Chiseling.

It is easy to write about the good things or great happenings that occur in our lives. It is even easier to write about things that we don't like or disagree with. These are the kind of feelings that brew up strong emotions and throng us to respond or react in ways that make us what we will one day be thankful for or one day we'll turn back to look in regret of.

I love to read Dorothy Day's stuff. She was co-founder of the Catholic Worker movement and lived a lifelong option for the poor and was so very devoted to active nonviolence. We all have our favorite authors or writers that connect deep within us on a level that describes exactly how we feel and we are amazed that someone we don't even truly know feels exactly the same and is capable of "putting it on paper". Dorothy Day is that kind of writer to me.

In one observation Day writes about the causes of her conversion and how they took place. As best as she can remember, some things just stood out more than others. This is where I connect with Day outside of our Catholic ties. But it's these moments in my life where little conversion factors played an important role that have made the chiseling of my being so very much felt and known by myself.

Chiseling.

I recall a chiseling moment. It has never escaped me. I feel that God has embedded this conversion moment into the walls of my heart so as not to forget the Hand that shapes. It is here in His hands that I am reminded of the cost of reaching out in love. His scars define a heavy price.

It was in 1995 at a Pittsburgh Steeler football game against the Cleveland Browns that I would be chiseled with concern but molded with grace. The pastor of the church I was a part of had given me free tickets to the game and asked if I would chaperon his son. You don't have to like sports to attend this rivalry and enjoy it. You don't say no to a game like this.

I remember it being a warm fall day. There I was in the midst of a sold out crowd with the pastor's son. I was feeling like I was important. Like God had ordained me to watch over something so very important.

So I looked around like a scout surveying his surroundings. That's when I noticed him. He was cheering on his beloved Steelers with a slur of cuss words obviously drenched in the depths of Iron City Beer. He stumbled up every other step and I remember noticing the empty seat to the left of me.

How I prayed for that empty seat to not be his. He stopped and bent over to check the row to make sure it was his and then leaned back to look down and acknowledge that the seat to my left was indeed his. So with the help of several F-bombs along with reminding our entire seated section of how much Cleveland sucks, he began to weave his way to the seat next to me.

I remember not wanting to be next to this drunk. How his obscene language made me cringe. How his mannerisms filled me with an anger that I felt was just and holy. I even wondered that perhaps I did not belong in this place filled with such worldliness. How could I be in the midst of all this sinfulness?

And then my Lord spoke gently to me and said, "Because, Scott, where I found you is no different than the place I am looking for him."

How quickly my heart melted and how utterly idiotic and self-righteous I felt when I recognized that saving voice. That moment has stuck with me to this very moment. It is never easy to reflect on it because I so very much despise that person I was that day that I am shedding a tear now just thinking of it. How so very Godless I was at that moment. It scared me. It scares me to think that I am capable of being like that at any given moment as I live and breathe today.

Now granted, at that moment, I had only been a "Christian" for about a year. I was certainly learning and growing and truthfully wanting to know Jesus. But my heart was broken because I had forgotten about the rescue effort that came after me not to long ago prior to this.

I've had folks tell me to forget about the past and moments like that and to behold new things! I refuse to let go of these moments. I must refuse to ever forget where I was before Jesus waded Himself neck deep in the mire of my life to rescue me. I hold onto this moment of moments when His chisel came down upon my petrified heart. It is a painful reminder that beckons my soul to thirst and hunger for righteousness as deep calls unto deep.

As His word says, "Is not my Word like a hammer that breaks the rock!" And so my heart would be broken by the force of an enduring King. He certainly is faithful to pursuit us relentlessly. Is He not?

Oh yeah... I failed to mention that I was born and raised on the west side of Cleveland. And yes, I was faithful to the Browns even after living in Pittsburgh for 9 years. I still am.