A Sticky Stash by Lorraine Triggs

Before Wil and I married, I lived in a second story flat of an old house in West Chicago. The door to the flat was at the top of the stairs, and as soon as you turned, there was the living room with a simple bookshelf right by the door. Perfect for my book collection I dubbed “books to grab first in case of fire.”

Books in my collection included titles by Mildred B. Taylor and Katherine Paterson, which shared space with Charles Williams, C.S. Lewis and, I couldn’t forget, The Art of Dramatic Writing by Lajos Egri. When we married and moved into a studio apartment on Indiana Street, my book collection grew and became more eclectic as Wil added his in case of fire books that included The Metaphysical Poets and Dorothy Sayer’s Translation and Notes on the Divine Comedy—all bookended with our shared love for Flannery O’Connor and William Shakespeare.
 
Never mind the practicality of carrying the books out of the burning house, nor did it occur to us that in case of an actual fire the best exit might not be the most obvious one, but those beloved books were coming with us, even if their weight slowed us down.
 
If it were only books weighing me down in life.
 
Jesus knows his followers’ tendencies to lug around needless stuff such as worries, wealth, sin. He knows our tendencies to look down or sideways—not up to the birds of the air—in the desire to add that hour to the span of our lives, and he knows our hearts that focus on what we have in the here and now.
 
It’s that focus on the here and now that adds to my stash of worries, ranging from the war in Ukraine to my sister remaining cancer-free to the odd noise the car decides to make. As far as money goes, that’s simple—add away to the stash. And, surprise, surprise, my favorite sins stick to the stash like sturdy packing tape, holding everything together.
 
Though increasingly cumbersome, I’d rather walk through flames to the obvious exit, still in control of my sticky bundled burden But what about the narrow way that's right here? You know the one where I am forced to put down my burden, relinquishing control.
 
Then I remember Jesus’ graced words: “Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.” (Matthew 6:26-29).
 
I think of the big and little fears of war and disease and money and car noises. It could be a never-ending list over which I mostly have no control. I look up and consider that narrow exit, and putting that sticky, overweight stash down, I walk through it and am at home in a kingdom full of light and glorious flower fields.

Beyond Lists by Wil Triggs

Beyond Lists

By Wil Triggs

New Year’s is the time of lists—maybe it’s the best things that happened in the year just ending—the best tv shows, movies, books, restaurants. I’m kind of a sucker for those lists. I’m interested to find out the best of what people experienced this last year. Making lists helps me keep track of my own discoveries.
 
What were my best books read this past year? What about movies watched? Best new restaurants of 2023. I’ve been scouring media to find out what other people name as their bests of 2023—books, movies, podcasts, restaurants, theater, television.
 
A friend of mine recently told me that he made a list of things he loves about his wife. This is not a list limited to 2023, but over the course of their life together.
 
That’s a great idea, I said to myself, as we were talking about it. So, I decided to make one of my own for Lorraine.
 
I won’t share it with you now, but if you are reading this and know her, it’s not hard to come up with great things about her. There’s her laugh, her sense of humor, her love of children, her commitment to God and his Word. Her astute mind. Oh wait, I said I wasn’t going to share my list with you.
 
Think of someone in your life and make a list of things you love about that person. Then share it with him/her. We all have someone like that in our lives, even if it’s just one person.  It’s fun and a great way to start 2024.
 
If you read my list about Lorraine, first you would find out things about me. After all, I’m choosing what I put on the list, and it ismylist about Lorraine. Then you would also find out about her, through my eyes at least. But that doesn’t mean you would really know either of us. No matter how extensively I might catalog her many delights, I cannot really capture the three-dimensional living, breathing, laughing, thinking, writing, caring, carefree sacrificially loving person that she is, not to mention the triple ginger soft cookies she bakes.
 
There I go again, sharing what I said I would not share.
 
Here's the thing. Reading my lists or anyone’s at year end is not the same as going to the places, reading the books, eating in the restaurants, watching the movies or knowing a person like I know Lorraine. Knowing all those great things about Lorraine isn’t the same as truly knowing her.
 
