Behind Locked Doors & Boarded Windows

The Reverend Seth Ethan Carey

October 28th, 2007

2 Timothy 4:6-8, 16-18

Introduction to the Scripture

You’re about to hear an excerpt from Paul’s second letter to his friend and disciple Timothy. It’s an interesting puzzle, trying to figure out what’s going on in Paul’s mind as he writes this. It ultimately takes on an optimistic tone, proclaiming that God has always stood by him and will save him “from every evil attack.”

And yet, there is a subtle undercurrent of sorrow in this portion of the letter. Beneath his faithful proclamations, Paul sounds tired and wounded, going out of his way to name several people who have deserted him, abandoning him and his cause. You may have noticed that there is a section missing from the reading—the lectionary doesn’t include this part, probably because the names of Paul’s traitorous friends are extremely difficult to pronounce. As a favor to Adam, I decided to leave them out.

Now hear the words of Paul’s letter, written after his associates have left him to rot in jail.

***

The Oriental rug shop on St. Charles Avenue wasn’t doing much business in those days. If anyone had come looking to buy a rug—which no one did—they would have been greeted by a locked door and a storefront boarded up with plywood. And they would have read the ominous words scrawled across its surface:

“Don’t try it. I am sleeping inside with a big dog, an ugly woman, two shotguns, and a claw hammer.”

If our imaginary customer decided to come back a few days later, she’d find that not much had changed. The door would still be locked and the windows would still be boarded up. But a new message would be waiting for her, even more disturbing than the last:

“Still here. Woman left Friday. I’m Cooking a pot of dog gumbo.”

I imagine by this time she’d be looking to take her business elsewhere, preferably somewhere a bit less creepy. But there would be no place to take it to, not in the wreckage of New Orleans. Our so-called customer is only a fiction, but the writing on the wall isn’t a product of my strange imagination. Shotguns and claw-hammers, even I couldn’t make that stuff up. The Oriental rug shop has since become an icon of the legendary destruction wrought by Hurricane Katrina, and of those left behind in a city on the brink of its own bitter end.

The haunting words etched on the plywood barricade make for a great photograph, if you’re into that sort of thing. But what really intrigues me is the story behind them. What transpired behind the locked doors and boarded windows, I wonder? What was going on in there while the rest of the city fell into ruin? All we’re told is that there were at least two people and a dog in there, and they didn’t take kindly to visitors. But what twisted fate led them to lock themselves in there? Did they argue about how long they should stay? Did they fight about whether or not to eat the dog? Could that be the reason why the woman supposedly left?

These are the questions that matter, the questions about how people treat each other when their survival is at stake. When an entire city is literally sinking into oblivion, or consumed by merciless firestorms like the ones that ravaged California this week, the way people relate to one another matters a great deal. Spontaneous acts of bravery or cowardice, kindness or cruelty can mean the difference between life and death.

When disaster strikes, will people work together for the greater good? Or will they sacrifice each other like pawns in their struggle to survive?

***

As Paul writes his second letter to Timothy, we also find him behind locked doors, presumably somewhere in the bowels of a Roman prison. After Paul converted to Christianity many years prior he became a zealous evangelist, and he traveled the known world preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ, bringing countless believers into the fold and establishing a number of churches. But as you can imagine, this disturbance of the peace led to regular confrontations with the local Roman police, who didn’t think twice about locking him up for illegal soliciting.

When you’re living on that kind of edge, it’s important to have friends who can bail you out or distract the praetorian soldiers while you make your getaway. But unfortunately, when you’re living that kind of lifestyle, there aren’t too many people who would want to be your friend, you know?

So it went with Paul. He gathered followers wherever he went, but after getting a taste for the dangerous and unglamorous lifestyle of a wandering preacher, after being arrested and shipwrecked and nearly stoned to death more times then they’d care to remember, a lot of them understandably decided to disappear.

So here it is that we find Paul near the end of his days, in prison and abandoned. The sense of abandonment here is profound: At my first defense no one came to my support, but all deserted me. May it not be counted against them.”

Again, it begs the question: when things go wrong, when the proverbial ship is sinking, will people work together to keep it afloat, or will they abandon ship and try to go it alone, swimming for a distant shore, regardless of who might be drowning?

I guess the answer depends on who you ask. And somehow, I don’t think Paul’s answer would be very optimistic.

***

Oddly enough, it seems that real-life disasters—especially big ones—engender more heroism than their biblical counterparts. Most of the notable calamities of recent years share similarities with stories in the Bible, and you’d think that the scriptures would provide us with good examples of how to behave in these situations. But it really doesn’t, at least not if we take it at face value.

Take, for instance, the inspiring story of the six year old child with a baby cradled in his arms who navigated the wreckage of New Orleans, gathering a ragtag band of young survivors and leading them to relative safety. And then take a look at the biblical destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. Not only did God supposedly authorize the violent demolition, but the only survivors are specifically instructed to evacuate without looking back, leaving the rest of the cities’ inhabitants to contend with the fire and brimstone.

