Stake our Life On It

“Having believed, you were marked in him with a seal, the promised Holy Spirit, who is a deposit guaranteeing our inheritance until the redemption of those who are God's possession–to the praise of his glory.” (Ephesians 1:13-14)

Oh, may God help us internalize this critically important point. God, who cannot lie, deceive or equivocate, made a solemn pledge: You and I belong to Him. We are His special children. The apple of His eye (Zecheriah 2:8). “Behold,” He speaks again to us through Isaiah, “I have engraved my people on the palms of my hands.” (Isaiah 49:16)

To guarantee His relationship with us, He sealed everyone who longs for Him to be Father, Friend and Savior – he sealed each of us with the Holy Spirit.

Therefore, who can bring a viable accusation against us when we belong to the Creator of the universe? Who has the right to tell us we are living a dream? What can separate us from His deep and enduring love? Tribulation? Distress? Persecution, famine, peril or sword? Of course not. Indeed, in all these things we can be overwhelming conquerors through Him who loves us. The apostle Paul added – as can we: “Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (see Romans 8:28-39)

Our heavenly Father would not seal you and me, His children through Calvary, if He didn’t intend to keep us close to His side. It shouldn’t matter how we feel about that promise. God said it, and we can stake our lives on it.

Thanks be to God!

Rich
rmaffeo@comcast.net

God Hates Us (?)

"And you grumbled in your tents and said, ‘Because God hates us, He has brought us out of the land . . . to destroy us.'" (Deuteronomy 1:27)

The Israelites voiced what many people think when hardship or tragedy strikes. And I am not proud to admit it, but I've thought similarly when life shattered around me. I accused God -- in my mind, if not with my lips -- "This has happened because you hate me."

Well, maybe I don't use such strong language. But I sure am quick to believe He doesn't really care about me.

Have you ever wondered why we are so quick to rail against heaven when Scripture tells us it is the devil who comes to kill, steal and destroy? The Father sent His Son to die for us, to enter human history to give us hope, purpose and abundant life. What more could God do to demonstrate His pressed-down-shaken-together-and-running-over love?

Not until I consistently recognize, in the midst of my ashes, who it is who roams the earth seeking to devour -- not until I recognize the real enemy will I experience the Father's love in fuller measure. God is not the author of capricious disaster. Satan is. The Savior Jesus always stands beside us to comfort, heal and restore.

May God help us recognize the source of tragedy that we might run to our Lord, confidant, lover and savior for protection, mercy and victory.

Rich
rmaffeo@comcast.net

Not As Smart As I Think

“Then the LORD answered Job out of the storm. He said: ‘Who is this that darkens my counsel with words without knowledge? Brace yourself like a man; I will question you, and you shall answer me.’ (Job 38:2)

My military transfer orders forced my wife and me to tear ourselves from family and friends in Connecticut and move to Washington state. A cloud of loneliness followed us across country, but we determined to make the best of things.

The day after we arrived, we located a real estate agent and set out to find a new home. Although I'd searched online for homes for sale in the area, they looked much better online than in reality. After trudging through several, Nancy and I succumbed to a near-terminal case of sticker shock. We doubted we could afford anything marginally comparable to the home we left. And returning to Connecticut was not an option.

We faced two unhappy choices: Buy a home in a run-down area, or bump our living costs near the ceiling.

Our sudden circumstance shrouded my faith in fear and depression. How could God do this to us? Why did He do this to us? Should I take on a second job? I spiraled downward. Worse, I dragged Nancy, who typically exudes a positive attitude, with me.

I don't know why I doubted. God hadn't left us alone in our despair. He was at work in ways I couldn't have imagined. I realized His involvement in our situation as I read through Job.

You might remember the "woe-is-Job" and "woe-is-me" theme of the book. After 35 chapters during which he and his friends repeatedly declared what God is like and why He does what He does, I could almost hear God thunder in my ear as I skimmed the conclusion of Elihu's rant (chapter 37).

"OK, Elihu," I heard God chide. "Are you done yet? Because if you are, now let ME tell you a few things."

God continued in the Biblical text: 'Who is this that darkens my counsel with words without knowledge? Brace yourself like a man; I will question you, and you shall answer me.' (Job 38:2)

His response, which continues through chapter 41, sent me to my knees.

