Walking the Walk

I've been seeing lots of Facebook posts about the hypocrisy of churches in the recent Hurricane Harvey.  There's the fury directed at Joel Osteen.  And that fury has begun to be directed at other churches.  Let's separate them.

First, let's talk about Joel Osteen.  I've seen lots of criticism, along the lines of "He should walk the walk."  Well, frankly, he is walking the walk--his particular walk.  Have you read the man's books or watched his shows?  He's a prosperity gospel preacher--God will bless you if you behave/believe a certain way, and that blessing is in the form of money.  There's not much in there about taking care of those less fortunate.  After all, if they're less fortunate, they could pray more or change their beliefs so that God would bless them too.

It's not the version of God that speaks to me, but I understand the appeal.

Yesterday I saw the first meme which criticized other Houston churches.  It said that churches get tax free status so that they can take care of the less fortunate and only a very small amount of churches in Houston were taking care of storm victims.  This post was created while the rains were still hammering the city.

I thought about how many churches in the area are flooded.  They will not be opening their doors as a shelter any time soon.  During Hurricane Wilma, I was part of a church that lost some roof tiles, which led to water intrusion.  It was much less than the water inundating Texas churches, and it took weeks just to get the damaged building materials, like carpet, out of the way.  And then it was many months after that before it was all repaired and replaced.  After a huge storm, the pace of repair slows because there aren't lots of workers to hire, and everyone has so much repair to do.

But let's say the building itself is in fine shape.  The roads to get to the building might not be.  And churches don't necessarily have huge staffs to help with sheltering storm refugees. 

I think that most non-church members think of churches, and they think of huge congregations, significant staff, and lots of money.  That has not been my experience.  Many churches can barely pay their pastor and organist.  Many churches have elderly congregations which can't easily help people who need a shelter.  Many churches are meeting in a rented space, which means they can't open the building to refugees.

The most vociferous critics of The Church will not be paying attention to the smaller corners where they might actually see The Church in action.  They will not see the church members who take care of the community in so many ways.  They will not have read the posts from church people who pass on information.  They will not know about church affiliated charities that will give so much help to victims, and who will stay long after the initial impact of the storm.  The vociferous critics will have moved on to judge other institutions by the time The Church in all its local incarnations has time to swing into full action.

If you want to support the Houston storm victims, and you want an organization you can trust, I suggest Lutheran Disaster Response.  The group will use 100% of your donation towards the relief effort and not administration, and they'll help everyone, regardless of belief.  And they'll stay for the long haul.  Go here to donate.

The Message in a Flooded Parking Lot

When I left work on Monday, the parking lot was flooded, and I waded through ankle deep water to get to my car.  But that's not unusual for a day the kind of rain that we had for a few hours in the afternoon, the kind of rain that comes in slanting sheets.  I drove home through flooded streets, and the only thing that seemed curious is that when I got to a point on my drive east, the streets were completely dry.

I got to work yesterday morning to find the parking lot still flooded, and even more strange, the second floor of the parking garage still had several inches of water.  Someone closed the gate to the upper level, and I went down to close it again when someone opened it.  I did a bit of traffic directing to the part of the parking lot that almost no one knows is there, and then I made a poster for the gate, so that people would know why the lot was closed.

I asked the other people in the building if we could use their reserved spaces, and they graciously said yes.  But that only solved the problem for a bit.

As I tromped back and forth between offices and flooded parking lot, I thought about grad school and my professional life, how in some ways I never envisioned that my duties might include this, but in other ways, I'm just doing what I've always done:  looking out for students, trying to keep them safe, showing them directions, hoping for the best.

And there's the tough part:  at one point, we ran out of dry parking spaces. I had to leave late arriving students to make their best choices for them and their vehicles.  Some parked further away and walked.  Some parked in the flooded spaces and waded to the building.

I said nothing, although part of me wanted to say, "If you had gotten to class a few minutes early, you'd have had a dry space."  But I didn't.

As with much of my teaching and professional life, I realized that I couldn't fix everything--and people would make their own way or they wouldn't.

