In Christ There Is a Table Spread by Zach Fallon

In Christ there is a table spread

The wrath of God revealed

His body bore the sin of man

And by His wounds we’re healed

Our sin was great we could not bear

The weight, the guilty fare

But sinners eat and never pay

Because the Lamb is there!

In Christ there is a table spread

God’s everlasting grain

For those who come and take by faith

His grace it will sustain

Where will we go when we are weak?

When starving flesh has failed?

We’ll cry to God and by His strength

See Christ with face unveiled

In Christ there is a table spread

God’s promises achieved

And we forever will be His

If we by faith receive

Come to the supper of the Lamb

And take the Bread, the Wine

Come find the resurrected Life

Abiding in the Vine

Reality by Wallace Alcorn

Jesus said: "I am the Way."

He did not say, I shall show you the way.

If he had, he would have been saying

that the way to reality

is a matter of correct behavior,

of following his example.

But we cannot copy what Christ did,

so we must accept what he is.

Reality is not a matter of

what we do with our lives

but what Christ did by his death.

The way is not symbolic; it’s redemptive.

Jesus said: "I am the Truth."

He did not say, I shall tell you the truth.

If he had, he would have been saying

the truth of reality

is a matter of correct knowledge,

of knowing his teachings.

But the kind of belief we need for reality

is not a knowing but a trusting belief.

Reality is not a matter of

reasoning until we possess new facts

but believing until we sustain new life.

The truth is not theology; it’s regeneration.

Jesus said: "I am the Life."

He did not say, I shall give you life.

If he had, he would have been saying

that the purpose of reality

is a matter of correct ideals,

of our living a good life.

But we cannot rescue ourselves from death

and, so, must be redeemed by his own death.

Reality is not a matter of

our living to achieve the ideal

but Christ's dying to sacrifice the perfect.

The life is not being better; it’s being born again.

Jesus said, “I am The Way.”

We cannot find our own way in ceremonies, 

which can only symbolize a way: 

we will find the way in the person 

who is The Way. 

This is the purpose of reality.

Jesus said, “I am The Truth.”

We cannot comprehend truth from theology, 

which can only systematize what we have been told:

we will embrace the truth in the person 

who is The Truth. 

This is the meaning of reality.

Jesus said, “I am The Life.”

We cannot sustain our own life by routine,

which can only organize behavior; 

we will live life in the person 

who is The Life. 

This is the worth of reality.

The Secret Runners by Wil Triggs

The first thing I do when I wake up is walk my dog Pongo. Most days I listen to the daily Bible readings as I walk, listening better on some days than others.

On the morning Daylight Saving Time pushed clocks forward an hour, we were walking in the 5:45 pre-dawn darkness again. As the Scripture reader continued reading from Numbers, we rounded the corner on Cypress, and my mind wandered to Run for the STARS.

Last year, the disappointments of shut down were piling up. Still, I remember Julie sounding more excited than bummed when she told me that it was going to be a virtual 5K.

Whatever that means, I thought. So I put duct tape across the bottom of my run yard sign, wrote “virtual run” on it with a thick permanent marker and pushed it into the grass feeling cheated. I love helping out at Run for the STARS—working at one of the water stations, being a course marshall, doing social media during the event, cheering everybody on. It’s all good and fun and totally impossible last year.

What a baby.

It was on one of the morning walks last year that I realized that there was one thing I could still do to help—and that was to actually run the 5K myself.

Absolutely not, I told myself.

I imagined myself running at a pace where four-year-olds to 94-year-olds would all be passing me by, all of them smiling and laughing. Meanwhile, something would happen to a foot or an ankle and I’d need to walk/limp the rest of the route. I knew everyone would be nice. But still. I didn’t want to come in first in my age-group, just not embarrass myself.

Or maybe I just prefer swimming.

I realize on a lot of levels, that the world isn’t about me and neither is a 5K. People think about their own running. Or their kids or parents or whatever. They don’t care about me in the 5K. That’s a good and normal thing.

