The Ceiling Caved In

 

I resented having to come to the church early in the morning this past Tuesday.

There was a woman without a home who was living in one of our education classrooms. I knew she had been there for about a week. The janitor told me. One other person suspected it. But she had been impeccably clean, well-mannered. Aside from trespassing, this was not a huge problem. It was cold, the church was warm. But it couldn't continue. I was going over Tuesday to tell her that she had spent her last night under our roof and to help her identify what was next.

By way of backstory, the church has been trying to help this individual since this past summer. I've spent more time with her than perhaps any of my other parishioners. I've referred her to several other professionals for support. Each time, though, something failed. I began to see that there were deep psychological issues this person faced that neither I nor the church could penetrate or change. For some reason, she didn't want to accept the kinds of help we offered. She wants to create the help she thinks she needs.

It's hard. Loving a person in a Christ-like way should not demean them or strip them of their dignity. You I always want to respect a person's autonomy and capacity for self-determination. But what happens when a person is so self-destructive that they fail at self-determination? I've long felt that Jesus' parable of The Good Samaritan is totally unhelpful to those of us engaged in real-life helping situations. In the parable, the guy by the side of the road is so compliant. In real life, the guy is a jerk. Or an addict. Or schizo. And he doesn't want to go to the hospital because he doesn't trust doctors... but can't you just spare 20 bucks?

I arrived at the church at 7:30. I don't know if she heard me come in, but she was just trying to duck through our back garden when I saw her. I invited her to come in and talk. The very second I did, I heard the sound of water running in our fellowship hall. It sounded like the shower was on... except we don't have a shower in the fellowship hall. Or anywhere. I walked into the room to find one of the half-dozen or so things a pastor never wants to find: water, pouring through the ceiling from 30 different places; water, pooling and puddling on the floor.

A burst pipe. In the women's restroom. Right next to the room where our visitor had been staying. Oh, Lord. My first thought: she did it. On purpose or on accident, she did it!

It turns out she didn't. We have a 55 year old church with 55 year old pipes and we don't have a "pressure reduction valve" on the main water line, so water shoots into our pipes at a much higher pressure than pipes prefer. Over time, the toilet seals wore away. It just happened that this one burst now. I called the maintenance supervisor and the property commitee chair. Both handled the situation masterfully. Insurance should pay for much of the damage.

But I still had to evict our guest. It's late December. The shelters in Atlanta are full. There is not room in the inn for her. I imagined appearing on the front page of the paper: "heartless local pastor evicts woman on Christmas Eve." I don't know how she will find health. I thought she might find it in our care. But I felt like a failure.

It felt like the ceiling caved in - twice - that morning.