CHAPTER 5  SHAME

                           THE DECEITFULNESS OF SIN


                                      By

                                 Phil Scovell

                           Copyright (C) 2003/2007

                             All rights Reserved



                              CHAPTER 5  SHAME


          He replaced the phone on its cradle and sat down to wait.  It was
     the  middle of  the day  and he  had called  in sick.   "Why  not," he
     reasoned, "it was going to be his last."  He glanced at his watch  and
     wondered just how  long it  would take  for them to  arrive.   "Little
     difference it would make," he shrugged.

          He lifted the gun laying in his  lap.  He never really liked guns
     but it  was his job to carry  one.  He'd never even  killed anybody in
     his  25 years  of service   as  a police  officer.   He had  killed in
     Vietnam, however, but he forced those thoughts away.

          He glanced at his watch again and knew it wouldn't be long before
     they  arrived.   He'd called  in a  domestic violence  and  reported a
     weapon  involved.  That would  get their guns out with  that type of a
     call.   He didn't  think the gun  shots would hurt  all that  much but
     after  all, it was  an easy way  to die.   He'd done his   duty.  He'd
     served in  Vietnam for 2  years.  His  bravery had netted  him several
     metals.  Now  he was  a cop.   Yet the  memories haunted  him all  his
     adult  life.   After  all, he  had  just been  a kid  during  the war.
     "That's probably why they  used kids," he mused, "so they  wouldn't be
     afraid to obey orders."

          His pain  went back even  further than the  war, he knew,  but he
     didn't like going back to his childhood.  He'd hated what  his parents
     had done to him.  Worse than that, he couldn't understand why they had
     done it.  He shuttered at the memories.   The ugly pictures and images
     splashed across his thought and this time he didn't fight back but let
     them come.  He had been raped and sexually abused so many times during
     his youth by  other men and women, he'd had a chronically sick stomach
     all his life.   Then he realized why he had killed  in Vietnam; he had
     wanted to.   That's why he  was so good at  it, too.  He  recalled now
     that  he always  pictured  in his  mind, just  before squeezing  off a
     round, those  who sexually brutalized him as a  five year old boy.  He
     knew now, if his father and mother  were still alive, he'd kill   them
     now, too, in the same way he killed in Vietnam.  He felt no remorse at
     this thought.  He  felt as if he never had a mother  or father and now
     it didn't matter.   He was  a broken man and  one that  no  body could
     fix.   He'd put on his happy face  at church as he greeted each person
     coming  through the doors.   He never missed  a single service either.
     He and the pastor were pals but somehow he  always felt  it was due to
     his badge.  He'd helped the pastor,  and his wife for that matter, get
     out of two tickets so what did that tell you.  Well, what he was about
     to do today most certainly would be the talk of the church this coming
     Sunday.  Too bad he  wouldn't be there to hear  it.  He thought  about
     the will he had written in his dresser drawer.  He wasn't going to let
     his church,  or pastor,  conduct his funeral; that's for sure.  He had
     requested to be  cremated, along with all his metals from both the war
     and   from the  department, and scattered  on the ocean.   Feeding the
     sharks was better than living anyway.

          He could  hear the sound of the sirens  as they approached.  They
     were  far away, so  he had some  time.  He doubted  the dispatcher had
     recognized  his  voice but  she  couldn't  have  missed his  name  and
     addressed that had flashed on her screen.   He wasn't going to fire on
     his fellow officers, of course, but he'd make them think he was.  Most
     of the ones on their way  would know him anyway, and those who  didn't
     would recognize him on sight.  He  stroked the weapon in his lap.   He
     wasn't as  good with  a pistol  as  with a  rifle but  it made  little
     difference; he  wasn't going  to fire  a shot.   Well,  he might,  but
     certainly not at any of the officers.

          They were getting closer, he noticed, and soon he would hear them
     pulling up outside.

          When  he heard a  couple of  units skid to  a stop and  car doors
     slam, he arose and approached the front door.

          "Hank," an amplified  voice boomed out, "come on out.  No body is
     going to hurt you."  It was the voice of Jim Carlson.  He was the only
     guy  who ever  showed any interest  in him  outside of  his department
     achievements.

