Severe storms tore through this part of the world early Thursday morning. The headline in Friday’s paper read, “Tornadoes knock down what hurricane didn’t.” I confess that I’m not much of a Christian because, as the storm raged outside, I lay in bed feeling snug, thinking that my house is strong and the roof is new. Only later did it occur to me that thousands are living in flimsy, FEMA trailers. Some took a lot of damage. A friend arriving at our airport Thursday morning said it’s the first flight he’s ever had where people screamed. “The bottom would drop out and the plane would fall. It was really scary.”

Local celebrity Emeril Lagasse has been in the news, slamming his adopted hometown. I must have missed it, but according to columnist Chris Rose, Emeril was being interviewed by New York Post gossip columnist Cindy Adams. He told her, “The mayor’s a clunk. The governor is also a clunk. They don’t know (blank-blank) from a hole in the ground. All my three restaurants got hit. I’ve reopened Emeril’s, but only a few tourists come. There’s no tourists. No visitors. No money. No future. No people. It’s lost. It’ll never come back.”

Emeril was already under fire from a lot of local citizens for his absenteeism in the weeks and months following Katrina. His people said he had a heavy schedule of appearances that had been booked in advance. And now this. Chris Rose writes, “Nobody is asking Emeril or our politicians…to be civic-boosting automatons. No need to be in denial about business prospects here. No need to say what you don’t believe.” But how about a little common sense, he asks. “To tell the country’s most famous gossip columnist that New Orleans is dead is not wise. Particularly if you own three restaurants here.”

In his defense, Emeril said he was stressed out when he said that. Rose writes, “Well, this just in: We’re all stressed out. Particularly those of us who have been here and not spending time in New York City or touring for our book.”

I told some friends Friday that much of my stress is probably self-induced. I wake up in the morning, overwhelmed by a city that is almost empty and the political land-scape in disarray, the news all discouraging, and wonder what in the world I can do to make a difference. I make a few phone calls, answer dozens of e-mails, spend a few hours in the office, visit a church where volunteers from a church in another state are working, and at the end of the day ask myself what possible difference anything I did made today.

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Ken Taylor has pastored our Elysian Fields Avenue Baptist Church for the past 18 years, watching it transition from suburbia to inner city without moving an inch. He has seen the neighborhood deteriorate somewhat over the years, yet has steadily led his members into the community with loving ministry and the truth of the gospel. All the time, he has served as a professor at the nearby New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. Right now, he’s on campus teaching Monday and Tuesday classes, then in North Alabama where he evacuated with his family until his residence on campus is made habitable again. I received an interesting report from him Tuesday afternoon.

In an internet spot where Ken’s classmembers register their comments on his classroom material, a student waxed eloquent on the depravity of New Orleans. He said, “I found New Orleans utterly disgusting in almost every facet. I wouldn’t deny a few aspects of the city will be missed; but on a scale of overall good versus evil the city was clearly due for destruction. After being there for three years, living on campus, and discovering how ineffectual the Christian community appeared to be, the best thing that may have ever happened for the souls in New Orleans was to be disbursed.”

Ouch. That was brutal.

(Incidentally, the student probably did not mean ‘disburse,’ which means ‘to pay out,’ but ‘disperse,’ meaning ‘to scatter.)

Ken responded on the site, “I react strongly to the words ‘utterly disgusting,’ ‘clearly due for destruction,’ and ‘ineffectual Christian community’ applied to New Orleans and to its churches. Clearly there was the disgusting, and the evil, and the imperfect church…. I challenge anyone to show me a city that does not have great evil. Were (this) to be the determination of what or who was to be destroyed, how many of us…would be saved?”

For two more pages, Ken gently and kindly answers his student. He tempers his words and softens their impact by explaining that he has mulled over the student’s comments during his 380-mile drive that afternoon to North Alabama. “Nothing personal is meant by this response,” he cautions, “so please do not feel that I am attacking you.”

You are too kind, Ken. So, let me do it for you.

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Wednesday’s pastors meeting was attended by forty to fifty pastors and guests. Among the developments we are rejoicing in are the resumption of worship services on February 12 in three places.

The Baptist churches of Chalmette will meet for worship on Sunday, February 12, at 10:30 am in Chalmette High School. Paul Gregoire (St. Bernard church) and John Jeffries (FBC Chalmette) and possibly others are working together to pull this off.

Same day, same time, Poydras Baptist Church, a few miles further downriver, will be having its first service since the storm. Pastor John Galey is excited to be getting back in business. Last I heard, there was still no electrical power down there, but adopting churches have worked hard to restore the church sanctuary.

Same day, but not sure of the time, Edgewater Baptist Church on Paris Avenue in New Orleans, will hold its first service at the church site, outside in a tent. They’ve been meeting in the West Bank home of Charlie and Cheryl Ray until now.