How often do I tell myself -- and others -- what God will do, why He blesses some, and not others? How often do I list criteria we must meet to please Him? And in so doing, I feed doubt -- to myself and to others - while God waits for me to stop talking so He can ask, "OK. Are you done yet? Because if you are, now let Me tell you a few things."

To his credit, Job responded wisely: "I know that you can do all things; no plan of yours can be thwarted . . . Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know . . . Therefore I despise myself and repent in dust and ashes." (Job 42:2-6)

At the end of our house-hunting journey, God provided us with a nice home. But that was anti-climatic for me. I signed the papers, not a little ashamed that I needed to re-learn the lesson again: God is still on His throne, and who am I to whine at Him when things don't go my way? Who am I to expect that He explain Himself to me? Or give me what I want?

If I am really the bond servant I like to think I am, then I should say nothing more than, "Lord, be merciful to me, the sinner."

Lord, please remind me, as often as I forget, that I do not know all things about You. Nor do I need to know them. I do not need to understand what you will do, when You will do it, or why. Help me hold my tongue when my thoughts turn bleak and my faith falters -- so I don't discourage others. Help me ever remember, "Not my will, but thine be done."

Rich
rmaffeo@comcast.net

Church -- Let's Pray

After King Solomon died and his son, Rehoboam ascended the throne, God split the kingdom – Judah in the south and Israel in the north. If you remember the story, the division occurred because of the king’s sin. You can read about it in 1 Kings 11.

Scripture is clear that a divided Israel was not God’s original plan. Even after the division, His prophets foretold a time with He would reunite the kingdom. Ezekiel chapters 34-37 are just some examples.

What might have happened if, before the division – or even after it – what might have happened if Solomon, and all Israel, repented, turned from their rebellions and cried to God for mercy?

Knowing the mercy of God as we do, world history would be different.

During the last several months – eighteen, actually – I’ve grown increasingly aware of Church divisions. Baptists, Pentecostals, Anglicans, Orthodox, Roman Catholics, Methodists, Seventh Day Adventists, Nazarene, Wesleyan . . . the list is nearly endless.

I wonder if a fair analogy might be drawn between Israel’s division and the division of the Church that occurred in the early 1500s when Martin Luther nailed the Church leadership’s sin to the door. And I wonder what God might have done if the leadership of the day, as well as the people, repented and cried to God for mercy?

Knowing the mercy of God as we do, world history would be different. The Church would not be divided into a bazillion camps. We would be unified in purpose and holiness, and our world would not be writhing in the grip of Satanic forces as we see all around us.

Yes, there are serious doctrinal differences among us. But how many of those differences are directly traceable to an unwillingness on behalf of Church leadership, then and now – as well as of the laity -- to pray for unity, to seek it as a pearl of great price, as if our very lives depended on it?

To a great extent, it does.

This morning, when I read through the ninth chapter of Daniel, I stopped two verses into his prayer and realized, with minor changes, I could pray Daniel’s prayer for the Church.

The Psalmist wrote long ago: “O Lord, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity” (Psalm 133:1). The Lord Jesus carried that theme into His High Priestly prayer (John 17): “I pray also for those who will believe in me through their message, that all of them may be one, Father, just as you are in me and I am in you. . . . that they may be one as we are one: I in them and you in me. May they be brought to complete unity to let the world know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me.”

Oh Church -- let us pray for unity. Daniel’s prayer, with minor alterations, might be a good place to start:

“O Lord, the great and awesome God, who keeps his covenant of love with all who love him and obey his commands, we have sinned and done wrong. We have been wicked and have rebelled; we have turned away from your commands and laws. We have not listened to your servants the prophets and apostles, who spoke in your name to our kings, our leaders and our fathers, and to all the people of the Church.”

“Lord, you are righteous, but this day we are covered with shame-the people of your holy Body, the Church, both near and far, in all the countries where you have scattered us because of our unfaithfulness to you. O LORD, we and our kings, our leaders and our fathers are covered with shame because we have sinned against you. Lord, you are merciful and forgiving, even though we have rebelled against you; we have not obeyed the LORD our God or kept the laws you gave us through you servants the prophets and apostles. All the Church has transgressed your law and turned away, refusing to obey you.”

