Articles by Jeff Scott at Heartlight

The Truth in Broken Glass

jffsct@vvm.com (Jeff Scott) — Thu, 11 Nov 2004 00:00:00 -0600

"His finger prints were all over the shattered window," was the response the police gave regarding how they caught the guy who broke into our church a few weeks ago. In the "Local News," they later reported that our burglar had Dennis the Menace like qualities -- he was into everything. In a span of a few days, he had subsequently robbed another church and three elementary schools. At each stop he left his unique, identifying signature: his fingerprints. When our burglar exploded the accountant's window and destroyed her desk, all he took from us was a measly $40. It actually cost us more to replace the glass and repair the desk than $40, but he left his calling card.

"What kid of demented person breaks into, and robs, a church?" I wondered. A bank ... now I get that: there is the possibility of making off with a lot of loot. I mean, really, who hasn't dreamed of garbage bags full of $20's and $50's? But who robs a church? Was this person so callused to the world, or maybe by the world, that he had no regard for the things of God? Can a person be so angry at life that he almost dared God to retaliate? "Is this your house, God? Are you watching, God? I'm throwing a brick through your window, God. I'm taking money from your wallet, God?" Who could be so bold to challenge the Creator of the Universe in such a defiant way? I was incensed and had to know.

So, last Friday I made the seven-mile trip to the county jail to see "our guy." I was a bit skittish about the visit for a couple of reasons. One was saying the "right thing," the other was my attitude. What do you say to a complete stranger who has wronged you? In my mind I had imagined a number of different possibilities.

Despite the fact that I was a bit miffed with his busting up a window and desk for two $20's, I knew my opening line couldn't be, "HA! They caught you!" Whoever I was about to see didn't need my anger and sarcasm dumped on them. Whoever I was about to encounter was behind bars; was indicted on five counts of robbery; and was, at the very least, as angry at life as I was toward him. I knew my role. I am a minister. It is my responsibility to represent the God this person was challenging. The mission had to be one of forgiveness. In all the words spoken in that jail, somewhere the phrase, "You are forgiven!" and "You need to know God loves you!" had to be said -- and said by this annoyed minister.

I passed through the ID check, through the metal detector and into a stainless steel elevator where cameras in every corner captured every blink. I was directed into a long hall lined with more stainless steel and bullet proof glass. Stainless steel stools were bolted to the floor, immovable as Mt. Rushmore. A police woman at the end of the hall, locked behind more glass, pressed an intercom button and said, flatly, "Room B," while pointing her finger to her right. I heard a low buzz and a click.

Pulling open the 400 pound steel door marked "B," I spied our guy. He was standing apprehensively. One-quarter inch steel mesh painted white, but scratched brown in many places, separated us. "I'm Jeff, a minister from the Western Hills Church of Christ," I muttered trying to keep the irritation out of my voice.

"Oh," he said hesitantly. "I didn't know who wanted to see me." Our guy was in his mid 30's, wearing a county provided orange jump suit, and sporting an untrimmed mustache. We both stepped toward our stainless stools and before our feet settled, I decided it was now or never. I had to get the forgiving words out right then before the situation got awkward and I lost my nerve. "I'm here because Western Hills was one of the places you broke into, and I just wanted you to know that ..."

"ALLEGEDLY broke into!" he interrupted. And he repeated it, "Allegedly. I don't know where your church is and I didn't know why I was arrested until my lawyer informed me. They indicted me, yeah. But I'm not pleading guilty."

His revealing words immediately transformed my pre-rehearsed speech. How could I now say, "You're forgiven," when he wasn't admitting he needed forgiveness? My mission was defeated. I felt let down some how. So, instead of just getting up and leaving after 5 seconds, I asked a few questions. Our guy talked a little about his past, his broken marriages, his drug addiction, his previous incarceration, and his two children under the care of Child Protective Services.

Never once did he indicate his guilt and never once did he let on that there was a problem with the choices he'd made in life. The word "deny" and the phrase, "I didn't do it" cropped up a number of times. I wanted to yell, "Man, you don't have to lie to me. Just admit it!" As much as I felt like confronting him, I didn't. At one point, however, I did mange to get out the words "You need to know God loves you," but they seemed to dissolve in the air like steam before they registered in his heart. He gave no response to the words, just a hollow stare.

