Christmas in December . . . or not by Wil Triggs

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A few weeks back, I was standing at the Sunday morning bookstall when a man I know well approached me and asked, “When did we start celebrating Christmas in December?”

“You mean the exact year?” I asked.

“You know it really didn’t happen then,” he said.

I told him I didn’t know the answer to his question, but promised to look into it and get back to him.

Well, I’ve done some research and discovered that it’s not a simple question to answer. I thought that Christmas started with the early church, but from what I’ve been able to tell, celebrating Christ's birth came about later than observing and celebrating his death and resurrection. The Bible connects Christ’s death with Passover, so we can at least know the season. But Christmas is much less tied to any such tradition. And even Luke’s gospel account of the census isn’t as clean to identify as I thought. He alludes to those days, but not specific weeks or months or seasons. I have been able to find surely stated assertions, but there are several, and they don’t agree with one another.

And churches being churches, there’s always the east-west calendar where whole parts of the world celebrate Christmas, just not in December. In our house, we don’t take down our decorations until Orthodox Christmas (January 6). Maybe it’s just an excuse to leave the lights up, but it’s also a nod to Russia and other parts of the world who observe the holiday in the orthodox calendar.

My wife wants a shout out to the minority who like to celebrate Christmas in July. She says they know who they are. And there’s our pastor’s sage comment in last week’s sermon expressing sympathy for the Puritans who banned Christmas. That makes it immaterial altogether.

If we consider the all-important decree of the newly converted Ebenezer Scrooge, “I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year” does it really matter when the actual day is? What matters is that we are to strive to keep it all the year.

So now I’m way past answering the question at the bookstall and I’m wondering, “What is it that I’m to strive to keep?”

Do I strive to “take back Christmas” from wherever it might have wandered? What traditions do I strive to keep alive? (Note to self: outdoor Christmas lights are not at top of the list, and yet the gutter lights are on, but our tomato cage Christmas trees are inside by the back door possibly going up this weekend.)

And then, as I’m asking all this, our small group gathering happens. The Christmas dinner edition. Kathy’s authentic cheese tortellini and sausage soup that I’m sure is going to be served in heaven. Lois’s “Irresistible Salad.” Crusty sourdough breads, a mocha cake. I could go on, but I’m already distracting myself and surely you, too. We consider the two sides of Christmas—secular and religious—as expressed in an article by Tim Keller. As we talk, it becomes clear that we each have distinct histories and experiences related to both sides of the Christmas coin.

There’s the relief of no longer having to work in a retail context where people obsessed with deals forget to show any gratitude at all to the workers. There’s Africa, China, Bhutan, Soviet Russia represented—sometimes with no official celebration at all. We celebrate as singles and small and large extended families, open our doors to those who have no where else to go. One person moves from an explosion of excess gifts to only handmade simple gifts. Another gives charitable gifts to meet needs. One family shifts to drawing names to reduce the burden and increase the quality of gifts.

As I listen to the give and take, a Christmas pattern begins to emerge.

It’s a pattern of generosity, thankfulness and humility. That includes some places that don’t look anything like our all-American version. We like to embrace our season, yet some places people almost forget about the actual day because it’s not a holiday at all. It’s the pattern of the Incarnation that is full of grace and truth. It’s a reminder that when the true light came into the world, it filled a night sky over a bunch of shepherds who ran at breakneck speed to worship Jesus.

Yet it’s the same world where Herod took a generation of lives so he could keep his kingly power. Herod lives in our hearts when we think we can make ourselves better if we just try harder, spend a lot, give more, keep control of whatever kingdom we imagine to be in our realm, in essence, atone for our own sins.

Yet the Word prevails. May he prevail in our hearts today and this Christmas. We can't fix what needs to be fixed. There's no celebrating it away. That's good news for all of us—Africa, China, Bhutan, Russia, U.S.—the Light of the World came, comes and will come again in his time—December or April or whenever and forever. Let's celebrate this in our hearts.

Advent. Coming. Amen.

Love in Disguise by Wil Triggs

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When one of my friends moved away from DuPage County, he told me that one thing he didn’t like about living here was that no one just dropped by to say hi.

