By Gary D. Myers

It’s game time.

In the days leading up to the Super Bowl in the Mercedes-Benz Super Dome Feb. 3, New Orleans may be the world’s largest construction zone. Construction is nothing new for the Crescent City. This place has been under construction constantly since Hurricane Katrina left her battered and wounded, down but not out.

Aided by the massive reshaping and rebuilding, the city came back with passion and spice. And when New Orleans was announced as the host city for the 2013 Super Bowl, NOLA ordered up yet another round of updates and improvements. The Super Bowl is a chance for the city shine and I believe she will look good for her close-up.

For over a year the touristy sections of town have been reduced to a maze of traffic cones, barriers and orange construction netting. Street and sidewalk work in the French Quarter, a new streetcar line on Loyola Avenue, and a $300 million airport makeover. And the work continues. On Jan. 23, Mayor Mitch Landrieu declared the city Super Bowl ready. Mission accomplished … almost. I suspect the work will continue right up until people begin to arrive for the big game. Maybe we should change the welcome signs to read, “Welcome to New Orleans: Careful, The Paint is Still Wet.”

This Super Bowl is important for our city. We’ve survived Katrina, the BP oil spill, a cantankerous little storm named Isaac and the corruption trials of countless civil “servants.” The game brings an influx of cash. It means major exposure. People will visit and want to come back. You just can’t help falling in love with New Orleans.

New Orleans has already hosted nine Super Bowls. But this tenth one, though very important, isn’t our most important Super Bowl. That came in 2010. We didn’t host it, but the Saints won it. Rarely has sport been so transcendent. The win was so much more that a reason to brag about a game. Players and coaches alike wanted to win it for the city. They wanted to make a statement. The win said our city was back from the brink. It gave a measure of hope just when we needed it.

I will always treasure my memories of the victory parade that follow that Super Bowl win. We saw Drew, Reggie, Pierre, Sean and the team. That was cool. But the best part was sharing the night with 800,000 other Saints fans – people of all walks of life.  We shared something special together as a city and a region. We experienced community. My love for the city and its people grew that evening.

But a championship can only do so much. It provided some hope, but it didn’t solve all our problems. Our educational system is improving, but it is what it should be. We still have a ridiculous murder rate holding us back. Still we have a lot going for us – food, history, music, art, architecture, passion, etc. All this good needs to be matched with good schools, safe streets and opportunity – in a word, hope – real and lasting hope.

This Super Bowl won’t solve our lingering problems either. We will look good for the camera. I won’t discount the importance of that, but we need to be good. We need to be good for the children of this city. We need to foster their potential to rise above the status quo.

It is game time, but the paint is still wet. Solutions to our problems still can be found. The solution rests with you and me – everyday New Orleanians. It won’t be easy … in fact it often seems like fourth and long. It’s game time. Will you get in the game?

The City of No – that sure doesn’t sound like a happening place. It doesn’t sound like a city on the move . Sounds more like a place with very little opportunity.  Sounds like a place where needs go unmet and dreams go unfulfilled.

Until 2010, http://www.cityofno.com was the official web address for the New Orleans city government. Mayor Mitch Landrieu quickly changed the web address to http://www.nola.gov soon after he was elected to office. He referenced this fact in his recent State of the City speech.

Changing a web address is easy, but changing a culture is difficult. And as much as I love New Orleans, its people and its carefree spirit, I must admit that for many New Orleanians it is still the City of No.

Hurricane Katrina deeply damaged the city, but the city was already deeply damaged. With all its negative effects, Katrina was also a catalyst of change. People who weren’t involved in making the city better are now involved. And to be honest, I am one of those people. Katrina caused me to take my eyes off of myself long enough to see my neighbors. In the process, I came to embrace New Orleans as home.

After the storm, “The City that Care Forgot” got lots of attention. People began seeking to change the city. You wouldn’t believe how much has changed in seven years. Some said it would take 10 years to fully recover from the storm. I would argue that in many ways, we already are a better place than we were in 2005.

But with all the good that has come, we have nagging problems – crime, addiction, poverty and hunger still grip many of our neighborhoods. And then there’s that cursed murder rate. In pockets of the city, hopelessness reigns supreme. The problems are too big to fathom and in many cases it seems there is nothing we as the church can do but pray.

The greatest needs in our city are spiritual. People need to encounter the life-changing love of Jesus Christ. Changed hearts would help with crime, murder and addiction. It will even help with poverty. Sharing Christ is a must.

