 |
| Honey Island Swamp [Matt Beben Photographer] |
The long hot and humid summer has
begun. The volunteers are the most
exposed to the incredible heat and humidity.
John Petrullo spends his day, from 8 AM until 3 PM working at Lantern
Light with homeless guests. He is mostly
outside or in the open kitchen; the heat is enervating. On June 14th a number of us were
there when Sr. Vera announced that John would be ending his service there at
the end of the month. It was good to be
there for John, and to experience what he endures these days. The announcement was made early because Br.
Charles leaves on Wednesday, the 19th for a Jubilee vacation in the
Pacific Northwest and other areas for a few weeks and will be gone when John
leaves us at the end of June to take some time before his next adventure. While at Lantern Light he has participated
with guests on art and writing projects, created and served snacks and meals,
chaired meetings of staff and interacted with the wide variety of staff and
guests that make the place unique.
Matt Beben is a supervisor for
All Saints, a non-profit doing rebuilding projects while Travis Wain works with
Helping Hands, also rebuilding. This
last week Travis spent time working on a roof, or laying flooring—Matt
evidently did some of that, too. Travis and
a small crew are trying to help an aged, wheelchair bound Vet who was without
bathroom facilities or air—and who yearned for some form of companionship among
the volunteers trying to make some repairs to his home.
On Wednesday evening the 12th, Br.
John went with Sr. Claire Regan, SC, a New York Sister of Charity to a Memorial
Service for Joseph Massenburg. An 18
year old Americorps volunteer from Chicago, he had just started work with a
group called Green Light when he was shot one evening by an unknown assailant
while walking on the street. The
service, at Rising Star Missionary Baptist Church, was attended by about 200
people. The Church volunteered its space
and filled the pews, along with some Americorps workers, and folks who came to
show solidarity with the family. Joe was
an only child, his parents both ministers.
His Dad spoke movingly, with passion and eloquence, and asked the
congregation to keep hope and faith alive so evil did not win. The singing was prayerful and stirring. The preachers who spoke were passionate and
deeply Christian. The young life lost to
violence was offered in service and love—and the Church service, members of the
congregation, and Joe’s own family reflected service and love—and gave hope.
On Thursday morning, June 13th,
Br. John was at Café Reconcile for a meeting of about 15 people from various
Faith communities: Roman Catholic, Presbyterian, Episcopalian, and Methodist
who were invited to reflect with board members of Café Reconcile about
fostering the faith based foundations of the program. First, however, participants joined the
current students in a Morning Prayer service that bore eloquent testimony to
the faith life already in the hearts of the young people. Br. John represented the memory of Br. Joe
Fragala who ministered there for three years.
Br. Joe’s picture is given a place of honor overlooking the kitchen
area, and his memory is often invoked when the staff talks about what makes
Café Reconcile special.
Our time as a community of six is
coming to an end. After Br. Charles
leaves for his vacation, we will not be together again. John Petrullo leaves the Volunteer program on
June 29th so we are four. Bob
leaves on his holiday late in July but before Charles returns—you get the
point.
His work and personal commitments
mean we do not see much of Matt these days, but at our last community meeting,
Matt Beben took on the task of arranging one last community outing. Matt came by on Saturday, the 15th
and led our expedition to the Pearl River Swamp Tour. It was WONDERFUL.
 |
| John P's forearm, Travis's legs, Charles, John with his hat on backwards and Captain Garret |
We met at 8:45 AM and drove east on I-10 to
Slidell, LA after crossing the lower reaches of Lake Pontchartrain to the West
Pearl River. Our flat bottomed boat
seated the six of us and a family of 5; we were captained by Captain Garret, a
youthful 28 year old former Coast Guardsman, now captain of boats servicing the
oil industry in the Gulf. His heart is
in the bayous and swamps—his work for the oil companies is three weeks on and
three off so he can spend time giving the tours. He was excellent. Originally from Buras in the far south of
Louisiana he now lives in Madisonville; he said he appreciated the Cajun
culture but could not claim it; his parents were immigrants from Croatia. Nevertheless, his tour was educational,
exciting, beautiful and enjoyable. We
got up close to alligators and very close to Russian boars [wild pigs—with
tusks] gone native in the swamps.