He grew up in Michigan, where, he said, people commonly just stopped by and knocked on a friend’s door. It wasn’t scheduled. There was no agenda but to say hi. The door opened. Food and talk was shared—just a normal part of life.

When he told me, I had to admit that I guessed it was true.

I generally don’t just knock on someone’s door unannounced, even if it’s a close friend. There have been times when I’ve knocked on my neighbor’s door, but there’s a reason: mail put in the wrong box, a jar of ice cream sauce at Christmas, a gift for their daughter’s First Communion. We’ll visit across the fence or when we’re both shoveling snow. We’ve shared barbecues or parties with them, but it’s always been planned.

So I’m not what anyone might think of as spontaneous when it comes to people dropping by or us dropping by unannounced.

I do recall one time when there was a knock on my door.

It was Sunday. The delayed timer on our oven made it possible for us to roast a chicken while we were at church. We could come home and take most everything out of the oven and refrigerator and sit down to a very nice Sunday lunch in no time.

So it was one of those Sundays when the knock happened.

We had just sat down. Sparkling water with a slice of melon. Golden chicken. Knock. Roasted potatoes. Knock, knock. Green salad. French green beans. Knock, knock, knock. Who could that be? Knock, knock, knock, knock.

Not wanting to be separated from my food, I sighed. I got up from the table and opened the door.

A man was on the other side. I had never seen him before. He wasn't selling anything. He asked for the former owners of the house—actually, two owners before us. We happened to know the couple. I explained that they no longer lived in the home. They had moved away.

Visibly disappointed, the man looked downward, somewhat crestfallen and said nothing.

Now I had a choice. Do I close the door on him?

With the smells of what seemed to me to be a delectable Sunday meal awaiting for me, I thought to myself, What if this man is Jesus in disguise?

I didn’t mean it literally, but I did think of the Scriptures.

So the words came out of my mouth, “We’re just sitting down to lunch. Would you like to join us?”

Did I really just say that?

He looked up, his countenance changing for the better and walked through our door.

Lorraine quickly set another place at the table.

He was hungry. As we ate, he told us his story, and it was a hard one. He was out of work, had no car, was living in a motel on Roosevelt Road that rented by the week and his week was coming to an end. From many years before, when he lived in the Wheaton area on a more permanent basis, the previous owners had befriended him. We knew them from College Church and it was clear from what he said that they had a godly touch of grace with him.

On that Sunday, he was just passing through, headed to what he hoped would be a job that might lead to a place to live and a settling down. He walked the several miles from the motel where he was staying to our home in the hopes of reconnecting with his friends from the past. We told him about our lives, too, and got to talk about faith. Jesus is good, he agreed.

Instead of reconnecting with old friends, I guess he got to make some new friends that day—Lorraine and me. After a leisurely meal, one that lasted longer than normal, with dessert and coffee served one after the other, in the Russian style, we prayed with him, and he prayed with us.

I drove him back to his motel and did my best to help him with a little more. He said thank you. We shook hands and looked in each other’s eyes. I told him I would pray for him.

Years have gone by. I’ve never seen him again.

But you know what? That man blessed us. I’m glad I didn’t close the door. To share our stories, enjoy a meal together and spend time in prayer transformed the afternoon into a sacred time together. People matter.

I think of him at Sunday dinner fairly often. And sometimes, on Thanksgiving, I wonder where he’s at this year.

Who is knocking on the doors of my life this year? Will I open the door?

…thank the Lord for his steadfast love,
for his wondrous works to the children of man!

For he satisfies the longing soul,
and the hungry soul he fills with good things.

Walk, Run, Go

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What does Thanksgiving, a STAMP team and the Dominican Republic have in common?

Many of us may not realize the answer is, "The Turkey Trot." This annual Thanksgiving Day event grows out of our 2013 STAMP team to the DR. It's a beautiful example of how a short-terms missions trip can grow beyond the actual trip itself. As you read this, consider when you've finished something how God might be working in new ways to do more than you expected.

The Turkey Trot began as a fundraiser for the STAMP team six years ago as it headed to the community of Hato del Yaque in the Dominican Republic. “We spent our spring break holding basketball clinics, running a VBS, and serving lunch to kids in the community," explains Barb Nussbaum, a member of that 2013 STAMP team. "A local pastor, Pastor Elido, established a church and wanted to use it holistically to support the community.” explains Barb. After the trip, the team wanted to continue supporting Pastor Elido and this community in tangible ways. But how?

