Andrew Genszler Director for Domestic Policy ELCA Washington Office

“Try to take pictures of people," said Annie Lynsen and Michael Ring, communications staff for ELCA Church in Society. So I’ve been looking. I didn’t see many people up and down the Mississippi Coast on Saturday - from the deserted beaches of Biloxi to the rows of gray slabs south of Gulfport. Then I look closer - and I see them. And I realize that usually when I see people, they are gathered around some kind of church community.

St. Peter’s by the Sea Episcopal Church is now a cement slab across Highway 90 from the beach. I would not know this except for a sign and an Episcopal Church flag snapping straight out in the wind. “We’re coming back home,” says the sign.

I stop at a large Catholic Church. Its white metal structure is still intact and supports a brown cross, but at the bottom on all sides there is a 10 foot gap. An older couple is arranging some classroom chairs in a large, empty space. The wind from the sea wafts through, smelling like shrimp and playing some large metal pieces like chimes. “This has been our parish for fifty years,” the man says. “We moved temporarily, but the congregation voted to come right back. We have six baptisms tomorrow and the families wanted them to be here.” His wife sees the incredulous look on my face. She adds, “And we had a wedding here this morning.” The wind blows where it will…

I worship with Grace Lutheran Church in New Orleans this morning. They moved from a funeral home back into building on Easter Sunday, but are still working on air conditioning and drywall. A little A/C would be more than a luxury on a 93-degree morning. But people were there. “This makes me realize that the building, God love it, is not the church - we are," say one parishioner. “Another one nearby tells me that she has to keep looking up, higher, above the flood waters - like the day nine months ago when she was the first person to see the church awash. Out front they display a sign on a busy street corner - a revelation, in fact - “Behold, I am making all things new.”

I heard several estimates on rebuilding and renewal from local leaders yesterday - some folks say 7 years, others say up to 10. All say this is barring another major disaster like the combined effects of last fall. But yet here are these communities, these people, returning, or never leaving.

Saturday along the Mississippi Coast, John McRae and Sandra Braasch from Lutheran Disaster Response take me to a number of congregations - some are bailing themselves out, others are volunteer camps, still others have started distribution centers. All are looking outward.

Joanne Webb at Grace in Gulfport is a volunteer for Lutheran Disaster Response. After answering some other questions, she tells me that her family home is gone. Her cat died a few days after the hurricane and they returned to bury it on the lot. She says her husband visits and tries to sift through what is left, looking for something. After a tour of different neighborhoods, Joanne drives the four of us by the lot. I put my camera down and we are quiet.

“Everything I have held in my hands, I have lost,” she says. “Everything I have placed in God’s hands, I still have.”

“Martin Luther said that," she adds. Just as all the congregations are busy, all the site and program directors have mentioned two overriding concerns we can all do something about as advocates.

The first is mental health care. One site director says that the suicide rate is up 200 percent and attempts are up 900 percent. I am not sure what these numbers are based on, but it is fair to say both deaths and attempts are up significantly. I remember seeing Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services (SAMHSA) workers from the Health and Human Services Department in the airport when I arrived. But I haven’t seen any since. We can advocate together for emergency services funding so that response sites can refer people to professional and reputable counselors. Post-traumatic stress disorder complicates other more material rebuilding processes.

The second is low-income housing and housing for people who are just above the eligibility ceiling for FEMA assistance. In much of the rural area I saw destroyed, people that would have passed on a a home for generations are still technically homeowners. However, they don’t own much of anything else and if the structures were marginal before, many are now unlivable. Many of these folks are elderly. Lutheran Disaster Response is able to help directly, and is doing so as fast as they can. However, one estimate puts the number of homes to replace at 80,000. This number is probably higher if you consider the entire Mississippi Coast.

The bigger problem is the large number of low-income people who are renting, and people just above the poverty line, ineligible for current support and unable to pay rapidly-rising rental costs. There is an idea to offer landlords help with dilapidated structures in exchange for their pledge not to raise the rent for 18 months or two years.

The idea of relocating low-income residents inland has come up. Among the challenges is the practical concern that jobs are centralized at the waterfront restaurants, hotels and casinos and there is no viable transportation. One McDonalds has begun running its own shuttle from a tent city to the middle of Ocean Springs.

These people need our help, as Christian advocates, because of the scale involved here, and because government programs should be accountable to serving the common good. Advocacy comes down to that: the Church being about the people, and not about the buildings.

We can talk to Congress, not only about increased local capacity and funding, but about rent controls, changing FEMA, HUD and SBA (Small Business Administration) eligibility guidelines for direct relief and mortgages. We can advocate for extension of periods for FEMA trailers and for their proper distribution. If this language makes your eyes glaze over you are not alone, but the ELCA Washington Office can keep you informed about the best way and the best time to say this to your Representative.

Driving back to the church, Joanne looks over the water and remarks about a line of birds. “They remind me that the pelicans haven’t left this time, like after Camille (1969). That is a good sign."
I ask her about the idea of relocating. “I’m not going anywhere," she says, “although we are moving a few blocks inland. You also can’t take low-income homeowners off their land - it's probably all they own.”

I can’t vouch for the pelicans, or the buildings, but I’m pretty sure the people comprising the Church are staying for the duration. Six, eight, ten years - God’s time.

Sincerely,

Drew Genszler

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One of the original stained glass windows in Grace Lutheran Church in New Orleans. The ship is often used as a Christian symbol for the Church.

The remaining structure of a large Catholic Church along the Mississippi gulf coast. The Gulf of Mexico is visible in the background.

Grace Lutheran Church, New Orleans, reveals the source of its hope for the future. Pr. Dan Duke is kneeling, center.

John McRae, State Director for Lutheran Disaster Response -Mississippi; Joanne Webb, volunteer; and Sandra Braasch, Deputy Director. They will work to coordinate efforts among the various kinds of sites that have sprung up along the coast.