 |
| Large wild pig, tusks and all, on side of boat. Him just hungry. |
In
Honey Island Swamp we saw magnificent blue herons, and moss draped cypress
trees. It was a warm day; Captain
Garrett kept checking on how we were doing and occasionally he revved up the
outboard motors and we sped along enjoying what he called ‘Cajun
air-conditioning.’ The 90 minute tour
went quickly but gave one an appreciation for the beauties of the habitat, the
threats to it, and the spirit of those who love it.
 |
| "Cynthia" unimpressed by proffered hot dawg |
We came back to Magazine Street
for lunch at “Dat Dog” which is a culinary marvel that raises hot dogs to a
different plane of existence—with accompaniments to match—and it is minutes
away from our home. After swamps and hot
dogs, some returned for naps, some moved on for more socializing
elsewhere.
On Sunday night, Br. Charles
welcomed an old friend from Vallejo days, Br. Pat Sopher, a Holy Cross Brother
now working for their congregation leadership in Rome; here for a conference. John Petrullo made delicious chicken
francaise which Travis, Br. Bob and Br. John also enjoyed.
Matt joined us Monday night for
our last dinner out as community. We
went to Dante’s Kitchen—not a reference to the poet but to the street it is
on. The unique menu is a treat—a rare one
because of the prices [more New York than New Orleans] but well worth it.
On Tuesday, the 18th Matt
was back and Br. John cooked for the community—corn casserole was on the menu
by request of our Platinum Jubilarian.
Br. Bob, Director of Volunteers, led us in an exercise of affirmation after
dinner since it was our last time together as a community. The activity is called a “Strength
Bombardment.” We took silent time [at
least some of us] to reflect on the strengths of our fellow community members
and when we regrouped shared what we had written. It was quite interesting—pretty consistent
while also reflecting the personality of the speaker as much as the one spoken
of. We concluded with an Our Father—then
Charles was off to pack and Br. Bob got technological advice from Travis. Matt overnighted with us but was off at 6:10
AM for All Saints. Br. Charles took off
for his extended visit to Seattle on Wednesday morning at 10:30 AM with strict
orders to come back!
 |
| Would you enter a swamp boat with this crew? |
For Reflection:
LOUISIANA SWAMP POEM by Sheryl St. Germain
–for the Atchafalaya, for Greg
Guirard
1
Your swamp’s not my swamp, he says, by which
he means a New Orleans swamp’s not the same
as a Cajun’s, that the way I sometimes use swamp
as metaphor for all that’s family-dark is not
what he sees when he looks into the waters
he calls home, water the color of tree trunks and sky,
of sun and clouds, moonlight and earth
and mud, of moss and flower, of crawfish and snake,
of frog and beaver and alligator, still waters
so radiant with stillness it almost doesn’t surprise
when osprey or heron or egret spread wing
and rise up out of it, like the swamp itself
has gathered into a body and lifted to sky for a time.
Cypress trees dressed in moss flare up like beacons
of god, lit with a wildness some will ever know.
he means a New Orleans swamp’s not the same
as a Cajun’s, that the way I sometimes use swamp
as metaphor for all that’s family-dark is not
what he sees when he looks into the waters
he calls home, water the color of tree trunks and sky,
of sun and clouds, moonlight and earth
and mud, of moss and flower, of crawfish and snake,
of frog and beaver and alligator, still waters
so radiant with stillness it almost doesn’t surprise
when osprey or heron or egret spread wing
and rise up out of it, like the swamp itself
has gathered into a body and lifted to sky for a time.
Cypress trees dressed in moss flare up like beacons
of god, lit with a wildness some will ever know.
He’s kind when he says it,
but I can see he doesn’t think much of a people
who don’t seem to care for their swamps, a people
who drink themselves to oblivion, who hang beads
on trees and stick pins in voodoo dolls, and that is why
he says my swamp’s not his.
but I can see he doesn’t think much of a people
who don’t seem to care for their swamps, a people
who drink themselves to oblivion, who hang beads
on trees and stick pins in voodoo dolls, and that is why
he says my swamp’s not his.
Blog 06.17.13
No comments:
Post a Comment