Welcome to New Orleans.
A paraphrase of my thoughts so far.
Welcome to New Orleans. This city seems to have no rules. New Orleans is an extremely intense place. My first full day living here (Monday) my new roomate and old friend, Marc, was driving my other new roomate and new friend, Brent, and me around. We went first to the house Marc currently resides at. His place is in Treme, the same neighborhood he’s looking to buy a house in for our community living project. All of the houses, like the people who live in them, have been worn down by years of existing in trying conditions. The houses in Treme seem to speak for those who live in them. They’ve been beaten on by storms of life, torn apart by the hands of others, and filled with parasites eating away at their core, so on and so on. Even though all the houses are tired looking, faded and falling apart, many are simply boarded up and abandoned; there is still a beauty in them, a determination to survive.
That’s how I would describe all of New Orleans: determined to live. I wish these houses could talk. I wish I could place my hands upon them, close my eyes and they would be able to show me the lives they have lived and the lives lived in them. Maybe I would better understand our human condition if I could read the memories of houses. Each life would flash before my eyes, some gruesomely cruel and some beautiful images of faith, hope and love. I would be a house whisperer. I think the houses in New Orleans, particularly this neighborhood, intrigue me more than any houses I’ve met before. Marc’s house is just like the rest of them, tired and holding on by shear will. Marc has, well...who knows how many roommates. There’s one roommate in particular that has grabbed my attention and already found a place in my heart of mourning and hope. I won't mention his name on here. At first glance he’s an average crust punk. Oh, how my heart already breaks for him. Oh, how I already see and anticipate God’s love and complete freedom infiltrating his life, just like a supernova! It was when I saw the crusted up track marks from heroin abuse that made me look closer at him; according to Marc, he’s been a heroin addict for years, but now he’s moved on to crack as his drug of choice. He still has a lot of life in him, more life than I’ve seen in any heroin addict. I can see straight through his transparent skin and into his heart that beats and yearns for more. I can see God's intense love and passion for him. There’s no mistake that he’s in the here and now. He wants to love and be loved. I can see it. (Really that's what we all want, no matter how we twist it.) He’s only 23. He looks completely normal, healthy and attractive on the outside, but I can’t even imagine what he’s been through. Welcome to New Orleans. This city is living, breathing, and hurting.
After leaving Marc’s house, we were driving into the French Quarter when I looked to my right and I see a man, just any average man. White, athletic, probably about mid-thirties, cleanly looking, but with the face of a bruised and rotting tomato. His face was, for the most part, beaten in. Around the edges the swelling was already so bad his skin had cracked from the stress. Seeping blood, he laid there moaning in pain as a crowd began to gather around him to offer help. How did this happen? How did it happen with so many people around him in the middle of a busy city in broad daylight? Marc said he was probably robbed. I wanted to stop and pray for him. I should’ve demanded that we stop and pray for him. Even if no one else wanted to, I felt an overwhelming call to pray, as if this man’s body was crying out for the comfort of God’s Spirit. I wanted him to find that comfort. All creation groans. Welcome to New Orleans. The streets are paved in blood.
This city is run by the mafia, there is no law. That’s what a guy told me yesterday, and if the mayor wasn’t out by next year, he was going to be shot. How ridiculous is it I for some reason feel more comfortable knowing the mob runs this city than the police? I struggled with that all last night before I could fall asleep, which should I be more comfortable with? Is there a lesser of two evils? Neither are God’s perfect will, but this is a fallen world. My soul cries out for His return, for His kingdom come. Man was not made to rule this world, he was made to coexist, for there is only one King and His name is Love.
Back to Monday’s journey though, Marc found a parking spot (that we ended up getting a ticket for. Marc covered the money for it though, I only have 40 dollars to my name right now, and no job) and the three of us got out to walk around for a bit. Our destination was a Voodoo museum. Now, I’ve had dealings with the occult before, especially since I used to be a Wiccan, but unlike much witchcraft I’ve seen in the past which is a bit more subtle, hidden, sly, and subversive, Voodoo is in your freaking face. We went to one shop first which was really more of a tourist trap. I started praying before we even went into that shop. I know that I need Jesus and His guardianship desperately in situations like this. My spirit is extremely sensitive to this side of the supernatural. It no longer tortures me, but it will still try to seduce me or confuse me. The second shop we went into was real business. We walked in, and immediately I could feel it. I could feel the presence of darkness around me. That presence knew me, and it let me know. I began to pray Psalm 23. I shall fear no evil. Welcome to New Orleans. This city is seductive in its sin.
Besides the Voodoo shops, the Vampyre shops, the volience, the mob, the drugs being offered to me (I had a girl come up to me the other night and ask me if I needed some “blow”. I politely declined the cocaine, she and I had pleasant small talk for a bit and she moved on. Welcome to New Orleans. The drug of choice here is self-medication.) New Orleans is unlike any city in America. It is very European. It’s gorgeous, it’s extravagant, it’s beautiful, and I fit in perfectly. I’m astounded at how perfectly well I fit in here. I hope this city will be a fire to refine me and not one that will destroy me. I face a lot of temptations here, but I’m beginning to see why God called me here. I am on a mission’s field. I need prayer. All of us in this community need prayer. I am almost uncontrollably excited because of how I know God is going to be greatly glorified. The light shines brightest in the darkest places. People who have been to the edge of the pit understand best the mercy of God. There’s still so much more to see.
Welcome to New Orleans. God is going to wreck you like a heart wrenching symphony.
Welcome to New Orleans. God is going to wreck you like a heart wrenching symphony.