Of Boilers and Burning in Hell

Things got hot while I was freezing my ass off

When your plumber tells you he has to pray before he decides if he’s coming to fix the boiler he just installed, you’re in big trouble.

Such was my predicament, which began not in the basement of my house but on the roof, which needed to be replaced. A friend recommended his guy, James.

James showed up in a You Too Can Be Saved t-shirt. As a recent transplant from NYC, I was fascinated by the exotic upstaters around me and, because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, I asked about his shirt.

One minute he was a he-man roofer, the next he was crying like a baby, telling me he wanted to ditch his old lady, was boozing, smoking weed, and was miserable. Then — because there are no coincidences — he met a young pastor who invited James to his new church (I would have prescribed d-i-v-o-r-c-e instead, but that’s just me).

That Sunday, moved by the Holy Spirit, James fell to his knees and was Born Again, he said. Sins absolved! Now he was beaming. I was happy he’d found his flock, and respectful, as I am with anyone whose religious beliefs differ from mine, which are nil. Plus, I needed someone to replace my relic of a boiler before the weather turned.

“James, do you know a plumber?” I asked.

“I sure do.”

“Do you trust him?”

“I would not only trust him with my boiler. I’d trust him with my soul.”

It was his pastor, Nathaniel.

James was a sweet guy. His church, not so much. It was a right-wing-in- sheep’s-clothing, fire-and-brimstone, Let me share the good news (and big, bad news if you’re a non-believer) kind of joint. The church’s float at the Flag Day Parade was a tableau of a Washington wannabe in bloody bandages, crossing the Delaware in front of a bleeding Jesus nailed on a huge cross.

There may have been maidens weeping below, or I may have imagined that. A couple of boomboxes blared “Proud To Be an American/God Bless the USA” on repeat. MAGA in the making.

But that was in 2005, and it was 2004 when I called the plumbing pastor. He arrived all buff and twinkly blue eyes, a former Marine with a mega-personality. A week later he and his guys were banging around in the basement, pulling out the old monster and installing a high-efficiency model.

It wasn’t cold out yet but, on a whim, I took the boiler for a test run.

Zilch. I may not be a believer, but I do believe in heat, and winter was on its way, so I called Nathaniel. It took an annoying few days, but he and his guys showed up, along with Nathaniel’s 10-year-old son, Ezekial. This time there wasn’t much banging because I could hear a revival meeting going on down below. For all I knew they were carrying on about me and my godless demand that they fix my boiler.

Ezekial came upstairs, looking scared.

“What’s up, Zeke? Can I get you a Coke?”

“My dad says that if you lie, you burn in hell forever.” His eyes were huge.

“Well, Zeke, it’s not nice to lie, but you won’t burn in hell.” Although, I thought, if you lied about securities fraud or murdering someone, you’d go to prison, its own kind of hell, but you’re just a kid, so never mind.

“You will. You will burn in hell. My father told me and he would never lie.”

Maybe the kid fibbed about losing a wrench and his dad was pissed, or maybe Zeke was warning me to confess my sin of throwing a wrench into the boiler to fuck it up (which I had not). Either way, the little guy left to sit in the truck until the congregation left the basement, tools in tow, just another day at the office.

A couple of weeks later, it was officially cold outside. It was also officially cold inside because the furnace had died. Again.

I called Nathaniel repeatedly, progressing from “Gee, sorry to bother you but I’m kinda freezing over here,” to “Listen, pal, if you don’t call me back I’m taking you to court.”

Nothing. So I hauled myself across the river to see his town judge.

At last, my kind of miracle: Nathaniel called me back. He said he’d been praying all that time about whether he should fix the furnace, and had an epiphany.

“Someday,” he said, “we’ll all stand before our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and when it’s my turn on that Day of Reckoning, I will have to account for my sins and I will know I took the Path of Righteousness because I asked God — Praise the Lord — I asked Him for guidance and He came unto me and led me in the right direction, Hallelujah, and thank you, Lord, thank you for showing me the way to the light because yes, Lord, I will fix the (bitch’s) boiler.”

Which he did, while I absented myself.

Apparently, my lord and savior was the local judge. Amen.

Thanks for reading. I hope you’ll check out this bit of mayhem.