College Church missionary Kyle Bradley, the host for that spring break trip, asked the team to consider “continuing in mission” by raising funds for two full basketball courts behind the church. These courts would allow the church to become even more a gathering center in this community and attract kids to play sports and hear the message of the gospel.

The Turkey Trots in 2014 and 2015 raised funding for the basketball courts. “In 2015, Kyle approached us about installing lights, so the courts could be used day and night. As a result, kids in the community not only learn valuable sports skills, but also, and more importantly, hear the message of Jesus from national missionaries who serve as coaches," points out Barb. "And the lights on the courts? This helps keep kids out of trouble and in a safe community at the church in Hato del Yaque." Meanwhile, Turkey Trot funding has also helped clear a baseball/soccer field in the same community.

Members of that 2013 STAMP team still joyfully "continue in mission" with GO Ministries by hosting the annual Thanksgiving Day Turkey Trot—now in its seventh year. Last Thanksgiving more than 250 runners participated in the 5K run/walk at St. James Farm.

"This Thanksgiving, all the money raised will be used to launch an initiative to provide small-scale employment and revenue through GO Ministries’ Kingdom Business area of ministry," Barb explains.

Sometimes it's easy to think that when a missions trip is over and your service ends, that's it. The end. The Turkey Trot, however, reminds us that kingdom service has the potential to grow and bear fruit long after your specific ministry ends. With that in mind, come run with us at St. James Farm on Thanksgiving morning!

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Everyday Heroes by Wil and Lorraine Triggs

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Everyday Heroes

We are writing this from LittWorld 2018 in Singapore. As some of you know, Media Associates International is allowing us to serve with them during this global training event. With delegates from 52+ countries around the world, LittWorld is a treasure trove of Christian communicators coming together for training, encouragement and prayer. When it comes to getting time with people from other parts of the world apart from the specific assignments from MAI, the challenge from the viewpoint of a couple of story-tellers like us is where to start.

This time, news events and our hearts for persecuted people converged. We got to meet with many people from “closed” countries. In fact, the red or green color on our nametags identified whether it was safe to photograph and post on social media.

There were moments when most all of us stopped what we were doing to pray for Pakistan with the news that Asia Bibi was released from prison and riots and protests were breaking out. The people from Pakistan were concerned, eager to get back, to be with their families and stand with their churches.

In smaller groups, and one on one, stories of faith emerged from people who different parts of the world where being a Christian costs something more than it does in Wheaton. We could describe these men and women as courageous and noble people, heroic, like superheroes of the faith, who serve God at all costs no matter what.

But the thing is, that’s not exactly the way they are.

They are humble, ordinary people. They have jobs. They serve in their churches. Some of them embraced communications and media to help their churches or Sunday schools or their fellow believers navigate relationships. They are doing the best with what they have and helping point people to Jesus in diverse circumstances. Some have grieved the loss of loved ones. Some struggle with the health of elderly parents or grandparents. Others face doubts and questions about their lives. They may struggle to make ends meet. Even those who are taking risks are often doing so unnoticed by most of the people around them.

Heroism comes in small ways while we are living our lives. A lot of times that means just taking the next step or speaking grace-filled words into a tense situation or closing the door and praying to the One who sees, hears and answers.

Peter—a LittWorld friend for several years now—said that people often ask him how he could live in such a difficult place for Christ followers. Peter’s reply is that greater is he who is in us than the one who is causing all the chaos and destruction.

Personally, we do think our brothers and sisters like Peter and others we can’t name are heroes (and we can hear them all protesting that no, they’re not), but we also know heroic brothers and sisters at church, who look at chaos or tragedy or loss and declare that greater is he who is in us than he who is in the world.

This is something we can all do in our own ways today.

God of Hope, God of Mercy

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A prayer from A Pastor Prays for His People by Wendell C. Hawley

Faithful God, forgiving God, holy God,
We have your Word, your promise—and we trust in the fact that
the Lord is near to all who call upon him.
to all who call upon him in truth.
We have been invited to ask, to seek, to knock with the promise of an answer,
for we believe you rule over all,
and in your hand is power and might.
So we address our petitions to
the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God, worthy to receive honor
and glory for ever and ever.

