Guest Sermon from One of Our Partners:

“WHY I RETURN TO NEW ORLEANS”
A Sermon Delivered November 14, 2010
by the Reverend Dennis McCarty
At the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Columbus, Indiana


READING: from an Associated Press article, March 3, 2010, by Remy de la Mauviniere and Elaine Ganley

The moon was full, the wind roared, the tide was high, and people died by the dozens. After a wall of ocean water engulfed picturesque towns along [the] coast, residents, officials, and experts are all asking why. Was it due to climate change? A freak storm fueled by hurricane-force winds? The result of human greed over desirable land or bungling actions by government officials. [The truth is, it was] all of the above.

Many observers point to the thousands of miles of sea walls. . ., many too low, in severe disrepair or reportedly dating from the era of Napoleon. They also note the new houses cropping up behind them, tantalizingly close to the. . . poorly protected but much beloved shoreline.

Environmental groups say the storm should be a wake-up call about the danger of weak sea defenses, for scientists are warning that climate change will bring even fiercer storms and rising seas in the years ahead.

At least 52 people were killed when the storm. . . swept through [the] coastal communities between 4 AM and 5 AM Sunday, surprising victims in their sleep. On Wednesday, divers were still looking for bodies in the region’s submerged homes. Houses were ruined by the thousands and the livelihoods of many more were wiped out as oyster beds were destroyed, herds of cows drowned and fields of prized regional potatoes flooded with brackish salt water.

The damage stretched to the tony [offshore] vacation island of Isle de Re, but most of the dead were found on the. . . mainland. . . .”I built this house with my own hands. I worked on it every weekend, . . .a retiree. . . said of his inundated home. . . . “It tears your guts out.”

[But these tragedies didn’t take place in the southeastern United States; not in Gulfport or Biloxi, Mississippi, not in New Orleans, Louisiana. They took place in L’Aiguillon-Sur-Mer and La Faute-Sur-Mer, southwestern France.]

France has up to 6,200 miles of sea walls, with some of them built in the 18th century, said Deputy Ecology Minister Chantal Jouanno. And about one tenth of them--620 miles--”can be considered at risk,” she said. . . . The French could possibly look north to their Dutch colleagues for expertise in flood defense, for two-thirds of the Netherlands’ 16 million people live below sea level.

SERMON: “Why I Return to New Orleans”

To anyone who doesn’t actually live there, I suppose it does look like a recipe for disaster, to live in a city that’s below sea level. But it’s not that simple. For one thing--below sea level or not--this city is a major seaport. It has a population of a half-million people. Because it sits just a few miles upstream from the mouth of the largest river on the continent, it guards a very important waterway.

Even long ago, when people first began to live here, the land was barely above sea level. Centuries of human habitation, land development, and land reclamation have caused it to settle even more. Now, the lowest points of this city are twenty feet or more below sea level. In the past, storms blowing in off the sea, have caused major damage and loss of life. If the sea walls, water gates, and levies were to fail again, the death toll could be enormous. For that reason, I suppose it is natural that someone from an inland state would suggest that the citizens just leave this place to the elements and build somewhere else, on higher ground.

But again, it’s not all that simple. For one thing, there is no ground that’s much higher, not till you get many miles away. For another, more than a million people earn their livelihoods from the commerce, tourism, and manufacturing located in and around the city right where it is. And that’s not even counting the music, museums, educational centers, and festivals. So the people stay. They do the best they can. Oddly enough, they don’t seem worried by a situation we inlanders might see as nerve-wracking.

I’m not talking about New Orleans, though. Welcome to the Dutch city of Rotterdam, which for centuries has been the busiest, most successful seaport in the world. Nor is Rotterdam the only city besides New Orleans that lies below sea level. Twenty per cent of the whole Netherlands--and twenty-one per cent of the country’s population--live below sea level. Another thirty per-cent lie three feet or less above sea level. Any mildly healthy North Sea wave, looks down on more than half the country.

Yet, the people of the Netherlands are prosperous, peaceful, and perfectly happy to be where they are. They have no desire to tear down any of their cities--and no one seems to consider them crazy. They live at or below sea level--and have engineered some of the most impressive public works in the world to keep their feet dry while doing it.

