Yesterday, I saw Barack Obama’s motorcade cruise down Airport Drive in Joplin. It was Monday. He was en route to speak at our city’s high school graduation, a graduation big enough to reserve the gymnasium at our local state college. Last year on the same date, they reserved the same gym and then dispersed for various parties around the city. That was mid-afternoon. By six o’clock, a twister tore my town in two.

Since the Joplin Tornado May 22^nd last year, everyone from Time to the Times, from ASPCA to FEMA, from the Tea Party to Occupy Wall Street has said something about the events surrounding the tornado. Most of the people talking about the events got here a few days too late. The way my professor taught it, investigative journalism is supposed to… y’know… investigate what really happened. Though I’m no journalist, I’d like to tell you the truth about how our city set the pace for fast recovery.

By “fast recovery” I mean our people hopped to work long before any aid agency set up shop in Jasper County. Those of us able to fog a mirror and flex a bicep tossed rubble out of the way, dug out the trapped, the injured and the deceased.

Groups of like-minded or like-skilled individuals roamed the city with the tools of their various trades. I saw a chainsaw army (chainsarmy?), a group of techs and student nurses, groups of men on ATVs and farmers wielding what appeared to be machines of war but turned out to be these old things called “tractors.” Rain didn’t stop us. Neither did the demonic lightning that burned down several houses and killed a poor police officer that was directing traffic. In some places, the public workers were still in shock and refused to let us through. In other places, they knew our working relationship with the city, how every year we band together to serve Joplin, clean up her streets, visit her nursing homes, paint her dilapidated houses and otherwise tend to her wounds. Who’s the ‘we’ ?

People of faith.

Before you hit ctrl-W and close out the window, let me explain. I know some who read this blog became anarchists because some religious wingnut blasted a bullhorn in your face. Others are atheists because of the harsh words and violent discipline of a hard father. Still others abhor the systemic evil of those who enable perverted religious leaders. Some hate the church, others tolerate her for extended family but privately think the concept thing a social construct. I could go on and on, but the point is nearly everyone reading this has been wounded by some religious person, often by the church. Me too. I understand, I sympathize and I’m sorry for whoever hurt you. Truly sorry. You’ve no idea how sorry I am…
As the Bard said, therein lies the rub: I’d be lying if I said the majority of the help came from somewhere else. I’d be lying if I said, “we couldn’t have done it without [insert name of governmental or humanitarian organization].” We could have managed. Don’t get me wrong, I think all of the humanitarian non-profits lent guidance, experience and administration to our rag-tag team of volunteers. We’re all grateful for that, our gratitude continues even into this next year. But I think, for once, we all see one city that could have managed.

This doesn’t surprise me. I have friends from Joplin serving in Haiti before, during and still long after the earthquake. I have other friends serving in Japan before, during and still long after the tsunami. Others served in New York before, during and still long after 9/11. Still others served in Afghanistan before, during and still long after the death of Bin Laden. The list goes on. None of these people are military personnel. None of them work for humanitarian organizations. They are simple people of faith who pick up their neighbor’s sticks when the wind blows them down. Why? Because they believe greater things are still to be done in whatever city they find themselves in.
I once rode south along with the white vans, first to New Orleans after Katrina and then to Galvaston. Countless stories of these disaster road trips exist, but in some ways Joplin works like a hub for such activity. Joplin remains one of the great secrets of the Middle West neither for its size nor attractions but for its network and heart. You could explain the flurry of activity last May by saying the tornado smashed a beehive where disaster volunteers live or send kids to school.

I need to define “church” and “people of faith.” Days after the tornado, some publication posted a list of church services. We joke about how some intersections in Joplin host worship centers on three out of four corners. Yes, that’s excessive, but it illustrates the displacement when the tornado wiped out a dozen church buildings. A Baptist church met with the Catholics. A Presbyterian church met with the Pentecostals. A Methodist church met in Ozark Christian College’s chapel. The list went on ad nauseam of people united over simple faith and a common antagonist. In Joplin, lines and schisms faded. In Joplin, people banded together on an idea their ancestors united around long ago: resurrection. They continue to work together, continue to unite themselves under a common banner of faith.
And I do mean unity, not uniformity. I have friends of faith here who started the Occupy Joplin group and friends who hope to vote for Ron Paul in the next election. Some voted for Obama, others cheered on Bush during the last administration. Still others, like me, refuse to register to vote. Some worship with liturgy, some with a capella singing, some with rock, hipster folk, bluegrass and (occasionally) jazz. Carthage (a city next to Joplin) enjoys the presence of thousands of Vietnamese Anglicans every year for some pilgrimage. Why Carthage? Your guess is as good as mine, but those Vietnamese Anglicans pitched in too.

One man called Joplin “a miracle of the human spirit,” but that’s not the way my parents told the tale at bedtime. Whether from the Fae or Narnia or Middle Earth, they always reminded me that miracles come not from humans, but from somewhere or someone else. The miracle that happened in Joplin despite catastrophe was nothing short of divine.

That’s what I saw. The man who denies what he sees with his own eyes has gone insane. Truth is, Joplin showed the world that in some places, people of the faith are neither as divided nor as apathetic as everyone once thought. Ghandi said he’d become a Christian if it weren’t for all the Christians. Nietzsche said he’d believe in the redeemer if his followers lived redeemed lives.

I wish they both could have seen what I saw last year.

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