The 9th Ward

This past weekend, I had the opportunity to go to New Orleans for the day with my church. We were going to meet Dennis, the Sr. Pastor of Celebration Chruch (a church we were looking to partner with to help them rebuild). Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw on Saturday.

Dennis took us to one of the worst-hit areas in New Orleans: the 9th Ward -- a neighborhood known for its poverty and its artists, its bad luck and its bounce-back resilience. It is likely to be the largest demolition of a community in modern U.S. history -- destruction begun by hurricanes Katrina and Rita and finished by heavy machinery. On Saturday, firefighters put red tags on hundreds of homes deemed "unsafe," the first step in a wrenching debate over whether the Lower Ninth Ward should be rebuilt or whether, as some suggest, it should revert to its natural state: swamp. A neighborhood tucked into a deep depression between two canals, railroad tracks and the Mississippi River, New Orleans's Lower Ninth has spent more of the past five weeks underwater than dry.--The Washinton Post.

(The included picture is an artist's sketch of the homes in the 9th ward. You can see the water line. The trash that now litters the streets. The marking on the house shows the date it was marked, if it was entered, if there were any bodies or pets found, and who did the marking.)

We were able to go into some of the homes there. It was like nothing I've ever experienced. The door was broken open, there was sand everywhere. You could see deep boot prints outside the home. Most likely left by the Marines. I could only go up to the doorway because the stentch was so horrible. Manure, mold, spoiled food, sickness. I looked inside to find a bookshelf with little nic-nacs and picture frames. Toys and photos littered the living room. It was a glimps into a family's past that may never be seen again.

Each home and building had an orange or red "X" on it with different symbols written in all of the quadrants. The sign that life had been there in search of others. In fact, there was one building that had "USMC Semper Fi No Dead Bodies Here" writted in red spray paint.

We went into a church that hadn't been opened much since the water went down. The lobby's white tile floor was covered in mud. The atmosphere was thick, musty, moldly. We went into the sanctuary where the pews had been lifted from their place of origin and left to settle wherever they pleased after the water was finished with them. The water line was up to 7 feet high. The pews were bent, bowing, and on top of each other. The mold was so thick it looked like cotton. The doors were broken into either by looters or Marines. No life was found.

The landscape of the 9th Ward had become that of a third-world country. Trash piling. Water sitting. Food rotting. Ants feasting. Mold creeping.

The church we met had been under four feet of water for two-and-a-half weeks. All of their infrastructure was there, but they had to completely gut their entire facility down to the metal studs.

They have set up a food pantry out side in two big tents where people can come and fill one box of food every few days. They provide a free meal three times a day in another circus-size tent. After all the other churches pulled out New Orleans, Dennis and his staff chose to stay there. Giving up their salaries and benefits, they work construction during the day to make money and volunteer their time for church leadership at night.

They are a church that has nothing, but are giving everything to those in need.