The Great Chicago…Flood?
There is a legend in Chicago city history – the Great Chicago Fire of 1871. It was possibly the greatest U.S. disaster of the 19th century, and only from the immediate rebuilding of the city and support from cities all over the world was Chicago able to emerge as global city and economic hub for the country. It’s why the city is sometimes known as “the Second City” because so much burned in the fire that the rebuilding essentially created a whole new community.
Over the past week, Hurricane Ike partnered with a Pacific tropical depression dumped over 90 billion gallons of water over Chicago this past weekend, flooding sewers and rivers, and eventually streets and whole city blocks. Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich declared Chicago and the 7 surrounding counties disaster areas. Though Chicago is far from any coast, the combination of both storm systems actually gave the city more rain that Houston!
Over the air waves, I kept hearing stories of families whose basements had been flooded out, or others who had evacuated from their homes and were living in temporary shelters. During an age of extreme weather, I have seen New Orleans and Indonesia and others get hit hard, and yet still felt disconnected from the disaster and did not involve myself in assisting those in need. Usually the voices in my head say something like, “I’ll just get in the way,” or “I don’t have time to do this – I’ve got to take care of myself.” When disaster came to us, I felt God saying, “The body of Christ helps its neighbors – you are a part of the body of Christ, and your neighbors are in need of your help.” It was pretty obvious what I was supposed to do next.
I put on my oldest clothes, put some of my personal stuff in a ziplock bag and headed out the door. I didn’t have any tools, and virtually no knowledge of how to safely deal with a flood, but I went with hands to serve.
The streets in Albany Park were either filled with cars trying to get out, or water pouring in. I walked up to a water managment truck waiting in the long traffic lines and asked where to help out. They pointed me toward St. Louis street, and I set out.
There I met a river where once was a street. No body was out except an old man named Pete, who was fuming mad that no one in the city was listening to him. He had worked on sewers and flooding back in Greece, and knew that all they needed to do was vaccuum the clog in the sewer system, and the water would recede. In the meantime, he’s trying to figure out how to drain his completely flooded basement, check his foundation and turn his power back on.
More city crew began arriving at the dead end street. Most were wearing nice shoes and weren’t getting into the water. I hadn’t yet gotten wet either. And when I saw some locals at the end of the street repositioning sandbags against the riverbanks (they were just sitting out in the street), I felt like I needed to join them in the filthy waters. A city official stopped me after he saw my intentions, telling me how nasty the water was since the sewers had overflowed. It was tempting to turn around and find some other way to help out – I’ll be honest – I’ve never been fond of tuberculosis. I paused, waiting for the Spirit to give me some confirmation that I truly was supposed to wade into the waters. Maybe against sound judgment, but certainly not against the model Christ gave us, I joined my neighbors in the mess.
We worked for several hours, pushing back the power of the river. There is something deeply spiritual and worshipful in tossing sandbags. Among the dozen or so out there were Mark and Tanya, a young couple who worked for the Chicago Symphony. Their whole basement was floor-to-celing flooded, and their first floor was soaking too. I can’t imagine the feeling, but I kept wondering what good it was to fight the river since everthing was submerged already. Then I heard some talking about how the water had severely weakened their foundations. Yeah – that would put me to work too!
Some were really angry at the city for doing so little. While I was there, it seemed the city was doing everything it could with all the redtape it has established for this sort of thing. It was disappointing to see neighbors in the mud and waters while city workers still had nice, dry shoes on. One city official came over and helped us with a sandbag line, saying, “I just can’t stand back and watch – this is what I’m here for…”
It became a great mix of neighbors and city workers. Those working for a paycheck and those working to save their home, and me, just watching the momentary community rising above the disaster. I did not go to New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina in 2005, in fact, I’ve never been to a disaster area in my life. This was a sort of baptism into serving those in crisis – just a few miles from my own home.
John 1:14 says that Word of God became flesh and moved into the neighborhood. If the powerful, pure creative power of God can become something as lowly, frail and decaying as a human, shouldn’t we be able to walk through sewer water and share in the burden of humanity with fellow neighbors? This is a struggle for me – but it is the message of the cross. It is, like Ghandhi and Jesus agree, how we lose ourselves to find our true self.
chad, and 