Apparently nobody told us that didn’t go as well as it should have. We found out in March that they were faulty. Then we found out last week that, at least, only one is still broken. But as some of our friends at my church in the Filmore neighborhood learned last week- pumps are only good if they are turned on. Not to mention that someone discovered all those FEMA trailers were toxic.

As for our crime rate, well, it seems to be back up. Less people, same crime. Eddie Jordan, the DA here, is a class act, having fired a dozen white employees and replacing them all with African-Americans. More importantly, he’s had trouble keeping criminals in jail- most offenders are released to repeat the same crimes again. But at least the Appeals Court has kept the ones who did go to jail in there. For now. In January, we had a huge rally against crime- Silence Is Violence. So at least some of us care (even though, for the record, I missed the rally). There was a moving speech given that day. And it didn’t come out of the mouth of Willie Wonka.

And then there was that tornado that carved out a swath from the West Bank to Lake Pontchartrain. I stepped outside about 5 minutes after it woke me up that night. It just missed the homes of several of my friends. Only a few blocks to my east it killed several people.

Anyway, I just wanted to say all that in response to the billboard on Gentilly Blvd. across from campus. “You’re not crazy.” I beg to differ.

So here’s what I’m thinking.  Did we experience the seminary of the future?  What if classes were held differently?  Online, maybe.  I don’t know- I like having a professor available in person, and I like seeing my other classmates.  But what I hate is when professors just babble on and on all semester long following their PowerPoint presentations without elaborating or offering anything else.  I can read, and I’ve already got the PowerPoint printed out or open on my laptop.  What can we do about that?

And the other issue is mentorship within the seminary.  There are too many students and too few professors here, part of which is due to the Great Flood.  But even before that, some of us sat in our dorms and discussed the role of professors in the lives of the students beyond academia.  What we know is that some professors don’t care about us that much.  But we also know plenty do.   I guess what it comes down to is that a lot of us would like some kind of community with our professors.  It’s not hard among students- we live together.  And the school tries with Spiritual Formation groups (I hit the jackpot with mine this last year, but others don’t have as interesting or dynamic professors.  Plus I knew going in that I held things in common with this prof).  I guess now I’m just rambling thoughts… so I’ll leave the rest to you.

What do you think about seminary?  What can you suggest toward our dilemmas and desires?  Any thoughts?

We had a team of Baptists from Georgia scheduled to work on our sanctuary for last week. Two weeks ago, we found out that the sanctuary had suffered extreme termite damage over the years. One contractor suggested we tear the building down. (We just put a brand new roof on both of our buildings, so that would have been pretty crappy.) Another contractor said it would cost about $200,000 to fix the damage. That’s about what we have in our building fund, and the goal since the beginning of our rebuilding has been to stay as much out of debt as we can. Basically option two was to spend all of our money to bring it back to the point it’s at now- gutted and empty. Well here’s the neat thing. That team of Baptists scheduled to work last week came down, and four of them were all very knowledgeable in construction. In particular, they knew exactly what to do and how to fix our termite damage. So we told them to go at it, and forget cleaning up after themselves. Spend all their time fixing it and forget the rest. And they did. And our sanctuary is good to go. Termite damage fixed.

We were all very excited about that news. This week our building coordinator said he had all this work to clean up but no workers. Then he ran into someone who said there was a MissionLab group on campus whose week-long plans had been sidelined. There was a mission group staying on campus at NOBTS with nothing to do… until now.

Cool, huh?

My nine month report comes at a time somewhere in this dark season in my life. I can’t say for sure that it’s a “dark night,” but I can say that it’s a time of darkness. I can’t even say if I’m at the beginning, middle, or end. I wonder whether I should be so transparent; I wonder if I’m sharing my journey or being foolish for putting such strange things out there. To some of you this may sound like run-of-the-mill depression. Some of you may deny that I could even experience much of what I have, am, and will. That’s okay. My hope is that some of you have experienced times like this, and that you can encourage me in some way.

Only one other time have I truly had such a depression. At that time I questioned my salvation, while those who advised me said that the Enemy would not lead me toward such questioning; only God would “convict” me. It was not conviction but confusion, and I know that they were wrong regardless of their sincerity. That dark period was over three years ago. Since then I’ve had ups and downs, although none have been as difficult as then. I don’t know if this is a continuation of that time, and I’m not sure it matters.

What does matter is that I’m here now, and it is now above all others that I am among those who can guide me out of it. I consider this darkness an attack from my Enemy. I am not bold enough of self-absorbed enough to consider it an attack from the Satan himself. It’s likely that I’m not nearly that important in the Kingdom. Regardless, I’m being assaulted. It comes as I’m taking Spiritual Warfare as an elective. One of the warnings is that we shouldn’t look for the Enemy behind every rock and tree. Be assured that I am not. What I’m dealing with I think has been with me a while, and now I’m beginning to see how to combat it. My awareness of this assault has little to do with my class or with my location (although some of you will wonder about the latter).

The other night I had an attack, and I want to describe some of the thoughts that ran through my head like a frenzy. “You’ll never amount to anything. Everything you touch dies. Every ministry you’ve been a part of has failed. You’re worthless and alone. You have no real friends. You could disappear tomorrow and nobody would notice.” There were other thoughts as well, and it went on for about 30 minutes.

Then it stopped, and for a moment I had clarity. For what seemed like five straight minutes I repeated to myself “God loves me.” I prayed and quoted Scripture (yes, even some KJV, since that’s the version I remembered). “Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.” I reminded myself of God’s promise that I was His. I remembered my identity in Christ (which I’ve been blogging recently). After 30 more minutes, I fell asleep.

