Secondary Relationship by Lorraine Triggs

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Shortly before I headed off to Moody Bible Institute as a freshman, the Institute mailed me the student handbook, which I was to read, sign and agree to abide by. Most of the rules made sense, but the dress code, well, that was an entirely different matter.

This was back in the early 70s, and I wore jeans every day to high school. In fact, my high school didn’t even have a dress code. It was liberal before its time. We had open lunch and could leave school whenever we wanted. Some of my Christian friends and I took over one of the restrooms, decreeing that no cigarette or pot smoke was allowed. (Believe it or not, our fellow students respected our takeover.)

If I had to wear a dress, I wore granny skirts and peasant blouses (vintage at a young age.) I wore clogs or sandals or Chugga boots, not ballet flats or high heels.

I was in big trouble even before I started classes. “I don’t want to buy different clothes,” I whined to my mother. “These are stupid rules. Why can’t I wear jeans?”

My mother flipped through the handbook, not tipping her hand one way or the other about the rules. “Well, you do want to go there, right” she asked. I nodded.

“You’ll need to sign it, right?” I nodded, not liking where this was headed. “And if you sign your name, you’ll follow the rules, right?”

I didn’t nod in agreement, instead I asked my favorite question that I had been asking since I was a toddler, “Why?”

The answer was obvious to my mother and it had nothing to do with rule-keeping. “Your name is as good as your word. If you sign it, then you need to keep your word.” 

I'm glad my mother maintained this secondary view of rule-keeping. It's a reminder that rules are good, but not the end all, nor the way to righteousness or relationship.

Though the church I grew up attending was full of rules, my mother never let me confuse those rules with personal holiness. It was the people mattered, not the clothes they wore or what they did or didn't do. I could be a Pharisee in jeans or a dress, and she would have none of that. When you give your word to a person, you had to keep it, whether you were in a formal dress or wearing jeans with holes in the knees. So now the same sort of teaching was extending out to my school of choice.

When I read the prologue to the law in Exodus 20:2, I hear relationship: "I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery," and Colossians 1:13 echoes in my heart: "he has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son."

On those days when my inner Pharisee makes an appearance, I remember that God has done the delivering, I remember that God wants wholehearted devotion, not my self-righteousness, and then I rest in the truth that I can depend on him to keep his word forever.

Taste of Jesus

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It’s a little like the parable of the sower, but instead of different soils, there are all kinds of people. Some walk by and avert their eyes, others stop, interested from a variety of perspectives—where is your church? What denomination? Can I get some free stuff? How much is the water?

When we go out into the community, we trust God to do most of the heavy-lifting. All we need to do is our little part in God’s big work.

One of the Taste of Wheaton vendors, as she was setting up, came by and said hello. Looking at our display, she asked for a mug. Sure, I replied. Later, she came back and asked if we had bug spray. I pulled out the can of OFF and she sprayed it on and said thanks. The next day, as we set up she greeted me with a smile.

A student came by three times, the first time looking away, the second time stopping to take a pen and fill out a survey, the third time finding out about our summer programs. 

Diane warmly and happily engaged children as they walked by the table. She would take them to the games and encourage them to play and win prizes. Then, she would introduce herself to the parents and give them information about our summer ministries. 

She also talked with a follower of Bahai about Jesus and God and religion for about ten minutes. He spoke of how he liked that religion because of how it promised to adapt to changing cultures and societies and needs. Diane explained how she finds comfort in our unchanging God in the midst of a constantly changing world. He went away with Pastor Josh’s book “How Church Can Change Your Life.”

We are praying that we can show the love of Jesus to people in big and little ways.

A couple stopped and I spoke with them about our various areas of ministry. “You know, I drive by that church every day on my way to work” the husband said to his wife. “If you think you might visit us, come in a couple weeks and stop by the café for a homemade cinnamon roll, baked by my wife,” I said, handing him a Café card. 

