Readers who live outside Louisiana can only imagine this scenario: New Orleans’ Congressman, William Jefferson, is under indictment for bribery and racketeering; Louisiana’s Republican Senator, David Vitter, is making headlines across the country for consorting with prostitutes in Washington and here; Mayor Ray Nagin, arguably the least effective chief executive in any city in America, one given to making announcements and speeches but clueless on how to lead a city, is building a war chest in order to run for some political office since he cannot repeat as mayor; and now District Attorney Eddie Jordan is “it.”

Already attacked from every quarter for the DA office’s ineffectiveness at prosecuting major crimes while spending the majority of their time and energy prosecuting minor stuff, this week Jordan announced that charges against 20-year-old Michael Anderson were being dropped because the chief witness had disappeared. Anderson was indicted last year for shooting to death five teenagers on a street corner in Central City. That tragedy made every newspaper and news program in America and considered greatly to the deteriorating reputation of New Orleans in its post-Katrina existence.

Here’s what happened.

On Tuesday of this week, Jordan’s staff announced they were dismissing charges against Anderson. The sole witness could not be found, they said, so they were helpless to proceed with the case.

On Wednesday, NOPD Superintendent Warren Riley held a news conference to announce that his homicide detectives had gone out and found the missing witness within hours. Jordan’s people hastily gave the woman a subpoena to testify before the grand jury next week.

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She was born on July 14, 1916, in the house still standing on the next ridge. Her dad–John Wesley “Virge” Kilgore–bought this entire part of the undeveloped rural countryside in 1903 and built the house, the barn, the blacksmith shop, and eventually the garage which would hold his old Packard. Everything still stands, including Lois Jane, one of his middle children, whose birthday the family is celebrating today. Lois married Carl McKeever on March 3, 1934, and they moved 5 miles south to Nauvoo, produced 7 children (the fourth would die soon after childbirth in 1939), and have lived to see their household sprout into so many grands and greats that Mom despairs of trying to keep up with them.

If you could have chosen your mom or grandma, you’d have picked her. My brother Ronnie points out that she never smoked a cigarette, never took a drink of liquor of any kind, and never uttered a profane word in her life. He adds, “as far as we know.” The rest of us would bet on it.

She was raised to love the Lord, read the Word, and support her church, and she’s still at it. That church is the New Oak Grove Free Will Baptist Church 2 miles from Nauvoo. It’s the same church, although with sparkling new buildings, where Virge and his bride Sarah began worshiping over a hundred years ago and where Lois and Carl met in 1930.

We call this “roots.” Through both Dad and Mom–but particularly through the Kilgores–this family has roots, solidly planted in the soil of Winston/Walker Counties of northwest Alabama.

My brother Ron put a note on this blog a couple of weeks ago requesting cards to Mom for her birthday. As of today, Saturday, she has received perhaps 110. (“I think,” she said. “The number changes every time I count them.”) She’s read them and reread them. “Right now, they’re spread over the dining room table.” Each day this week, from 7 to 16 have arrived each day. I usually call about 9:30 just to see what came in today.

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Grady Cook, an artist in Central Mississippi, told me how he had improved his technique. “The picture you bought from me last time,” he said, “was all right. But I still had a lot to learn.” I assured him Margaret and I thought it was fine and that it was hanging in our living room.

“Since then, I’ve studied under a wonderful teacher,” he explained, “and have learned how to add darkness to my work.” He said, “Here. Look at this.” Pointing at the picture I would buy from him a few minutes later, he showed the shadows and the blackness of the undergrowth of the forest. It made the picture far more three-dimensional than the first one. The trees stood out. It looked like someplace I’d like to explore.

We still have both pieces of art on display in our home, but since he explained the difference, I’ve enjoyed the last one far more.

“There’s something missing in this sermon,” I said to myself. On the surface, it seemed to work just fine. The “fruit of the Spirit” passage of Galatians 5:22-23 is a familiar and well-loved one. I’d studied it numerous times over the years and had preached it on several occasions. I like what it says about the effect of the Holy Spirit in the life of a believer who abides in the Lord, that in time one may observe all nine qualities of this “fruit” in his life. I have enjoyed pointing out to the members of my congregations that all nine qualities are the “fruit,” not “fruits,” and that we do not specialize on one or two, but the indwelling Spirit may be expected to shine forth in all of these ways.