Father God, we would that our moments of trust were with us always,
but events come into our lives and we are filled with questions.
We need the reinforcement that you have the answers.
We stand mute before inexplicable circumstances, but there are no
mysteries for you.
There are no facts you do not know;
no problems you cannot solve;
no events you cannot explain;
no hypocrisy through which you do not see;
no secrets of ours unknown to you.

We are truly unmasked before you, and you see us as we really are—
filled with our pride,
our selfishness,
our shallowness,
our impatience,
our blatant carnality.
We would despair were it not so that
you, O Lord, are compassionate and gracious,
slow to anger and abounding in lovingkindness.
You have not dealt with us according to our sins,
for as high as the heavens are above the earth,
so great is your lovingkindness toward those who fear you.

So we crave today
a clean life,
a quiet spirit,
an honest tongue,
a believing heart,
a redeemed soul.
Thank you, God, that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanses us from
all unrighteousness.
Now, may we enjoy you forever!

Everything to God in Prayer by Lorraine Triggs

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As a parent on the receiving end of calls from our young adult who is supposed to be on his own, I now marvel at my mother’s patience with my endless calls home when I was first on my own.

I don’t remember the drama that prompted one call, but I am certain that once my mom said hello, I jumped right in with all the details of the situation.

“Well,” my mother finally said when I deigned to give her a chance to reply, “did you pray about it?”

“No,” I said. “I’m telling you about it.”

You know, confiding in my mother—that mother-daughter bond is much sweeter now that I 'm older than it was in my recently-out-of-college independence. I wanted her advice. She should be flattered that I sought her out.

“I’m going to hang up now,” my plainspoken mother said, “and you can call back once you prayed to the Lord.” And she hung up on me.

Let me say it again. I called my mother for advice and she hung up on me.

If texting had existed back then, you could be sure I would have texted ??? And you could be sure my mother would not have replied, not even with the praying hands emoji.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. My sisters and I had been around her long enough to know that she truly did “carry everything to God in prayer” as the old hymn encouraged.

She carried everything to God in prayer the afternoon of my father’s funeral. Everyone was ready to head to the church from the funeral home, except for my mother. I was sent back to look for her. My mom was right inside the door, praying with a young woman.

“Mom, come on.”

She heard me but she didn't respond.

“Mom-m-m-m-m.”

She ignored me, finished praying with this stranger, and then hugged the woman good-bye. Taking me by the hand, we walked to the waiting car.

“Why did you have to pray with her and make everyone wait?” I asked.

My mother looked at me. “Lorraine Elizabeth, I lost my husband, but that young woman lost her child and she needed prayer.”

Nehemiah and my mother would have gotten along famously. His go-to was prayer—not talking about prayer, not reading about improving one’s prayer life, but praying to God. As soon as he heard about the broken-down walls of Jerusalem, he “sat down and wept and mourned for days, and I continued fasting and praying before the God of heaven.” (Nehemiah 1:4) I like to imagine that Nehemiah just plunked himself down right where he was and started praying.

Even these years later, I marvel that my newly widowed mother stopped what she was doing to show love and to pray with the grieving mother at the funeral home.

Her instinct to carry everything to God in prayer is rooted in understanding who we are and who God is. We: the servants and sinners; God: steadfast promise keeper.

Unfortunately, my natural instinct toward self-sufficency often uproots my understanding of who I am and who God is. Lorraine: capable, in charge of things; God: does what I want when I get around to asking him.

As long as I am in charge, my instincts are to trust myself, not God. Or to trust my mom. Or my husband. Or my colleague or friend. None of us are truly in charge, so why do we keep telling ourselves that we are? And forgetting the God who gives and loves and waits and keeps on loving no matter what.

No, the people I love are not to stand in the place of the God who loves. When I carry everything to God in prayer, then I recognize that he is in charge of me and my people.

God: in charge of things; Lorraine: needs help to do what he wants even and especially when it's not what she wants.

I am working at honing my instincts when it comes to prayer. After all, I have my mother's legacy to uphold.

I realize now that when I called my mother for advice and she hung up on me that she was giving me her advice. Sage advice. Click. Dial tone. Don't look to people when you should be looking to Jesus. Pray to the loving God of the universe.

