Divine Comedy by Wil Triggs

Every year, I tell the Kindergarteners a secret. The teachers, the buddies and the students all hear the secret, and the rule is, they can’t tell anyone. Well, of course, they can tell their parents. I told them this secret last Sunday and I may remind them of it again this Sunday and then that will probably be the end of it until next year, when I tell then next group about it. The secret. It makes them smile.
 
You probably think I’m going to tell you the secret now, right?
 
Wrong. I’m not telling.
 
But if I did tell you, you would smile. You might even laugh.
 
So, there is another secret, a bigger one, that I can talk about.
 
We Christians like to laugh. We Christians laugh and we laugh a lot. That's the secret.
 
It hardly seems fitting for people called to be ambassadors of the next world, who are carrying a message to people bound for hell. The way of escape.
 
Once some friends of mine were doing a reading that was created to make people laugh—during a prayer meeting at the mission organization where I worked. It was a funny script. People couldn’t help but laugh. The laughter became contagious and almost everyone listening was laughing. We surprised ourselves with our inability to stifle or stop the laughs.
 
That was when one of the elder missionaries in the group stood and in his booming and dramatic radio voice said, “It is better to go to the house of mourning, than to go to the house of feasting: for that is the end of all men; and the living will lay it to his heart!” (Eccl. 7:2-3, KJV—I added the exclamation point to capture the anger and volume).
 
That old Christian didn’t think laughter was ok. It was a frivolous sin. We were a band of serious-minded people on a serious mission. Like Abraham and Sara, or not.
 
Then Abraham fell on his face and laughed and said to himself, “Shall a child be born to a man who is a hundred years old? Shall Sarah, who is ninety years old, bear a child?” (Gen. 17:13)
 
The LORD said to Abraham, “Why did Sarah laugh and say, ‘Shall I indeed bear a child, now that I am old?’ (Gen. 18:13)
 
And Sarah said, “God has made laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh over me.” (Gen 21:6)
 
This is the laughter of our faith: laughter, the name of the covenant baby.
 
You can live life in a tragedy, or you can live life in a comedy.
 
Webster calls tragedy “a serious drama typically describing a conflict between the protagonist and a superior force (such as destiny) and having a sorrowful or disastrous conclusion that elicits pity or terror”
 
And a comedy is happy ending. Webster says it’s “the genre of dramatic literature dealing with the comic or with the serious in a light or satirical manner.’
 
Life is human tragedy walking down the aisle with divine comedy.

The magic trick with no sleight of hand. The transgressors forgiven. The unloved loved. The unchangeable changed.
 
His household is feeding and caring for Moses while Pharoah is out killing baby boys in attempt to get rid of his kind. It’s the patriarch reversing his hands in blessing. King Saul and King David. Queen Vashti and Queen Esther. Jonah complaining that God is gracious and merciful. Wine at a wedding where there was only water, lunch where there was nearly no food, the replacing of mourning wails with the stunned realization of life after hours or days of death. How could they not laugh with utter and unexpected joy?
 
The divine comedy is staged among tombs, where angels ask women why they are seeking the living among the dead. It’s the two walking down the road to Emmaus with a stranger and wondering if he’s the only visitor to Jerusalem who is clueless as to what had been going on these days. It's Eutychus falling asleep on the second floor, waking to find himself on the first with Paul having brought him back to life and now, heading back upstairs to listen to the rest of the message.
 
It’s God looking down at the kingdoms and rulers of the world and laughing at the paradox of the proud being cast down and the humble exalted. But also, it's truly seeing us, right here, right now. The day before us. The pains and sorrows and beyond, the smile, the chuckle, the full-on laugh. It’s his divine comedy with a beyond-happy happy ending.

But Wait, There's More by Lorraine Triggs

Whenever it was time for a parental lecture, my husband and I knew the exact moment we lost our audience of one. It was when we said the word “but.” No matter how well we were managing the conflict, that one simple conjunction would shut down all communication with our son.

If my social feeds are to be believed, that conjunction is trending among Christians of all sorts whose posts begin, “God calls us citizens of heaven, but—" or “Christ has made us one, but—" or “God is sovereign, but—" or “I know what Scripture says about marriage, but—“.

