I woke up early this September morning. Probably the cry of the crows. Or the wind rustling leaves. Cloud free skies were visible through our front wall of windows. I padded downstairs to make a cup of coffee. This has the makings of a great day. Or not. I’m restless. And troubled.
Three hours south of me by plane, Hell has broken loose. Brute strength with the beautiful name of Katrina brutalized the Gulf. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of lives lost. Amongst the living, its "everyman for himself." Looting, shooting, pillaging – Death haughtily stalks the streets of New Orleans. Firing bullets at relief helicoptors. Sending salvation back into the sky.
These third world images make no sense in the first world. How could this be? We are not like them. We are better. More civilized. Our vanity shrinks back from the awful truth. We are all broken human beings in a fallen world. Capable of the worst sins. And yet we ask, in fact demand, "Where are the heroes?" Indeed. Where are we?