Author: Darrell Muckenfuss

It’s usually during times of crisis and overwhelming fear that the world asks, “Where are our churches when we need them?” It’s a very good question. Where are our churches when tragedy strikes and people need help; where are they when it’s freezing outside and people need to be warmed; where are they in the midst of abuse and violence against the weak and defenseless; where are they when we need them?

Whether small or large or rundown or immaculate, there seems to be no shortage of church buildings in the South. Most of them have been around for a long time, watching people go in and out of their doors, seeing them gather once or twice a week. They hear the cries of those outside their walls and above their rafters but hear only silence from within – even those few times when their rooms are full – the silence is deafening.

But among those cold, hard as stone structures reaching to the sky, there are those with well-worn wooden steps, creaking uneven floors, and tattered rooftops from years of weathered storms. Though bearing the ravages of time, the hearts of their sanctuaries are illuminated by the Light and warmed by the glow of His glory; near the hearth the soul of the place feels the warmth of the flames and glowing embers of His eternal seal of overwhelming love. A settled peace you feel among its occupants and never want to leave but find it travels with you wherever you go – all because the heart of stone is no more but beats with life from above forevermore.

This is the Church. It’s not the stone or the structure or the fund. The Church is all of those whose hearts are changed by the grace of God; the Church are those who say not “be warm,” but give a place to stay and something to eat (Jas 1:22; 2:15-16). Christian, it is long past time for us to say to God “Here I am,” willing to do whatever is asked of me. “Here I am” says, let me care for you in your sickness, in your desperation, in your time of need and expresses the love of God within you (Matt 25:34–40; Rom 5:5).

When you say, “Here I am,” the Church shows up in our community and God is glorified as He works through you to minister to His children, to demonstrate His marvelous ways to the world, and to shine His light into a world of darkness (John 8:12; Matt 5:14–16).

Shine brightly my brethren so that instead of “Where are they?” they may say “Look what God has done!” as they lower their raging fists, drop to their knees, and beat their chest in humble cry for mercy and forgiveness from the God and Father of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

Something is pressing upon my heart today.

Although we talk much about – and can probably recite – Jesus’ commands to love God and our neighbors, it seems that talk has not sunk in. Worse still is that out of those same mouths spew forth words of bitterness along with the sweet, which ought not to be (Jas 3:10–11). And for all our years in the pew, we let bitterness fester and relationships fail, taking that ugliness with us to the grave. O that it was not so.

There are indeed a great many good and healthy relationships within the church; brothers and sisters encouraging one another, even reaching out to those yet to be within the fold – all to the joy of the great Shepherd of the flock who so tenderly nurtures, patiently guides, and lovingly corrects those who are His (Ps 23:1–6). You know a loving flock when you see it and you feel it when you experience it; as you step into such a place surrounded by God’s own your heart feels great joy and peace. There is no personal ambition or pride or envy, only the love of all for Christ and for each other.

Yet in the midst of what life in Christ should be, lives the sad and almost unbelievable truth of what ought not to be: disdain within the church among men and women alike. To think that those who would live eternally together would dispute with one another and engage in all such self-centered anger, strife, and jealousy (2 Cor 12:20) brings low the heart and contradicts all that should be within the body of believers (Lev 19:18; John 13:34–35; 15:12; Rom 5:5; 12:10; 1 Cor 13; 1 John 4:7–11,20–21; cf. 1 Pet 4:8; Gal 5:13; Eph 4:32; Exod 20:16; 23:1; Lev 19:16; Ps 15:3; 34:13; Prov 26:20; John 13:34–35; 1 Pet 2:1; Jas 1:19; 4:11; Gal 5:15; Eph 4:31; Col 3:8).

In many cases what ought not to be within the church remains in the individual heart for years causing it to harden and die, if not physically certainly emotionally and spiritually. But this is not the only effect; as it lingers in a single heart it also infects the church, sustaining and even stimulating the anger and bitterness to continued growth. And this is what embitters the hearts of the living, separating lifelong friends who at death’s door may never see one another again, let alone the open arms of Jesus our Lord.

Selfish pride and envy, the source of bitterness and anger and deceit, must give way to love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control as we live by the Spirit (Gal 5:22–25) and walk in love considering others needs before our own (Eph 5:2; Col 3:14; Phil 2:3–4) all while serving our King; for when we do it to the least of these, we do it unto Him (Matt 25:35–40; cf. Eph 6:7–8; Col 3:17). In other words, how we value and treat one another is exactly what we think of Christ and how we treat Him.

Let us, therefore, lay aside all malice and envy and slander (1 Pet 2:1) and live and serve together in peace and harmony, loving one another, bearing with one another, and sharing each other’s burdens along the way (Eph 4:2; Col 3:13) until that glorious day when eternity comes and we join the myriads singing praises to our Lord and Savior in the tabernacle of God our Father.

