Thievery Tests Rector’s Open-Door Philosophy

Standing in front of the white adobe church and watching the daily exodus of children from the elementary school’s gates across the street, the Rev. Robert Boyer recalled his first week as rector of St. Clement’s By-the-Sea.

“The church was always locked before I came,” he said. “When I first got here, three kids came over and asked: “Will you show us the bodies?” The only time the church was ever open during the day was for a funeral. They thought we always had bodies in there.”

Threw Doors Open

Boyer wanted the historic Episcopal church--it is San Clemente’s oldest--to have a different image among the neighborhood’s children than that of a part-time mortuary. He remembered his childhood church as being a place “where you could always go, anytime,” so he threw the church doors open, 24 hours a day, to whoever might want to visit, including the city’s homeless. A handful of those homeless made the church pews their beds each night.

But now the 150-member church’s open-door policy is in trouble. Three times in the past 18 months, thieves have walked off with church property, and some of the parishioners want Boyer to tone down his Christian charity by locking the church at night and keeping the homeless out.

The most recent theft occurred in the first hours of the New Year, following a traditional midnight service. That night, six brass candlesticks, a brass collection plate, sanctus bells, an altar book and an altar stand disappeared. While the objects do not have great monetary value, they were given to the church by some of its earliest members 35 to 40 years ago, Boyer said, and were among its most precious possessions.

The items would be difficult to sell or pawn, Boyer said, speculating that they may have been stolen by a heavy metal group for satanic worship. The police have no leads, he said.

About nine months ago, a new stereo system was stolen from the church. Before that, a trunk containing about a dozen Communion vessels disappeared. Some of the chalices were later found in a sack on a local beach.

Wants Doors Locked

“The church should be a house of prayer and worship, not a den of thieves,” said Charlie Ashbaugh, 71, a congregation member for 14 years. Ashbaugh added the plea, “No Robberies, Please,” to the church’s announcement board outside.

Ashbaugh is among those who want Boyer to lock the church and house the homeless in another building. The 43-year-old minister, Ashbaugh fears, might be in serious trouble with his congregation if he does not do something to stop the thievery.

“He’s gone too far, he’s stripped the church, and people will stop paying

donations and start going to another church,” Ashbaugh said. “He feels that any way you can help a person you should do it, and that’s a good philosophy, but I feel we’re being used. He’s turning this church into a slum area.”

Boyer, however, does not want to abandon the church’s policy, even at the risk of occasional thievery, which he does not blame on the homeless. “They have their own code of honor,” Boyer said. “They may be messy, but they know this is a sanctuary, and I don’t think they would do anything to mess that up.”

St. Clement’s, built in 1930, is in a quiet, ethnically mixed neighborhood that by San Clemente standards is perhaps lower middle-class. The church has initiated several programs to help the less fortunate in the community, including breakfasts for needy youths and an after-school care center for latchkey children. Neighborhood participation in the church has grown, Boyer said, but “when somebody comes in and rips you off, when they take memorials that were given to the church, it tears at the fabric of that relationship.”

Boyer, who drives a brown 1962 Bentley convertible (“my father’s”) and delivers his sermons from the aisle, is troubled by his dilemma.

Breaks Into Tears

On Wednesday, just as Ashbaugh was explaining the parishioners’ fears, a ragged-looking man entered the church and asked “Father Bob” for a dollar and permission to return later and stay overnight. After he had left, a dollar richer and assured of a place to sleep that night, Boyer wept openly while considering his options.

“How much are we risking by caring for people who themselves perhaps do not care?” he said. “My hope is that someone will realize that they’ve done something that is really painful and return (the stolen items). But if we lock our things away, we cease to be a church and become an institution, as corrupt as all other institutions. The homeless, like everybody else, need a family that will love them unconditionally, with all their flaws. Institutions cannot do that.”

Later this month, the church will hold its annual parish meeting, where, Boyer said, the open-door policy is sure to be reviewed. He added: “I think I have enough people who care about other people over the absolute security of things that we’re going to be OK.”