So it was surprising when I came to realize that this kind of inner weirdness was going on in my head. I mean, do I really want to admit this to people? When I was in junior high, I gave up track for trumpet. I was good with that decision, but maybe there is something leftover from when I used to run sprints with the guy who stayed in track and won the all-city meet that year. I don’t know. It surprised me.

Here’s the thing. While walking with Pongo last year, I thought about how I could run the 5K whenever I wanted. No one would be running with me. I could time myself. I could run when I wanted, stop and walk for a bit, run again. It seemed about as low risk as could be. And it would help STARS. I realized that there was a part of me once that liked to run, and maybe that part of me might still be in there somewhere. Maybe I actually wanted to do this. It dawned on me that I could actually run/walk the 5K without an ounce of self-consciousness. I could just enjoy it and help STARS at the same time.

So that’s what I did.

I started by lengthening my walks with the dog. I figured out how many times round our neighborhood I needed to go to make a 5K. I actually ran on the scheduled race day. Early Saturday morning, I got up and ran. I was doing the Run for the STARS without being at the Run for the STARS. My dog ran/walked about two thirds of it with me and I was done before the 8:00 start time of the usual run. (By the way, online registration for this year's virtual run just opened.)

The pandemic shutdown made me do something I never thought I’d do.

There are all kinds of other examples I’ve heard about—taking up gardening, rearranging your sock drawer, writing actual letters, baking yeast breads, cooking more, putting together crossword puzzles, redoing a room in your house or apartment.

But those aren’t the only things people are doing. Some people are sneaking into services; they’re secretly running to churches. Even possibly College Church.

Like me and running, they don’t want anyone to see them. They don’t even want to admit it to themselves exactly. Or maybe they’ve never even thought about it before. Perhaps they’ve never been to a church, but they met someone who goes. Or they drive by on the way to work and they get curious. Maybe they have memories of church, good or bad, maybe mostly bad, and yes, Sunday morning rolls around and . . . click. Welcome to College Church. They can watch from bed, the couch, the deck, wherever.

Put yourself in their running shoes.

OK. No. Absolutely not. But what is it like?

You remember the thing that happened that made you not like church, or it’s not part of your tradition and it would just be too much for your family to take. Or you developed that mental objection or changed political parties, or the emotional hurt never quite healed, or life just got going in another direction until Sunday became a different kind of day than the day you go to church. You think Jesus is better than ok but you aren’t sure about the organized church.

I’ve thought this is such a great opportunity for people to turn to God.

Yet the church, well, self-inflicted wounds don’t necessarily make us seem like the most inviting and welcoming people on earth, which of course, we should be at some level. There shouldn’t be such a gulf between us and the God who loves us and the people we think of in our Jonah-like perceptions of our own personal Ninevites. Why doesn’t God get with our program?

Think about them in their homes. God is there. Jesus is alive. The Holy Spirit starts to get a little buggy. Leave me alone, you think.

We estimate that 1,845 viewers on 671 viewing devices joined the Sunday morning services through our livestream, YouTube and Facebook pages last week. And that was lower than usual. That’s a lot of people.

More and more I’m thinking about those Secret Runners like me who are clicking their way into church. How can they take the next step? What can we do to make it seem like a place worth going; are we as a people a group worth knowing? What about Jesus and forgiveness and this Easter thing coming up?

Tomorrow, as services begin, pray with me for those Secret Runners. Pray that this good news of Jesus would reach them and change their lives and ours.

Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion!

Shout aloud, O daughter of Jerusalem!

Behold, your king is coming to you;

righteous and having salvation is he,

humble and mounted on a donkey,

on a colt, the foal of a donkey.

Zechariah 9:9

Missing Out by Lorraine Triggs

At my high school in suburban Detroit, no one ever missed a Friday night home game--neither an October snow nor a Saturday morning SAT exam kept us home on a Friday night.

