Remembering Father Red
I'm not sure how to even title this one, but something remarkable just happened.
We're in the middle of nowhere and yet it's really the city of New Orleans. East New Orleans is now simply a wasteland. Anyone who thinks New Orleans was only a disaster due to the levy failure should come here. The storm surge purged this land.
We were looking for a church, St. Nicholas of Myra. We found it down a long closed road. It is where Father Red served his flock of fisherman. The church is where he rode out the storm. It's also where he died.
Only the shell of the church remains, yet it is so peaceful and so moving. We wanted to talk to someone about Father Red, but it was obvious that there was no one for miles. We were about to start calling on the cell phone When a car pulled in, then another and another. A man dressed in black identified himself as Father Red's nephew. The other men were firefighters and a deacon from the Diocese of New Orleans. It seems we came to the church on the very day those who knew Father Red best came to plan his memorial service. That seems far beyond coincidence. Somehow I think Father Red had a hand.
Read more from After the Storm: The Long Road Back, Martin Savidge
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