“Well, that sealed it right there,” said his wife, “he’ll do anything for a cinnamon roll.” [Even go to church, I thought/wondered.]

“I’ll be there” said the husband.

A couple pushing their baby in a stroller went by. We talked through various aspects of church, and when I got to the 5K (aka Run for the STARS), the wife said, “My husband likes to run.” And took the flyer over to show her husband, who was already at the next table over.

Three students stopped looking at all that we had on display and two of them eagerly took Bibles. They asked first, tentatively, and were happily surprised when I said that they were free.

"Do you need to register ahead of time to go the a Backyard Bible Club?: asks one mom. "No, you can just come!"

After his time at the display, Bruce Aulie gave a brief report, too.

“Rather than eat by ourselves at the Taste of Wheaton, Caleb and I sat down with our food at a picnic table with a teenager with earbuds and struck up a conversation. He said he was joining the military after graduating from Wheaton North. We found out he doesn't go to our church but is a believer We encouraged him in his faith and talked about what it means to lay your life down.  How Jesus did that for us. That we are no longer our own.  

“A young woman stopped by our table. A recent college grad, she said she had walked away from the faith during school. Now she was returning. She took a Bible, encouraged to read it and anchor her life in Christ's promise of living water. 

“One young boy stopped, a bit shy and embarrassed to be at our church table but grabbed a Living Bible and took off like a shot. 

“A group of girls stopped to chat with Diane and with surprise and delight exclaimed, ‘This is my church!’" 

Our table at Taste of Wheaton isn’t very big. We’re right next to the Pella Windows display, facing Hale Street. When the bands play, sometimes the music overwhelms the park and it’s hard to hear anything. There are times when no one stops by or people ignore our cheery hellos. So why do we do it?

It’s because every conversation, every Bible grabbed or politely removed from the table, every handout or water bottle or book we give is an invitation to come and see who Jesus, come and meet the one true God and receive his gift of mercy and grace.

If you're going to Taste of Wheaton, stop by; bring a friend with you. Even if you're not, pray for this little piece of College Church in Memorial Park this weekend, that some might have a Taste of Jesus.

Super Wash by Cheryce Berg

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I’m waiting at the Super Wash in a yellow plastic scooped chair between a ficus tree and a dispenser of coffee in paper cups. The man who hasn’t stopped humming since he carried his first load of clothes through the back door slips quarters into the coffee machine and chats as his cup fills.

“Been coming here for years, twice a month. Decided we’d rather not maintain our own machines at home. They replaced the old coffee dispenser with this one—double the price but double the size. And do you know he spent $5,000 on new washers? Nice owners, from South Korea, always cleaning the place. The plants are a nice touch.”

I watch him quizzically as he chatters, wondering if it really is easier to go to the laundromat than do your laundry at home. And only twice a month? He is jovial, if not crisply clean—the type that seems unfazed by a washer broken for 22 days that no one can fix and seven loads of laundry to haul around in a Mini Cooper on a Friday night. 

I sort laundry memories while I wait. I’ll hang this one with the others, though the gray strip mall setting off Roosevelt Road isn’t as colorful as the rest. 

I remember Grandma’s stiff, worn, fresh-smelling towels, hung on the clothesline to dry. The farmhouse had a wringer washer in the back hall. Towels lasted for years and appeared crisp and clean, smelling of the Michigan outdoors and her garden. I loved that smell, though the roughness rubbed my tender skin raw.

I recall hiking through the Porcupine Mountains with fifty pounds on my aching back before my freshman year of college. We paused at Lake Superior to wash hair braided with leaves, army pants smudged with peanut butter, and bandanas stiff with sweat. Kneeling on the shore,  we scrubbed and thumped those clothes clean in the icy water, laying them flat to dry on the rocks.