“Therefore the curses and sworn judgments written in the Law of Moses, the gospels and epistles have been poured out on us, because we have sinned against you. You have fulfilled the words spoken against us and against our rulers by bringing upon us great disaster. Under the whole heaven nothing has ever been done like what has been done to the Church. Just as it is written in the Law of Moses, the gospels and epistles, all this disaster has come upon us, yet we have not sought the favor of the LORD our God by turning from our sins and giving attention to your truth. The LORD did not hesitate to bring the disaster upon us, for the LORD our God is righteous in everything he does; yet we have not obeyed him.”

“Now, O Lord our God, who brought your people out of sin with a mighty hand and who made for yourself a name that endures to this day, we have sinned, we have done wrong. O Lord, in keeping with all your righteous acts, turn away your anger and your wrath from the Church, your Body, your Bride. Our sins and the iniquities of our fathers have made your people an object of scorn to all those around us.”

“Now, our God, hear the prayers and petitions of your servant. For your sake, O Lord, look with favor on your desolate sanctuary. Give ear, O God, and hear; open your eyes and see the desolation of the Church that bears your Name. We do not make requests of you because we are righteous, but because of your great mercy. O Lord, listen! O Lord, forgive! O Lord, hear and act! For your sake, O my God, for the sake of Jesus, do not delay, because your Church your people bear your Name.”

Amen
---------
Rich
Rmaffeo@comcast.net

My Journey

If you had asked me why I walked into New York's St. Patrick's cathedral that brisk November afternoon, I would have told you I did it to get out of the wind. I think God placed me at Rockefeller Center for another reason.

As the door closed behind me, I shook off the chill. It felt good to be out of the cold. I unbuttoned my overcoat and scanned the cathedral's interior, awed by the exquisite beauty. It's little wonder more than three million people visit the church each year.

I walked into the nave and strolled along the aisles, moving slowly by the Stations of the Cross, admiring the intricate architecture and stained glass windows, stopping now and then at the statues of Saints, savoring the soft glow of flickering candles.

That's when I noticed them . . . the other visitors. Dozens of men and women wandered the sanctuary, pausing when some work of art or devotion caught their interest. Many continued their circuit until they reached the front door and exited back onto the street. Others, though, turned aside to sit in pews and lose themselves in contemplation. A few knelt in prayer. One or two leaned against the side of their pew and slept.

Watching them, I realized those nameless visitors, and those unseen men and women beyond the front doors, illustrated points along my journey toward Christ.

Those who hurried by in the chill outside the cathedral reminded me of myself in my early teen years, brushing past my parent's faith. I wanted to live as I chose, not by what I considered an ancient religious creed. I didn't know -- or care -- that warmth and acceptance awaited me in Christ. I was too busy bundling myself against the cold to bother stepping inside.

In my later teen years, curious about God, I visited religion as a tourist visits a distant country. I wanted to know more about Him. What was He like? What did He think of me? Did He think of me? So, I wandered through the doors and tried to follow the Ten Commandments, to be kinder to others, less selfish . . . I prayed, gave to charities and even fasted.

But the longer I visited with God, the more I learned He required things of me I was unwilling to give. Like obedience. Commitment. Sacrifice.

It wasn't long before I looked for the nearest exit and stepped back onto the wind-whipped streets of my former life.

At twenty-two, still shivering from the cold reality of sin, I returned through those doors of faith. Tentatively, at first, sitting in the shadows. I meditated on what I knew of Christ's passion, death and resurrection. I contemplated the meaning of faith, of God's mercy, forgiveness and love. I sat in quiet reflection, wondering about my future and struggling with memories of my past. Before long, contemplation led to prayer -- prayer for forgiveness of my sins, for a willingness to obey and, if necessary, suffer for Him.

But, like those asleep in the pew, I have also dozed in the midst of the journey. Perhaps because I grew comfortable with my walk with Christ I became self-satisfied with church, the Bible and confession of sin until my faith was nothing more than rote -- routine and meaningless. Jesus wanted me to tell the world the good news of His love, but I wouldn't drag myself from the TV. He told me to go to those who rushed past the doors of faith, to invite them to discover His warmth, but I pulled the blankets over my head and hoped someone else would do it.

I wish I could say my journey has been linear: from doubt to faith, from faith to service. But it hasn't. Like the visitors in St. Patrick's, it's been a blend of slow and halting steps of reflection, prayer, service and, yes, sleepiness. To be honest -- sometimes I've even toyed with the doorknob, wondering if it's still cold outside.