And yet, studying my notes and trying to put myself in the place of my people and listen to my own delivery of the message, I felt it was rather blah. It just lay there. In short, it was boring me–and if I was bored, how much more the poor hearers would be.

Something was wrong.

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The latest bad news to hit our city is that Senator David Vitter, Republican, is on the list of clients of the Washington, D.C., brothel. In Tuesday’s Times-Picayune, Vitter–who has been a strong voice for morality, faith, and family values–said, “This was a very serious sin in my past for which I am, of course, completely responsible.” He added, “Several years ago, I asked for and received forgiveness from God and my wife in confession and marriage counseling. Out of respect for my family, I will keep my discussion of the matter there–with God and them. But I certainly offer my deep and sincere apologies to all I have disappointed and let down in any way.”

Driving into the office Tuesday morning, I caught a snippet of a call-in talk show in which this was the subject. Everyone had an opinion. One station said the calls and internet votes were running 57 percent for Vitter to resign.

A reporter for the Associated Press–who said he reads this blog, so I told him I’d be careful what I write!–called for my reaction. He’d been on the streets interviewing citizens, he said, and most people were saying it was no big deal. “Every man does that,” said one woman. Thankfully, not.

What was my reaction? I said something to the effect that in my mind, Vitter has not been the spokesman for religious values that Congressman Bobby Jindal has, and that if Jindal had confessed to such a failing, the disappointment would be even greater. Barring further revelations, I said, this will probably not be an issue when Vitter runs for re-election two years from now. “God’s people believe in grace.”

Then, Wednesday morning’s headline read: “Canal Street Madam: Vitter was New Orleans Brothel Client.” Uh uh. Not good.

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We’re told that in places, the Mississippi River runs both ways. One layer of water heads south toward the Gulf, while underneath, the bottom layer is flowing northward. Obviously, that condition holds true only for a limited number of miles before it all gets together and heads back downriver. Riverologists (is there such a word?) have an explanation for the phenomenon, no doubt.

Two streams are flowing in opposite directions in New Orleans life these days.

The outward stream was on display Sunday morning at the First Baptist Church of New Orleans. While Pastor David Crosby led a prayer for the city’s recovery in his pastoral prayer, a time when the altar was filled with members interceding for the community, various church leaders announced their plans to leave.

Brian Skinner, minister of music at FBC-NO for the last year or two, was experiencing his final Sunday before departing for the same position at FBC-Daytona Beach. Brian said to me, “My family was just never able to make the adjustment to this city.”

The pastor thanked the former president of the choir. “Today is her last Sunday with us.”

Donna Johnson–whom I pastored in Columbus, Mississippi, when she was a teen and went by Donna Fielder–informed me she has taken a job in Mobile and bought a house in the bedroom community of Daphne, and that the family will be moving over soon. Her family has been a mainstay at FBC-NO for many years.

Meanwhile, the other current flows, the incoming stream.

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I have not been his pastor for 21 years, but at least twice over these decades, my friend Rick has said, “Joe, I pray for you every week. I ask the Lord to grant you long life so you may serve Him for many years to come.”

Recently, when he said that, I thanked him and expressed my surprise that he would still pray for one out of his distant past whom he sees so rarely. I told him what someone said to our mutual friend Bill Hardy.

After a number of years as their minister of education, Bill was moving from Woodland Hills Baptist Church in Jackson, Mississippi, to join the staff of the First Baptist Church of Kosciusko, an hour up the highway. At the reception in his honor a little lady said, “Bill, I have had you at the top of my prayer list all these years.” He said, “I sure do thank you. And I hope you’ll keep me there.” “No,” she said, “let your new church pray for you. I’ll be busy praying for our next minister.”

I’ve reflected a number of times on Rick’s prayer that I would live long and serve well. Genetically, it would appear not improbable since my father is 95 and Mom will be 91 on July 14. We’re told that more and more Americans are living to be 100 these days.

The question comes: do I want to live to a ripe old age? Is this something one should desire?

In Isaiah 38, God sent word to King Hezekiah to set his house in order, that he was about to die. The Judean king was stunned. He sunk into a deep depression (“turned his face to the wall”) and cried out to God bitterly that “I’ve served you faithfully all these years.” Implying, it would appear, that the Lord owes him. And, since he actually had been superior to most of his predecessors, God heard his cry and granted him 15 more years of life.

Hezekiah was thrilled. But it turned out not to be a blessing for the country.

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