Then there was that college summer in the Czech Republic, months after the wall came down. I washed and then naively hung my simple wardrobe outside on our ground floor apartment’s patio. We were gone for hours, trudging a road marked only by electric wires, unable to board the bus without the local currency. I came home exhausted to see an empty clothesline where my clothes used to hang.

In Bolivia we washed again and hung jeans in the hot midday sun. At 12,000 feet they dry and fade fast.

Seventeen of us shared a small washer and dryer that week in the Dominican Republic. After long days of mixing cement and playing with children with mango-sticky fingers, clean clothes were a treasure.

In Turkey, we washed modest clothes in tiny sinks and wore them again each new hot morning. I sympathized with the women wearing dark-colored burkhas from head to toe in the stifling heat.

With each memory and each pile of clean clothes, my gratitude grows. 

I’m back at the laundromat off Roosevelt Road. The joyful owners from South Korea have said goodnight to those of us still sitting in yellow plastic chairs watching clothes spin. The dryer buzzes and I end up leaving my iPad on the folding table, only remembering it the next day. When I return I am welcomed with four hugs. She has kept my iPad on her counter under a pile of clean clothes—turned in by an honest patron after hours. 

I realize I have all I need and I always have, even if right now I don’t yet have a working washer at home. And I am grateful.

Cheryce first posted this on her blog, Hope and Be.Longing.

Gospel Surprises by Wil and Lorraine Triggs

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One of Lorraine's theology teachers at Moody Bible Institute often reminded his students that they will be surprised at who isn't in heaven, and who is. It was his folksy way of saying that salvation belongs to God alone. Our role—apart from our bit parts as sinners in our own stories of grace—is to tell and retell the good news to one and all.

But to tell the story, we need to know the story and be ready. One of the best exercises we've done in our small group was to write down on pieces of paper our answer to the question, “What is the gospel?” We first did this at a small group leadership training (thank you, Steven). The point was that we need to be prepared to speak the gospel to those around us. We found it so inspiring that we did it again at our next small group gathering.

It was almost summer, as we sat in circle, with the sunlight still bright as we read one by one what we wrote down on the papers. It’s so great to hear friends talk about Jesus in this way, each in their own words and ways of expressing the ultimate truth. We really should talk more about the person and work of Jesus with one another—and be ready to bring him into our conversation with anyone. 

As this was one of the last meetings before summer, we asked each other to pray for the chance to share the gospel.

One of our members didn’t hesitate to ask us to pray for her unbelieving brother.

So we prayed. Little did we know that God would answer those prayers that summer, the season that turned out to be her brother’s last on earth. Though she had asked him many times over the years if she could talk with him about God, he always said no. Until that summer, when, facing a lot of health issues that would eventually end up taking his life, he said, “Yes!”

She was so used to him saying no that she was surprised. And then all the inner struggles and doubts came into her head, but she persevered—and he believed. Sometimes when we pray for things like this, we’re surprised when God answers. Even as we pray, we need to remind ourselves that God’s timing is not ours, as if we expect answers that take years. Often that’s true, but in this case, I think we were all surprised. We prayed, and a month later, everything had changed for this man.

This came to mind at our most recent small group gathering, where she asked us to pray for her aging mother who thinks she’s a Christian because she’s a good person. Join us in praying for her mother.

Our advice is for you to do the exercise of answering the question “What is the gospel?” Do it with friends, family, your small group. And take the time to read aloud what everyone says. You’ll be creating your own gospel psalm. A great tonic to the cares of this world.

What in the World Is Going On? by Wil Triggs

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The Sunday night of missions festival Bob Enstrom came up to me at the evening service excited about summer. I got to know Bob several years back at the summer book group, and he was an enthusiastic participant when he was in town.

We talked about different summer plans. I couldn’t talk to Bob without feeling lifted up; this meeting was no exception, his interest and care always genuine. Bob encouraged me when he heard some of what I was thinking about with this summer’s group. He told me how much he enjoyed participating, told me some of his plans, and then it was time to head over to the Global Café.