Carrying the Flag by Wil Triggs

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I’ve worn suits to church—white shirts from the dry cleaners with heavy starch. I’ve also worn t-shirts, Hawaiian shirts, sport coats, even turtlenecks in the winter. And then there’s the Ukrainian folk shirt, the Russian chapka hat and the reindeer boots made for the Russian Arctic.

Yes, styles of dress change.

When we were missionaries with College Church some seven years ago, we had the privilege of participating in the missions festival “as missionaries.” It’s a very different experience to participate in this special time from that perspective. The festival is a busy time for missionaries, packed with meetings and opportunities to connect with different people, groups, classes and the whole church through the worship service. The Russian fur on the head and reindeer boots were especially handy when we used to have the “spring” missions festival in what seemed like the dead of winter.

I remember the traditional Russian and Ukrainian clothes we wore. I remember our son, hanging out with John Leaf and other MKs. I remember making a big pot of borscht for people to taste. Sharing life with other missionaries was always a gift. I recall the intemse interest and prayer support from adults. I especially enjoyed presentations on Sunday morning in the STARS classes, and how, even years later, some of the people remembered what we said and told us they were praying for us.

At one festival, our Sunday evening assignment was the two-year-old preschool class. Seriously? Two-year-olds? Based on our experience, if any missionary needs encouragement (or anyone really), he or she needs to visit the two-year-olds.

We kept the teaching simple: We explained that there are children who live in a country called Russia and that Jesus loves them. We also had one of our “matryoshka” dolls—Russian nesting dolls. We showed the little ones the first and largest doll; then opened it to reveal the second doll; then the third doll, lining them up on the table as we went along. Each doll was met with gasps of surprise and delight. We held up the tiny second-to-the-last doll and asked if this was the last doll, and when we opened it and showed the final doll, (a twig of wood with two black dots for eyes), the children broke into enthusiastic cheers and spontaneous applause.

Throughout the festival, there are meetings and presentations for missionaries, so that they can learn from one another and be encouraged and challenged in a variety of ways. I remember sharing heartfelt struggles and engaging in times of prayer with fellow missionaries, some who are still serving today. Others who have since died or moved on to another form of work or service. This is happening this weekend, too, with our current missionaries. And it is a blessing.

Looking back, I remember a sense of love from the church and my sense of obligation to serve the church well in my missionary work.

When there were flag processionals as part of the worship service, it was a big deal when our church acquired the flag of Russia (as opposed to the hammer and sickle of the U.S.S.R.). And several of us missionaries served in that area, so it was interesting to see who would be chosen to carry either the flag of Russia or Ukraine.

Now, participating in the festival as a non-missionary member of College Church, I relish the time to hear the perspectives of our missionaries from different parts of the world. I’ve noticed over time that the seemingly constant changes in the world today make for more rapid change and upheaval. This is true not just in our news and political realms, but in the global missions efforts as well.

Yet the earthly changes we experience as people do not stop the living God from working in big and little ways every day. Today even.

This weekend, I look forward to the missionaries participating this time round: nineteen missionaries, seven from watch countries, all here to be with us. Old friends, new faces—I’m hoping to learn at least three new things to help me in my sense of outreach and missions. How can I pray better? What might my next step be? How can I encourage these missionaries in real ways? What of their stories will I get to hear?

And during this festival, as in all the other festivals, when I see the black flag that represents persecution, we think and pray for so many people in many different countries of the world. We know some of their names, but there are many others whose names we don’t know. We can lift them in prayer to God, who knows not only their names, but also every hair on their head and every tear they cry.

Looking ahead, I can’t help but think of the vision John received. The blessing of so many people, from all over the world and across the whole canvas of history itself, all coming together around the Lamb. It is where we are headed, and why we long to reach out, that others from every corner of the world might join us. As we begin this special time, let us consider the heavenly kingdom that will include people from every tribe coming around the Table.

And they sang a new song, saying, “Worthy are you to take the scroll and to open its seals, for you were slain, and by your blood you ransomed people for God from every tribe and language and people and nation, and you have made them a kingdom and priests to our God, and they shall reign on earth.” Revelation 5:9, 10