But I believe we have to do more. Lack of education, opportunity and hope keeps many in a vicious cycle of poverty. I believe that the style of ministry Jesus modeled is about helping the whole person. Jesus met people where they were and offer them physical, emotional and spiritual help.

The web address has changed, but New Orleans is still the City of No for many. What are we going to do about it? Will we live out the Great Commission and the Great Commandments both in our neighborhood and the neighborhoods we pass by every day? And what about in the neighborhoods we like to avoid? Will we make all New Orleans the City of Yes?

The first time I laid eyes on the Jeep was 18 years ago. I was in the 6th grade. When I went to school that day, my mom was driving a baby blue 1980s Toyota Cressida. And when I got off the bus that afternoon, she was in a brand new hunter green Jeep Cherokee Sport.

It was 1994. I was 12.

I don’t remember much out of the ordinary about the Jeep between 1994 and 1997, when I got my license. We usually went on trips in my dad’s truck, so we didn’t pile the miles on the Jeep those first few years.

When I took over, things changed.

My first solo ride after turning 16 was to Dreamland Barbecue (the original location) with a friend. Dessert was milkshakes at the hospital snack shop (yes, they’re that good). I parked in a daytime only parking lot and had to hop the curb and drive around the gate.

Later, the ole Jeep became the vehicle of mischief for me and my friends. There were pranks (not mentionable in the public domain), explorations and sneakages. One of our favorite pastimes was looking for puddles after big rain storms. The loading dock at Eastwood Middle School (now American Christian Academy) always made for good puddle splashing.

We also discovered the Jeep was perfect for scattering grass and leaf piles at high speeds.

During my high school years, the Jeep’s crowning achievement was the day it flew. I was riding with my friend Blake. On our way to my house, we turned off Loop Road onto Fairmont Drive, which leads to 15th Street. Fairmont Drive goes down a pretty steep hill. At the bottom, 17th Street crosses Fairmont, which makes for a nice “ramp” if you’re traveling down Fairmont.

As you might guess, Blake yelled “floor it, Frank” as we started our descent, and I did. By the time we hit the ramp we were going 50 or 60. Then, there was silence.

We were in the air long enough for me to put both hands on the wheel, look over at Blake and say “oh no,” and turn back to the road. Blake laughed uncontrollably all the way home. I was worried that I’d broken the Jeep. For weeks, I imagined that it was listing to one side or the other.

The Jeep had its share of road trips. There was the Cocoa Beach trip after high school graduation. Some friends went to the Keys one spring break in college. My friend Drew and I went to Nashville to audition to be in the “Centrifuge” band one weekend. There was a New Orleans trip after Hurricane Katrina.

The greatest road trip was my honeymoon in June/July 2004 to Virginia, D.C. and later to the Smoky Mountains. The Jeep will always be remembered as the getaway car after our wedding. One window read “Just McMarried” and another “the New McCormack.”

It turned over 100,000 on our way back.

Since 2006, the Jeep had been our main ride to Saints games during football season. When I was reporting for The Plaquemines Gazette and St. Bernard Voice, the Jeep went countless times “down the road” to Venice, La., during the BP Oil Spill. One time in Venice, with the wind out of the south, water was washing over the appropriately named “Tidewater Road” and, as a tribute to the Oregon Trail, I forded the stream. My friend Nemo and I explored most of St. Bernard Parish in the Jeep. He’d always say afterward, “Frank, I feel like I’ve been beat to death!”

The Jeep spent the night on Canal Street once when the battery went dead. It slept over on Iberville at Galvez once when the water pump died.

As of May 3, I’d made it to 161,000 miles and change in the ole Jeep. My last ride in the Jeep that day was as a passenger. I’d met its new owner at the bank and he gave me a ride home. I’d spent 18 years of my life with the Jeep.

To say I’d lived a lot of life in the ole Jeep is an understatement. I first saw Jennifer in the Jeep. Our first date was in the Jeep. In prior years, the Jeep was a primary mode of transportation for my circle of friends. It ran laps around Samford. It transported “acquired” goods like an abandoned Samford hurdle, a grocery cart and a “Caution Manatee Area” sign.

In later years, the Jeep didn’t look as pretty. The headliner drooped, the paint was faded. It still had a dent in the hood where a hoodlum threw a brick at it. But still, May 3 and every day prior, all the way back to 1994, the Jeep was always good to me. Regardless of its looks, it was still my dear ole Jeep and it will be missed. The Jeep wasn’t a classic by any standards, but it will always be my first ride.

But in a way, it was nice to see it go. First off, my new ride is a million times better. Also, seeing the ole Jeep go reminded me that “things” like the Jeep are just temporary. The Jeep took me many places, but where I went and who I went with is what matters to me.

