The Sound of Silence

 We are fast approaching the one year anniversary of Hurricane Helene - a rogue Hurricane that decided to come hundreds of miles inland and strike havoc on the mountains of Western North Carolina and the surrounding area.  The mountains served like enormous funnels pressing the soaking rain waters downward into already swollen streams.  The shallow soil gave way to horrific mud slides.  The tree roots weakened by the water, toppled easily as hurricane strength winds blew endlessly across the Blue Ridge Mountains.  Left in its wake:  Destroyed homes, flooded businesses, utilities compromised, cell towers toppled, and death.  The once beautiful sounds of nature - wind blowing though the leaves, the songs of birds, the calling of animals…even the tepid torrent of tourist blather…all silenced.  Many people fled the area while others were stuck due to road closures and collapses.  Local businesses closed and people were left trying to figure out how to simply survive.

It only took a few days to be knocked out of the news cycle thanks to the chaotic 2024 presidential election.  Quickly gone were the national media outlets - after all, there were more important things captivating the attention of the nation.  And due to the large swath of destruction cut by Hurricane Helene, people really didn’t know where to turn and focus attention.  After all, Helene impacted Florida (no surprise there!), Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, Virginia, and Tennessee.  And mind you, we are not talking about coastal areas - inland, up in the mountains, impacting small mountain towns and communities where the population is scattered.  As of today the damage and destruction by Helene is estimated to have topped $78.7 billion dollars in damage costs while claiming the lives of 252 people - however, a year later the authorities are still unsure as to how many people are still missing.  In North Carolina there were 108 confirmed deaths; but as of July 2025 there were still at least 20 people missing or unaccounted for.  

As a person who stood in the “eye of the storm,” as I look back over the past 365 days I am struck by “The Sound of Silence.”  The morning following the storm my neighborhood (which is built on the side of a mountain and my home happens to be near the bottom of it) was silent.  In fact, because it is new, there was no flooding - the drainage system worked!  No downed trees - the neighborhood is built on an old farmer’s grazing meadow.  Only loss of power…and eventually city water.  It was only when I tried to leave my neighborhood and go up to the church that I began to see the devastation.  I was effectively trapped in my neighborhood - downed trees everywhere.   And yet, in those immediate hours following the storm.  And when I tried to call our children my cell phone didn’t work!  Imagine that, not text messages, notifications, or calls…only silence.

When I was finally able to get out of my neighborhood and over to my church (thanks to industrious neighbors with chainsaws who cleared about 30 trees off the road) the buildings stood quiet - no school children, no parishioners, no activity…silence.  After a quick survey of the campus it was clear that there was some roof and water damage to some of our buildings (only later would we find the “greater” damage to AC units, flashing, and other roofing concerns).  But there it was again…silence.  

Soon the silence would be cut by the sound of other staff members making their way to the church and school.  Soon the silence would be drowned out by elders trying to track down every member to make sure they were okay (the last family contacted lives in Lake Lure, an area particularly devastated by Hurricane Helene).  Soon the silence would be drowned out by school staff tracking down every child and their family.  The silence was being overrun by the voice of care and concern.  The silence was being drowned out by the heart of love and compassion.

There was joy in accounting for everyone - genuine, heartfelt joy knowing our church and school community was safe.  Soon the silence would be broken as we opened the doors of our community food pantry and began to give away whatever we had to those in our immediate neighborhood.  One neighbor took as much meat as we could give him as he fired up his smoker to feed his neighbors.  I still remember two young ladies wandering onto our campus looking for food - all they had between them was a bag of beans.  Silence broken - love share - food given - lives blessed.

Three days after the storm, cell service began to work again - spotty at best, but enough to make and receive some calls and texts.  Silence broken as friends and family checked in.  Silence broken as friends began to call and see how they could help. Some already knew what we were going to need even before we asked.  St. John - Orange, CA sent an emergency tanker of gasoline - of course we would need that with power out and pumps not working!  Orphan Grain Train sent tractor trailers of canned foods, supplies to clean up after flooding, flash lights, batteries, you name it!  Grace - Pensacola, FL sent two members with a trailer filled with “hurricane supplies” because they had been right where we stood.  And all of this within 4 days of the storm.  Silence broken - tears shed - help received.

Over the next four weeks the church parking lot became a beacon of hope and light to the community.  Supplies continued to roll in from Texas, Nebraska, Indiana, Florida, Coastal South Carolina, New Jersey, New York, and Louisiana.  As fast as the supplies came in that is as fast as we gave them out.  Meals were served (Thanks Forged in Fire and the LERT Teams that came to feed our community), hugs were shared, and prayers were spoken. 

Soon the sound of school children echoed around the campus thanks to creative engineering by members and the gift of a water tanker by Davis Water (who filled the tanker weekly through December when the church returned to city water).  Silence was broken and the sounds of school resuming gave us hope that life just might return to normal.  Thankful parents, happy children, and dedicated staff trying to find a pathway towards a post-hurricane reality.  

As community services began to find their way back, the sound of silence was broken by the daily stream of letters and cards from individuals, churches, and organizations providing financial resources to help our church better serve the needs of those in our community.  It was overwhelming - from $10 to $100,000 - every envelope opened was filled with love, care, and concern in helping our community get back on its feet.  So many kind words and financial gifts that gave us hope!  Those dollars helped pay to cut and remove dangerous trees, gut and repair flooded homes, clear mud that had piled up against homes, replace clothing and household goods that were washed away, fix damaged roofs, and simply help rebuild lives.  And here is an amazing testimony to the Christian Community - money is still coming in and we are still sending it out.  One individual who we helped, lost his wife, farm, and vehicles in a horrific mud-slide.  He ended up in the hospital with a crushed foot and nothing left to his name.   The silence was broken - the connections were made - and we were able to provide him with a large sum of money to help start his life over.  Special partners like Redeemer - Fort Collins, CO and The Lutheran Church Extension Fund enabled this generosity to happen. Again, tears shed - love shared - silence broken.

As I look back over the past 365 days I am amazed at how quickly the silence can return - how quickly we can fall back into our routines.  If you were to drive around Asheville and the surrounding communities you can still find signs of Hurricane Helene - places where rebuilding hasn’t even begun.  The sun shines a little brighter due to less trees in the forest.  The sounds echo around the neighborhoods a little louder because there is less foliage to block it out.  There are less tourists because people from afar remember “there was a pretty bad storm with lots of damage a year ago.”  The church bureaucracy stopped calling months ago - I’m sure they are on to the next issue, problem or disaster.

But after 365 days I don’t want you to think that somehow we have forgotten about you - those of you who have prayed, sacrificed, donated, contributed, reached out, and assisted us on this journey.  We are thankful - overwhelmed by your generosity, love, and care.  Without knowing what we needed even before we asked, contributed financially to help serve this community, and showed up to assist us when we didn’t even know you were coming - thank you.  Your love and compassion shattered the sound of silence and we will be forever grateful.

In His Peace…