Bob seemed to be in fine shape, but Tuesday of that week, I received word of his unexpected death. 

Yesterday I went to his funeral. Right after, I headed to the prayer for the persecuted church group. In it, we lifted up people, churches, countries where being a Christian is costly.

We prayed for Andrew Brunson, whose trial is scheduled for this week. We prayed for the Korean Americans who are possibly going to be freed in the days ahead. We prayed for one who came to faith at a church service where one of our congregants preached in a hostile country. We prayed for churches in Nigeria, China, Kenya, Ethiopia. We prayed for refugees in many countries, some facing repatriation. We prayed for the persecutors, longing for Saul-to-Paul conversions all over the world. You can see our prayer sheet from yesterday here. Feel free to join in the prayers.

So there’s a lot of suffering in this world. It can get heavy. As I write this, I’m listening to ChurchFolk, finding some solace in the music of friends singing “Jesus Lives and So Shall I”

Jesus lives though once he died

In the ground he was forsaken

Yet the stone was rolled aside

How the gates of hell were shaken

Death obeys Him, yes it must

Jesus is my hope and trust,

Jesus is my hope and trust.

Time is short. All of us—we’re just passing through. We don’t have forever to do whatever it is God has designed for us. And I’m thinking of how every prayer and every encounter we have with people is precious and can’t be taken for granted. 

God, I need ears to hear and eyes to see. There is a particular “wonder” to today—whatever it may hold, whoever I meet, whatever happens to me or the ones I love or the people who are “the enemy.” I want to go forward like Christ, more mindful than I’ve been of my call to be like Jesus, a diplomat, an ambassador, representing to this world I know so well, the other world, the one that though I don’t know it so well, is my real home. Let us live as a city on a hill, salt, light, a lamp on a stand. 

Surprises and Gospel Opportunities

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Life for global worker Joan has always been full of surprises and gospel opportunities in her host country. This morning, Joan muses about a neighborhood wedding, English clubs and the Apostle Creed—all in a day’s work for Joan.

A few weeks ago, there was a wedding reception for the son of the M family who lives next door to me. Since I hadn't received an invitation, I asked a friend who lives a few houses from me, if I should go. She said, "Yes, you must go or you will offend them since you live next door."

Reluctantly, I put my gift of money in an envelope and headed to the wedding. Much to my surprise, when I arrived, the groom's aunt met me, took my arm, found two chairs and sat me down beside her. She stayed with me throughout the reception and introduced me to everyone as her friend next door. We took pictures and they insisted that I was in the middle of each photo.

Later, she walked me home, came inside and we chatted some more. She has already returned for another visit, invited me to her home and was delighted when I gave her a copy of the photos I had taken.

This is a miracle since we have lived next door to this family for 16 years and they have never spoken to us. Pray for this new friendship to grow.

On another front, the English Club continues to be a blessing to the students and to me. One of the young M students recently said that he was born a M but didn't really believe any religion at all. When he comes to the English Club, he enters in to the discussions of the Bible. We have a mix of Catholics, Christians and Ms who come each week. God is working in their hearts as we study his Word together.

I have several more groups of global workers and pastors’ wives who are eager to learn English. What a blessing for all of us as we pray together for people in this country to know Esa (Jesus). God is building his church.

And there’s Siwi, my M friend, who works in another city but messages me every day. Please pray for her and her brother, Angga, that God will continue to grow our friendship and they will open their hearts to know Esa.

Last Sunday, I attended an English service in a church here. As we read the Apostles' Creed, together, I thought, Here I am in another culture, in another country, reciting the same creed in the same way as I did at College Church. This is what heaven must be like.

On this Missions Festival weekend, Sunday’s Connections features an article by Cheryl Warner, “Living in the Sun Rise.” It's a good read,too. Cheryl and her husband, Charley, live in Ukraine and serve with Barnabas International. Enjoy this special weekend with our missions people.