Driving home, I reflected on the few minutes in that 6-foot cinder block room. Why wouldn't he just admit his guilt? His finger prints were all over the window and the desk. Why wouldn't he just say, "Yeah, I did it. I'm sorry. I have a lot of problems and I really need some help." The more I thought about his denial, the more indignant I got.

What a dolt! If he admits his offense, he gets only 4 years. But, if he continues to deny his crime and is found guilty -- which the finger prints prove -- he gets 14 years. Why be so blatantly stubborn? Why not come clean? All the evidence is against him. Why not accept the consequence? Why not receive the forgiveness God and I were generously offering? Why not?

Watching the yellow lines on FM 317 pass by at 55, I could think of nothing else. With my ire rising as fast as my blood pressure, I heard the misty words, "Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in you brother's eyes and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye? How can you say to your brother, 'let me take the speck out of your eye,' when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?"

Like the sharp point of a needle, those words from Jesus in Matthew's gospel, punctured the expanding balloon of irritation in my soul. I swallowed hard and my racing heart began to slow, and then it began to hurt. How many times had I unnecessarily denied sin in my own life? Even when the evidence was totally convicting, I ignored it. How often had I sat across from God who was just dying to say, "I forgive you," but I didn't want to hear it?

It was my own pride, my own stubbornness, my own sense of accomplishment that interrupted those cleansing words from the Father. The piercing truth of my own guilt sliced into me. Like many who came before, I too am a burglar. In the broken window, I see my reflection; and I recognize the stare of rebellious Israel in the wilderness. There is the brow of idolatrous Judah who forsook the one true God. There is the mouth and chin of Judas, betraying salvation for money. So many times I, too, am the one robbing God.

Guilty? Yes. Our guy was guilty -- his prints proved it. But, he isn't any guiltier than I. It took a busted church window, with clear identifying prints, for me to see the prints are mine.

Jeff’s been blissfully married to his love Jennifer for 12 years. They have three fabulous children that inspire them to experience God’s presence in a variety of ways. Every Sunday, Jeff gets to talk of the transforming love of God to the Western Hills Church of Christ in Temple, Texas.

In the Middle

jffsct@vvm.com (Jeff Scott) — Sat, 30 Oct 2004 00:00:00 -0500

"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. "The eye is the lamp of the body. If your eyes are good, your whole body will be full of light. But if your eyes are bad, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light within you is darkness, how great is that darkness! "No one can serve two masters. Either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and Money." (Matthew 6:19-24)

One of my all-time favorite movies is Fiddler on the Roof. In the movie, a hard-working Jewish dairy farmer, Tevye, must make some tough decisions as his daughters grow up and move on. Tevye wants to honor his history and his tradition while also loving and blessing his progressive daughters. On a number of occasions, the watchers are privileged to hear Tevye's internal dialogue as he wrestles with the issues. A repeated phrase is, "On the one hand ... but, on the other hand..." That is the way of things, isn't it? Like a coin, everything has two sides to it. It's the way of the world -- North Pole or South Pole, East or West, good or bad, suffering or hope, sin or forgiveness. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.

Yes, duality is a reality. It is also true when you read Matthew 6:19- 24. In this portion of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus talks about our "stuff." He says that it is really difficult to have our treasures in two different places, especially when earthly currency isn't recognized in the economy of Heaven. And while Jesus is talking about the two sides of riches, he also brings up the dual nature of Christianity. "You cannot serve both God and money." Just like you cannot walk on both sides of the street at the same time, you can't play on the side of the world and on the side of God concurrently.

Every road has two sides that define the way, and sometimes we don't want to choose either. So instead of walking on either side, many of us choose to walk in the middle. See, easy journeying is contingent on walking in the middle. The middle of the road is where the sand of the road is smooth. The middle of the road is well worn, well traveled. In the middle of the road you can see the tracks of others as if the road were saying, "People have already passed this way. It is okay, see the footprints? Someone else has already stepped here, here in the middle."

