Butter Gospel
“Ouch!” I screamed really loud (some say like a little girl), as boiling water swallowed my left hand. The pain and surprise of the sting made me lose my grip on the hot pot. As the pot crash-landed, the remainder of its boiling water baptized the floor.
The morning started pretty good. The church was having a special “Freedom” service. Both the English and Spanish bodies were coming together to celebrate our freedom in Christ. Special messages were planned. Special songs. And my favorite, a special meal prepared by a small team, including myself.
The day was going to be great! Or so I thought.
I arrived ten minutes late. My building officer had forgotten to open my cell door. I arrived in a bit of a rush to assist the four other men. They were doing well, more than halfway done. Not much was left to do except manage the boiling water.
Brother Vega noticed I had finally arrived and suggested I start bringing in the hot pots filled with boiling water. I jumped right on it—but with a little too much energy.
The very first pot I lifted was all it took. I over-lifted, and over-tilted, the pot. A screaming mini wave, of what felt like lava, swallowed my whole left hand. My brain froze with the amount of pain that shot from the tips of my fingers to the deepest parts of my nerves. As I screamed, my hand lost its grip on the pot.
In a slow motion kind of way I saw the hot pot leave my hand and crash onto the floor. Hot boiling water splashed all over. The floor was not only wet, but steaming hot.
Two brothers ran to my aid. One quickly took me to the sink and placed my hand under cold running water. The other cleaned up the spilled boiling water. They acted very quickly and with deep concern.
At first the cold running water felt good on my hand. The deep stinging and burning sensation went away. However, within a minute or two the fire within my hand erupted with double intensity. The water was no longer enough to quench my burning hand’s thirst. Water was old news. Been, there, done that. Owned the shirt.
So I took it out of the running water and found ice cubes in the freezer. I took three cubes, wrapped them in a paper towel, and rested it on my hand. Again, at first it seemed to solve my hand’s burning thirst. But after a few minutes the hand was asking for more. My hand’s deeply burning desire to be soothed was temporarily being met, but the pseudo-peace would only last minutes.
My hand was desiring, not a temporary peace (one that always left it asking for more), but a permanent peace that would not only quench its burning thirst, but heal it. The kitchen was small. Not many options. I looked left and right. Up and down.
Nothing.
I opened the refrigerator door to see if anything was there. There was. In an unimpressive plastic bowl lay butter. My left hand, burning from the inside, reacted first. Without thought I reached for the butter and baptized my whole hand with rich, creamy, cold butter.
Ahhh. So good. The instant relief was amazing. My hand’s burning thirst was being satisfied. No. It was more than being satisfied, it was being over-indulged. For whatever reason, my hand’s peace (and salvation from its burning thirst) was butter.
Days later a few scars did appear, but in the end the hand renewed itself to its original smooth (but manly) condition. No damage can be found.
Alfonso is a good friend of mine. A newly-born Christian brother who wears a smile that melts any heart. He is caring and genuinely interested in knowing more of God’s love. But he wasn’t always like this.
Alfonso was a well-known—and feared—gang member. His tattoos, from neck to ankles (literally), spell out the story of his evil, burning life. Not only was he a gang member, he was also a ladies’ man. Drugs, and the sale of them, were closely connected to all the parts of his life. This young and active man was “on fire” by all worldly standards.
His “on fire” life led him to visit prison a handful of times. But it wasn’t until this last prison term that his life—actually, his heart—started to burn. His heart’s thirst no longer could be quenched by his lifestyle.
His gang family was no longer good enough. He craved a real family. The ink that once entered his body was no longer meaningful. He wanted something true and pure to enter his body—his life. The attention he so enjoyed from all the ladies no longer fulfilled the true desire for real love. The drugs surrounding his life no longer meant power, but weakness. His heart and life wanted real peace.
I met Alfonso soon after he had received Christ into his life and heart. But I’ve been blessed to see and witness a man who dove into the Gospel completely and never looked back.
His heart once burned for worldly pleasures. But those pleasures were only temporary. The scars of his once thug-life are still there. However, the more he matures in Christ, the more the glow from within him covers—or distracts from—all those scars. Even I, at times, forget they are there.
There are many Alfonsos in prisons. They tried everything to quench their hearts’ burning thirst. But there was only One Who could quench that desire. Once they find the true and real Gospel, they never turn back.
My hand’s burning thirst wasn’t quenched until it found the Butter Gospel. These many men’s hearts (including mine) were never quenched until we found the One and Only, the true Gospel of Jesus Christ.
Too many inmates, and those who are not, try to quench their hearts’ burning thirsts with worldly things. But those things are only temporary. Only Christ can quench the burning thirst within their hearts.
How’s your heart?
