Five Years After Katrina: Healing through Praise

Yesterday, New Orleans paused to remember the evacuation, destruction, repopulation, and rebuilding of the last five years in the wake of one of our nation's largest disasters, Hurricane Katrina.

The Gulf South took a blow the likes of which few have to remember, as in some regions homes were literally lifted off of their piers and floated away, boats and belongings ended up in previously unimaginable places, and the things which help us hold memories eroded beneath the water line and the mold.

In the New Orleans area, the military was suddenly in control on American soil. Curfews were imposed to help stem the tide of looting and lawlessness. Military vehicles rolled down the roads which had previously ushered soccer-moms into the carpool lanes of elementary schools. People returned home with the ever resounding and haunting question, "How much water did my house take in?"

For some, home was rebuildable. For others, it was time to leave. For most, life was indelibly changed.

About three and a half years after Katrina, I was called to pastor a church in New Orleans. Most of the stories I heard made my jaw drop, as people recounted the unthinkable in the context of what came to be known as normal. Outside of the mainstream of meetings, many would tell me their story of loss and reclamation, and I've noticed that the journey of rebuilding goes far beyond the temporary, and more to the heart and mind.

As I've driven through the city, I've often asked members of my congregation about abandoned homes and buildings; about destruction apparently untouched since the storm. "They just chose to move on" or "they took a payout and just didn't rebuild" have been common denominators of the replies. For some who returned, life simply went forward; for others, life is haunted by the experience. Successful men and women, the common-man, if you would, is changed in many ways that simply do not bear reversal.

Imagine losing everything that reminded you of your history. Wedding albums, important documents, walls that spoke of children growing inches over years of marking "this year's growth" and so forth. Imagine watching military vehicles roll down your block. Imagine not knowing exactly what's next with anything near the level of certainty your family has come to know over several generations. Imagine sifting through the stuff that reminds us of memories and tossing it in the dumpster because of the water, mold, and mildew. Imagine standing on the porch that just recently saw you relaxing, and now smelling the stench of rotting food in forgotten refrigerators on your suburban block. This was, in part at least, the reality of New Orleans after "the storm," as it has not-so-affectionately come to be called.

And now, five years later, the scars and wounds of Katrina are left on the hearts, souls, and minds of New Orleans.

As a pastor here, I see it come up in the most interesting places and at the most interesting times. Someone reacts in an unexpected way, but when weighed against the aftermath of "the storm" it suddenly makes sense. Children struggle to hurdle developmental challenges, but when factored with the impact of "the storm" somehow the math adds up. Winces and internal gut-wrenching that probably only pastors see in the eyes of our congregants when preaching and teaching the Word of God, make my soul long for healing in the lives that hold the eyes I see before me.

So how do we get there? How does the Bible guide us? What should we do with the pain?

Over the course of the week, I heard reports of highly emotive services and remembrances. Some of my congregants seemed to be drawn to that, others repelled by it.

What does the Bible say? How can we heal wounds that have lasted five years only to suddenly seem fresh again?

Of course we weep with those who weep (Romans 12:15), but how do we move to healing when weeping has only led to more weeping?

In the end, I recalled a very hard-learned lesson from my days of planting churches. Over the course of my life and study, I have noticed how the Biblical pattern of healing seems to revolve around rejoicing... and as ridiculous as it sounds, I've found it to be painfully true. Let me explain.

When the children of Israel encountered trials, punishments, and persecutions, and as they sought and found the salvation, provision, and victory of God, they praised Him. In fact, I've often been reminded of the story of Jehoshaphat who obeyed the Lord and sent the musicians out at the front of the army simply on God's word of provision, praising God as they led Israel's forces out to the encounter what should have been certain destruction, and simply trusting God that the victory had happened, or would happen (II Chronicles 20:20-22). And countless examples loom wherein monuments and altars were established, with little regard to the pain of the past except as a platform on which to proclaim, with exuberance, the remembrance of the victory of God's faithful provision for generations to come.

What then do you tell your congregation five years after their whole life seemed to be changed?

Yesterday, I sat on a wooden stool at the front of our worship center, and talked to the people. They came ready to mourn again, but I knew something was missing.

Where were the singers and musicians who proclaimed the favor of the Lord? Where were the remembrances of God's provision and faithfulness these five years hence? How do we get past the pain, wounds, and scars to find the victory of the Almighty God; Who wasn't surprised when the levees broke; Who saw it all coming and has been there with consistent provision despite whoever stands to bear the blame depending upon political winds and currents and positioning of the day?

The answer and mandate was clear... doing it was the tough part. This morning, as I re-read the story of Jehoshaphat, I wondered if he got some of the same looks that I got yesterday. A lot of head-nods; some heads bowed, seeming to accept the need for praising but struggling to get there; and some out-right scowls from others. I wasn't here at Katrina. I learned the lesson of praise by losing my life in planting churches. Memories washed away because the ministry needed funding, or the electric bill needed to be paid and the offerings just didn't support a salary enough yet; drives to and from the work filled with tears and disillusionment, forcing my palms turned toward Heaven to praise God for provision and victory that I couldn't even fathom, much less see. Answering the eyes of my father who wondered at the not-so-monetarily-profitable results of such an expensive education, but proud of the impact on lives as we all just learned together about the life of a church-planter. I learned that the scars don't go away, and that praise solicits the movement of God, and that somehow those work together, but only on His timing. I learned to turn my attention toward His provision, even as I was gutted by the death of dreams and ambitions.

I have learned through many pains to turn toward praising the God Who is always faithful; I have learned that God's victories are in God's timing, and that they are flawless and beautiful, but sometimes only realized in the rearview mirror of life; and yesterday it was time to lead my congregation to that reality.

Over the next few Sundays, we'll strive to engage that reality together more and more... and in that pursuit we will undoubtedly cry together, grow together, and produce together a testament to the victories and faithfulness of the Almighty God. Our praises written around a simple proclamation of faith, and hung on the wall of our church, so that all who stop to read it might know that God is here... that He never left us... that He never forsook His children who lived here... that He is, HE Was, AND HE SHALL ALWAYS REMAIN FAITHFUL in every way.

This is our praise, and our testimony to all generations, that "God heard our prayers, and we testify to His love on this fifth anniversary of hurricane Katrina!"

Though the pain lingers, let Him be praised through the pain! Though our lives be scarred, let the scars sing of the healing hand of God. Though endurance may in some sense be praise in itself, let our voices sing in adoration of our Savior and ever-present Provider; and may we proclaim His victories even amidst the storm and it's percussive echoes; for He is the Almighty, and Always Faithful God of Heaven and of Earth, and we shall not be remised to praise HIM!

May Heaven hear the songs of His people, and move amongst us so that we might serve Him all the more!

In the Peace of Christ,

Pastor John