I had a full morning of meetings and the catching up of work that comes with a morning of meetings.  By the time I left in the early evening, a team had arrived with a rootering type of device to try to fix the clogged drainage in the parking lot. Long after the streets dried, we still had lakes of water instead of parking areas, so clearly something is wrong.  Hopefully it will be fixed.

We know that the rains will come.  We know that there may be flooding.  This is a week that in ways big and small, we know that we need to help each other--both locally and nationally.

Statues and Other Tributes

Was it just last week we were coming to blows over statues?

One of the few statues of a woman in the U.S. Capitol

Do all of our Confederate statues insult our modern sensibilities?

Picture taken by Paula Feldman: SC Statehouse statue saluting the women of the Confederacy

If we will be known by our statues, what do our statues say?

Mepkin Abbey Statue

A statue made out of a fallen tree tells the story of our humanity:  all we love will ultimately be lost.

Mepkin Abbey: close up of a statue made of a fallen tree

Can a statue made of marble bring us comfort?

Mepkin Abbey detail of statue of Mary

Does a statue made of recycled scraps tell us something about our ultimate destiny?

Mepkin Abbey:  part of a Nativity scene

Can a statue call us to something bigger than ourselves?

Mepkin Abbey Statue

We continue to make our tributes.

Impromptu Cairn at Mepkin Abbey

A Post Hurricane Poem: "Exodus"

I've been interested to watch my Facebook feed, to see how many posts are people weighing in about Hurricane/Tropical Storm Harvey and its floods and to see how many people are talking politics.  As someone who lives in hurricane country, I can't take my eyes off the Texas news.   I tend to worry more about winds and trees falling over.  But this current storm shows us the power of flooding rain.

I remember after Hurricane Katrina hearing about people who stockpiled water and food the way that they were supposed to and then the floods washed them away.  I remember being horrified by people who couldn't get out of the way, like people in hospitals and nursing homes.  We had had a terrible year personally, in terms of my mother-in-law's broken hip and her subsequent death by medical-industrial complex.  And I'm always aware of other apocalypses that wait in the wings.

All of those images came together in this poem, previously unpublished:


 Exodus


The swampland family stockpiles against storms,
supplies that are swept to sea
as the storm overwhelms the earth and the dams
designed to contain it.

In a distant hospital bed, antibiotics
flow into the veins of an older woman with a broken
hip. Microbes laugh at this attempt
to turn the tide as they flood her flesh.

On the opposite side of the planet, officials order
the slaughter of every bird in the country.
Some fly across the border.

Desperate to pack flesh on your frail frame,
she bakes every sweet treat you used to crave.
It’s the week the nausea attacks
you with apocalyptic vigor.

He keeps vigil by his mother’s bed
thinking that the doctors will take greater care.
He pretends to understand the markings
on her chart, the tidal flow of fluids.

I am tempted to try the tricks
of ancient peoples, to paint
the doorposts with blood, to offer
sacrifices, to dress in costumes
to keep my identity hidden from avenging angels.

Instead I keep the candles lit
and read the sacred texts. I make
sandwiches for the ones who deal with damage.
I listen for the call to leave,
ready to flee at a moment’s notice.
I keep my shoes laced, my camel tethered nearby.

Hurricane Relief

We had another rainy day yesterday.  In the morning, I sat with quilt group friends watching the clouds and the rain roll in while I did some mending and autumnal placemat making.  In the afternoon my spouse and I sat on our deep front porch:  he made notes for class, and I sketched a bit.  In the evening, the rain had let up, and we went to a neighborhood friend's birthday party.

I was struck by how many people I saw throughout the day who I came to know through my old school--at least 11.  Some of them I hired, many of them I supervised, all of them are still friends, although we don't see each other as often as we did when we worked side by side.  Most of them have gone on to better things--and some of them are doing very different things.  I find it hopeful.

Throughout the day I was conscious of the rain and although I was a bit worried about flooding, Hurricane Harvey was never far from my mind.  Today, too, I find my thoughts with the people of Texas.  We are hearing of people whose houses are so flooded that they're getting into attics or onto roofs.  I just heard an official recommend that people take an ax with them to the attic.  But I've seen more than one roof, and I can't imagine hacking my way out.

