Camping Out in the Furnace Room

"Pastor, you have to get the council president's brother-in-law to move out of the church furnace room."  The custodian looked at his hands and then to the ground and then back again.

"Well, okay, I..."  The pastor's reply screeched to a halt.  "What did you just say?"

"I said that you have to get the council president's brother-in-law to move out of the church furnace room.  It was all right for a while.  He just had a lamp and a night table and a chaise lounge.  It was really a pretty good setup.  But last night he was frying some sausages on his hot plate while he checked his Facebook page.  The sausages burned and set off the smoke alarm."

The pastor could feel his pension and medical coverage slipping into the oblivion of a disgraced resignation.  "Did the fire department come?  Why didn't I hear about this?"

"The monitoring company called me, and I was able to stop the whole process," the custodian murmured with a sigh.  "I knew what was going on, so I told them I'd take care of it."

The pastor breathed out for only the second time in the conversation.  "Well, thank you for that...what in the world is going on?"

It seems that the council president's brother-in-law, Phil, had lost his job recently.  A cascade of catastrophes had followed.  First it was his car repossessed.  Then his cable was cut off, followed by utilities and phone.  Finally he was evicted from his apartment.  For a while he slept on Bill's (the council president's) couch.  It wasn't long, however, before the second eviction occurred--this time executed by Bill's spouse, a woman with healthy boundaries and a desire for order.

Phil noticed that the church had some extra space, a shower in the basement and doors open much of the day.  It was a simple thing to slip in and out relatively unnoticed.  The church was close to the convenience store where Phil had found some part-time work.  So he could walk to work, pay for his own food, and slip the custodian a twenty periodically for his acquiescent silence.

All was well until the sausages went up in smoke.

The custodian was good old Jack.  He'd been there thirty-seven years and was now approaching seventy-five.  He was as much a church institution as the rickety old altar that now sat out in the narthex as a museum piece.  "Jack," the pastor whispered--mustering all the control he could under the circumstances--"why didn't you tell me about this?"

Jack's face darkened and reddened.  Was it anger, embarrassment or confusion?  The pastor couldn't tell.  "Pastor, how many times have you said to us, 'If it's bad news, I don't want to hear it?'  I listen to what you say.  I thought this was my problem and I had to deal with it the best I could."

Jack paused, took and deep breath and plunged ahead.  "Besides, Bill told me I had to keep this quiet, or he'd make sure I lost my job.  I love this place and this job.  It's all I have now that Mabel has passed.  Do you know what it's like to be between the hammer and the anvil?  That's where I've been living for the last six weeks, and I'm tired of it."

For the first time in twelve years, the pastor saw Jack in tears.  The pastor knew that somehow a great part of this was his fault.

How do we as leaders communicate that bad news is unwelcome?

     What is going on in our organization that is kept from us?

          What are the power and control triangles that operate under the surface?

               How would you coach the pastor to deal with this situation?

                    What can the pastor learn from this and what changes should he make?

The saga will continue...