Tilly Smith is another child hero, a girl who saved nearly a hundred lives during the infamous Tsunami in Thailand three years ago. Right before the deadly waves hit the island of Phuket, where she was on vacation with her parents, Tilly recognized the warning signs. "I saw this bubbling on the water, right on the edge, and foam sizzling just like in a frying pan," she later recalled. "The water was coming in, but it wasn't going out again. It was coming in, and then in, and then in, towards the hotel." Filled with certainty of the disaster to come, she managed to evacuate the beach only moments before the angry sea claimed it.

By way of comparison, we have the story of the Great Flood in the book of Genesis. Determined to flood the earth and purge it of all evil, God warns Noah and his family to build an Ark in which to weather the storm. But it’s not as though anyone else is allowed to use it. I’m reminded of that old Bill Cosby stand up routine, where Noah’s building this ark in the front lawn and his next door neighbor comes out and complains that it’s blocking the driveway. “What’s this thing for, anyway?” He asks Noah.“I can’t tell you,” Noah replies. “But while we’re on the subject, how long can you tread water?”

Fortunately, the world hasn’t ended yet, so there’s nothing to compare with the apocalypse as described in the Book of Revelation. Incidentally, I just read a great tongue-in-cheek article called How to Survive the Apocalypse. It basically says that, if you take Revelations literally, you probably aren’t one of the lucky few who will be taken up into Heaven right before the world starts to end, so you’d better be prepared to deal with the aftermath. The article is full of practical suggestions, such as looting pharmacies for medical supplies and using a fast motorcycle to outrun the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

But in spite of its irreverent tone, the article make a good point—the Book of Revelations really doesn’t seem too concerned about helping your neighbors when the Four Horsemen and their legion of avenging angels start handing out retribution like it was candy in their pocket.

But I suppose that by then it would already be too late.

***

I’m not criticizing the Bible, mind you. Many of the tales of mass destruction in the scriptures are probably allegorical, object lessons designed to captivate an audience and get a point across. So if the characters in these stories seem a little too preoccupied with their own self-preservation, well, that’s not really the point. I only bring them up to illustrate how profoundly heroic people can be in the real world, surpassing even their biblical counterparts.

But beyond allegory, the Bible also provides us with examples of real historic figures, like Paul, and the genuine feelings of loneliness he endured while in prison, where his comrades left him to die. His crisis is less dramatic than the devastation of New Orleans or Sodom, more personal than the tsunami in Thailand or the Great Flood of Genesis. But it is a crisis nonetheless, a trial for this incarcerated man who lies awake throughout the long, dark night of the soul.

Paul’s story reminds us that bad things happen every day, even if they don’t affect millions of people all at once. And when I look at the heroes of falling towers and burning cities, I can only find myself wondering: What would the world be like if people were this brave, this charitable, this selfless all the time?

Maybe that’s too much to ask. Maybe a person can’t sustain that level of heroic adrenaline every day, I don’t know. But I know that if everyone could, this world we live in would be a much different place. I doubt we could do much to ward off natural disasters, but we can change the fabric of everyday life if we show generosity and kindness to one another. We can do more than rebuild cities when nature tears them down. We can build a new city—the Kingdom of Heaven—if we do it together.

In this stewardship season of the church, this lesson becomes evident. As we reflect on what we can give, as we envision what we could build, we remember that we don’t have to wait for a crisis—or as we say in church, a capital campaign—to bring out the best of us.

But generosity is about more than money. It’s about putting others first. It’s about taking a claw hammer, pulling the nails out of the boards that cover our eyes, and taking a good look at this world in all of its broken splendor. It’s about unlocking the door, stepping outside, and doing something to make the world a better place. Maybe that means running headlong into a burning building to save a child trapped inside. Or maybe it means contributing more to the church—a much safer alternative. Maybe it just means trying to understand a point of view other than our own. Either way, we can’t wait for the world to come crashing down around us before we decide to play a part in it.

***

As it turns out, the rug shop in New Orleans was empty. There was no ugly woman, no guns, and I’m sure many of you will be relieved to know that the owner of the store never ate his dog. When tracked down by the press, he later confessed that he made the signs about shotguns and dog soup in a comical attempt to ward off would-be thieves. In fact, he weathered the storm in another part of town, where he was actively engaged in the defense of other survivors from gangs and looters—and, ironically, gathering food for stray dogs. He didn’t barricade himself behind locked doors and boarded windows and wait for the end. In the midst of a big disaster, he did his small part to make things right.

I once read a cryptic aphorism that seems to ring true. Its meaning may not be immediately obvious, but as you leave this place I’ll ask you to bear it in mind:

“What we do when it matters is how we survive. What we do when it doesn’t is why.”

Amen.