I have passed along to the Baptist Press a couple of stories we learned of Wednesday which I’m eager to learn more about, and which everyone will find fascinating.

Alberto Rivera, pastor of the Getsemani (Spanish) Baptist Church on Elysian Fields Avenue in New Orleans–the church with “1 DB (dead body) in rear” spray-painted on the building by the National Guard–has been leading worship services at Frost Chapel on the seminary campus while workers have been restoring his buildings. Some of the thousands of Mexicans who have come to help rebuild the city have been attending these services. One Sunday recently, they entered the chapel in soggy clothing. “What happened to you?” Alberto asked. They were sleeping in small tents on the parking lot of Community Grocery across the street, and it had rained the night before and drenched them and everything they owned.

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I left home last Friday morning driving toward Charlotte. “Why don’t you fly?” asked a friend. “You can be there in two hours, for Pete’s sake.” She didn’t understand. Getting there was only half the point. Getting away was the other.

A longtime friend on the staff of First Baptist-Statesville, NC, had invited me to preach Sunday morning. And since our granddaughter Darilyn had recently made her profession of faith at their church in Charlotte, Idlewild Baptist, we asked Pastor Keith Whitener if I could baptize her Sunday night. “You can,” he said graciously, “if you’ll preach for us.” So I was headed north.

I love to drive, and love the solitude in the car. Once when my car radio broke, I went for a year without getting it repaired. I think out loud, pray, recite Scripture, and do nothing.

We could call this by many names. De-stressing. Finding yourself. Resting the mind. Restoring the creative impulse. Escape, maybe. Whatever.

At times, driving along the interstate, I worked in a blacksmith shop shoeing horses. I sweated across burning western deserts while buzzards circled above and Apaches lurked behind every rock. I fought it out with bad guys in saloons and led cattle drives up the Chism. All of which is to say, I listened to a package of Elmore Leonard’s Western Stories on CD, read by actors like David Strathairn and Tom Wopat.

For a while each day, I was a teenager back on the family farm singing gospel songs at the top of my lungs, heard only by my mule and ten acres of knee-high corn we were plowing. I turned up the volume and let the car vibrate with the sounds of “No Other Name,” the incredible Nashville trio which has blessed me so much lately. I wept a few times and laughed at others, and worked at finding my harmony line on the choruses.

I memorized the 20th Psalm. Ever since Pastor Greg Morrow of California, Missouri, sat in our conference room two weeks ago and read all nine verses to New Orleans Pastor Lionel Roberts, I’ve been stunned at how perfectly it fits our situation, and convinced that it is medicine to the burdened to have it blessed upon them. I’d copied it out by hand on a huge sheet of newsprint so I could read a verse at a glance and not endanger anyone on the highway.

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Thursday morning, visitors in our associational offices represented Southern Baptists from Texas and from Michigan. Freddie Arnold and I pulled up chairs and chatted with them about the best way to bring work groups into New Orleans, as well as how not to do it.

A diverse group met at New Salem Baptist Church in the Upper 9th Ward Thursday after lunch. Pastor Warren Jones returned from evacuation in Grapevine, Texas, three weeks ago and is living in a make-shift room across the street from the church. He has nothing but praise for the fine hospitality the members and staff of the First Baptist Church of Grapevine showed him for months, and for that, we thank them also.

A dozen of us sat in a large circle in the hollowed out sanctuary, with Pastor Warren and BCM director Keith Cating astride stacks of drywall in front. Baptist leaders from Texas and Arkansas were present, as well as Northshore Director of Missions Lonnie Wascom, and others from our local BCM. “Who cleaned out your building?” I asked Pastor Jones.

“Anybody and everybody,” he answered. “I never knew who was going to show up. The doors are wide open, as you see, and people just walk in and we put them to work.” Right now, it appears the folks from Russellville, Arkansas, are going to be helping.

The Upper 9th Ward is, as you would expect, close to the disastrous Lower 9th. The main difference is that its buildings are still standing. But drive down any street and you quickly decide this is one devastated area. Without knowing the residents, you could see yourself as mayor deciding to bulldoze the entire place. Sad, sad, sad. But it is home to Dr. Warren Jones and his congregation, all of whom are scattered across America at the moment. It is completely uncertain how many, if any, will be returning.

Warren Jones is what is affectionately known as a piece of work. He’s one of a kind, a truly beloved and kind man of God. The joy of the Lord seeps out the pores of his skin. “See that sign out front,” he said. “We put a verse of Scripture every week on it. In fact, some of our people and I have a meeting each week about that. We pray and take suggestions, then decide. And when we’ve not put up a new verse, we get calls. People say, ‘What’s the verse for this week?’ There’s a lot of traffic out there.” He was referring to North Claiborne Street, three steps outside the front door. “We’ve had people come to know Christ because of the verse of Scripture on that sign.”

