Recently, I joined 49 other adults in traveling down to New Orleans. For the sake of this trip and our well being throughout our weeklong stay, our group raised more than $28,000. I am certain that we left the dozen homes we worked on in better condition. I am also confident that $28,000 could have been used to reconstruct many more buildings if we had only donated the money to local causes.
The question then becomes, why did we go?
In most Presbyterian circles, the term “calling” is debated and discussed almost ad nauseam, but I trust that the reader’s constitution is strong enough to permit a little discourse on the subject. Though we represented many different churches from across North Carolina, each individual committed to the same Bible verse for the week, Isaiah 6:8: Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I; send me!”
The question still becomes, why were we sent?
In the text that precedes his bold confession, Isaiah’s vision of the Lord filled him with terror. “Woe to me,” he wailed because he considered both himself and his community to be spiritually impure or “unclean.” What is most fascinating to me is that the prophet brings his community into the picture. After all, he is the one and only person standing before the fiery throne of the Lord. Why include other people? Why not look out for yourself? I have never felt the stranglehold grip of a life or death situation, but I would assume that the relative welfare of my community, even of my most beloved family members, would take a back seat to the most immediate of all concerns: I would fight for my life!
This brings me to the modern day horror that was Hurricane Katrina. Any attempt on my part to illustrate the tragedy that persists to this day in New Orleans falls considerably short. I can no more describe the utter sadness in the deserted neighborhoods than I could communicate the heartbreaking lack of hope in the voices of some of the residents. Am I excused from speaking because the right words fail to surface in my mind? As a young man who daily ignores the sufferings of others, I cannot help but feel complicit for my role in the silence towards the largely forgotten plight of the citizens of New Orleans. The anguish of these displaced men, women, and children does not even register a “blip” on our collective national consciousness or mere sound bite in the most recent State of the Union address. I echo the words of the prophet: “Woe to me!” I cried. “I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips (Isaiah 6:5).”
Over the course of this trip, I learned about what it means to truly experience “woe.” While cleaning out her house, one owner told me their story. Her husband had refused to deal with the wreckage of their home or the tumultuousness of their lives in the wake of the storm. As the twelve-foot- high waters from the breached levee rotted his home, the hopelessness of the situation poisoned his soul. He was dead a month after Katrina, a victim, not of the high winds or toxic floodwaters, but of the psychological terror in a world gone mad.
What do you say to such a woman who tells you this story? What do you say to a God that you believe sent you to this place? How about, why her? Why him? Why this? These are the questions born out of an intense desire to fiercely cling to the idea of justice in this world. Even so, empathy can only carry us so far. As this woman is crying her modern day psalm of lament, I am trying to offer the support befitting of one whom God has sent. All the same, one nagging thought persists, welling up behind my compassion for her plight: I am so relieved that this didn’t happen to me! This sentiment is hidden deep down in a part of me that I do not like to look at, but that feeling is still there. Woe is me; my thoughts, deeds, and even intentions are unclean!
Why was someone so unworthy sent?
Yet, I do not want “woe” to be the last word lest anyone accuse me of Calvinism (perhaps another subject discussed ad nauseam in most Presbyterian circles)! I have to believe that the will to live, which is the source of our egocentrism, can also be used for collective good. I want to be transformed by my desperate belief that, despite all the evidence to the contrary, those who have suffered will be redeemed. This is a transformation, literally moving “across” forms to viewing oneself in community. A transformation into the image you were created to be, the image of your Creator. As the mighty Mississippi River is fed by thousands of seemingly insignificant streams on its way to New Orleans, so can people across the country join together and impact the city with resources, time, and energy, a flood of love to transform the effects of the water 19 months ago.
Though obviously idealistic about our response to Katrina, I am not naïve. It is going to take time to rebuild New Orleans and even more time to reframe the hearts and minds of those who faced the fury of that storm. But, I believe that we are being called at this time and into this place. Our last night in New Orleans, our group closed our worship service with Jeremiah 29:7: But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.
May the providence of God, so appropriately manifested in the timing of this text, guide the restoration of homes, lives, and hopes in New Orleans.
Andrew Troutman is an M.Div. student at Union Theological Seminary, Presbyterian School of Christian Education in Richmond, Va., and is an inquirer in the ordination process. He is from Raleigh, N.C.
