All Is Not Vanity

When I walked into the room to meet my nursing staff for morning report, Jason was in the middle of his mournful commentary on life. "People," he said, "are no different than animals. Life has no purpose. It's meaningless. We live, and then we die."

I'm not usually lost for words, but this time I was. Why did a 20-year old man hold such somber sentiments? By the time I recovered enough to inject my opinion, the night nurse breezed through the door, sat down and began report on her patients. I held my tongue, and mentally kicked myself for my lost opportunity.

Toward the last few minutes of report, the door behind me opened and closed. Without looking up, I knew who it was. Two months earlier I had asked the hospital chaplain to join us each morning for a brief reading of scripture and prayer.

Chaplain Bernard took his seat behind me and waited for the nurse to conclude.
When she stood to leave, I invited those who wanted to stay for devotion to remain. Those wishing to start work could do so. Jason, and a few others, left the room while the rest of us settled ourselves for the Chaplain's message. Meanwhile, my thoughts still smoldered with "what-ifs."

"I had planned to read something else," he started, "but while I was in my office earlier today, the thought came to me that I should read this passage, instead."

As he began reading, my swirling self-recrimination screeched to a halt. I shifted in my chair and looked at him, suddenly aware God had directed his decision to change his text to Psalm 139:

O Lord, you have searched me and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar. You discern my going out and my lying down; you are familiar with all my ways. Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O Lord . . . Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast. . . . For you created my inmost being . . . When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.

The silence that followed when he closed the Bible could not have been longer than a moment or two. It seemed like a week. Finally, two nursing assistants smiled at each other and began whispering. Then one of them said to me, "Wow, it's too bad Jason wasn't here to hear that."

I knew from the chaplain's blank stare that I should explain what happened earlier that morning. When I finished, he smiled, gratified that God had spoken to us all.

I regret those who left did not hear God's response to Jason's Solomon-esque "all is vanity" (see Ecclesiastes). But those who remained behind were not disappointed. Scripture reminded us once again of God's personal and eternal concern for each of us -- for our lives, hopes, dreams. For the Christian, life can be rich with purpose and overflow with opportunity. Repeatedly, God assures His children that those who ask, receive; to those who knock, it is opened; and those who seek, find.

Solomon, at the end of his life, finally realized those wonderful truths (Ecclesiastes 12). I can only hope Jason, and others like him, discover God's love sooner than that.

rich
rmaffeo@comcast.net

Routinely Unfaithful?

Close friends gave me a Day by Day Bible desk calendar for Christmas. You've probably seen them. It's the kind that has tear-off sheets for each day of the year. Each sheet has a Bible verse. I've referred to the pages nearly every day I've been in my office.

The gift didn't surprise me. From all external signs, she and her husband of fifteen years seemed a model Christian couple. They attended worship services each Sunday, served as ushers in their church and sent their two children to Christian school.

A few months after they gave me the gift, her husband discovered she had been routinely unfaithful to him for more than a year.

I know it happens all the time -- people go to church, say the prayers, read the Bible . . . even teach Sunday school classes. But beneath the religious activity lurks a Judas.

Yes. It happens all the time, but what concerns me, what causes me to tremble, is to think it might happen to me, that I might fail miserably in my responsibility to walk in a manner worthy of my calling.

No one walks away from Christ overnight. It's a slow process, a day at a time, a compromise, another excuse, another rationalization . . . and the heart hardens by degrees.

That's one reason I bring myself to the Father every morning -- every morning -- in prayer, study of His word, worship. I do it because, frankly, I know, given the right circumstances, I can deny Him three times, or worse. I could betray Him.

And so can you.

Lord, help us labor without ceasing to remain honest and pure. And holy. Any of us can prove to be routinely unfaithful -- to our Bridegroom.

rich
rmaffeo@comcast.net

Random thoughts for 4/21

"But God raised Him up again, putting an end to the agony of death . . . ." (Acts 2:24). The note in the margin of my Bible comments on that phrase, "agony of death," indicating the Greek is better translated, "the birth pangs of death."

What a word-picture that is! Our lives don't end in death, resulting in blackness and nothingness. Just as a child is brought into the light of life through the birth pains of his mother, so the child of God is brought into the light of eternal life through the birth pains of death.

Death is no victor. The grave has no sting. The resurrection of Jesus proves once and for all time, we too shall be raised to eternal life through the grace of God, and the birth pains of death.

Hallelujah.

rich
rmaffeo@comcast.net

A random thought John 17:19

"For their sakes I sanctify Myself, that they themselves also may be sanctified in truth." (John 17:19)

I looked up the word, Sanctify, in my dictionary. It means, "set set apart for God."

Jesus set Himself apart to the Father from His own desires and needs. And He tells us why He did it: so you and I might be set apart for God, too.