And I’ve got a lot more places on the to-go list.

…………………………….

Fording the river in Venice, La.

Lizard hitching a ride on the Jeep (1).

Lizard hitching a ride on the Jeep (2).

Editor’s note: All the King Cake is gone and Geaux Therefore is back from the Mardi Gras break. This post on context was published in the early days of the Geaux Therefore blog. In those days, virtual no one was reading the blog, so I thought it might be time to take a second look at “where, when and why.” It isn’t a straight repeat, rather a second, updated look at context. I hope you enjoy.

Where, when and why. These are three of the most important concepts for the missional adventurer. Knowing, mastering and wrestling with each of these concepts is a life-long process.

Know where you are
By nature a photograph captures only a portion of the real scene. The photograph is stingy with space – capturing things as they really are within certain parameters. At times, the deepest communication in a photograph comes not from what is included, but from that which is missing. The photograph has captured truth – at least the portion visible in the viewfinder at a specific moment in time.

A painter has much more control over a scene. He or she can add or subtract things as necessary to offer a truer picture of reality. Sometimes a painter captures more truth by rejecting the frame-by-frame realism of the camera. Still in the confines of the canvas even the most talented artist captures only part of the scene – some emotion, some struggle, some essence is missed. The artist has the opportunity to capture truth in some degree, but the painting is colored by the artist’s biases.

People often settle for snapshots or biased portraits instead of full-orbed understanding. It is easier to settle for the stark blacks and whites and neglect the various shades of grey.

New Orleans often finds itself tagged with thoughtless caricatures and clichés. People come to the city for a convention and go away with the perception that all of New Orleans is like the French Quarter and Bourbon Street. Other common caricatures focus on the crime or drunkenness or even voodoo.

Seek the truth for yourself. Don’t settle for snapshots taken by other people or pictures painted by artists with an agenda. Get to know your city. Get to know the people who live here. Knowing where you are takes time and effort, but it is essential for effective ministry.

Know when you are
“When am I?” It was a great line uttered by John Locke, in ABC’s hit show “Lost.” In the show, an airliner carrying Locke and a group of travelers crashed on a mysterious, mystical island. Several seasons into the story, Locke and the other survivors began involuntarily traveling through time every few hours. First they time travel to the 1950s, forward again to present day, then back in time to the 1970s. Confused by all the leaps forward and backward in time, Locke utters that ridiculous and wonderful line, “When am I?”

Oddly enough I think this is a question every missional Christian must ask … and keep asking over and over again.

You have to know your times. You have to know what is happening in your city. Read the newspaper. Watch the local news. Listen to talk radio. Keep track of local politics. This goes hand and hand with knowing where you are. And it is every bit as important.

However, I would caution against hyper-localism. The missional Christian should also keep track of world news and the political workings of other nations. Knowing when you are is an essential part of Great Commission living. After all, Christians were called to be globally minded (Matthew 28:19-20; Acts 1:8) long before technology shrunk our world and brought global politics and economics into our homes on a daily basis.

Know why you are
Many people know where they are and when they are, but fail to act on what they know to make an eternal difference. They may do good things to make New Orleans, and the world, a better place, but they don’t color their actions with the purpose and passion of the Great Commission.

Knowing why you are is two-fold – general and specific.

If you are a Christ follower, you were made to live out the Great Commission and the Great Commandments – the “Go Therefore.” That is the general answer to “why” and includes the taking of the gospel to the ends of the earth. The specific deals with why you are here (wherever that is). In my case, it is the “Geaux Therefore.”

Hurricane Katrina helped me to focus on the where and when, and it forced me to take a fresh look at why I am and why I am here in New Orleans. As I continue to embrace New Orleans as home, these concepts push me outside my comfort zone and bring new opportunities to share the life-changing message of Jesus Christ. When I put my when, where and why together, it leads me to how God would have me take action in my specific context.

One more word of caution: Knowing the where, when and why can help you gain opportunities to share the gospel. Some look at the where, when and why – the context – and are tempted to add to, take away from or water down the gospel. That’s not the gospel. You must share the unchanging gospel. Without that, knowing the where, when and why of context is empty and meaningless.

Sometime in late 2004, not long after moving to New Orleans, my wife, Jennifer, and a group of her friends were held at gunpoint by a young man looking for money.

