Remember

As I watch the news this week, I’ve been thinking about the importance memory. Twenty years ago this year, Hurricane Andrew devastated South Florida. My husband Steve and I were living in South Miami at the time. The images of homes destroyed, roofs and walls ripped off – covered in blue tarps, trees down so that a once lush landscape looked barren and dead, and piles of debris two stories high that lasted for nearly a year remain vivid in my memory. A time of darkness in so many ways, that felt like it would never end.

I remember being without power for weeks. The sound of generators going off and on throughout the night, making it difficult to sleep. Being stuck because of trees blocking the road. Eating canned food. Sweating in the August heat. Listening to the radio, the voice of local TV weatherman Brian Norcross being simulcast – the only station that remained up for the whole event. His voice a lifeline as the wind howled, and the darkness was all around.

When another major storm – like Katrina, or now Sandy – happens. Those memories come rushing back in. Watching the coverage of Sandy, Brian Norcross (who now does hurricane coverage nationally) was on the TV. Steve came in from another room, saying, “that’s Brian Norcross.” He remembers too.

Hurricane Andrew 1992

Hurricane Sandy 2012

Memories connect us. Our memories of riding out the storm and it’s aftermath connect Steve and me, and others who lived in South Florida at that time. My memory of what happened in that storm also connects me now to those affected by Sandy – another community experiencing the same kind of darkness. My memories give my prayers special intensity, as I pray for them those in the Northeast – for their safety and healing, but also for the blessings that can be found in the midst of such difficulty: the fellowship of neighbors, generosity and courage of strangers, the sense of a community pulling together, small comforts that make a huge difference like water to bathe in or a good meal, and the sight of a billion stars in the night – visible for once without city lights filling the sky, and the incandescent joy and gratitude when an electrical company truck (sometimes from a community many states away) is finally seen in your neighborhood and power is restored.

Memories remind us what really matters – and to be thankful for all our blessings, no matter how small, as we remember a time when there was no blessing too small to make a difference.

Memories also give us hope. It took time, more time than we would ever have imagined, and taught us patience we didn’t think we had. It took lots of work and support that came in many ways, but South Florida survived and rebuilt – though it has been forever changed by the experience. In another community devastated by such a story, the process has been slow, but New Orleans has come back in many ways – though there is still much to be done. I know that the Northeast will recover and rebuild as well. In our faith we call that resurrection.

Memory matters. When we celebrate communion – it is a meal of remembrance. “Do this in remembrance of me,” Jesus said. Because memory connects us. We remember that through a time of great tragedy and loss, a time of pain and death, a community huddled together in the dark, but Jesus came to them in their darkness and brought them out into the light.

As we go through the liturgical year, tracing the story of the life of Jesus and his followers – Advent waiting, the joy of birth at Christmas, the surprise and revelation of Epiphany, the expectation of Palm Sunday, the coming together of community on Maundy Thursday, the despair and death of Good Friday, the emptiness and loss of Holy Saturday, the wonder of resurrection on Easter, the sense of empowerment on Pentecost – as a community we relive that cycle that is life and we remember. We remember that resurrection happens. Death, destruction, despair are a part of life – but they do not have the last word. And through this reliving of the life and story of Jesus Christ, we remember that even though homes may be destroyed, our true home is in God, through whom all things are possible – even resurrection.

Memory connects us. It spurs us to be the hearts of compassion, the hands of support and healing, and the voices of hope to others sitting in the darkness. It is a hallmark of the life of faith.

When we forget, or lose the ability to remember -- it is a tragedy even worse than any storm. It is devastating to individuals and families dealing with Alzheimers or similar disorders. It is equally devastating to communities. Where now is the sense of common purpose, connection, and strength we were blessed with in the dark aftermath of 9/11?

But God can redeem even the loss of memory. There are blessings, and moments of grace always -- if we have the eyes to see them. And perhaps Sandy, tragic as it is, may bring with it the blessing of rekindled memory, an antidote for the spiritual Alzheimers that has gripped our nation for too long.

God of life, new life, and beginning again – we thank you for your Spirit at work in those who bless others with their courage, their compassion, and their support in times of trouble. We thank you too for the signs of hope, the voices in the darkness, the small blessings, that we hold onto until the lights come back on and we can see again. And we thank you for memory, that connects us, across space and time, to each other, and to You. Amen.