Fathers -- may God help us sanctify ourselves, set ourselves apart for God, to avoid even the appearance of sin, that our children might also become set apart for Him.

Moms -- may God help you sanctify yourselves, to avoid even the appearance of sin, so your children will grow in sancticty and dedication to God.

Husbands and wives, may God help us sanctify ourselves, set ourselves fully apart for God, to avoid even the appearance of sin, that our spouses may also be drawn to sanctity.

Church -- may the Holy Spirit help us all to sanctify ourselves, to avoid even the appearance of sin, that the unchurched may desire to be sanctified themselves to the Holy Trinity.

amen

rmaffeo@comcast.net

Dirty Rocks and Grub Worms

As soon as they burst through the emergency room doors, I knew something was wrong. The parents, still in damp bathing suits, almost threw their limp two-year-old daughter at us and screamed something about a swimming pool.

Within moments, physicians, nurses and technicians swooped into Trauma Room One. In what can only be described as a coordinated frenzy, the resuscitation team slapped wires from the heart monitor onto the child's chest. They inserted a plastic tube into her throat and forced air into her lungs. They pierced her veins with intravenous catheters and pushed emergency medications into her blood stream. In the corner of my eye I spotted the hospital chaplain standing quietly with the child's parents in the hallway, his arm around the dad's sagging shoulders.

But nothing we did -- no amount of drugs or machines or prayers brought her
back. Ten years later, I can still see the dad draped across his daughter's body as it lay on the hospital gurney. I can still hear her mom's convulsive sobs echo across the caverns of my memories.

During the three years I worked as a nurse in that emergency department, hundreds of desperate people tore through those same doors. They arrived in rusted-out Chevy pick-ups and high-gloss sedans. In ambulances, taxis and on foot, they came. The young and the old, rich and poor, educated and not-so-educated, blue-collars and executives -- I learned no one is guaranteed safe passage through human experience. Heartache slips in and out of life's shadows, and when it chooses its victim, neither power, money, prestige . . . nothing can restrain its hand.

I think it is because I've seen the tragedies rip so often into others, as I move past my fifty-fourth birthday, I find myself re-examining my own priorities. That's why the Calvin and Hobbes comic strip caught my attention.

Calvin is shoulders deep, busy shoveling dirt from a hole, while Hobbes, his
stuffed tiger watches.

"What have you found?" Hobbes asks.

Calvin's eyes sparkle. "A few dirty rocks, a weird root, and some disgusting grubs. There's treasure everywhere!"

At first, I smiled. Children find treasure in the most unlikely places and no one is surprised when they showcase rocks and worms. But, when I recognized another message in Calvin's treasure, my smile faded.

As a child, I also showcased things like rocks and roots. But now I am more sophisticated. Instead of grub worms, I showcase "real" treasure -- financial investments, university degrees, job prestige and a continuing litany of "bigger-better-more."

I could be quite content with those adult treasures -- if it were not for the gnawing memories of emergency rooms where bigger-better-more never comforts those who convulse with grief at the bedside of their dead. I learned long ago that a hospital room is where everything we hold dear to ourselves washes out: money, popularity, passions, careers -- like charred timbers after a house fire, a death-bed places so many things in clear perspective. Perhaps that's one reason the Psalmist prayed, "So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom" (Psalm 90:12).

I don't believe it coincidental that the day I read Calvin, I was also studying my way through Ecclesiastes. King Solomon had it all -- money, power, prestige. And he used them all to satisfy every whim that tantalized his flesh and thoughts. "All that my eyes desired I did not refuse them," he wrote in chapter 2. "I did not withhold my heart from any pleasure." For years, possibly decades, he fed his lust for bigger-better-more. Not until he neared the end of his life did he recognize the true worth of his treasures.

"Vanity of vanities," he called them. He could have just as easily called
them dirty rocks, weird roots and grub worms.

To his credit, Solomon accepted the truth about his treasures before it was
too late to make things right. Before his body returned to dust (Ecclesiastes 12:7) he discovered the bankruptcy of bigger-better-more. At last, he understood true treasure. "The conclusion, when all has been heard, is: fear God and keep His commandments, because this applies to every person. For God will bring every act to judgement . . . whether it is good or evil" (v. 13-14).

I taped the Calvin cartoon to my refrigerator door. It will remain there a long time, a reminder to check my spiritual bank account day by day. It will remind me to ensure my real treasure -- my relationship with Christ -- matures with every deposit of personal Bible study, prayer and fellowship with other believers.

Someday I might be on the other end of the emergency room doors. I don't want to discover, at that moment, my treasures were nothing more than dirty rocks and grub worms.

rich
rmaffeo@comcast.net

Darkness Shall Flee

I'm wondering if anyone out there is reading these posts?
Please let me know . . . rmaffeo@comcast.net
---------------

They always came out at night. While I shivered under the covers, they creaked from the corners of my room and rustled past my bed. The night-light only made things worse as its soft glow gave ghostly shape and substance to my imagination.