I am beginning to side with my son on that word “but.”  It seems like we should be more circumspect in this world where we push send or publish or post without a second thought.

Though not quite ready to block posts like these, I am bothered by the tone my now not-so-favorite conjunction implies that, perhaps in this situation, I know what is best. It’s an ancient human tendency to think that, or maybe it’s simply our need to do something. It's hard to shake the notion that God needs our help in salvation.

In God’s Word, even that pesky conjunction becomes a conduit of grace, especially in our most hopeless situation. “For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die—BUT God shows his love for us in that we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:7-8, all caps added by me)

It’s a conduit of grace when the psalmist hears “whispering of many—terror on every side!—as they scheme together against me, as they plot to take my life. But I trust in you, O Lord; I say, ‘You are my God.’ My times are in your hand
. . .” (Psalm 31:13, 14)

Too often, I say, “I trust you, Lord, but just in case, this is what I think should happen.” I want my times, in my hands.

Most of the time, my way is not the way of Christ. Judging by our posts, comments and remarks, we flip the narrative—beginning with God and ending with ourselves and what we can do, or what God can do with our special helping hand. But the comments betray us. We are not like him.

God begins with the hopeless helpless heart and ends with himself and what he does best. Where we want God to strike the enemy dead, God is making the dead alive. God begins with aliens and strangers and gives them citizenship, God speaks creation into being, the Word speaks grace and truth, and God breathes words that are pleasant and sweeter than honey. God alone rules from above with justice and righteousness. There is none like him. No, not even one.

What would happen if we flipped the narrative of our lives not only to begin with God and end with him, but to live in the middle parts for him, sheltering in the shadow of his wing, finding rest in the green pastures of his comfort, giving our wealth to the poor, surrendering our will to his even though it doesn't make sense to the worldly wise, daring to be like him in washing feet, associating with castoffs, welcoming the children, devoting ourselves to the prayers and the singing and the sacrifice of ourselves for the good of those who hate us. This is the freedom we long for.

Ears to Hear

I have been experiencing clogged ears on and off this summer, related I think to my sinuses. It’s not painful, but the clogging makes it hard to hear people. It can be comical on a day when I hear out of only one ear. Lorraine does her best to try to remember which side of my head to speak to. And then there’s the wonderful morning when I wake up and can hear without the clogged ear syndrome, clear as normal. Ahh, relief. Just normal hearing from both ears feels remarkably good.
 
Hearing is a good thing. God gave us ears. With them, we hear great pieces of music, books on tape, words of love from those closest to us, the preaching of the Word of God, or necessary instructions from a boss or coworker.  Maybe it’s because of sinuses, or maybe it’s helping Alta get going on the deaf ministry, but I’ve been thinking about hearing and listening.
 
A recent article in Forbes magazine explains two counterproductive things people do when they listen to others.
 
The first is listening for new information. That sounds fine on one level, but it undercuts the person speaking to you.. It’s like scanning an article online looking for content you don’t already know. You aren’t really reading just as you aren’t really listening.
 
The second is listening to hear whether the person agrees with you. Usually, people tend to tune out a person they perceive as not agreeing with them. We tend to listen only if we perceive the person to be in agreement with us on whatever issue is being discussed.
 
The author of the article calls these “self-focused goals” and claims that such approaches lead to a shorter attention span and a failure to truly connect with the people with whom we speak. Though common, lazy listening can have dire consequences in the workplace.
 
The Forbes article quoted a study that found that a group of doctors facing lawsuits listened to their patients description of their symptoms for an average of eleven seconds. This in contrast to another group of doctors with zero lawsuits whose average listening to their patients was greater than three minutes. Malpractice and people leaving a doctor’s care worse than when they started—not exactly an endorsement to superficial listening.
 
Proverbs 18:13 warns us: “If one gives an answer before he hears, it is his folly and shame.”

This kind of thing happens to all of us—we listen but we don’t hear.
 
We’re the distracted parents who say yes to our child’s request without realizing that we just agreed to a birthday party at Disney World for said child and his ten closest friends.
 