The last of the day’s travelers will soon arrive at their destinations and settle in for food, family, and football as they anticipate one sale after another – ah, Thanksgiving in America. In days gone by, we learned about the Pilgrims and the Indians coming together as we traced our hands and fingers to make a turkey or two. For all we knew, it was just a day in 1621 that they called “Thanksgiving” where some people came together to share some food; the more pressing matter though, was not some buckled shoe but how to draw a leg or two!

We’re told that thankfulness and gratitude are the things we must exude, but the question is to whom? Around the table, the question comes, “What are you thankful for this day?” With a stutter and a pause, the man may reply, but never a reason why – or to whom.

In his Thanksgiving Proclamation of 1789, George Washington wrote of our duty “to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God, to obey his will, to be grateful for his benefits, and humbly to implore his protection and favor.” It was because of this duty that Washington recommended a day of public thanksgiving and prayer for what he called the many graces of Almighty God, especially the opportunity granted by God to form a government of civil and religious liberty.

These words of proclamation for thanks to God would most likely stun today’s American populace, driving them into anger and protest. But calls of thanksgiving to God are nothing new: the psalmist often cried out for people to express their thanks to God, for He is good and His lovingkindness endures forever (Pss 106:1; 107:1; 118:1–4; 136:1–3); king David sang, “Oh give thanks to the Lord, call upon His name [and] make known His deeds among the peoples” (1 Chron 16:8-9); the one who called himself a Pharisee of Pharisees said give thanks to God no matter your circumstance (1 Thess 5:18); and the brother of our Savior reminded his readers that every good and perfect gift comes from God (Jas 1:17). Indeed, salvation is of the Lord (Pss 3:8; 62:1; Jonah 2:9) so let the redeemed be thankful for the signal favors of Almighty God!

Let us then join together with our families and friends on this day with a spirit of thanksgiving in our hearts to God for His infinite goodness, tender mercy, and loving care; for newness of life and for calling us His very own. Give thanks to the God and Father of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Just as shouting about fire and brimstone does not make hell any more real, whispering about it – or never mentioning it at all – does not make it any less real.  Jesus spoke many times about hell and described it as a place of eternal torment and unquenchable fire (Mark 9:48), a fiery furnace where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth (Matt 13:42), and a place of outer darkness where its occupants will be eternally separated from God (Matt 22:13; 25:30).  According to Jesus, hell is not only a real place of eternal punishment but also the default destination for the devil and his horde along with those whom He does not know (Matt 7:23; 25:41; Luke 13:27).

The question, however, is not whether hell is a real place, what it’s like, or who its occupants may be.  The question is in which direction are you running?  Is the idea of fire and brimstone shouting so loud and the heat of its flame so hot that it matters not where you run as long as it’s AWAY and ANY direction will do?  If that’s the case, my friend, look before you leap or from the frying pan into the fire you will be.  Better yet, check the compass of your heart; stop running from, and start running to.

The opening chapters of the book of Genesis not only record God’s creation activity but also reveal His intimate relationship with man.  Of all His creation, man is the only one whom He formed in His own image (Gen 1:27) – everything else He created by speaking it into existence.  But with man we get the idea that He cupped His hands, tenderly formed his whole being, then picked him up and made him alive with His very breath (Gen 2:7).  God then brought him into a beautiful garden to live and love and thrive with his wife and to enjoy tender moments with their Creator (cf. Gen 3:8–9).  It was very good indeed (Gen 1:31).

We remember what happened next (The Fall, Gen 3:1–7), the separation that followed (Expelled from Eden, Gen 3:21–24), and the eternal consequences thereof (Hell, John 3:18; cf. Rom 3:23).  In short, sin pays wages, and sinners die (Rom 6:23a).  Attempting to run away from those consequences will not get you very far; you may flee from a lion or a bear, but it will bite you in the end (Amos 5:19).  Running from hell will not save you from hell.

However, when we run to Christ, the One who paid the price, we shall see paradise; for God reconciled Himself to us through Christ (2 Cor 5:17–19) and it will be very good again!

They mocked and jeered,
   and shed no tear,
   tho’ death was imminently near.

The scorn, the shame,
   that He became,
   for those who call upon His name.

To bring them back God’s wrath did pour,
   upon the Son that He adore,
   for the borrowed sin our Savior bore.

Whence was finished Christ’s travail,
   the Father did tear the veil,
   to make Himself avail.

On the cross our Savior bled
   and gave His life in the sinner’s stead
   for peace with God those who love the Bread.