I was glad to hear that. I wish pastors knew what a great tool they have for drawing people into the kingdom and their church just by the creative use of the sign in their front yard. My spirit grieves when I see a nice sign carrying a message about an event that occurred a month ago. And almost as bad, no indication as to when the services begin on Sunday. Worst of all are the negative ones. I recall a sign in front of a Mississippi church years ago that read “Repent or burn in hell forever” and on the other side “Are you driving your children to hell?” Some pastor had a hell fixation and had forgotten the word “gospel” means “good news.”

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Wednesday evening on the NBC Nightly News, Brian Williams talked about the network’s continuing in-depth coverage of the Gulf Coast and New Orleans in particular. “We’ve had lots of support and thank-yous,” he said, essentially, “but we’ve also gotten the occasional negative response.” Some wrote to say, “Enough with the New Orleans thing” and “Give it a rest.” But Williams pointed out how 2 million people were displaced by Katrina, hundreds of thousands lost their homes, the southern coastline has been redrawn by this hurricane, and billions of tax-payers’ dollars are being spent to correct and rebuild. “This is our assignment,” he pointed out, “and we intend to cover it.” Pow, take that. Thanks, Brian. That felt good.

I sent Williams a note after the program to thank him. In so many words, I pointed out: “I fully understand those who say ‘enough’ and ‘give it a rest.’ Those of us who live in the middle of this mess feel the same way. We wake up every morning wishing it had all been a bad dream and that it would go away.” I told him I had intended to write sooner to say thank you for his sympathetic coverage of our story. I ended my note with, “I wish to God I knew how to say ‘thank you’ better and stronger and deeper than with mere words. But thank you.”

We give thanks for so many friends who are coming to help us.

At Wednesday’s pastors meeting at FBC-LaPlace, we had fewer than the usual number of ministers present, but twice the normal allotment of friends. Chip Turner, vice-president of Southern Baptist’s television channel, FamilyNet, was on hand to talk about the coming of this great resource to our community through Cox Cable. When people watch FamilyNet, they can call a number on the screen for counseling, and those making decisions for Christ will be directed to local churches in their neighborhoods. I told the group that even though FamilyNet has not been available locally, I receive a dozen referrals a year from this service. I look up the person’s address on the local map and find the nearest Baptist Church and call the pastor with this information. With the cable channel available now, that number should increase dramatically.

Dan Fuller from Oklahoma told how the telephone company will pay some churches in East New Orleans a large fee for the right to set up a small building for his company on their property. “Every little bit helps,” he said to some interested ministers. Gibbie McMillan of Southern Baptists of Texas Convention was on hand, offering encouragment and assistance. Eddie Honeycutt of Henry County Baptist Association in Virginia came to see the area and offer teams of his people to help local churches with backyard Bible clubs and block parties this summer. Eddie is working on a feeding unit on the West Bank this week.

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In the early New Testament church, Barnabas distinguished himself by his generosity and his kind spirit. Originally named Joseph–not a bad name at all, I think you’ll agree–the congregation dubbed him “Mister Encourager,” a free translation of Bar-Nabas, “Son of Comfort.” Trace his work through Acts chapters 4-15 and you’ll quickly see why he has become a hero to many of us.

Monday night, at our annual evangelism conference, held this year in the brand-new sanctuary of the great First Baptist Church of LaFayette, Pastor Dennis Watson of Metairie’s Celebration Church preached. Tuesday, I bought a CD and listened to the sermon again on my drive back to New Orleans.

Dennis recounted the day many years ago when he was driving around the country interviewing outstanding pastors. He had made an appointment with Perry Sanders, the legendary leader of the LaFayette church, who has served there since 1959, building one of the state’s strongest Baptist churches in the middle of Acadiana. He checked into a hotel and called Perry who told him, “You’re not staying there; you’re staying at my house. Check out.” Dennis said, “I’ve already paid in cash.” The inimitable Dr. Sanders said with a twinkle in his eye no doubt, “Son, you are in PerrySandersville. I’ll take care of it.” A few minutes later, the manager of the hotel knocked at the door and gave Dennis his money and written directions to the Sanders home. Welcome to LaFayette. (Steve Horn has come to succeed Dr. Sanders, and is sharing the pastoral duties for a time. I drew him a cartoon in which someone was saying, “Steve is the only pastor in Louisiana who is trying NOT to imitate Perry Sanders!” The rest of us probably are.)

“New Orleans has long been known as ‘the city that care forgot,'” Dennis Watson said in his sermon. “But my people and I pray for it to become ‘The City that Cares For God.'”

