Four Thieves

On a cold Sunday midnight last November, three thieves broke into my church. As one local preacher commented, “I laughed when I read the news report. Those thieves had no idea what they were breaking into.” Indeed, few of us realized how much this night would affect our church, our city, and the world. As repercussions unfolded, God’s mercy shined a light that both warmed hearts and exposed dark wrinkles in the church. As I watched the reactions in others and myself, I had to confront my own spiritual thievery. Now, I ask myself, “What are we really here for?”

This saga began when three young men, barely out of high school, decided to cut the locks on two trailers outside of my church. Thankfully, they didn’t stop there. They also broke into the main church building.

Inside, the giddy men spewed a fire extinguisher throughout the church gym. Emptying the retardant in a hazy cloud of fine powder, they gasped for air and retreated through a nearby doorway. Moving deeper into the church, they found a refrigerator and quickly snatched as much string cheese as they could carry.

Loaded with an ample supply of dairy products, the thieves scanned the darkness for more booty. They mazed through hallways and found the teen center. There, the blue light of two vending machines illuminated a room full of electronics: Xboxes®, televisions, and Playstations®.

Meanwhile, night security cruised by for a routine check around the property. Seeing the two trailers gutted open with locks hanging loosely from the doors, the guard quickly called a church trustee. While waiting for the trustee to arrive, the guard also noticed a car parked in the back alley. The backseat, littered with cutting torches and bolt cutters, doubled as a tool chest for breaking and entering. The guard didn’t see any one around. He had no idea that the thieves were still inside.

The thieves didn’t need much effort or time to gut the vending machines. With pockets weighted down in change, they randomly smashed equipment and continued into the sanctuary. There, a mindless quest for destruction caused them to vandalize chairs and more equipment. Curiously, they didn’t touch the expensive sound board which sat prominently exposed in the middle of the sanctuary.

Outside, the church trustee arrived. He asked the guard to stay by the abandoned car while he went inside the church to find new locks for the open trailers. Walking through the front office, he opened the door into the sanctuary and paused in quick puzzlement. Why are all the lights on? he thought.

A scuffle in the back corner of the sanctuary answered his question. They’re still inside. Adrenaline rushed through his body, stretching half-seconds into minutes, as he closed the door and ran to the phone. The thieves bolted to the side door. Two bolted to their getaway car and skidded straight into the waiting guard. Police found the third running down the street, change dripping from his pockets. Red and blue lights lit the streets and sirens filled the air as a squad of police cars arrived within minutes.

Later, during questioning, dumfounded by the silly loot and seemingly eminent fall into the hands of authorities, detectives asked each man individually, “What made you dash out the door so suddenly?” They each answered the same, “When all the lights went on in the building at the same time.”

While church administrators closed the facility for investigation, insurance evaluation, and professional cleaning, they pondered a response. The thieves were apprehended and facing arraignment, sentencing, and prison time. The District Attorney and judge would hand down a judgment that would affect these men for the rest of their lives. At the very least, each would have to explain the felony every time they applied for a job. But, as pastors, not judges, how should the church respond?

This question brought us to a cross roads that many must visit in life. Whether it’s a conflict involving the church as a whole, among neighbors, or between myself and another, the choice always comes, asking after the integrity of the heart. The choice exposes us. It divides between what we say and what we do. Refusing to fade into the fog of procrastination, the choice waits for an answer: punishment or mercy?

What is our response?

In an interview with a local paper a pastor of outreach at the church responded. “The judge will give them consequences, but as a congregation we want to reach out and extend love and mercy to them. A lot of us, whether we’re churchgoers or not, have been in their shoes before and have made some bad choices. But God forgives us.” (1)

The next Sunday, I heard my pastor echo this compassionate response in his sermon. Only half-jokingly, he quipped that he’d like part of the sentences to include community service. More exactly, he wanted each of the men to sit in the front row of church every Sunday for a year. He went on to explain the burglary, how the men were caught, and God’s faithful protection over some of the most expensive equipment. “But, that’s just stuff,” he added. “All of that can be replaced. It’s their souls that we care about.” Then, he surprised all of us. “I want to do something radical.” His upper lip tipped into a smirk as the congregation fell silent with anticipation. This was one of those moments when you hold your breath because you’re not sure if you should be excited or scared.

“I want to love on these guys,” he proclaimed. “I want to collect donations and give love baskets to the thieves and their families. If they wanted to steal an iPOD, let’s give them an iPOD!” Then he paused, with a cautionary gesture, “Now, don’t go telling other thieves around town that we’re doing this.”