The only downside to the game for my church friends and I was the school dance. As pretty good Baptist kids, we obeyed our parents and didn't attend the dances, though we bemoaned the fun we were missing. No one went straight home after the fourth quarter ended.

Our ingenious high school pastor came up with the solution: Fifth Quarter. We no longer missed the fun. We had a place to go to after the game. At one point Fifth Quarter became more popular than the school dance among our school friends. I wish I could say it turned into a massive outreach event, but it didn't. Not that it mattered to us. We were happy that we were no longer missing the post-game fun.

That adolescent feeling of missing out still lingers after all these years. It surfaced earlier this month when I became eligible for the COVID vaccine. As a good resident of DuPage County, I registered on the DuPage Health Department website, the DuPage Medical Group’s app and the my.Walgreen’s app.

Meanwhile, my group of 1b peers kept posting, “Got dose one at Walgreen’s today.” All I got was the message, “No appointments available in your area for the next three days.” I was totally missing out of the vaccine. I upped my game and started checking emails from the health department and my.Walgreen’s app more frequently.

A good 1b friend said to try ZocDoc. It was the morning the United Center announced that it was a mass vaccination site. I clicked and clicked and clicked till I was no longer missing out. My first dose was scheduled at the United Center with the promise to cancel should I make another appointment. You would have thought I would be happy now.

Well, I was happy until I thought, The United Center? The traffic? The parking? The national guard checking me in? I want the vaccine at my Walgreen’s, the one I can walk to. I began missing out all over again.

One Saturday morning, just after six, my husband called out, "Quick. Open your Walgreen's app. It says appointments are available." I grabbed my iPad and saw those wonderful words on my screen: "appointments available in your area." In less than five minutes, I scheduled both doses. I was no longer missing out. I belonged to the insider's group.

That's the problem with missing out. We're either on the outside, complaining about what we don't have or on the inside, boasting about what we do have - and that can flip at any time. We end up a not so merry band of malcontents on our way to the kingdom, eyes fixed on each other, just in case we're missing out on anything.

It's like the disciples debating which one is the greatest. They were comparing themselves to each other, not wanting to miss out on a chance for greatness. And they were with Jesus. Stop looking at each other and look at who's with you! The all-saving, all-loving Good Shepherd.

When we look at ourselves instead of Christ, now that's missing out. When we take our eyes off ourselves to what's right in front of us, we see Jesus: image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation, before all things, the one who holds all things together, head of the church. the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, preeminent, in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell.

We are not and never will miss out of anything. There is no room for anything else when we are in Christ on our way to the kingdom content in him.

The Author and Finisher of our Faith by Wendell C. Hawley

From his book, A Pastor Prays for His People.

Father God, author and finisher of our faith,

Source of every blessing we enjoy,

how great are our privileges in Christ Jesus.

Bountiful is your provision for all our needs -

our sin is that we do not appropriate what is available.

You are able to keep us from stumbling.

But as we review even this past week, we've stumbled so many times:

stumbled in relationships,

stumbled with wrong attitudes,

stumbled in temptation.

Forgive me for stumbling when I need not have.

Keep me from stumbling:

be my arm of support,

my strength,

my stability.

You have promised to present me blameless.

When I consider my faults - and think of being presented in glory, faultless -

I am overcome with gratitude to you, my Savior,

my Paraclete, my advocate - thank you, thank you.

You have said you will present me with great joy.

Oh Lord, help us to finish the race set before each one of us -

to persevere,

to walk in faith,

to love you supremely,

and like Abraham, to have an eye on that city

which has foundations, whose builder and maker is God,

that we might be presented with great joy.

Heaven rejoiced on the day of our repentance, and now you promise

rejoicing in our presentation!

All this is promised because you alone are our Savior -

we absolutely do not rely on anything or anyone but you.

