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.