Wandering: 1968/2018 by Wil Triggs

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There’s so much I don’t get about 1968, but then, there are plenty of things I don’t get about 2018 either. What I really grapple with is how to fit social discord and sin with the place of the church in the world.

Last fall, we went with Pat and Lin Fallon to see Ken Burns and Lynn Novick talk about their PBS Vietnam documentary before it aired. The Auditorium Theater had equal parts anti-war folks and those who fought in the war—and both groups expressed appreciation for each other. 

That would not have happened back in 1968. The two segments covering that year were called “Things Fall Apart” and “The Veneer of Civilization.” Those titles seemed to perfectly describe what a chaotic year that was. And the anniversary of the death of Martin Luther King, Jr., just a few days ago, brought me back to that time.

I remember it. Sort of. I was alive, but a little kid—so little in fact, that racial injustice and our involvement in a war on the other side of the world really didn’t mean anything to me. I just wanted to play with my friends.

But swirling all around us was, well, 1968. The war. Assassinations. The Democratic Convention. As strange as it seemed to me as a child, it must have been truly bizarre for adults—so much change on so many levels all at once.

Vietnam was far away, but issues of race were as close as the block where I played and lived.

As a white boy, I didn’t feel privileged. In fact, in my neighborhood, I was the minority. My friends identified themselves as Japanese, Black, Chinese, Filipino, Mixed, Mexican. I can’t think of a single friend who was white and stayed in our community. None of us seemed to be ethnically in a majority position when it came to the classroom or the playground.

I loved to visit Demetrius, whose mother would come home from work and make cookies and pour glasses of chocolate milk for us. After watching the funeral of Martin Luther King, Jr., on television, I ran a few doors down to Demetrius’s home. I wanted to shake off the sadness and play. The mother, who usually looked happy and beautiful as she happily offered homemade snacks, opened the door, tears streaming down her face. She was stricken and could barely talk. “The children can’t play today,” she said. “I’m sorry,” I said. I felt stupid even trying.

It wasn’t until I went to my evangelical Christian college that I experienced a truly white majority living situation. Where were the other ethnic groups? Many of the students who were not white had come from countries overseas. 

While onstage with Russell Moore at a conference this week, John Perkins said, “You are serving God absolutely when you love like God. …There is one way to get rid of sin and that’s the blood of Jesus Christ, God’s Son.”

We can’t fix everything, but we can show our own love and point people to the King of Love, the one who shed his blood for us all.

Just a few weeks ago, we invited Lonnie to our Easter services this year—part of our “Each One, Bringing One” outreach. She is an African American woman we’ve gotten to know at the grocery store. Lorraine and I go there on Saturday mornings and split an omelet before our weekly grocery shopping.

Lonnie’s job was to cook the breakfast orders. We began to visit with her week after week. She got to know us so well that when she saw us walk in, she started our order before we placed it. At Christmas, we gave her our traditional gift to friends—chocolate ice cream sauce. When we gave her the sauce, she pulled out her cell phone and showed us photos of her newborn granddaughter.

So when we gave her the Easter invitation, we were hopeful. But she said right away that she had to work. We told her about College Church and she said, “Oh yeah, I know that church.”

We told her to visit. And if she ever visits, Lorraine said, “you dress up that granddaughter of yours and bring her with you and show her off to us.” We told her where she could find us when she visits.

And inviting her, even though she didn’t come, has meant that we pray for her more consistently than we did before. Join us in praying for Lonnie.

Maybe in the days ahead, we’ll see her on a Sunday morning when she doesn’t have to work.

At the same conference where John Perkins spoke, Russell Moore said, “Sometimes we say ‘If only we could have multi-ethnic churches.’ The church is multi-ethnic. The church is headed right now by a middle-eastern homeless man.”

I need help. I don’t really get this.

Let’s ask God to guide us to truly serve him by loving others like God loves us.