“A representative from the Franklin Graham organization asked me how I thought we were going to get the gospel to the world.” Dennis answered, “I suppose through the media, through great crusades.” “No,” the man said, “Through disaster relief. When catastrophes strike around the world, disaster relief teams are able to get into countries that would never receive our missionaries, because we go to help them and minister to them in their hour of great need.”

The Graham worker continued, “After the tsunami hit Southeast Asia, in one small country in that part of the world, a group of Muslim leaders approached our workers and said, ‘We want to apologize to you. We have attacked you and fought you and even killed some of you. But when disaster struck, you were the only ones to come help us.'”

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On Sunday, two town hall meetings were held at the First Baptist Church of Belle Chasse. I drove down for their 10:30 worship service, then stayed for one of the gatherings.

Belle Chasse is a lovely little river community just below Gretna, barely inside Plaquemines Parish. The First Baptist Church has for decades been one of our stronger churches in the BAGNO association. They’re pastorless these days and the town hall meeting, led by interim pastor Paul Hussey, was to start the congregation thinking about future directions for their church. The other meeting in their building was members of the destroyed churches of South Plaquemines, further down the river.

For years the Plaquemines Baptist Association has been made up of five small churches: Port Sulphur, Buras-Triumph, Riverview, City Price, and Venice. The director of missions for New Orleans has had the responsibility of working with them, keeping their books, etc., but over the years the churches let it be known they had no desire to join the larger association lest they be swallowed up and forgotten. A quick glance at the map shows these communities downriver on a thin strip of land down state highway 23, continuing 65 miles below the Naval Air Station at Belle Chasse. From my house to our furthest church is over 80 miles. Decades ago, most of these churches were bigger and stronger, running in the hundreds. With the oil bust some years ago, members moved away to find jobs, and the churches fell onto hard times. Some were running less than 20. Now, all five of the churches are gone.

As it turned out, the dozen or so who gathered for the South Plaquemines meeting were all members of the Buras-Triumph Church. Pastor Frank Ducharme relocated to Scott, LA, and has sent word that he will not be returning. With the exception of Pastor Lynn Rodrigue of Port Sulphur, that seems to be the case of the other pastors. Not that there’s anything to return to at the present time.

We discussed the need for the Plaquemines Association to merge with BAGNO. We discussed erasing the names of the five churches in Plaquemines and starting from scratch at first, with only one church that would be centrally located downriver. We would pour our resources into it until the population returned sufficiently to justify beginning churches in the other communities.

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One of our pastors is speaking at the Louisiana Baptist Evangelism Conference next week in LaFayette and asked some of us to funnel our favorite Katrina stories to him. Presumably, he’ll pick a couple that fit his sermon best and share with the folks at the meeting.

I told him the story of a Shepherd named David. No, not the one in the Scriptures. David Rodriguez, pastor of the Horeb Baptist Church in Gretna. Great guy. He’s Hispanic, but speaks English better than I do, and is married to Ninfa, one of our associational secretaries.

When word circulated on Saturday, August 27, that Katrina was taking dead-aim at New Orleans, David and Ninfa Rodriguez decided to do something bold and even daring. They contacted almost every member of their church and invited them to evacuate together.

At this point, they needed to find a camp or assembly somewhere that could accommodate their crowd. With the assistance of Freddie Arnold in our office, they tried the various Baptist camps around the state and finally contacted Curt Iles at the Dry Creek Assembly in western Louisiana. “Come on,” he said, “we’ll be glad to take every one of you.”

When they pulled out of New Orleans Sunday morning around three o’clock, there were 150 in their caravan. They arrived at Dry Creek around eleven and settled in.

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Driving to the associational office Friday morning, I was doing all right until I turned off the interstate onto Elysian Fields Avenue and headed north toward the lakefront. After about mile, my eyes became teary and I almost had to pull over. After all this time, the sight of the deadness of this neighborhood is so depressing I can’t take it. I began to analyze my tears. It’s not about this Burger King or that Walgreen’s. They’ll be back. It’s not about that particular house or the ruined car over there. It’s just everything. The place is so dead and so empty, and every house represents a family that has hit a brick wall, that’s living away from home, that is hurting and wondering what to do now.

I said through my tears, “Dear Lord, I don’t know what to do about it! What can I do to help these people?” I’m not real sure how to explain this, but God spoke back. “It’s not about you. You can’t do much. This is about what I’m going to do.” At that point, I lost it again.

Walking up to the office, I thought, “Why are we even here? No one knows we’re here. Nobody is coming to see us. We don’t even have phones. We could do our work better at home.” I had not been there ten minutes when I heard a voice in the reception area.

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