Oy vey
It has been quite a week.
I have heard that Hurricane Katrina was the worst national disaster to happen in our country since the San Francisco earthquake in 1906, possibly worse. And I can't say I disagree. For the past week, the news has sounded like excerpts from Left Behind or The Day After Tomorrow.
We all know, however, that the hurricane itself wasn't the remarkable thing, but its aftermath. New Orleans is no longer a functioning city. How often does that happen? How often does a city's law and order, it's people, even its buildings, go completely down the tubes?
It's the sort of thing you usually only see in movies.
An entire residential neighborhood covered in water, only the tops of the houses and trees poking into the air. A few days ago, there were people on those rooftops, waving their arms and shouting hysterically to get the attention of anyone who can get them out of a dead house; a dead city.
A Wal-Mart with its windows smashed and automatic doors gaping open, maybe forced open with a crowbar. Out of one set of doors comes a haggard, unshaven, dirty man, with perhaps a cart of bottled water and canned or dehydrated food, running back to a family crouching amidst sopping, oil-slicked wreckage. Out of another set of doors comes another man, but he has an iPod stuffed in one pocket, a CD player in another, and is hefting along a TV in his arms.
An alley with filthy water sloshing around ankle deep, in which a pair of looters beat a man to death for something he has in his pockets.
Abruptly and for no apparent reason, an entire side of a warehouse explodes.
These sorts of things have become everyday events for Big Easy, and perhaps in other nearby towns, as well. The interesting things about times of difficulty, though, is how they bring out the best in some and the worst in others.
Worst: As a helicopter descends to drop much-needed supplies, a group of hooligans/looters/other opens fire on the helicopter for, as far as I can tell, no reason.
Best: A twenty-year old finds a school bus with keys miraculously still in the ignition. He drives over to the Superdome, packs it as full of refugees as he can, and drives 500 miles to Houston.
And then, of course, there are the people who perhaps aren't especially good or bad, but are at least keeping the real bad guys at bay:
In a situation like this, what's a person on the opposite side of the country to do? Yes, you could donate money, blood, or supplies. People across the nation have done this, to the very great benefit of Southern citizens. But many of us, even after donating, perhaps have a feeling of guilt at our uselessness.
That is where prayer comes in.
I have heard that Hurricane Katrina was the worst national disaster to happen in our country since the San Francisco earthquake in 1906, possibly worse. And I can't say I disagree. For the past week, the news has sounded like excerpts from Left Behind or The Day After Tomorrow.
We all know, however, that the hurricane itself wasn't the remarkable thing, but its aftermath. New Orleans is no longer a functioning city. How often does that happen? How often does a city's law and order, it's people, even its buildings, go completely down the tubes?
It's the sort of thing you usually only see in movies.
An entire residential neighborhood covered in water, only the tops of the houses and trees poking into the air. A few days ago, there were people on those rooftops, waving their arms and shouting hysterically to get the attention of anyone who can get them out of a dead house; a dead city.
A Wal-Mart with its windows smashed and automatic doors gaping open, maybe forced open with a crowbar. Out of one set of doors comes a haggard, unshaven, dirty man, with perhaps a cart of bottled water and canned or dehydrated food, running back to a family crouching amidst sopping, oil-slicked wreckage. Out of another set of doors comes another man, but he has an iPod stuffed in one pocket, a CD player in another, and is hefting along a TV in his arms.
An alley with filthy water sloshing around ankle deep, in which a pair of looters beat a man to death for something he has in his pockets.
Abruptly and for no apparent reason, an entire side of a warehouse explodes.
These sorts of things have become everyday events for Big Easy, and perhaps in other nearby towns, as well. The interesting things about times of difficulty, though, is how they bring out the best in some and the worst in others.
Worst: As a helicopter descends to drop much-needed supplies, a group of hooligans/looters/other opens fire on the helicopter for, as far as I can tell, no reason.
Best: A twenty-year old finds a school bus with keys miraculously still in the ignition. He drives over to the Superdome, packs it as full of refugees as he can, and drives 500 miles to Houston.
And then, of course, there are the people who perhaps aren't especially good or bad, but are at least keeping the real bad guys at bay:
In a situation like this, what's a person on the opposite side of the country to do? Yes, you could donate money, blood, or supplies. People across the nation have done this, to the very great benefit of Southern citizens. But many of us, even after donating, perhaps have a feeling of guilt at our uselessness.
That is where prayer comes in.
posted by James at
8:44 PM