Around the world, important seaports tend to be located near the mouths of great rivers--because navigable rivers are still the world’s greatest highways for commercial and industrial traffic. Where those rivers meet the sea, cargo ships from remote lands can shelter, unload their cargoes, then take on domestic goods to be shipped all around the world. The catch is--any place where a river flows into the sea is--by definition--going to be at sea level. What’s more, great rivers carry huge loads of sand and silt, drained from whole continents. Where they flow into the sea, they drop that sediment, forming deltas that may stretch for hundreds of miles. Rotterdam stands in the heart of the Rhine River Delta, New Orleans in the Mississippi Delta. On the Nile Delta, Alexandria is easily the most important seaport in Egypt. On the Yangtze River Delta in China, Shanghai has now become the busiest port--and the largest city--in the world. All these places are at or below sea level, vulnerable to storms and erosion. It’s a price we humans pay for being a commercial species.

Great river are important in other ways, as well. Besides forming natural harbors, they provide some of the most fertile land and productive wetland in the world. But they’re dangerous allies for agriculture and commerce alike. Great rivers often flood in spring, bringing suffering to those who live all along their banks, not just at the river’s mouth. Seaports on such rivers risk flooding from upstream during spring runoff as well as from the sea itself during major storms.

No matter what any religious sentimentalist may tell you, there’s no sign this world was made just for us. The mammoth forces that shape this world, do not follow the beck and call of humanity. Here in Indiana, we worry about tornadoes. In Utah and western Colorado, where I grew up, they worry about earthquakes. In New Orleans, it’s Mississippi River floods and hurricanes. We frail and vulnerable humans--no matter how clever we are--are still subject to forces that are much bigger than we are.

Alexandria and Shanghai have both been plagued by land erosion and flooding during this century. This morning’s Reading notes that France’s coastal lowlands also have a problem with flooding. On and on. Yet because of the resources they provide--coastal lowlands are where one third of all humanity--two billion people around the world--live, despite the dangers.

People in the Netherlands have used technology and ingenuity for centuries, to deal with the onslaughts of the North Sea. Back in 1953, for example, an unprecedented combination of high tides and strong winds brought flooding that killed almost two thousand people--twice the death toll of Hurricane Katrina in New Orleans. In the United Kingdom, that same storm breached sea walls and sent a fifteen-foot surge of water up the Thames River Estuary toward London--another low-lying port city--that killed three hundred more people. The storm also brought heavy loss of life to Northern Ireland and also Belgium.

Once the storm blew over, all those nations set about strengthening their sea defenses. The Netherlands, particularly, responded with a huge public works program called the Deltawerken, the Delta Works. This project took a generation to complete and consists of a huge, interlocked series of dams, dikes, sea gates, and other barriers. It’s such a dramatically conceived project that just this year, the American Society of Civil Engineers declared it one of the Seven Wonders of the Modern World.

The largest single piece of the Delta Works is the Oosterschelde barrier, a two-mile-long dam that guards the estuary of the River Scheldt, northwest of Antwerp, Belgium. It’s made up of sixty-two huge lift gates that are raised in good weather, to allow normal tidal flow. During storms, they’re lowered, to block damaging storm surges.

An even greater engineering marvel is the Maeslant barrier, across the channel leading to Rotterdam itself. At the mouth of the Rhine River, a dam like the Oosterschelde would block the heavy shipping traffic. So they designed two huge, hollow, curved gates that look like like gargantuan rocking chair rockers, laid over sideways. When a storm is coming, the gates float out from each side of the channel on long arms, take on water for weight, and settle into place to block storm surges. Once the storm passes, compressed air forces the water out--the same way a submarine works--and the gates re-float and swing back out of the way. The two gates of the Maeslant barrier are the largest human-made, moving objects in the world.

In England, the British came up with storm-control designs of their own. To keep storm surges out of the Thames Estuary, they built a set of gates that look more like huge steel barrels, two hundred feet long, laid over on their sides. The upper halves are cut away, rather like a watering trough, so ships can float above them. Then when a storm is on the way, huge motors and counterweights rotate the lower half up and out of the water--again, forming a dam to keep storm surges from damaging London.

These engineering marvels have several things in common. They are all very large and complex. They were all expensive to build. But using the calculations of the nations that built them, they all save far more money by preventing damage and loss of life, than they cost. Finally--every one of these designs could be used, in various ways, to protect our Gulf Coast and the city of New Orleans.

But nothing like these designs has been built here. New Orleans is still protected by the same kind of sea walls and levies that have been in place for a hundred years: technology that’s a generation out of date. The very fact that modern technology hasn’t been put in place--when Europe has proven how doable, practical, and cost-effective it is--has to say something important about us as a nation and as a society.

First, we need to “get real” about the city of New Orleans. Considering all the various port facilities and authorities at the terminus of the Mississippi River--the Port of New Orleans, the Port of South Louisiana, the Louisiana Offshore Oil Port right at the river’s outlet--New Orleans is the hub of the largest shipping complex in the world. It’s easily larger than any other two ports in the United States, put together.