Something else caught my attention in St. Patrick's that afternoon . . . something that reminded me why I first started the journey, and why I continue pressing forward.

I looked toward the crucifix suspended behind the altar and wondered why He did it. Why did the God of the universe empty himself of unfathomable glory and clothe himself in inglorious human flesh? Why did He subject himself to hunger, cold, pain, thirst and a hundred other afflictions common to human frailty? Most of all, why did He permit himself to be mauled, whipped, spat upon, and finally nailed to a splintered cross?

Scripture tells us why. From the earliest hours of creation to its final curtain at the end of the age, God's love for us is woven into the fabric of human history.

Because He so deeply loves us, we have reason to remain focused on the journey. Because God stands beside us at every turn, every failure, every heartache, we can keep our eyes fixed on His Son on the cross. We can continue our journey because the Christ of the cross became the Christ of the empty tomb. And the Christ of the empty tomb promises everyone who loves Him the power to stay the course until the journey's end.

Rich
rmaffeo@comcast.net

Well, it wasn't as hard as I thought ---

This morning my wife and I attended Peninsula Christian Fellowship, a non-demoninational Protestant church in Gig Harbor, WA (http://www.welcometopcf.org/). It was our second visit (we recently arrived in WA and have been looking for a church home).

My heart thumped a little louder in my chest as we walked into the sanctuary. I knew what I was about to do, and, honestly, I was nervous. What would people say or think?

We approached the pews and, without fanfare, I bowed my knee to the floor and slid into the pew. I removed my coat, turned and then knelt at my bench and spent a few minutes in prayer.

I'm glad I honored Christ in a way I'd never done before. And I am sorry to Him that I never before bowed in any Protestant church I've attended in the past -- the only exception is Bishop Seabury church in Groton, CT -- an Anglican fellowship Nancy and I were part of for two years (http://www.bishopseaburychurch.org/index.html).

What a wonderful experience that was -- worshipping God with that Body of believers.

God is holy, holy, holy. The heavens declare his glory and the earth shows forth His handiwork. No Christian would deny that. And He deserves, above all else, our honor, reverence, and praise. He alone is worthy for us to pray, with saints of the past, "Lord Jesus, take my memory, my freedom, my will and my understanding. All that I have and cherish, I place at your feet, to be guided by your will. Your grace and your mercy are wealth enough for me. Give me these, Lord Jesus, and I ask for nothing more."

It's one thing, for me, to raise my hands in worship during a song service. It was something new to bow my knee before the service began.

It will become a habit for me in the future.

Rich
rmaffeo@comcast.net

What Will I Do?

“. . . At the name of Jesus every knee will bow, of those who are in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and that every tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” (Philippians 2:10-11)

Because I move a lot with the military, my wife and I have attended many different Protestant churches in the past thirty years. Baptist. Pentecostal. Nazarene. Church of God. Presbyterian, to name a few. In all those years, I don’t remember seeing anyone stop at their pew and bow toward the altar before taking his or her seat. Typically, people stand in the aisles or sit in their seats, chatting with friends while they wait for the service to begin.

I never wondered why that is.

Until recently.

Christians call the large room in a church where the congregation worships God, a sanctuary. A sanctuary is universally defined as a sacred place, a place set apart to worship God.

So why have I, in thirty years, never walked into the sanctuary on Sunday morning, bowed toward the altar, taken my seat and then quieted myself before Christ in prayer?

As I write this, I can’t say I know why.

Well. Umm. Maybe I do. I really don’t want to admit it, but bowing toward the altar always reminded me of what Roman Catholics do.

Now there’s a good reason not to do something to honor God. As if there is anything inherently wrong with being a Catholic Christian.

We can learn a few things from them.

I wonder what would happen if I tried it next Sunday, if I walked into the sanctuary and did all that – bowed my knee, avoided the chit-chat, and spent time in prayer before the service.

I can pretty well guess. Some will feel awkward. A few might look at me with suspicion.

It’s an interesting question. Will I or won’t I?

If I gather up enough courage to bend my knee before God in the sanctuary, I hope some who see me will (likely not until after the service) reconsider why we gather in that place, who it is we meet in our worship, and how much He desires we not only bend our knee, but also our heart and talents and time and health and possessions.