Think of a few things that are safe in the middle. Switzerland stayed neutral during WWII, and for the love of all that's good, no one gets mad at them 50 years later. It's good to be in the middle. When trying to hole a six foot putt, you want to hit the ball and the cup "right in the middle."

The middle is safe. The middle isn't right and the middle isn't left. The middle isn't good and the middle isn't bad. The middle is steady. It is horribly comfortable. No rickety steps, no spitting into the wind, no rocking the boat when you're right in the middle.

"Throw one down the middle of the plate," yell baseball fans to the pitcher. As if the middle is REALLY safe. Throw one down the middle and see how far Alex Rodriguez or Ken Griffey Jr. can make an 8oz, white orb with red stitches and some Mississippi mud fly! See, the middle isn't safe at all. You can get in trouble standing in the middle. Try standing in the middle of I-35 to see how safe it really is!

One sticky July, my family drove the 120 miles west from our house in Destin, Florida to pick up my Aunt Vickie from the Mobile, Alabama airport. She had flown from Dallas, and we drove the exciting 2 hours to Mobile to get her. Over several bridges that span deep Gulf waters (Mobile Bay Bridge is 7 miles long), then under the Bankshead Tunnel.

The tunnel was my favorite part. All that water over your head and huge cargo ships floating above you, and I'd think as we descended, "At any time the entire thing could collapse and water would surround us like a blue blanket. Water everywhere, hugging us tightly, but it would be a rough squeeze. It would not be like great-grandmother hugs. No, these squeezes would not be for love but squeezing you for your life."

So we were all stuffed in the car, my Dad, my Mom, Aunt Vickie, my brother Stephen, and me. Heading home, back the way we'd come. Everyone was jabbering.

"How was the flight?"

"Is Mom feeling okay?" my mom asked Vicki about my grandmother.

"Did you eat on the plane?"

"What day do you have to go back?"

The questions and answers flew as we traveled 65 miles an hour ... down the middle of the Interstate.

It happened seven cars in front of us. My father gasped and slammed on the brakes. We all looked up but couldn't see anything in front of us but red tail lights as other horrified drivers slammed on their brakes and then rolled past a man lying on the pavement. He just lay there. A car was stopped before him and for a quiet second as we floated past, they both just existed. The man and the stopped car, anchored, right there in the middle.

My dad pulled over a few hundred feet farther and jumped out of the car. The car became as quiet as a library. Hushed whispers and prolonged silences were categorized and shelved under the subject "apprehension." We were afraid to speak loudly because we knew something awful had taken place and to speak loudly might desecrate the event.

My father eventually returned to the car, buckled up, and merged into traffic. Once again we were headed home ... but this time, a bit more wary about being in the middle.

The man who was hit was apparently on the way from his home to a convenience store. He tried to cross the busy lanes of traffic, speeding east on I-10, but failed. It is odd to think of where the man was hit. He wasn't stuck on the shoulder of the road. No, he was hit, and pronounced dead, right in the middle.

Genesis 3:3 says the tree that got Eve and Adam in trouble was in the middle of the Garden. In Mark 6, Jesus' disciples are in the midst of a storm, pulling at the oars, and the text says they are in the middle of the lake and cannot make it to safety. See, the truth is that the middle can be quite a dangerous place. That is why a bit earlier in Jesus' teaching he says, "Simply let your 'Yes' be 'Yes,' and your 'No,' 'No'; anything beyond this comes from the evil one." (Matthew 5:37) In other words, don't straddle the fence.

Staying out of the middle is important to Christians. It is so important that in Revelation 3, Jesus says to the church in Laodicea, "I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm -- neither hot nor cold -- I am about to spit you out of my mouth. When I stand before the gracious God, I can promise you, I do not want to be "in the middle."

And so, we have to choose. The life of God revealed in us should not be compromised. We're in or we're out. We walk with him or we walk away. As we travel in our "hem-haw" world, we have to be decisive about our Cross-commitment. In our "on the one hand, but on the other hand" culture, we have to be bold about our discipleship. As people who wear the name of Christ, can we really afford to continue to walk like the world does ... somewhere in the middle?

Now, I need to go to Starbucks, but I just can't decide ... should I get the House Blend or a double Tall Cappuccino?