As Scientific American magazine noted in February, 2006: “Critics who say it is foolish to rebuild in such a vulnerable place are missing the big picture. In addition to being a cultural center, the Gulf Coast is the economic engine that drives the country. We can’t. . . abandon it. The [Mississippi] Delta produces one fifth of the country’s oil, one quarter of its natural gas, and one third of its seafood. Trillions of dollars of goods and crops flow through the ports there. These activities require extensive infrastructure and tens of thousands of employees who cannot live. . . in homes two hours away.”

It’s fascinating to me that while such European cities as Rotterdam, Amsterdam, Antwerp, and London, are protected by trillions of dollars worth of massive, high-tech machinery, our own Mississippi Delta gets rubble-and-earth technology hundreds of years old--along with trillions of dollars worth of excuses, delays, and bureaucratic wrangling. All while the people who move the commerce--not to mention the area’s other residents--are castigated for being so stupid as to live and work where they do. Yet New Orleans is no more vulnerable than any number of European and Asian port cities.

Any time I visit New Orleans, I find the same striking features. First--invariably--I find some of the best food, most unique local culture, and friendliest people I have ever met. Each time I go down there, I find myself humbled by the real kindness and hospitality of the people: their genuine desire to make me feel welcome and comfortable. That’s not to mention their passion for this city they call home and their real desire for me to understand why they love it as much as they do--even with the hardships and frustrations. I have literally seen New Orleanians get tears in their eyes, telling me how they feel about their city and how they refuse to give up on it, despite all the setbacks.

Before Hurricane Katrina hit five years ago, seventy per cent of the residents of New Orleans, had grown up there. In a culture that moves around as much as Americans do, that’s an amazing statistic. No other major city comes close. Even now, despite all the people forced to leave in the wake of Hurricane Katrina, a remarkable number have returned. I’ve heard amazing stories about struggle, frustration, and sometimes, real success, rebuilding their longtime homes and businesses, rather than building anew someplace else. The stories range from the heartwarming to the heartbreaking.

I also feel I should add: if someone spends Mardi Gras in the French Quarter--or, for that matter, six months in the French Quarter--they will enjoy some of the best food and music in the world, along with an amazing, floating party. But if that’s all you see, please don’t go home and tell people you saw New Orleans. Because you didn’t. You won’t find the real New Orleans in the French Quarter. You’ll find it out in the neighborhoods, where the people live. I don’t go back to New Orleans for the food or the culture, though both are wonderful. I go back to New Orleans for the people.

In those neighborhoods--if you listen carefully enough--beneath the warmth and hospitality and stories of human struggle and resiliency, you will also hear a more negative note. There’s a feeling of frustration in New Orleans that sometimes comes close to real anger. New Orleanians may not be able to recite the precise statistics and dollar amounts, but they know full well, how vital the mouth of the Mississippi River is to our whole nation’s economy. They know about the trillions of dollars worth of oil, gasoline, grain, seafood, and industrial products that flow through New Orleans--generating profit and prosperity in the rest of the United States. And they know just how little of that profit and prosperity stay in New Orleans.

In other words--if we define a just society as one where every person has reasonably equal access to the fruits of their own efforts and labors--then New Orleans is the perfect case study in what’s unjust about our society.

Let me elaborate: my experience is, the people of New Orleans deeply appreciate every bit of help they receive. My experience is, they would be kind hosts even if they had never suffered a catastrophe--because that’s the culture. But while the rest of us fill our cars with gas brought in through the Mississippi Delta, enrich our lives with goods and products brought in through the Mississippi Delta--and fatten our banks on money generated by the Mississippi Delta--New Orleanians have to live with the excuses, delays, and bureaucratic bumbling I mentioned before--that have destroyed so many lives and livelihoods there.

After the destruction of Hurricane Katrina, our leaders expressed amazement that such a thing could have happened. Yet, scientists and engineers had been predicting that exact disaster for years, due to faulty sea walls and levies, and the environmental degradation of the Mississippi Delta itself. The Mississippi River Gulf Outlet canal is called ”Mister Go” for short. It’s a little-used shipping canal that bypasses the lowest hundred miles of the Mississippi River. A flow study of the Mister Go, showed that a major storm would generate a surge of water exactly like the Thames Estuary surge of 1953, with the same result. When Katrina hit, that’s just what happened.

