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Scattered by Katrina, Linked by a Church
The Rev. Franklin Burke is working to rebuild Good Faith Baptist Church in New Orleans's Lower Ninth Ward. Hurricane Katrina devastated the building and displaced its congregation.
(By Michael Williamson -- The Washington Post)
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"Hmm mmm," he says, this hmm mmm sadder than all the others.
"And Monica Williams and her daughter and son are in Thibodaux, Louisiana," she adds.
"Branch. What about Branch?" he wonders.
"Oh," she says. "Joyce. Joyce Branch was in Oklahoma City the last I heard. Sister Branch is so talented. She put on a play out in Oklahoma City. It was to do with the hurricane."
"Now Nanny Bolden and her family moved here to Hammond," she says.
"Sure did," he says.
"What about Charlotte Jenkins?" he asks.
"She's the secretary of the church," the first lady of the church explains. "She's over in Bunkie, Louisiana."
"Albert, now, the teacher," he says. "He and his wife, Lyris, they're both teachers. They're over in Lottie, Louisiana, with their three kids."
He shakes his head, as if at the wonder of it all: the Good Faith flock, all over the map now.
"Minister Fondel, he's in Baton Rouge," he says.
"No he's not," she corrects. "He's in Denham Springs, Louisiana."
"Oh, okay," he says.
"Sister Monica's mom is in Port Allen, Louisiana," she says.
"I can't think of her name," he says, gently shaking his head.
"I can see her face," she says.
"You know, it makes you think of people we haven't heard from since the hurricane," he says.
"It's a lot on your mind," she says.
"Hmm mmm," he says. "You worry about their whereabouts and well-being."
"A lot of them will call and give us reports," she says, "about who they have heard from." (The Rev. Burke's outgoing voice-mail message hasn't changed in the aftermath of the hurricane: "This is Reverend Franklin Burke. Everybody is okay. Keep your head lifted. God is good. Thank you.")
"Their hearts really get heavy at night," she says. "That's when church members want to talk. They need somebody to talk to."
The Rev. Burke has a job as a cement finisher at the Waterford 3 nuclear power plant in Taft, La. He goes to New Orleans to work on the church five or six times a week after work. He chisels and scrapes. "Hope to open by Christmas," he says.
That's a prayerful deadline, she feels.
"We just waiting to go home," she says, meaning the church.
He nods. "Hmm mmm."
"These people in my church, they gave," he says. "They planted seeds. So God blessed them in return. I had two elders call around just recently to ask if anybody needed anything. They said, 'Naw, we all right.' "
She considers it a small miracle that their family pictures were saved as they were packing to flee. "My daughter-in-law, as we were getting ready to leave New Orleans, said, 'Let me gather up the pictures.' I said, 'Why you gonna do that? We gonna be back in a couple days.' So it's a blessing we got these pictures."
Her eyes rest on a picture of Franklin Jr.'s twin girls. They're 6 years old. Their names are Hope and Faith.
"A blessing," she says of the picture of two of the youngest members of Good Faith Baptist Church.
He nods. "Hmm mmm."