So fulfill this promise to us today:

Unto him that is able to keep you from stumbling,

and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory,

with exceeding joy,

to the only God, our Savior, be glory and majesty, dominion and power,

both now and ever.

Amen.

The Return of Sidewalk Chalk by Wil Triggs

After the dumpings of snow 

When It seemed the mounds would never melt 

That there would never be another spring 

That temps would never go high enough 

To make it all go away

This trickling dissolving we know 

Yet forget the way a little warmer felt.

This year, forgetfulness is a thing.

Children in unzipped jackets have had enough.

Their tubs of color show up in the driveway 

So a town appears on the blacktop 

A pool, two rows of homes, a church, a school.

Don’t forget the park roughly drawn 

A whole community appears, spring bulbs popping up 

From the hands of children in a single day. 

We wonder what else will stop.

Masked or not we play the fool 

One day we will waken to a different dawn 

As often as you drink this cup 

With colored chalks of faith we pray. 

Still Standing by John Maust

In Christian work we talk a lot about forward movement:  advancing the gospel, extending the Kingdom, spreading the good news.  We also look at numbers . . . of new churches, new converts, small groups, attenders at services, baptisms and the like.  

Results in ministry are a wonderful gift from God. But the reality is, many times we do not see visible progress and the numbers just aren’t there. 

So, what happens when all our efforts to serve God in ministry, or in any difficult life or work situation, don’t seem to be getting anywhere?  What happens when opposition and obstacles threaten to knock us down and squelch even our best efforts in ministry? Is something wrong with us? Is God not hearing our prayers?  What should we do?  

Scripture says simply, stand firm. When waves of discouragement roll in, stand firm. If the lack of success causes you to question your call or even give up, stand firm.  

Sometimes the greatest victory is simply hanging in there by faith--quietly, humbly, maintaining a presence for the gospel even when there are no visible outcomes, maybe not moving forward for the moment, but not going away either. 

Example of Julia Woodward

In this regard, I am inspired by the example of pioneering missionary Julia Anderson Woodward. In 1902, Julia and another young female missionary, Ella Ozman, were sent to work among the Quichuas, descendants of the Incas, in Ecuador’s Chimborazo Province. They learned the language mostly from children tending the family goats and sheep on the slopes of the Andes.  

It was tough going in the high altitude, the cold, the loneliness, the isolation, the frequent opposition. But the women saw signs of hope, and Julia even began translating portions of Scripture into the language.

Then in only their second year among the Quichuas, Ella died suddenly from pneumonia. A year later Julia caught smallpox, surviving with her face noticeably scarred.  1n 1915 she married fellow missionary William Woodward, only to lose a son in childbirth and then her husband from a heart attack 12 years later.  

Julia weathered health issues and threats and opposition from religious fanatics in the ensuing years. But as she continued working among the Quichuas, with other missionaries joining her, perhaps the hardest thing was the Quichuas’ unresponsiveness to the gospel.

“How can you carry on out there without anyone accepting the Lord?” someone once asked her. “The greater the darkness, the more need there is of light,” she said. Other times she would quote, “He hath not taught us to trust in His name, and thus far brought us, to bring us to shame.”  

At age 71, Julia completed her New Testament translation, a bilingual Quichua/Spanish version, a major accomplishment. But when she retired from missionary service in 1953 after more than 50  years, she said, “I can count on one hand the number of Quichuas I am sure to see in heaven.”

Some might consider Julia’s half century of ministry a failure. But the story does not end there.

Her mission, Gospel Missionary Union, considered leaving the Quichua work due to lack of response and focus instead on the cities. But out of respect for the spiritual investment in the Quichuas made by Julia and others over the decades, the work continued. 

Then, in the 1960s, a Holy Spirit-inspired people movement took place. Quichuas began turning to faith in Christ in large numbers. By 1991, some 335 Quichua churches and congregations dotted the Andes in Ecuador’s Chimborazo Province, having a constituency of more than 100,000. 