The knowledge was there. The fixes were there, too. But they had been mired in bureaucratic wrangling for years--and still are. Even after that disaster, things haven’t changed much. Investigative findings on the Gulf Oil Spill just this week, show the same pattern. The Gulf Oil Spill didn’t happen because technology and procedures weren’t available to prevent it. It happened because those in control just couldn’t be bothered to put the technology and procedures in place.

I can’t resist comparing this to what’s called the Cape Wind Project, off the coast of Massachusetts. Because of the steady, strong breezes off Cape Cod, the Cape Wind Project is a proposal to build a large array of wind-driven generators to supply electrical power to the east coast. You’d think that was a no-brainer. Massachusetts needs the power. Such a “green” generating project would avoid the exhaust emissions and other liabilities of steam generating plants. And it would be a landmark step forward in “green” technology. Polls show that a large majority of Massachusetts citizens favor the project.

Yet the Cape Wind Project has been held in legal limbo for ten years, now, by a consortium led by prominent figures with summer homes on Cape Cod--including former Senator John Kerry, former governor Mitt Romney, and the Kennedy family--in part because they fear a large, offshore wind farm would spoil the view out to sea, lower property values, and interfere with their yachting.

One can only wish that the management of BP Oil Company last summer--or the the Army Corps of Engineers in the last half century--had been as worried about the Mississippi River Delta, as the wealthy residents of Cape Cod are, about the view from their summer homes. But--that’s precisely the point. There’s a reason Rotterdam and London have adequate sea defenses and New Orleans doesn’t. The people who make the decisions about Rotterdam and London, live in Rotterdam and London. While the people who make the decisions about New Orleans are more likely to live in Washington or New York. We human beings always are more likely to invest energy and ingenuity when it’s our own livelihood or our own family that’s threatened.

There’s also a broader point--the real point of this whole discussion. We need to be humble when we advise--and judge--the unfortunate. Kahlil Gibran once noted rather icily, the wisdom of the fortunate sounds tinny in the ear of the miserable--especially when the misery comes from circumstances beyond their control.

So I do return to New Orleans every so often. I rejoice in people I’ve met there--from all around the country--who, I think, gain the same things I do, there. I go there for the human connections. I go there because I always learn something new. I go there as a reminder that people can be at their best in the midst of life’s worst difficulties. And I go there because it helps me stay humble. I always re-learn that the stream of human experience is long and deep and rich and various--and there are many things I don’t yet know--and an ounce of real listening and helping will gain me more than many pounds of what I think I already know. Amen. May it be so.

COMMUNITY OR IMMUNITY – YOU DECIDE

by the Rev. Melanie Morel-Ensminger
North Shore Unitarian Universalist Congregation
Sunday, November 14, 2010

Once again the wheel of the year has turned and it is the time of year that North Shore’s Nominating Committee strives to fill all open leadership spots before the Annual Meeting, when the members will come together to decide together on new officers, a church budget for the next fiscal year, and any other important matters needing congregational discussion and decision. It has become commonplace to us as Unitarian Universalists; we take it for granted. We forget that our religious ancestors fought and some died for the right to decide on congregational matters within the local church. For Unitarian Universalists, there’s no pope, no bishops – there is, in fact, no outside authority at all that to which the congregation is obliged to give obedience. Our governance is congregational polity, or church democracy, and we should remember and appreciate that not all religious congregations enjoy the freedoms we have.

Of course, both the Unitarian Universalist Association and the South West District have influence over us. We are in covenant with them, and so certain duties and responsibilities are expected on each side because of that mutual covenant. We pay dues to them, and are expected to send delegates to their meetings to participate in their deliberations; in return, we expect resources and help from them in such areas as ministerial search, building loans, conflict management, religious education, and emergencies. But the UUA is an association of free and independent congregations, and sometimes there's a tension between UU societies and the larger denomination.

In much the same way, there is an inherent tension between the historic celebration of the primacy of the individual that has characterized our liberal religious movement and the need for connection in religious community. Over the decades, we have seen the pendulum swing from one side to another, from emphasizing individual freedom on one hand, to raising up the bonds of community on the other. Like balancing on the toy boogie boards of my childhood, there is no perfect middle place in which to stand; we have to keep jiggling and juggling between the two extremes.

A few years ago, I attended a conference on Medical Ethics. The presenter, Dr. John Banja, a professor of ethics at Emory in Atlanta, began his remarks by reminding us of the fictional character Robinson Crusoe. Robinson Crusoe had absolutely no need of ethics when he was first ship-wrecked and landed on the island. He could do anything he pleased. He was completely immune to the demands of living in community – because he was alone. You might say Robinson Crusoe's theme song could have been Simon & Garfunkel's "I Am a Rock."

