Faith Works 5-16-20

Faith Works 5-16-20

Jeff Gill

 

Floods, fires, and infections
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As a preacher, my stock in trade is bringing people together.

 

Whether for Sunday services or special occasions, a big part of what my work has always been about is how to call an assembly into session, convening gatherings, taking people to church. Even if it's not in a church building, whether up on a hilltop park or out at camp, a circle in a parking lot or a group on a work trip, the point is always about bringing people together.

 

A congregation is literally a collection with one another ("con" in Latin is usually "with"); a convocation is a body called ("vocare, as in vocal") to be with each other.

 

But sometimes our calling as ministers is to call people in different ways than just into a physical gathering. I've been involved in situations when flooding was threatening an area, and people were sent to notify residents and tell them it's time to evacuate.

 

With a flood, especially in the Midwest, we all usually have some warning, some ability to anticipate what's going on. Days of rain, and the creeks rise over their banks, rivers move into flood stage, and weather staff can start to measure upstream rainfall and calculate crests and risk.

 

Even then, you can run into issues where someone after you knock on the door says "I'm not leaving." It can be because the resident doesn't understand the risk, and you have to explain things; it might be someone saying "the river's never gotten up to this house" and they've not evacuated before, thinking they never will. Often it's simply fear: where will I go? What will happen to me, or my possessions? It's a pastoral kind of act to explain and interpret and ultimately get the person at risk to grab their papers and photos and get away.

 

A little more outside of most people's experience is wildfire. It's more common out west, but in theory and practice it can happen in open areas after long dry stretches right here. This is why our fire departments have grass fire training and even special equipment, up to vehicles, to fight a spreading conflagration burning out in fields. Our many roads even in rural Licking County make for natural firebreaks, but it can happen that a fire burns across a section, and residences downwind are at risk.

 

So once again, rescue personnel can find themselves in an awkward situation. You're knocking on a door, and the person who answers might not even know there's a fire out there. You can't say for certain what the risk is, but it's there, because of wind direction and terrain and the known natural patterns of spread. If the resident says "I'll take my chances," you don't have the time and leisure to drive them around, show them the current extent of the flames, and lay out on a map in detail why you think they're at risk. And generally, only law enforcement, and then under certain circumstances, can mandate evacuation. So fire service and volunteers can be as convincing as they want, but if the smoke let alone the fire isn't visible, and the occupants unwilling, you can find yourself with a known hazard in the middle of your fire fighting plan.

 

Floods, fires – those in public safety let alone pastoral care have certain challenges in front of them asking the public they are trying to reach to do something they may not want to do. Whatever your job title or hat, it's preaching. You have a saving message you wish to communicate, and often it's a resistant audience you're preaching to, one at a time or in groups or en masse.

 

Infection, though. Very few of us have any training, basically none any experience with dealing with that sort of threat to public health, or how to respond. Not preachers or even those in public health, let alone public safety. And the public we're trying to communicate with, in church communities or the county as a whole, doesn't see the smoke or fires except for those tragically very close to the source of concern. The idea that waters are rising may cause some to say "floods have never reached me, and if they do, it's my time." But we evacuate people as much to reduce risk for others as for themselves, since a later rescue is risky for more than just the rescuee.

 

The best part of an evacuation is when people go back home and nothing happened. The floods didn't rise above the doorsill, the fire burned around your lot. It's also easy to say later it was unnecessary. Maybe so. It was a precaution, an inconvenient and uncomfortable precaution with risks of its own. But sometimes you call people apart, so that later you can call them together again, to share with them good news.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he's been out on a couple of fire lines, and knows that you can't always predict which way a wildfire will spread. Let him know how you're doing evacuated to your own home at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.