I’ve had several of those nights this year. I don’t think they’re going to stop without some effort on my part, and yours. First, I realize that I need to mend some fences. The guilt of not having done so is used against me often. Second, I’m going to have to work on my discipline (in most facets of my life). Third, I’m going to have a retreat later this semester where I spend a day alone in prayer working through Neil Anderson’s Steps to Freedom in Christ (as required in my Spiritual Warfare class, but also because I need it). Where do you fit in? I’m asking for committed prayer on your part. I realized I came to seminary with maybe one person actively and daily praying for me.

I said before that I don’t know if this is a “dark night” or not. If it is, then I’m told this will be a life-changing season. I pray that God would guide me through this time as He has this far. I pray that He will be with me, and that He will defend me. I pray that He will be my Father and my Shepherd. So here I am. I hope I don’t regret having told you this.

“I ain’t no nigga and I don’t know no niggas. I don’t know no crackers or no hoes. All I know is citizens of New Orleans. And if you ain’t gonna be a citizen of New Orleans, get the hell away from us!” -Glen David Andrews, New Orleans musician

This was one of my favorite quotes from yesterday’s rally. We have lots of problems here. Crime. Corruption. Trash. The city looks like a hurricane flooded it. (Who knew?) That’s why I go out and try to take pictures of the city in its beauty. Sometimes you just need a break from all the rubbish and filth everywhere (figuratively and literally). Anyway, yesterday’s rally was important. It’s frustrating, no doubt. The other night on Leno, I remember hearing Kiefer Sutherland refer to both Somalia and New Orleans in the same context- “It’s not like Somalia or New Orleans or anything.” I mean, what the crap? Anyway, the keynote speech yesterday at the rally came from Bart Everson, who blogs here. You can read his emotion filled speech here. Among the highlights:

Fueling our anger is the perception that our leaders do not share our fear and our sense of shame. And so today I want to say shame on you, Mayor Nagin, Superintendent Riley, District Attorney Jordan. You’ve really let us down. You have failed us. The criminal justice system and the government is broken. And I want to communicate to you the level of outrage that my friends and neighbors are feeling, because we don’t think you get it. Families that have lived in New Orleans for over 300 years are talking about leaving. People displaced by the flood are saying they are afraid to come back. That is the level of hopelessness and despair. They’d like you to step up and just do your jobs — but they don’t think you can. They’d like you to step down and resign — but they’re afraid you’d be replaced with equally incompetent people. Many of my neighbors believe that we need to see the federal government step in and literally take over New Orleans, or at least the criminal justice system. The feeling seems to be that even FEMA couldn’t screw up any worse than we have. At first I thought that was a joke. But it seems more possible every day, and there’s nothing funny about that. …

We know that law enforcement alone can’t solve these problems. We need long-term solutions too. We must have better schools. We must have an economy beyond tourism. We must pay workers a living wage. We must fight racism and classism. It will take all of us. It will take community involvement. Well, look around. The community IS involved. And we will stay involved. To our political class: You’re on notice. We will be watching.

Much more information at: NOLA.com, B.Rox, Silence is Violence, Anderson Cooper (CNN), WGNO (Story, Pictures), Matri’s VatulBlog

[Original Post]:

They tell us crime is back to pre-Katrina glory. Nine murders in 11 days (as of right now).

I’m not writing this because of Helen Hill. I’m not writing it because of the other eight murders. I’m writing it because this city needs to stop the murders. So I’m glad 3000 folks showed up downtown to speak out against the violence. I’m glad they didn’t let Nagin speak. I’m glad the people are heard.

No, I don’t think we can place the blame on one group. It’s the parents who didn’t raise their kids right. It’s the police who can’t patrol everywhere. It’s the murderers themselves who chose to murder. It’s a shared blame. It’s on us Christians for not truly showing people what it means to follow Jesus. It’s on us all. The parents. The people. Me. Us.

The Times-Picayune has more coverage than I can give. Read it.

Ironically, the CSI: Las Vegas episode “Fannysmackin’” was on TV tonight (Thursday, January 11, 2007). My roommate and I watched it, and I’m still just as amazed at the comments at the end now as I was when I first saw the episode last Fall.

Sara: You know, it kinda sounds like you guys are blaming everyone but these kids. I mean, you don’t get a bye just because you grew up here or your parents are on drugs or—those kids were perfectly capable of telling the difference between a wild night out and beating somebody to death.

Grissom: The truth is, a moral compass can only point you in the right direction, it can’t make you go there. Our culture preaches that you shouldn’t be ashamed of anything you do anymore. And unfortunately this city is built on the principle that there’s no such thing as guilt. “Do whatever you want, we won’t tell.” So without a conscience, there’s nothing to stop you from killing someone. And evidently you don’t even have to feel bad about it.

They were taking about Las Vegas, but they might as well have described New Orleans.

As you can see on the map, New Orleans is large.  To explain, we walked from Coliseum Park to Audubon Park.  My school is up in Gentilly (about where the “y” is in the word “Gentilly”).  It’s a nice place, New Orleans.  We walked down Prytania Street, which has some of the largest and most beautiful homes in New Orleans.  My friend Dirk and his team in the Gentilly/NOEast area had a visit from President Bush, and I think Dirk was proud to pray over him.  I guess it’s pretty neat to get that opportunity.  I guess it’s good that some of us got to be out in the city working, but I mean, there have been a lot of people out there working without getting all this recognition.  My hope and prayer is that we’d do this every day, every week, every month, and every year, not just on that one special day that happened the day before yesterday.  Plus, the way I see it, we have a lot more highligher colors to go through before we’re done.

(In writing this, I realized that my good friend Dave got his picture plastered in the news.  So here’s Dave. And no, my team in Uptown didn’t have to wear the goofy t-shirts.  Read the BP article here.)