Julia was already in heaven when the breakthrough came. But one wonders: Would it even have happened had she not stood firm and maintained a presence for the gospel during all those years of seemingly fruitless labor? 

Labor not in vain

Maybe you’ve been sharing your faith with a neighbor, teaching a Sunday school class, praying for the conversion or life change of a family member, or engaged in some ministry to which you feel called but are not seeing any progress.  

If so, remember to put down even deeper roots in the Word and strengthen your relationship with the Lord (which is more important than any “results”). May your life be like a house built upon a rock, standing strong against the waves of doubt or discouragement.

“Put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand,” Paul wrote to the Ephesians (Eph 6:13-14 NIV).

Sometimes God will give us the joy and privilege of seeing how He has used us, other times not. But what an encouragement to know that, no matter what, our labor is not in vain. 

“Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm. Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord, because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain (1 Cor 15:58, NIV).”

Photo by Samuel Nieva

My History with Earthworms by Lorraine Triggs

Oakland Elementary School was seven blocks from my home if one were inclined to walk the most direct route there. My sisters and I had no such inclinations, even on rainy spring mornings. Especially on rainy spring mornings.

That was the time of day the earthworms were most plentiful, squiggling their way through the ground to the edge between grass and sidewalk. Plump reddish-brown earthworms, begging for attention from schoolchildren. What followed was probably not one of the finest moments in my life. Closing our umbrellas, we used the pointy end of the handles to see how many worms we could stab at a time. The loser had to pull off the worms with her bare hands and toss them back in the grass.
 
Fortunately, my history with earthworms evolved when Wil and I discovered vermiculture, worm composting. We actually paid for red wigglers to be shipped to the house. “They look exactly like the ones I used to stab,” I declared delightedly to Wil.
 
These worms, however, were destined for a brighter future. Wil carefully drilled holes in the bottom of a Rubbermaid bin and lined the bottom with shredded black and white newspaper. He then soaked a brick of cocoa mulch in a bucket of water and added that to the bin. The worms were ready for their home and a diet of coffee grounds, vegetable and fruit scraps and eggshells.
 
Then we waited. We waited for the worms to devour the food scraps and turn them into nutrient-rich compost. Some of the worms loved cantaloupe rinds, and after feasting on one, left a rind that almost looked like lace. We were fascinated with our new self-contained, garbage-eating pets.
 
After what seemed like an eternity, all that remained of the food scraps was the lace-like rind and a few pieces of eggshell, and in its place was dark rich compost—black gold for our garden. We began to remove the compost with our bare hands, uncovering earthworms as we went.
 
We kept scooping; the red wigglers, well, kept wiggling, through our hands into the thin layer of compost now covering the bottom of the bin. We could read our pets well and quickly covered them with shredded newspaper, cocoa mulch and fresh food scraps.
 
As we scooped out the compost, we observed a few things. First, and most obvious, was the lack of smell. The food scraps we tossed in the bin didn’t smell like rotten trash, even though they sat there for several weeks. Second, one has to make a time commitment to vermiculture. Good compost doesn’t happen overnight. Third, when exposed to the sunlight, the worms would borough deeper into the compost. They needed the darkness and the rotting fruit to produce that black gold for the garden.

Along with considering birds of the air and lilies of the field, perhaps we ought to consider the red wiggler. It doesn’t fear the darkness or potential rotting food scraps. Instead, it slowly goes through the rot and darkness and turns it into rich compost that I feed my sun-loving tomatoes and roses.
 
I might adopt the red wiggler approach to the darkness of trials and suffering I encounter. Rather than my usual fix-it-fast-and-fix-it-now approach, I will sit in the darkness (note to self: darkness is not dark to our loving Father) and know that this trial produces a rich compost of endurance, character and hope that does not put us to shame.
 
This rich compost—a mix of suffering and trust in God--also produces lives that look less like us and more like Christ, lives ready to share this compost with other weary souls sitting in a golden darkness.