Katrina
Months ago, I agreed to preach at First Presbyterian in Bonham, Texas, on the Sunday of Labor Day weekend.I'd carefully planned a sermon on Romans 13.8-14 that focused on Christian vocation [being that yesterday was Christian Vocation Sunday in PC(USA) churches]. I planned to frame the conversation by exploring the role the passage played in the life of St. Augustine and thus the church (and, tangentially, to look at how the passage might have shaped--erroneously, I think--the Christian tradition of erotophobia that Augustine contributed to mightily).
No one knew when I agreed to preach that Hurricane Katrina would slam into the Gulf Coast.
No one knew, either, that a local man would shoot and kill four people outside an Assembly of God church near the Red River.
And no one would ever have guessed that 158 souls rescued from New Orleans would arrive in Bonham on Saturday for a weeks- (if not months-) long stay at the National Guard Armory, requiring a supportive response from a town of 10,000 people.
Clearly, my sermon would have to change.
No problem, right? That's what preaching is about--addressing the issues of the day, sometimes on short notice.
Many in the congregation have roots deep in the bayou country of Louisiana. Others have family on the Gulf shores of Mississippi and Alabama. One elder had already left to take supplies to the coast and help his sister find her daughter. And nearly everyone in the congregation was helping provide supplies, clothes, and food for the relocated individuals and families.
My new sermon (on the same text) opened with these lines:
The works of darkness that St. Paul speaks of have been much in evidence this week. One example: Over the weekend, local, state, national authorities hedged their bets and did not evacuate the poor who could not evacuate themselves, gambling, it appears, lives against the strength of a storm--with devastating results.I was totally unprepared, however, to preach that sermon to a man relocated from New Orleans.
Thin and dignified, dressed in a fresh white T-shirt, salt-and-pepper hair neatly trimmed, he continually caught my eye during worship.
He nodded emphatically as I started the sermon. He shook his head with force when I mentioned that some would no doubt theologize Katrina as God's punishment for the "fleshful ways" of New Orleans. He nodded rhythmically when I said, "God did not do this; it was a natural disaster."
How ironic that the children's hymn was "Peace Like a River"--a lyric hard to swallow after this man and tens of thousands like him braved the rising waters as Lake Pontchartrain roared down on the city.
He didn't seem to notice, though, and sang along with a smile.
But during the anthem he broke my heart.
A man and woman from the congregation sang "The Prayer" (originally a Charlotte Church and Josh Groban duet). As they crooned the refrain, he quietly broke down and wept:
Lead us to a place
Guide us with your grace
To a place where we'll be safe . . .
Lead us to a place
Guide us with your grace
Give us faith so we'll be safe
His tears were the strongest statement of faith I've seen in months. It was humbling to be with him.
.: Posted by Duane Bidwell on Monday, September 05, 2005
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