Nourishing hope and faith at the heart of devastation
A community service at a little brick church in Punta Gorda replenishes broken and thankful spirits.
By BRADY DENNIS
Published August 16, 2004
PUNTA GORDA - The spray-painted sign out front read: "Community service, 11 a.m. Come as you are."
And people came as they were: young, old, unshaven, sweaty, smelly, weary, heartbroken, thankful, shell-shocked, defiant, hopeful and sobbing.
In the dim sanctuary, where the morning sunlight seeped through stained-glass windows, their sweat mixed with tears. The air felt heavy, like their hearts.
They had no music, so they sang a cappella. There was no sermon, no communion, no collection plate.
Instead, they prayed for the living and the dead.
And somewhere in all that sadness and loss, they found room for thankfulness, laughter and hope. On Sunday morning at East Side Baptist Church, nothing was going to stop the faithful from thanking God for sparing them.
"We would even meet in the streets if we had to," said pastor Mike Mowry, 44.
People began arriving an hour early at the small brick church, which sits in the heart of the devastation left behind by Hurricane Charley.
President Bush passed by in his motorcade and gave Mowry a wave and a thumbsup.
"Amazing," Mowry said. Half an hour after the president had disappeared down the streets of rubble, the 40 worshipers began the service with a hymn, How Great Thou Art.
After each song, people shared their experiences or offered a prayer.
Mike Thompson, 54, stood up.
"I live across the bridge at Harbor Heights," he said, "Or, I used to."
He and his wife, Susan, huddled in a bathroom with their two cats as their house disappeared around them. They lost nearly everything.
"It doesn't matter where we live," Susan Thompson said. "This is our home. This is our family."
Shirley Concepcion, 55, stood up.
"Our house is gone, but at least I am here," she said, tears filling her hazel eyes. "The only thing I was able to get (out) was my Bible." She began sobbing and collapsed into the wooden pew. Mowry rushed in to hug her.
Paul Wedell, a burly 61-year-old man with tattoos on his arms, stood up.
He said that as the winds grew stronger Friday, he and his wife stared out the window. "We stood there hand in hand," he said, "praying."
William Owen, a 56-year-old minister from Georgia, stood up.
"(These people) have walked through the valley of the shadow of death," he said. "They have feared. They hurt. Some of them have lost all. We pray, Father, you give us grace and strength and peace."
Even more than the twisted metal, the broken trees, the mangled power lines and the flattened homes, the scene inside East Side Baptist on Sunday morning showed the true devastation of Charley. It is inside people, not outside on the ground.
Grown men cried. Women dabbed at their eyes with tissues. But even in the most hopeless of times, humor remained.
"Prior to this, Punta Gorda was the best kept secret in the nation. Now, everybody knows about us," Mowry joked, as if tourists would be lured by scenes of devastation.
Sunday's service lasted 30 minutes.
The worshipers ended by singing Amazing Grace, their voices filling the half-empty sanctuary with the verse that meant more now than ever:
Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come
'Twas grace that brought me safe thus far
And grace will lead me home.
They hugged and talked awhile longer, then filed slowly back out into the broken world around them.