The group, made up of three ladies and a baby, parked just off St. Charles Avenue, under a street light, across from a busy restaurant. As they exited the car, the young man walked up, gun drawn, and said, “Okay ladies, this is how it’s gonna be…”

The encounter lasted just a few moments, with Jennifer shielding the baby from the gunman, one girl dumping her purse out on the ground, assuring the man that she hadn’t looked at his face, and the third girl letting him know that they didn’t have any cash. She was holding a diaper bag, not a purse.

“This is a diaper bag,” she said, holding out the bag. “It doesn’t have cash in it. It has diapers. Do you want diapers?”

For whatever reason, he believed them, turned and ran into the shadows.

The encounter was part of a string of holdups in that part of the city. At least one person was killed during the spike in crime.

In the seven years since then, more than 1,300 people have been killed in New Orleans. The number of murders each year has been basically unchanged, despite the city’s population losses since Hurricane Katrina. Last year there were about 51 murders per 100,000. In New York City, the ratio was 7:100,000.

In spite of the murder rate, everyday law abiding New Orleanians have found solace in the demography, geography and timing of crime in the Crescent City. The thinking is this:

Demography: Violence is carried out by young black men against young black men who know each other.

Geography: Violence is generally restricted to well-defined, high crime neighborhoods like Central City, the Lower Ninth Ward, Hollygrove, etc.

Timeframe: Violence occurs during late night/early morning hours when average people are safely in their homes.

With those criteria met, the general population has often, for lack of a better word, “overlooked” the problem. Now, I don’t think anyone in New Orleans would deny there is a crime problem or that the murder rate is, as Mayor Mitch Landrieu has called it, “unnatural.” Everyone wants the cycle of violence broken, but it’s awfully easy to trust others to fix the “system” – whether it’s the education, family or criminal justice systems – when the average citizen can go about his or her everyday life and feel reasonably safe from violence.

Over the past week or so, the criteria listed above have not held true.

On Jan. 20, Ferrel Sampier, 44, allegedly shot and killed Antonio Miller, 21, outside Mondo, a restaurant in the Lakeview neighborhood about 3 p.m. The murder stemmed from an argument over Miller’s care of his daughter, Sampier’s granddaughter. The shooting took place within a block or two of three elementary schools, which were in session.

Then, on Jan. 25, a man was killed around 7 a.m. after he sought to intervene in an attempted car jacking. As details of this murder came clear Wednesday, it only got sadder and sadder.

The victim, 44-year-old Mike Ainsworth, was dropping off his sons, 9 and 11, at the school bus stop in their Algiers Point neighborhood when Ainsworth saw a car jacking taking place nearby. As Ainsworth sought to intervene, the carjacker shot him several times and fled the scene. He’s been called a Good Samaritan for stepping in to help the victim.

After the shot, Ainsworth’s boys, who saw the event unfold, ran across the street to the yard where he had collapsed and sat with him until he bled to death.

Did you get that? His children sat with him until he died.

Two weeks ago a car chase ended across from a New Orleans university at about 9 a.m. when officers shot and killed a suspected home intruder/murderer. The week before that an elementary school was put on lockdown around 3 p.m. when a group of young men fired on police from a stretch of railroad tracks nearby.

These four events present a disturbing trend. In all four cases, two of the three crime criteria did not apply. They all happened in broad daylight. They all happened outside of the stereotypical problem neighborhoods. And none were restricted to young African American male versus young African American male.

For weeks, the public has been challenged to step up and challenge the criminals, whether that be with neighborhood policing or reporting suspicious behavior to the police or to CrimeStoppers. Well, that’s what Ainsworth did, but it cost him his life.

And as of Jan. 27, his killer is still at large.

As a Christian, I’d like to believe Jesus is the answer. As the husband of an educator, I’d like to say better educational systems are the answer. As a family man, I’d like to think stronger families are the answer. As a working person, I’d like to believe a strong economy and work force would stop the violence. As a person of faith and a member of this community, I want to be a part of the solution. As a peacemaker, I want to seek a resolution. As a husband and father, I want to shield my family from the violence.

But deep down I just feel paralyzed. Crime isn’t supposed to be like this. It’s supposed to be across town, after my bedtime and between people of a different race. Now it feels like my neighbors are the victims.

Perhaps they always were.

John* struggled as he walked through the food line at Ozanam Inn. The grimace on his
face hinted of his degenerative disc problem. John was grateful for the plate of food, but he couldn’t take the cup of lemonade that I offered. It was all he could do to shuffle through the line carrying his plate. As I watched him find a spot to eat, I was overwhelmed with compassion.

After John finished eating, I went out to talk with him and hear his story. I’ve heard quite a few sad stories from homeless men and women. Some stories seem true, but others do not. John’s story is sad, maybe not the saddest I’ve heard, and I’m convinced that his story is true.