We’re the ones in the Sunday service who take notes during the sermon, and we look down and see points one and three. What happened to point two? That’s when thoughts of lunch took over and our listening went on pause.
 
Or we’re the ones sitting across from close friends as they pour out their hearts, only to glance up from our phones and say, “Sorry, what was that again?”
 
What about during small group prayer time, and you lose track of what requests have been prayed for and what ones are still unchecked—and you are the leader.
 
Bad listening examples abound. Listening is important when it comes to the workplace as the Forbes article warns, but it’s especially crucial interpersonally and in the church.
 
With the people around us, we need to both listen and hear.
 
I’ve been making excuses in this area, blaming my bad listening on this multi-tasking texting scanning scrolling speed-reading age in which we live. It’s true. We have more good excuses for not listening than ever before in history. That sounds convincing, don’t you think? It's just the age in which we l ive.
 
When Jesus says in Matthew 11:15, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear” I know he’s talking about people listening and hearing the truths he’s preaching.
 
But there’s something else going on with the family of God. What happens when we stop listening to “the least of these”? Or what holy and wonderful things might happen when we do listen?
 
“Just as love to God begins with listening to His Word, so the beginning of love for the brethren is learning to listen to them,” wrote Dietrich Bonhoeffer in his book Life Together. “It is God’s love for us that He not only gives us His Word but also lends us His ear. So it is His work that we do for our brother when we learn to listen to him.
 
“…Many people are looking for an ear that will listen. They do not find it among Christians, because these Christians are talking where they should be listening. But he who can no longer listen to his brother will soon be no longer listening to God either; he will be doing nothing but prattle in the presence of God too.”
 
If God can use our ears to hear the heart of other people, how can we be deaf to the call to listen to one another?
 
As I begin a new season of church life, I want to listen better—to the kids in Kindergarten, to the people praying, to the people I’m praying for, to the pastor preaching, to my wife. I want to listen to them as I want to be listened to myself. I want to make good use of the ear God has lent me to hear as he hears from those in need.
 
God guide us to be a community of slow-to-speak people who hear and listen.
 
“Hear instruction and be wise, and do not neglect it.
Blessed is the one who listens to me, watching daily at my gates, waiting beside my doors” Proverbs 8:34, 35

Movers and Stayers by Lorraine Triggs

712, 131, 121, 441, 507, 1n225.

This string of random numbers is not random to me. The numbers are the house numbers of addresses where I’ve lived, beginning with my childhood home: 712 South Kenwood Ave, and ending with our current house number in Winfield. And I am well below the average number of times Americans move in their lifetime, which is 11.7 times.

Ellen Barry, writing for The New York Times (July 17, 2024), featured a study of adults in Denmark who moved frequently in childhood and concluded that “adults who moved frequently in childhood have significantly more risk of suffering from depression than their counterparts who stayed put in community.”  It also found that income—whether high or low—didn’t make a difference if you didn’t move in childhood. “Being a ‘stayer’ was protective for your health.” Frequent moves cost social capital, and one of the biggest costs is community.

Just watch an episode of House Hunters International. The new homeowners will wax eloquent about their new home, the view, proximity to restaurants, and then admit that it has been hard to find community and make friends. After one such episode, I said to my husband. “That wouldn’t be our problem. We’d find a church right away.”  

As followers of Christ, we are “stayers.” According to the Apostle Paul, we are fellow citizens, members of the household of God, being built together into a dwelling place. We are a body. We’re partners, brothers and sisters. We’re rooted in him. Talk about being a “stayer.”

As followers of Christ, we are also on the move. From Abraham to John on the Island of Patmos, Scripture pushes us beyond the here and now to the now and ever shall be, world without end.

To get from here to there, we need to be like Abraham. He was a mover. Though unsure of his destination, he was more than sure of the One who promised. We need to be like Abraham and his descendants who acknowledged they were strangers and exiles on the earth—not stayers because “people who speak thus make it clear that that are seeking a homeland.” (Hebrews 11:14) The writer of Hebrews continues pointing out that “if they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return.” (11:15)

And that’s the tension we experience as “stayers” and “movers,” between our status as strangers and exiles and our longing to return to the good old days. The good old days might not be as calendar specific as we think, but instead reflect our longing for days when tears or pain or regrets didn’t intrude on our lives.