          Swinging the front  door wide, he  stood deliberately, framed  in
     the door  way so they  would have a  clear shot at  him.  He  kept his
     weapon at  his side; non-threateningly.   "My wife is  already dead; I
     killed  her.  You are going to   have to kill me, too, Jim," he yelled
     back.

          "I know better than that, Hank, his friend replied.  Your wife is
     at work.  I already called  to check.  Put down the gun  and walk out.
     You know  I'll  do everything  I  can to  help  you.   Besides,  we're
     friends."

          "It's way  beyond that now,  Jim," he  called back.   Raising his
     weapon, he shot one of  the swirling lights on top of  the nearest cop
     car.

          "Don't even think  about it,"  Jim yelled  to his men.   "I  want
     every  weapon holstered."   No  return  shots were  fired and  silence
     settled across the  neighborhood.  "You ain't going  to shoot anybody,
     Hank.  You know it and I  know it."

          He shot out another whirling light in response.

           "Dad gum it,  Hank," came the response.  "They are going to make
     you pay for those things so put down the gun."

          A headlight exploded in response.

          "That did it!  I am unarmed, Hank," came the electronic amplified
     voice, "and I am walking right up  to your front door, Hank.  Go ahead
     and shoot  me; I'll go straight  to Heaven anyhow.  I'll  make it easy
     for you, Hank, because I'm not even wearing a flak jacket."

          "Don't  come, Jim,"  he hollered  back;  tears creeping  into the
     corners of his eyes.

          "Here I come, Hank, ready or not."  A big black man walked slowly
     out from behind one of the squad  cars and walked straight toward him.
     He never even  slowed once.  Hank  put a round into the  dirt not five
     feet in front of his Friend.

          "You can sure do better than that, Hank," he chided.

           Hank shot his friend's hat off.

          "You want me to put an apple in my mouth, too," he laughed but he
     kept coming.

          Hank dropped his gun just as his friend reached him and collapsed
     into his friends arms; sobbing uncontrollably.

           "Hank,"  he heard his  friend saying softly, "I  love you and so
     does the Lord.   You know this.  I have a good  friend who can get  to
     the root of this.  Things will work out and you aren't crazy.  But you
     owe me for a new hat.  Somehow,  they both cried and  laughed together
     as they held each other tightly.

     COMMENTS ON SHAME

     Shame Defined.

          A  painful   emotion  caused   by  a   strong  sense  of   guilt,
     embarrassment, unworthiness, or disgrace.

          I would say that definition covers it all.  The police officer in
     the story  was just such  a man.   He tried  being a good  soldier and
     later an  even better  cop.  Why?   As  the story  suggests, something
     happened to him as a child which directed the entire rest of his life.
     He had done everything well.  He had served the Lord, his church,  his
     country and  his community, and  done the best  he could  do.  He  was
     brave, courageous, and by all outward appearances, was a man envied by
     others.  Yet,  he was torn apart  inside and hated himself  because he
     was ashamed.

          In some respects,  shame is a wall we put up to protect ourselves
     and yet it makes us miserable.  I  have also learned it can be a tough
     shield to break in the lives of those incased in their shame.   It can
     be shame from a childhood experience.   It can be shame from not being
     good enough or at the least, not quite as good as the rest.  It can be
     guilt left over from confessed sin.  It can be disappointment in one's
     self for being so stupid  and not know better.  Worse,  we knew better
     and did it any way.  Fortunately, shame is the indication of lie based
     thinking.  This  means God can help  us by exposing the  lie, speaking
     His truth, and setting us free.   We, on the other hand, would  rather
     try and take things into our own hands because we don't want anyone to
     know what we know about ourselves.   So we hide it.  Eventually, as in
     my dramatized story, it comes out but it can come out in less dramatic
     ways as well.  Things  such as sickness, disease, illness, depression,
     chronic  pain,  and   physical  symptoms  so  numerous,  it  would  be
     impossible to try and  list them all.   It is far better to  allow the
     Lord to expose it for what it is and deal with it through experiential
     truth.


                               End Of Chapter 5


  • Go To: Chapter 6 - Condemnation
  • Go To HOME