John told me that he grew up in California and served in the Navy before coming to New Orleans the first time. Before Katrina hit, he had just started an auto detailing business in New Orleans. The storm wiped him out and he went back to California. During that time, his health deteriorated. A heart murmur and three bad discs in his back landed John on an overworked VA hospital’s waiting list. So he made his way back to NOLA hoping the VA could help him sooner here. He arrived just over a week ago and he has some checkups and housing meetings scheduled for later in the month, but he has no place to stay in the meantime.

John told me that it is extremely hard to get a bed in a shelter. This big man was physically and emotionally broken and near the point of despair. Tears flowed down his face. He said that he’s watched drunks and strung-out addicts get a shelter bed right before he was turned away. He’s overheard men waiting in the shelter line boasting about robbing people on the street. According to John, it seems like those men always find a place in the shelter, while he’s left outside.

“I believe in God and I try to do what’s right. I’m not a drunk. I don’t do drugs. So why is this happening to me?” John said.

I thought for a moment that he had lost all hope. I worried that he had given up the will to live. Then, struggling through his tears, John told me that things weren’t all bad. He just got a job as a hotdog vendor. He starts next week. Also, John is hopeful that the VA can help with his medical problems and help him find housing.

I felt powerless to help him. I couldn’t help him with the VA. I couldn’t help him get a place to live. All I could do was pray. So that’s what I did. I prayed about his health and I prayed about his living situation. I prayed for his new job and I prayed that God would bless and protect him.

I had one more thing to offer … I could tell him about Jesus. I was happy to hear that he had accepted the grace and forgiveness of Jesus back in California. He told me about his relationship with Christ and about the church he attended in California and the ministry he had been involved in before he came back to New Orleans. As he talked about Jesus and his church I noticed a change … I saw real hope in his eyes.

Following Jesus doesn’t bring constant health, wealth and happiness, but it does bring hope and peace to deal with the struggles of today. And hope is what John needed that night. As he thought of Jesus, hope took root.

Thoughts about my own walk with Jesus flashed through my mind. How many times do I let my circumstances dictate how I feel? Too often. How many times do I face things like John is facing? Never. If John can cling to hope in Jesus in the midst of his situation, why am I so easily distracted by the minor frustrations and obstacles I face?

Then it was time to go. John walked out of the Oz parking lot to look for a place to spend the night. For me it was another teachable moment in The Big Easy.

*True story, just not his real name.

I dig New Orleans history.

Literally, I dig it. On Jan. 7, I volunteered at an archaeological excavation in the French Quarter sponsored by the Greater New Orleans Archaeology Program at the University of New Orleans. It was a neat experience.

Three hundred years of occupation by several distinctly different cultures makes New Orleans a history-rich environment. There is much to learn in the soil of New Orleans, especially in the city’s oldest areas. But the oldest areas also happen to be prime real estate and the heart of the city’s artistic and cultural hullabaloo. These areas also bring in droves of big-spending tourists.

However, in the rare instances when a building is torn down or something interesting turns up when someone is digging a ditch in a French Quarter courtyard, local archaeologists get a chance to investigate. Don’t think Indiana Jones, that’s completely the wrong image. These archaeologists are not treasure hunters, they are scientists seeking context as they sift through the trash of bygone days. The archaeologists are more interested in dietary evidence (discarded bones, seeds, etc.) than the material culture (objects, trinkets and busted stuff).

The site where I dug is located in the “French Quarter,” but it was not a part of the original 1718 French city, La Nouvelle-Orléans. It is located a bit north of the original defense ditch the French dug to protect the settlement. The Spanish took over in 1763 and called the place Nueva Orleans. And in the 1780s the Spanish expanded the original footprint of the city and built a significant defense wall (rampart) where Rampart Street is today. The dig site is located in this first area of Spanish expansion.

It will be a while before any conclusions are drawn about the people who lived there. All of the items collected at the site must be studied back in the lab. But, I learned much about the early settlers of New Orleansfrom the archaeologists and I learned hand-on archaeology techniques.

Throughout the day the word “context” kept coming up again and again. Archaeologists talk about context all the time. To me, it seems like they use the word “context” in two slightly different ways – context with a lower case “c” and Context with an upper case “C.” Where archaeologists find a material object is called the context (think original or proper location) But Context also means the setting or milieu in which a culture developed.