My husband points out that these longings are fitting longings for strangers and exiles on this earth—longings that reflect our heart’s desire for that better place, where tears are wiped away from every eye, where pain and mourning don’t exist.

And those good old days, the former things we yearned for on this earth? They will have given way to the new heaven and new earth, where we find our homeland and settled rest, “no more a stranger, nor a guest, but like a child at home.” (“My Shepherd Will Supply My Need,” v. three.)

But like a stayer at home at last.

Unnecessary Sacrifice by Wil Triggs

Our first year of wedded bliss was surprisingly wonderful for Lorraine and me. Looking back at it, we agree that we dated for too long before engagement (about three years) and then our engagement was also too long (nine months). When we finally became husband and wife, it was great. After the stress of planning the event and moving our two homes into one, we were relieved.
 
Relieved, but still kind of new at this marriage thing and a lot of stuff just happens by trial and error. So, imagine my surprise and dismay when I looked over at Lorraine during a worship service one Sunday and saw her crying. It was a happy time in church. The children’s choirs were singing. It wasn’t the part of church where crying was more or less a normal response.
 
Uh oh. Had I done something wrong? Back in year one I thought that most of the time if she was upset, it was my fault. I have since come to learn that there are many reasons for tears and things like that are not always my fault.
 
I put my arm around her and did a little seated side hug. She composed herself and got one of those little lace embroidered handkerchiefs out of her purse and wiped her eyes. And we continued in worship.
 
“What happened?” I asked her when we were in the car, headed home.
 
“I miss my girls,” she said. “I don’t know any of them up there singing.”
 
When we married, Lorraine read somewhere that it was a good idea to take a year off serving and just focus on each other. We agreed to do that. We sacrificed our service to help assure a good footing in our marriage.
 
Dumb idea. We should have known that not serving was not a good fit for us.
 
Looking back, I think maybe it wasn’t a sacrifice at all, but a selfish inward focus. It was just the sort of thing one of those wedding magazines might feature.
 
So when  someone reached out with a new idea to reinvigorate a ministry. He invited us to take part in it. We were surprised to hear from him and to think that we might be able to help start something new. We repented and added service back into our lives.
 
Being married is a wonderful thing, but it didn’t take the place of Lorraine befriending and teaching the girls. For us, it wasn't an either/or kind of thing. That’s why the tears came as she looked at the girls singing in choir—she missed her midweek time with them.
 
We didn’t need to sacrifice service to assure a good marriage or our love for one another.
 
In fact, we’ve found serving in the church helps our marriage. When we give to others, we and our marriage grow stronger. Our lives are better when we serve. Sometimes we’ve served as a couple. Other times individually. When we give our time to other people in the church, we are better people for the service.
 
Lots of people know us as kindergarten team leaders. We’ve been doing it for a long time now. It’s such a privilege to help. Thanks to parents who allow others in the church to help point their children to Jesus. Yes, it’s the responsibility of parents to be the primary teachers of their kids, but when we serve in little ways in Kids’ Harbor or in STARS, we experience the community of church in ways unlike other parts of church life.
 
Nothing takes the place of service. It's in our DNA as children of the heavenly Father. Just as we love because he first loved us, we serve because "even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many." (Mark 10:45) 

And his is the only sacrifice that's necessary for salvation and service.

Let's Make a Deal by Lorraine Triggs

I am a fan of summer camps.

Though my husband didn’t venture off to camp as frequently as I did as a child, he did attend music camp. As part of the closing program, the camp would bestow an award for camper of the week, an award my husband mocked . . . until he won it. The best award I managed to snag at my church’s camp was the trophy plaque for the cleanest cabin, but it was a daily award and my cabinmates and I had to relinquish it twenty-four hours later.

At the youth camps I attended, the awards stakes were higher. The very first day of camp, the camp director announced that a male and female camper would be crowned Mr. and Miss Camp (insert camp name) at the end of the week. The staff would be on the lookout for campers who showed Christian virtues—you know, love, kindness, purity, and let's not forget athletic prowess, popularity and good looks.