But on the fateful morning that Crusoe spied the footprint of another person on the beach, his situation changed. He was no longer alone. His actions, decisions, and behavior would now impact the life of another human being. NOW he needed ethics; NOW he needed a code of behavior; NOW there was the potential – indeed, almost the certainty – of conflict with another person. Ethics, said Dr. Banja, are relational; you don't need them if other folks aren't around. And when other folks are in relation to you – whether in a church, a family, a neighborhood, or a workplace – you only have 3 choices: no relationship, community, or war.

When we choose to join a church community, we choose, in effect, to limit our personal freedom. Voluntarily and by mutual consent, we give up our immunity from obligations to others. Because of our covenantal relationship with the other individuals in the congregation, we choose to act with respect and compassion. We acknowledge the inherent worth and dignity of the others in our shared community by certain specific behaviors – for example, by refraining from insulting one another, by not needlessly causing another person pain, by acknowledging the reality and validity of experiences that are different, even radically different, from our own.

In covenantal community, we realize that one of the freedoms we give up is the freedom not to be bothered. Because we are in community together, there are some things we are just stuck with, such as contributing financially, and shared leadership. We agree in advance that we will all contribute funds to the church, and we will all rotate roles, that we will each take a turn at the helm. If you joined a food co-op, you would not expect everyone else in the co-op to do all the work and then deliver your groceries to you. You would be expected to do your part, or leave the co-op. In an intimate partnership, such as a marriage, if one partner just sat back and let the other partner slave away, doing all the work, that marriage or partnership would not last very long. In covenant, we each must do our part, even if that means sometimes stepping up in a way that at first makes us uncomfortable. If only those financially comfortable gave money, if only the people comfortable with being leaders accepted leadership positions, then most congregations would soon devolve into dictatorships by very small groups, however well-intentioned.

To participate in community, we must give up the idea of absolutes and move towards acceptance, tolerance, negotiation, and compromise. In community – just as in a marriage – no one person or group can expect to have everything exactly the way they want it. When we decide to be in relationship with others, we must learn to live with, and even love, the give and take that characterizes true community. Instead of striving to win over or beat out the others, we instead come to understand that we have to manage polarities and to "split the difference" or just live with the differences that can’t be split.

This is especially important in a Unitarian Universalist congregation. We are so different from one another – different in lifestyle, political opinion, social status, economic level, theology, philosophy, age, and sexual orientation – that the ideal of getting along beautifully all the time because we all agree on every single thing grows very dim indeed. And as Unitarian Universalism attracts more and more people of varying ethnic, racial, and cultural backgrounds, the diversity among us will grow even greater.

The cover story in this month’s UU World magazine emphasizes another hidden difference – that younger members don’t have the same expectations and experiences and “back story” that older members might have. Unless we want to be a denomination of just older folks, we’ll have to adjust and make changes in order to truly welcome younger generations.

Let’s go back to Robinson Crusoe and remember that Dr. Banja said that there are only 3 choices available to us when we are in close relationship with other human beings: community, war, or no relationship at all. Community or immunity? You decide. Me, I choose community – even though sometimes it’s a pain in the neck.

In a community, we become accountable, not just to ourselves, but to the others with whom we are covenanted. We hold the relationship in such high regard that we take the time to talk and to listen to one another; we strive to keep a caring, compassionate attitude towards each other. We watch what we say and how we say it and what we do, because we care if we hurt another person. We contribute financially, not because we're rich, but because such giving is part of being a church. We sometimes accept a leadership role or task assignment, not because we are dying to do it, but because it’s our turn, or because our community needs our particular skills at a particular time. In community, we can't have "I Am a Rock" as our theme song.

These are community ethics and community expectations. Yes, they DO limit absolute personal freedom, but then folks who want absolute freedom and who want to be left alone are well advised not to marry and not to join a church. But there’s a trade-off: the limits on personal freedom that stem from a commitment to a covenant also open even richer possibilities, like the possibility of deeper, more meaningful, more authentic relationships; the possibility of trust and harmony with diverse others; the possibility of developing skills and talents you may not have known that you had; the possibility of making a positive difference in the wider world – in short, the possibility of building the kind of society we say we want to live in. Community or immunity? You choose. What happens in this congregation and in our world is up to you.

Dr. Banja closed his address on ethics with these ringing words, “Is this feasible? It must be. It must be our foundation – our core values – the last bastion from which we will not retreat.” So might this be for this congregation! AMEN – ASHE – SHALOM – SALAAM – NAMASTE — BLESSED BE.