The location (small “c” context) in which a object is found determines the importance of the find. If the object is out of it’s original context, it may be a cool item for display, but it offers very little data for the archaeologist to develop a picture of the overall Context. An example: I dug up a broken clay smoking pipe from the 1800s about 5 cm below the surface. That is all good, but as I continued removing dirt, I uncovered a piece of 20^th century foam insulation several centimeters below the pipe. So the pipe was a cool find, but it was out of context. The layer of dirt I was digging had been disturbed and mixed up at some point. Who knows the pipe, though old, could have been discarded on the site in the late 1980s. So that pipe offers few hard facts about the cultural and historical milieu (Context) that is New Orleans.

Context matters
I worked at the dig site from 8 a.m. to 5 p.m. and even with all the talk of context there, I learned the biggest lesson about context on the way home.

As you may know there were a few big sporting events in New Orleansthat weekend – a Saints playoff game and the BCS Championship Game. Fans of the New Orleans Saints, Detroit Lions, Alabama Crimson Tide and LSU Tigers filled the Quarter. I knew travel would be difficult so I parked my car at City Park that morning and rode the streetcar to the Quarter.

Riding the streetcar was a wise decision because the Quarter was packed with people at 5 p.m. when we stopped digging. Traffic was heavy. As I walked from the dig site to the streetcar stop, I was flooded with thoughts of context.

In the right context I looked like an archaeologist. I had on my work boots, faded jeans with soiled knees, and a cap. At the site one Quarter resident walking by with her husband said to me “Hey, archaeology man! Y’all can come down to our place for a drink. We’re just two doors down.”

I responded, “I appreciate the offer, but we have water here so I’m good.”

“I mean a real drink,” she retorted with a chuckle. I guess she meant well.

The point is, on the site with a trowel in my hand, mud on my knees and leaning over a hole in the ground, I looked like an archaeologist. But as I walked to the streetcar with my backpack over my shoulder, I didn’t look like an archaeologist, I looked homeless.

I don’t make that statement flippantly, I work among the homeless in the city and have great compassion for them. And for an ever so brief moment I identified with our city’s homeless population in a unique way. Even though no one seemed to notice me, I still felt self-conscience all the way home. I thought about all the snap judgments we are so prone to make even when we have limited information.

So, the day turned out to be a long lesson in context – the historical context in which this city sprang up along the Mississippi Riverand the socio-economic context in which we operate today. The day was all about context!

I don’t watch the New Year’s Eve ball drop on TV anymore. I’ve seen it several dozen times. The TV is usually tuned to some old movie when Times Square rings in the New Year and it’s off by the time the New Year comes to New Orleans because I’m in bed.

Alas, going to bed early on New Year’s Eve is a always tragic and frustrating mistake in New Orleans. Every year I think, “I won’t make this mistake again.” But each year, weary from Christmas/New Year’s travel, I go to bed early on Dec. 31 hoping to catch up on my beauty rest and that’s when the fireworks start.

New Year’s Eve fireworks are a popular New Orleans tradition. I’m not talking Black Cats and Lady Fingers. These are serious aerial fireworks launched in the middle of the street near our house. The fireworks are brighter than sunshine and louder than a howitzer. It is a totally unauthorized [illegal], grassroots neighborhood fireworks extravaganza. No sleep will be had before 1:30 a.m. at the earliest, sometimes the rapid-fire banging continues past 2 a.m.

It keeps me awake. It makes me mad. But at least it isn’t harmful to my health. Each year I’m worried that the poor beagle, Cheeto, is going to suffer from heart failure. The bombardment sends him into a frenzy of pacing, panting, whining and hyperventilation. This year, I brought him inside for the worst of it.

As I sat on the bathroom floor beside my dog – mad, frustrated and sleepy – I thought about how hard it can be to love your neighbors as Jesus instructed.

Next year I may start a new tradition. Just sleep in as late as possible on Dec. 31. That night I could stay up late, watch a good movie and sip a cup of Chamomile tea as 2 a.m. approaches. Simply adjusting my expectations could work wonders.

Epic Fail? Maybe Not
As I sat in my easy chair late on New Year’s Day trying to recover from the previous night’s distractions, I thought about all the things left undone in 2011. For a moment I even felt guilty for resting in my chair. Shouldn’t I be doing something productive?

I try to be realist — never too optimistic; never hopelessly pessimistic. I usually maintain the balance, but as I worked to keep my heavy eyes open during the Football Night in America game, I started making a mental list of 2011 failures. It was going to be a very self-critical list with “Epic Fail” written at the top.

First on the list was the fact that I haven’t posted a blog to Geaux Therefore in over a month. My personal blog went silent on July 29. Other writing projects are way behind schedule.