It's the kind of coverage that makes me think that personal flotation devices should be part of our hurricane supplies.  It's the kind of coverage that makes me think that my spouse's idea of putting southwestern style ladder steps on the outside walls or a spiral staircase outside might not be such a bad idea.

The pictures of what the wind ripped apart are dramatic, but because of them, we might not know that water kills more people during storms than wind.  And this storm brings a lot of water with it.

Some of us will feel compelled to send money, and money is a resource that gives the flexibility that communities will need in these difficult days, and the difficult rebuilding time yet to come.  There are many fine organizations, and some of them are faith based.

I recommend Lutheran Disaster Response--most of your donation will go to disaster relief.  Go here to donate:

https://community.elca.org/ushurricanerelief?erid=28798270&trid=79371936-ea58-4752-8cad-e854ac8c3c5d

Nature Wows Us This Week

I've been up for hours, since we went to bed at 8.  It's been the kind of week/month/season that has left us wiped out and weary.  The sky beyond my window over the writing desk has just begun to lighten.  I wonder what the people of Texas are waking up to?

Right now, the coastal residents of Texas are likely waking up to rain and wind, as Hurricane Harvey is still in the neighborhood.  It will only be later that they can evaluate the damage.

Since we've just had the 25th anniversary of Hurricane Andrew, there's been lots of discussion about "Are we ready for another strong storm?"  In part, I think we can never be sure that we're ready.  There are lots of new high rise condo buildings--they're built to a more stringent code, but can they stand up to a category 4 or 5 storm?  I suspect we won't know until it's happening.  And all it takes is one window blowing out, and the whole building is compromised.

In the last 5 minutes, I've watched the sky go from gray to lavender to pink--very lovely, although it probably means we've got more flooding rains for today.  But it has been a quietly beautiful sight.

What a week this has been in terms of nature:  an eclipse back on Monday when the forecast for Hurricane Harvey said it might be hurricane strength by the time it got to Texas, flooding rains for us, and a category 4 hurricane by the time the week ended.

Later this morning, I will go to my quilt group.  I have baked butterscotch bars this morning, thinking about all the people in Texas who will not be baking cookies any time soon.  My little homestead in hurricane country smells delicious.

I remember back in 2005, after Hurricane Katrina had come through.  It was not easy to even have a hot cup of coffee with hot milk in it.  We didn't have hot food for weeks.  This morning, I am luckier.

I'll keep those who are not as lucky in mind today.  It's too early to send help to the Texas victims, but soon you can--remember, money to aid groups goes further than anything else you might donate and the group would have to ship.

There Will Come Flooding Rains

Last night, I fell asleep at 7:45, only to wake up around midnight.  I had a variety of stuff on the brain--but primarily Hurricane Harvey.  So I went to the Weather Underground site, and got lost in the commenting on Jeff Master's blog that's housed there.  I am fascinated by all the people who look at various radars and do their own forecasting.

It was pouring rain here, and I kept a nervous eye on our street, which was flooding--AGAIN.  One of our cars was parked on the street, and I finally decided that if I was ever going to have any hope of sleep, I'd need to move the car.  I waded through calf deep water to move the car up from the flooded street to the yard.

Around 2, I decided to try sleep again.  It took some time, and then I dreamed that the cars had been swept away down the road, along with furniture and wood and other hurricane debris.  Oddly, the cars were still driveable.

I will make my way to spin class and then to work.  The waters have receded, so I might as well.  If I stayed here, I'd just watch Hurricane Harvey, and it's really too early to do much.  Or perhaps too late.  And as I watch our local South Florida radar, now is a good time to leave, and later might not be.  We're expecting flooding rains through Tuesday.

It reminds me of 2005--today is the anniversary of Hurricane Katrina's path over South Florida.  At first it seemed like such a gentle storm where we lived--lots of steady rain, but school was canceled, so we didn't care if the streets flooded.  All was well until the huge ficus fell over.  We were without power for the next two weeks.

Here's hoping we don't have that kind of week-end in store for us.  I don't think the Texas folks will be as lucky with the potential for 35 inches of rain.