In The Silver Chair, C. S. Lewis introduces his readers to a Marsh-wiggle named Puddleglum.  He was a peculiar fellow with much to say about worst-case scenarios in even the most mundane things.  He couldn’t even say “Good Morning,” without clarifying that by “good” he didn’t mean it might not turn to rain or snow or fog or some such thing.  And the weather, he says, would be the least of their concern on their winter journey to the North “what with enemies, and mountains, and rivers to cross, and losing our way, and next to nothing to eat, and sore feet, we’ll hardly notice the weather.”¹

Although Puddleglum is a fictional character, he reminds us of some of those real-life people we know who just don’t seem to enjoy anything for fear of what might be awaiting them in the future.  Now, there’s nothing wrong with exercising some common sense (that should sound redundant) but looking for trouble where none exists is a waste of time and energy; and though none of us can predict the future, we can certainly borrow trouble from it (Matt 6:34).

It’s that very trouble that gets in the way of life and robs us of our joy if ever we had any.  I mentioned earlier those real-life Puddleglums who never seem to be happy about anything but have every reason for inexpressible joy.  Yes, I’m thinking about those “grumpy Christians” with their perma-frowns who only and always talk about their troubles – “O woe is me,” I can hear them say – pray for this and pray for that as long as it’s for me, me, me. For all their wallowing and borrowed trouble they simply fail to see He is in their very midst. Sadly, they have forgotten about the blessings they received in Christ (Eph 1:3–14) and in so doing have not only robbed themselves of joy but also forgotten about others along the way.  And who wants to be a grumpy Christian anyway?  Certainly not those on the outside looking in – why would they ever want to be?

So to the Puddleglums, I write: 

Puddleglum, O Puddleglum,
Why dost thou wallow thyself in thee?
O Puddleglum, why dost thou not see?

Puddleglum, O Puddleglum,
Rememberest not the blessings He poured upon thee?
O Puddleglum, how could that be?

O the mercy He shows to thee
O the plans He has for thee
All before you came to be

The Son He sent for thee
To rescue you from your tragedy
And fill your heart with Heaven’s glee

Puddleglum, O Puddleglum,
Pray thee search within thine heart
And find the seal of whose thou art

Look, O Puddleglum, to thy neighbor’s need
And cast your cares upon the Seed
For He is the Word upon which you feed

Love thy God and come to be Puddleglee
Let them see, O let them see
The One who rescued thee

¹ C. S. Lewis, The Silver Chair (New York: HarperCollins, 1953), 68, 72.

In response to 1 Corinthians 15:53, which describes the preparation of the believer’s body for everlasting rest, Puritan pastor and theologian Richard Baxter (1615–1691) mused on the extent to which the believer’s desire for the temporal – consisting of limited life and meaningless delights – seemingly outweighs their desire for the eternal rest full of heavenly blessings promised by the One who created and sustains all things.  It’s as if they linger like Lot, digging their heels into the ground and grasping at the chaff as they are pulled away into the afterlife.  Writing in The Saints’ Everlasting Rest (pub. 1649), Baxter summarized that “[i]f God enacted a law for the continuance of life until we are truly willing, heaven might be empty, and our lives on earth would be very long (Baxter, 209–222).

Baxter wrote these words centuries ago, not for or about the unrepentant soul but for Christians of his time whose love for God fell short of their love for such things as the beauty of a magnificent rose garden with colors so deep or cradling a stitched-together binding of a worn-out book with pages yellowed with age – though a hymnal it may be.  There is nothing wrong with appreciating the beauty of a garden or delicately turning a page, but how do those things compare to the marvelous wonder of the Ancient of Days?  How could one love a flower or a book more than He?  How might this be?  Did they trust His promises and cling to His guarantee?

How we think about God not only frames our entire outlook on life but also strengthens our hearts to love Him more; for when we recall what He has said:

• In the beginning, God said … (Gen 1)
• I will put enmity … (Gen 3:15)
• I will make you a great nation (Gen 12:2-3)
• I AM WHO I AM (Exod 3:14)
• I will pass over you (Exod 12:13)
• I am holy (Lev 11:44-45; 9:2; 20:26; cf. 1 Pet 1:16)
• I will make a new covenant (Jer 31:31, 33; Ezek 36:26-27; cf. Eph 2:13-14)
• I will pour out my Spirit (Joel 2:28)
• I will send my Son (John 3:16; cf. Luke 20:9-18)
• I will save you (John 3:17; cf. 1:29)
• I will come for you (John 14:1–3)
• I am with you always (Matt 28:20)
• I am making all things new (Rev 21:5)
• I will be [your] God and [you] will be My son (Rev 21:7)
• I am coming quickly (Rev 22:12)
• I am the Alpha and the Omega (Rev 22:13)

When we love Him with our whole being (Deut 6:5; Matt 22:37; Mark 12:30; Luke 10:27) our only desire is to cleave; never shall we say, “Not yet”, but instead, “Come, Lord Jesus!”  Though our knowledge is incomplete (1 Cor 13:12), our faith sometimes weak (Matt 8:26; 14:31), and our love but faint (Matt 26:69–75; cf. John 21:15–17), through Christ we remain held fast in the hands of the Father who will never let go, nor shall anyone release His grasp (John 10:28–29; cf. Rom 8:39).

How could we not love more than anything the One who loves us so?