I mentally scrawled finances on the list thinking about my tiny bank account. But before I got too far down this road of self-pity and pessimism, I wadded up the mental list and pushed it out of my mind. Sure there were plenty of missed opportunity and even failures in 2011, but there were plenty of positives as well.

There were fun things – a trip to Alaska; an archaeological dig in Israel; and seeing my son in the lead role of his drama club’s play.

There were setbacks – I had health issues like a bad insect sting that required medical attention, a root canal and a kidney stone (perhaps these health issues hindered my progress last year).

Okay, the kidney stone was more than a setback, it was intensely painful. I wouldn’t wish a one on my worst enemy or one of my late-night firecracker popping neighbors. It was the worst pain I have ever experienced and resulted in my first emergency room visit since grade school. Oh, the bill was painful too.

There were opportunities to serve — coaching the Bunny Friend Eagles baseball team, my son played on the team as well (Here is a link to “More than a game,” a blog about the Bunny Friend Eagles); helping Kimberly with international ministry; feeding the homeless at Ozanam Inn; and getting involved in an organization aimed at fighting childhood hunger in New Orleans.

If a personal evaluation is to be made it must be made in light of all aspects of the year – the good, the bad and the ugly — not just a Top 10 or Top 20 list of failures.

The Apostle Paul, writing in Philippians 3, offers great insight for the new year.

“But whatever were gains to me I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them garbage, that I may gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ—the righteousness that comes from God on the basis of faith. I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, and so, somehow, attaining to the resurrection from the dead.”

“Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”

-          Philippians 3:7-14

One of the highlights of my week is serving food to the homeless and underprivileged on Wednesdays at Ozanam Inn. I learn something new each week as I serve beside other Christians and as I interact with people who come to eat.

We don’t serve out of pity. Pity would be the wrong approach. Rather than pity, we try to offer dignity, love and hope. Pity keeps people at arms length; love let’s them into our lives. Pity doesn’t view them as equals, love sees them as people created in the image of God. Pity has easy formulas for explaining hunger and homelessness. Love helps us see that there are no easy fixes, no easy answers for the problems these people encounter. Pity is not our approach.

We try hard to build relationships with the people at the Oz in order to share the hope we have found in Jesus Christ. But the building relationships part is not easy. It is hard to get past surface conversation.

Two weeks ago I was talking with some of the guys in the food line. It was small talk at first, but later one of the men asked if I had a Bible he could have. His name is Damian. Damian said he wanted to read the Old Testament. I didn’t have a Bible with me, but I promised to bring him one the next week.

So I went to LifeWay to find him a Bible. I bought a simple paperback Bible for $3. The cost was less than a gallon of gas. Less than the cheapest McDonald’s meal deal. Less than the latest New York Times best-seller. Just $3.

When I arrived at the Oz last week I saw Damian waiting in line. I called him over to my car and handed him the Bible. Damian was excited to have a copy of God’s Word. He thanked me over and over again. Since he had expressed interest in the Old Testament, I encouraged him to read the story of Abraham. I also told Damian that if he wears out the paperback, I’ll get him another Bible.

The volunteer team from First Baptist always gets together for prayer after the meal and after most of the people have left. Damian hung around and prayed with us. Before he left, Damian thanked me again and I told him I’d be praying for him as he reads.

I must say that was the best $3 I’ve ever spent.

What is the value of God’s Word? Infinite.

 “The fear of the LORD is pure, enduring forever. The decrees of the LORD are firm, and all of them are righteous. They are more precious than gold, than much pure gold; they are sweeter than honey, than honey from the honeycomb. By them your servant is warned; in keeping them there is great reward.” – Psalm 19:9-11

“I seek you with all my heart; do not let me stray from your commands. I have hidden your word in my heart that I might not sin against you. Praise be to you, LORD; teach me your decrees. With my lips I recount all the laws that come from your mouth. I rejoice in following your statutes as one rejoices in great riches.” – Psalm 119:10-14

Do I treasure the Bible in this way? Not always. Damian’s hunger for God’s Word reminded me just how valuable the Bible is and I have refocused my study efforts.

What can I expect for my $3 investment? If Damian reads it, I think the return will be great.

Isaiah 55 is all about seeking the Lord. From this chapter we learn that the Word of the Lord will accomplish God’s purposes.

“As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth:  It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it.”  – Isaiah 55:10-11

Read up Damian, God’s Word can change your life. Read up Gary, God’s Word can change your life.