But as I grew older, my fears slipped unnoticed into the distant memories of childhood. Shadows in the dark and creaks in corners no longer troubled me. I simply ignored them.

I can not pinpoint the time when I no longer feared the dark. As I matured in my understanding of the world around me, I slowly realized there weren't any monsters lurking in the corners of my bedroom. Those images were simply pranks of an over-active imagination. And besides, my parents were in the other room. What did I need to fear?

As a young Christian, I also feared shadows -- spiritual hues of gray and black : Does God really love me enough to forgive me for all the horrible things I had done? Does He really know who I am and how I hurt?

However, as I grew older in my relationship with Christ, the lurking shadows of fear slipped unnoticed into the distant memories of my spiritual childhood. They no longer trouble me because I examine each one them against the light of God's word.

I can not pinpoint the time when the fears of my early Christian walk faded. But as I matured in my faith, I understood that God can be trusted to keep His promises. A well-grounded faith extinguishes all the fiery arrows of fear and doubt. Besides, the heavenly Father is always with me. What do I need to fear?

I don't fully understand how a child matures into an adult. Surely, it is not just a matter of physical aging. But Scripture is clear how a believer matures in Christ. The apostle Paul wrote, "...faith comes from hearing, and hearing from the word of God" (Romans 10:17). The writer to the Hebrews added, "we must consider how to rouse one another to love and good works. We should not stay away from our assembly . . . but encourage one another . . ." (vv. 10:24-25). And Jude instructed: "But you, beloved, build yourselves up in your most holy faith; pray in the holy Spirit" (Jude 1:20).

Spiritual maturity is not an accident. Nor does it occur automatically with age. It is achieved by design, being the result of diligent study of God's Word, regular fellowship with other believers and passionate prayer.

Darkness can be very frightening, driving us under the covers and longing for daylight. But those with a mature faith in Christ can have a confidence which overcomes any fear -- regardless of how dark it may seem.

rich
rmaffeo@comcast.net

Commander of commanders

At first I ignored him. My mind focused on too many other things as I walked along the street: the crisp wind biting through my Navy Dress Blue uniform; my son's graduation from Boot Camp; my scheduled flight back to San Diego in two days. Little wonder I hardly noticed the new recruit suddenly snap to attention and salute. Besides, no one salutes a naval officer a block and a half down the street.

But when I looked up, he was still there -- frozen at attention, and I realized he was waiting for me to return the salute.

He was not the only recruit at Great Lakes Recruit Training Command to go out of his way to salute me. Everywhere I went -- the food court, the barracks, the Shopette -- young men and women nearly fell over themselves to render the military courtesy.

Over the next two days, as I watched groups of novice sailors march to a cadence-call, double-time to chow or stroll with their families visiting for graduation, I realized how different things are in the "real" navy. I knew from experience that some of those salute-happy recruits would -- in only a few short months -- become careless about what they learned in boot camp. Instead of snapping a salute, they will cross the street to avoid rendering the courtesy. Instead of standing to their feet when an officer enters the room, they will avert their eyes and pretend no one is there.

As I silently (and a little pompously) lamented how some of those young men and women would lose their zeal for military discipline, my mind took an unexpected turn.

As new Christians, when we first meet the King of kings and Commander of commanders, many of us nearly fall over ourselves trying to honor Him and render the respect He is due. We are careful to stifle old habits of using His Name flippantly. We are attentive to our choice of clothing and entertainment. We force ourselves to be honest in our relationships with others. We devour the Scriptures in daily study.

Then, somehow, "real" life takes its toll and some of us grow careless. The awesome becomes trite, the magnificent trivial. Our sense of holy respect dulls to casual regard. When once we were embarrassed at the thought of personal sin, now some of us invent a dozen excuses for our behavior. When once we were quick to listen for His voice, now we find it deceptively easy to cross the street and pretend He is not there.

Such carelessness before the Almighty knows no particular era. I am reminded of the Lord's lament through the Old Testament prophet, "An ox knows its owner, and a donkey its master's manger . . . .but my people do not understand" (Isaiah 1:3).

As I observed the new recruits, I wondered how much I understand.

The passion of those young sailors for military courtesy reminded me of something I periodically forget: I am not my own. I am bought with a price (1 Corinthians 6:19,20). And as I returned salute after salute, I realized it was time for me, once again, to snap to attention and renew my own passion, holy respect and awe for my Owner. It was time to recommit myself to honor Him each day with the work of my hands, the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart.

rich
rmaffeo@comcast.net

just out of curiosity

Just out of curiosity --- is anyone out there reading this blog? If so, please send me a quick email to let me know.

Rich

rmaffeo@comcast.net