I’ll let you know what happens.

Rich
rmaffeo@comcast.net

Mine or His?

His muscles quivered with tension. His tail flicked left and right -- and left again. Anticipation oozed from every pore of his mixed Pug/Chihuahua body. How could I say no to those coal-black eyes?

"You want a chewy?"

Before the last syllable left my lips, Odie leapt and twirled in circles around my legs. His ear-piercing yelps sent goose bumps down the back of my neck. You'd think I'd offered him a 32-ounce char-broiled steak.

I pushed open the pantry door and reached for the dog treats. That was a mistake. As soon as he saw me pull the box from the shelf, he ratcheted his frenzy up another few notches. Odie's only a foot and a half tall when standing on his hind legs, but can fly three feet off the floor at the thought of getting a goodie.

"Sit," I ordered. "Down! Now roll over. Good dog."

Satisfied he knew who was boss, I tossed the treat at his feet. Before it bounced twice, Odie snatched it between his teeth and trotted to his rug in the kitchen. He circled himself into a cozy spot and, for the next few moments, I watched him nuzzle and lick his chewy with the affection I thought he reserved only for me. He seemed oblivious to my existence . . . until I took a step toward him. As I did, he scrambled to his feet and snatched the treasure between his jaws.

I smiled when I realized what my dog was thinking. I stepped back and he carefully laid it again on the floor -- never taking his eyes off me. Each time I moved toward him he grabbed the chewy as if to challenge: "Mine! You can't have it."

We played the game a few more times until I tired of it and walked past him into the living room. From the recliner, I watched him still watching me and I wondered, didn't he realize I'm the one who feeds him, takes him for walks in the rain, snow, heat and hail? Didn't he remember I sacrificed my favorite belt so we could play tug-of-war? I thought we were buddies. So why does he jealously guard a treat I gave him?

While Odie nuzzled his treasure and warily eyed me, another question filtered through my mind more clearly than Balaam heard the donkey. You can read about it in Numbers 22. How often do I act like Odie?

More than I'd like to admit.

Just as every good thing Odie gets, he gets from me, so every good thing I get "is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation, or shifting shadow" (James 1:17). From the goodness of my heart, I give Odie chewies. From the goodness of God's heart, I receive treasures such as money, talents, health, time.

So why, when He asks me to return some of my treasure to His work, do I jealously guard each coin, each minute, each talent in tightly clenched fists, as if to challenge the Giver, "It's mine! You can't have it"?

After these many years of walking with Christ -- more than thirty, actually -- I still struggle with that question. Odie acts like a beast because he is a beast.

But, I am a child of God. I wish I'd act more like one.

Rich
Rmaffeo@comcast.net

What If They Said No?

As Jesus was walking beside the Sea of Galilee, he saw two brothers, Simon called Peter and his brother Andrew. They were casting a net into the lake, for they were fishermen. “Come, follow me,” Jesus said, “and I will make you fishers of men. At once they left their nets and followed him.” (Matthew 5:18-19)

As I read this passage two things dropped into my mind. First, if I were the one choosing potential leaders of my movement, I would have bypassed these guys and sought others with more political clout.

I'm glad Jesus doesn't chose people like I do.

The second thing I noticed – they left their livelihoods to follow Jesus. And follow Him they did, wherever He led . . . even to their own martyrdom.

What if Simon Peter and Andrew had said no to Jesus? What if they’d decided to stay with the family business and not risk their fortunes on this itinerant preacher’s ideas? A few verses later Jesus calls two others, James and John. They also left their work to follow Him. How different would our church look today if they had said no?

For one thing, we wouldn’t have the three epistles of John, the Revelation or the Gospel of John. Nor would we have Peter’s epistles. Think how much poorer the Church would be today without those writings. And how much did Andrew’s influence, and James’ influence enrich the early church? How many men and women came to faith because of their lives and words and witness?

Only eternity knows. But I know they – and our heavenly Father -- are glad they said yes.

Perhaps more important – how much poorer would the church be TODAY, if YOU had said no? Who have you touched for eternity with Christ by your life, words and witness?

Only eternity knows. But I know they – and our heavenly Father --are glad you said yes.

“Therefore, my dear brothers, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain.” (1 Corinthians 15:58)

Rich
rmaffeo@comcast.net