I’ve had a lot of small blog ideas lately about this magnificent, beautiful mixed up city that I love and call home. As I let these ideas stew, I realized that none is big enough for a full blog. Most are simple observations I’ve gathered over the years. So instead of trying to flesh one of these out, I’ll give several unrelated snippets about life in New Orleans.

The other spectator sport
The entire South is caught up in the college football season. The team located in our sister city of Baton Rouge is sitting atop the polls. I grew up in a football crazed state – Oklahoma. However the high level of passion for college football in Oklahoma,
Texas, Michigan, Pennsylvania or wherever is nothing compared to the craziness in SEC country. College football is serious business here. Oftentimes it is too serious, even bordering on unhealthy obsession.

In New Orleans we have a spectator sport that most places don’t. It does involve polls. It’s election season. I know that all across the country people value their right to vote and they cast their ballots with a sense of pride and civic duty. But here politics is a spectator sport.

Election day in New Orleans looks a lot like game day. Supporters and candidates alike stand among ubiquitous campaign signs in the neutral ground (the median) at major intersections. They wave at passer-bys and those who are unlucky enough the get caught at the light receive a handful of campaign material. Usually the printed pieces tell of one shining example of moral purity and uncompromising leadership (their candidate) fighting his or her way through a sea of unqualified, downright sinister career politicians who want to take away ALL of your money (the other candidates). Election day is the big day for this type of electioneering on the highways and byways of New Orleans. Often the candidates and their supporters have the equivalent of tailgate party right there on the neutral ground, often grilling burgers and hotdogs.

Don’t get me started on the political TV ads. They are outright nasty. Mud slings early and often. It doesn’t matter the level of the election. From the smallest local offices to the highest state positions, the ads are often ugly. To carry my analogy a little further. If Louisiana politics is a spectator sport, it is more like football than tennis. It’s a contact sport.

The state that produced Huey P. Long and Edwin Edwards is still producing political drama. At times it can get a little disheartening, but one thing is for sure, politics in the Big Easy is never boring.

It’s kind of a big deal
In case you haven’t noticed, food is a big deal in the Crescent City. In the fall The Times-Picayune puts out the Lagniappe’s Dining Guide. This annual issue profiles the 100 top restaurants in the area in a given year. Some restaurants and cafes make it in the guide every single year. But even some of the most expensive and popular places are left out each year. Many inexpensive places make it as well. It’s competitive. Restaurants have to be at the top of their game to make this list.

Oh Happy Day! The guide came out last Sunday. We always like to see the lists and search for our favorite places. Some years many of our favorites make the list. This year we had only eaten at three on the list. It was a reminder that my work here is not done. If I’m ever going to truly understand my ministry context, I need to do a lot more “research” – one plate at a time.

“Save the poles”
We’ve got to do something about a problem in New Orleans. We have a lot of big problems that will take a major work of God to fix, but we also have at least one small problem we should be able to fix all by ourselves. We’ve got to save the poles.

No, not those Poles (people from Poland). Not the polls mentioned above — just poles. Street light poles. Stop light poles. Telephone poles. Plain ol’ sign poles. For some mysterious reason people in New Orleans have proclivity for wiping out the poles in the neutral ground — the street medians that divide our tree-lined streets, boulevards and avenues. New Orleans is the Bermuda Triangle for poles. In the years I’ve been living in have I have seen countless crushed poles left from late night accidents, probably due to drunk drivers. That explains some of the problem. I have also witnessed a number of these pole crashing incidents first-hand.

In one three to four month period the signal light at Chef Highway and Press Drive was annihilated a half dozen times. During that outbreak of pole tipping I watched a crew replaced it one day and the VERY next day someone hit and destroyed it again.

The most interesting pole pulverizing incident happened one election day. Someone crashed into an electric pole on Gentilly Boulevard in front of New Orleans Baptist Theological Seminary. The seminary, hosting the election that day, briefly lost power. That incident made the news as voters had to wait to cast their vote. An Entergy crew rushed out to the seminary and propped the pole up with a temporary splint made of heavy boards and long iron bolts. It didn’t take long to get the election rolling again. However, it did take several months for Entergy to come back and  replace the pole. An ounce of prevention truly is better than a pound of cure.

Real random
Thanks for reading my unrelated musings about this city I love. This certainly was random, but I’m just keeping it real. Random is real in this odd, mysterious, beautiful place. The local saying, “Only in New Orleans” has many uses.

If you live here, I hope you are engaged in discovering the city, seeking ways to reach New Orleanians with the Gospel. If you don’t live here, please pray that those of us who have a passion for this place will find ways to effectively share the Gospel in way that honors Jesus Christ.