Life at the Holiday Inn

The pastor felt his way down the wooden stairs, creaking with age and shedding dry rot at every step.  It had been a few years since he had taken this journey into the bowels of the basement.  Very little had changed, of course.  The dust was a bit deeper in spots.  There were more tobacco stains on the far wall where Jack practiced his spitting with impunity.

The pastor tiptoed around the ancient boiler under the cover of wheezes and clanks.  Phil was reclining on the chaise, updating his MySpace profile.  He turned toward the pastor and didn't even flinch.  He held a hand to his ear to indicate that hearing was going to be a problem there in his erstwhile living room.

The pastor jerked his chin toward the stairs to indicate that they should take the conversation to a higher level.  Leisurely, Phil logged off and closed the cover of his notebook computer.  "How in the world did he get the password to our wireless network?" the pastor wondered.  "I imagine those periodic twenties bought more than silence from old Jack...I wonder how many other people are using our network now?  No wonder the darned thing is slow beyond description!"

Up the stairs they went.  Both knew from experience that it was a mistake for two grown men to be on the ancient steps at the same time.  The Pastor went first, and Phil followed once he had cleared the stairs.  They sat in the first floor lounge.

"Phil, why didn't you just come to me and ask for some help?  I'm sure we could have found some way to put you up for a while until you got on your feet again."

Phil scratched his...thigh and yawned.  "Bill told me to keep my mouth shut, Pastor.  He didn't want any of this getting out.  He said he knew how to fix things so that I would have a place to crash for a while. And, truth be told, it's not bad.  I think you ought to have a plumber check the shower, because the pressure is a little weak, but other than that you run a pretty good place here."

"Deep breaths," the pastor thought to himself, "just take deep breaths."

"You know, Phil," he said at the rate of about one word per second, "this isn't the Holiday Inn we're running here."

"You got that right, buddy," Phil smiled.  "At the Holiday Inn you get clean towels and a continental breakfast.  But, hey, I'm not complaining."

This was clearly going nowhere.  The pastor sent Phil back to his underground lair.  He drove to Bill's house for the next absurd exchange.

"Well, Pastor, I don't see the harm in it," Bill said after the initial inquiry.  "It's just for a few months, until Phil gets himself put back together."

"A few months!" the pastor exploded.  "Bill, this has to change today!  What if the fire marshall gets wind of this?"

"Oh, him," Bill said, "he's my first cousin.  We worked that out right away.  And, you know, the whole church council approved this informally after church one Sunday."

The pastor felt the earth sagging away from his feet.  His head began to spin.  All the things he had assumed about reality and his work seemed to be in free fall.  What would happen next?

What are the secrets kept from us as leaders?
     Where are the informal networks that undercut our authority?
          Is it time for a new position?  Or should the church apply for a Holiday Inn franchise agreement?

Is it time to invest in some new towels...or a breakfast bar?

The saga will continue...