Putting aside my teenaged pettiness and envy, it struck me then as it does now that handing out awards for Christian virtues seems a bit at-odds with, well, Christian virtue. There’s something transactional about it. If you do this, I’ll do that for you. If you're this way, I'll reward and applaud you.

We hear echoes of transactions in the garden and the wilderness: If you eat the fruit of the tree of life, you won’t die. If you bow down and worship me, I’ll give you all the kingdoms of the world and glory. The first Adam accepted the transaction; the second Adam didn’t need to. His already was the kingdom and the glory and the honor.  

It’s hard to shake our progenitor’s affinity for transactions, and we carry it over in our prayers and expectations of what God should do for us. If I pray enough and work hard, then God is obligated to do what I want. Imagine the blessings and answered prayers we could amass in the here and now because God would keep his end of the bargain we made with him.

But we aren't really playing "Let's Make a Deal" with God. That's not how God works with us. it's impossible for us to ever keep our end of whatever deal we might imagine to get God to do every single thing we want.

It should be very good news for us that, far better than keeping his end of the bargain, God keeps his promises, and is “a God ready to forgive, gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.” (Nehemiah 9:17)

In her book Keeping a Quiet Heart, Elisabeth Elliot writes: “Heaven is not here, it’s There. If we were given all we wanted here, our hearts would settle for this world rather than the next. God is forever luring us up and away from this one, wooing us to Himself and His still invisible Kingdom, where we will certainly find what we so keenly long for.”

And any blessings and answers to my transactional prayers give way to the reality that God has blessed me, and you, with every spiritual blessing here, and there.

Made By Hand by Wil Triggs

I read an article last week called “Make Something With Your Hands, Even if it’s Hideous.” In it writer Jancee Dunn quotes Dr. Michael Norton saying that when we create something we “feel a sense of confidence and a sense of mastery that is really hard to get sometimes in other places.” Dr. Norton is a business professor at Harvard, and he’s making the circuit for his new book The Ritual Effect: From Habit to Ritual, Harness the Surprising Power of Everyday Actions. Dunn suggests making things, even simple things: salad dressing, refrigerator pickles, origami birds or pianos or boxes.

The advice is simple. Don’t be too serious about this. Have some fun. Taking the time to make something is good for us. Such activity lowers stress and boosts happiness. The article goes on to say that the act of making can be healing and healthy for the maker. It describes a frame decorated with shells that a person has held onto for decades. Apparently, it’s not a thing of beauty but is a sort of symbol of a time and memories from the past.
 
As great as it is to make something, I find that the making becomes even more rewarding when we don’t clutch things in our hands but extend open hands to others and give them away.
 
Something special happens when making and giving combine. A gift that’s baked or grown or painted or cooked feels especially personal, coming from the heart of the giver. It’s not the same as ordering a gift from Amazon and having it shipped. Any gift should be appreciated, but handmade makes a difference.
 
Amazon doesn't carry Julia’s Ukraine votives. When Russia invaded Ukraine, Julia brought yellow and blue votive holders she had made to our small group for us to take home. I pray when I see this jar with the yellow and blue insides.
 
Or Kathryn’s cards. She designs a card for any occasion—birthday, Christmas, thank you, ArtSpace, many others. I’m not sure how many, but they are one of a kind. You can’t buy Kathryn cards in a store.
 
There’s Lorraine’s baked goods—shortbread, cinnamon rolls, chocolate chip or oatmeal raisin cookies. Her savory gifts are also handmade treats: roasted vegetables, one of her many potato dishes. And from her garden, bundles of lavender, hanging upside down to dry.
 
Think of the personal element and enjoy—jelly that tastes like summer, candles that smell like Christmas, baked goods that appear on the counter at work.
 
When Ed showed his handmade bench in our recent art show, he wanted people to run their hands over it, touch it, feel every groove, with every swipe leaving more grooves in the seat to touch. The shape was handcrafted in ways you could feel.
 
Jesus is creative in and well beyond our creativity, and Jesus was always giving: wine where there was water, fish for empty nets, healing for disease, the ability to walk on water instead of drowning in it, words of truth that have stood the test of time and changed the world for good.
 
Where there were fears and doubts, he made mud for eyes and gave sight to the blind. The garden, the torches, the ear he healed, the nails, the wood, even the grave. He made everything.
 
Jesus calmed storms, cast out demons, stopped the bleeding. He invited Thomas to touch his wounds, to feel and know the gift of his broken body. Jesus cooked breakfast on the beach. His hands held and holds all—from the foundations of the world to the darkest corner of my heart to the foundations of our faith.
 
His body and his life and his words—ultimate gifts profoundly personal for every one of us.
 
Besides making the whole universe out of nothing, God shaped dust into human form and breathed life into it. Our bodies—every one of them made by God. No clones. Twins, sure, but all different and beautiful. Remarkable healing powers in many ways built right in. I think sometimes I’m just renting this house I’m living in. And then with blood and nails and death in another’s body not mine, God creates something new, but not just a thing. In giving away everything, even life itself, his Son makes a people, his people altogether new.
 
As we enter into each other’s lives in tangible gifts, we echo in microscopic ways what Jesus has done and is doing. He incarnated to become one of us. He gave people tasks—drop your nets on the other side of the boat, fill the jars with water, take the boy’s lunch and share it. Then he died, rose and ascended—his whole life a kind of gift. Then comes the Spirit, yet another gift, giving to us even more ways to serve one another and the people around us, prompting people to go and share the good news.
 
We receive. We make. We give away.
 
Love, the real and genuine and eternal kind, is made by hands, his and ours.

Trouble Free by Lorraine Triggs

Every family has a pyromaniac, and I am not one.

Fourth of Julys find me gingerly holding a sparkler that a pyro-friendly relative has lit for me nor do I crowd the gravel driveway impatiently waiting my turn to set off Target fireworks. For a date-specific holiday, the Fourth of July somehow morphs into an entire week of festivities as neighbors set off their stash of fireworks on July 5, 6 ad nauseum.

Our dog is the one member of the house that shares my July Fourth angst. He remains on high alert from the first hiss-boom-bang of fireworks to the last. He paces and whines, looking for refuge but refusing any we offer—laps, crate, favorite toys, blankets. My dog finally settles down around Bastille Day. Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for us, we don’t live in France.

When it comes to angst, I am more dog-like than I care to admit.

You would know it, but life's fireworks scare me. When day turns to night and the booms start going off, I grasp for toys, blankets, inconsolable with the booms going off around me. I want to run away and hide, put a blanket over my head.

At the first hint of disappointment or distress, I go on high alert, expecting more to come. I pace as I whine, “It’s not fair, Lord.”  I jump at every alarmist statement on social media, as I look for refuge and rest in all the wrong places, people and things. If I hold a dogged devotion to rest as the cessation of trouble, I miss out on both rest and refuge.

I read Matthew 11:38, and eagerly accept Jesus' invitation to promised rest, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”  OK. I can breathe now. But in John 16:33 Jesus promises that we will have tribulation in this world. So, which is it?

Both.

It’s in him we have peace, and that precedes the tribulation in John’s gospel. On the same night that he would experience his deepest anguish, Jesus said to his disciples, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. (John 14:27)

Nor should our hearts be fooled into thinking that we can manufacture refuge from tribulations. If a simple move to another state would keep disappointments at bay, then I say move away. If Ikea sold easy-to-assemble fortresses, I would load up as many that would fit in our car for a block party of sorts that keeps troubles where they belong—outside my fortress. I want all the rest and no tribulations.

But that’s not what Jesus promised. He promised not to leave us as orphans. He promised to make his home with us. He promised the Holy Spirit, and to that promised peace in John 14:27, Jesus made sure we knew that it was “not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.”

Instead of a devotion to a trouble-free life, may my devotion be to a trouble-free heart that is

Resigned, submissive, meek,
My great Redeemer’s throne;
where only Christ is heard to speak,
where Jesus reigns alone.
from O for a Heart to Praise My God, Charles Wesley