Sometimes I think people imagine that learning things about God is the same as really knowing him. Yes, there is such a thing as an agnostic theologian, but we must not fall for that.

Of course, we do teach virtues, graces, fruits of the Spirit, and the sins and vices we see in God’s Word. I don’t mean that the things we learn about God cannot help us. But learning the lists and living by them is not the same as knowing the Three Persons.
 
There were many people around Jesus who thought they were on the right track. And yet Jesus said: “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. On that day many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name?’  And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness.’" (Matthew 7: 21-23)
 
This is a little scary for a fan of lists like me.  I read books, listen to podcasts, lead discussions and studies, all of it focused in one way or another on God. I list his attributes, but to be honest, sometimes I concentrate more on knowing things about God than on knowing him.
 
We fail, but God never does. Not once. The good news is that God wants us to know him. So much so that he came and died and rose. He makes himself known. It’s not hard to know him, yet it is the most demanding thing of all. To yield our souls, to give ourselves, and trust him beyond ourselves. It’s impossible for me to do.
 
But I know someone for whom it is possible. And honestly, he has already done the heavy lifting. The wonders of Christ and his Word are open to us. Not as a list or a set of things to do, but as a person to know. A close friend or a spouse, these are but images to help us understand what it means to know him.
 
May 2024 be a year where we know God in new, deeper, richer ways than ever before and let our lives make a prayer of Paul’s words: “I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord.”
 
Paul doesn’t say knowing about God. It’s knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. What a never-ending gift. At the end of his gospel, John wrote, “Now there are also many other things that Jesus did. Were every one of them to be written, I suppose that the world itself could not contain the books that would be written.” (John 21:25).
 
This is staggering. All the books of the world could not contain the works of Jesus, yet we get to know him. This beloved apostle also penned an even more staggering truth when, he wrote “Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is.” (1 John 3:2)

As God’s children now, we have Scripture—always new and fresh, open to us, by the Spirit of God, alive today in this moment and worth more than everything else we know and love.

And one day we will see him as he is.

No Silent Night Here by Lorraine Triggs

No Silent Night Here

By Lorraine Triggs

The New York Times recently ran an article titled “The Quiet Thrill of Keeping a Secret.” The article reported on new research that suggests keeping good news to yourself can be energizing. What? Not announcing good news to the world—good news such as a marriage proposal or a call back from a coveted job offer—helps people to feel in control of life.

Too bad no one told the shepherds.

Instead of keeping the best news ever to themselves, they “went with haste” to Bethlehem in the middle of the night to find the baby.

And that angelic host was none too discreet—not only filling the night sky with their being, but also lighting it up and singing “Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace good will toward men.” Imagine this group of now-energized shepherds descending on Mary, Joseph and their newborn, and then talking about it to anyone and everyone within earshot. No positive secret-keeping here.

The only pause in the clamor was Mary, who treasured and pondered these things in her heart. I don’t think it was because Mary was into positive secret keeping. Her pondering and treasuring weren’t about leveraging or feeling in control of positive experiences as the New York Times article concludes. She had already given all that up. No, her pondering and treasuring was of the One who had looked on her humble estate and did great things for her.

Even Mary had her own moment of going with haste (see Luke 1:39) to her relative Elizabeth to announce her shocking news, and then relative Elizabeth spilled her own positive secret that she had kept for going on six months.

Elizabeth’s husband, Zechariah, had secret-keeping enforced on him until their baby was born, and when he wrote the child’s name on a table, “John,” there was no stopping Zechariah as his mouth was opened and his tongue loosed, and he blessed God. (Luke 1:63–64)

So, on Christmas Eve I sing “Silent night! Holy night! All is calm, all is bright,” and thank Mary, Elizabeth and Zechariah, who didn't need to feel in control of their positive experiences, choosing instead to proclaim good news.

As I sing “heav’nly hosts sing, “Alleluia! Christ the Savior is born,” I will imagine the thousands of angels disrupting the silent night with their good news for all people. And though the shepherds probably did quake at the sight, they weren’t paralyzed, but went with haste to Bethlehem, leaving their sheep to fend for themselves.

When I sing about the dawn of redeeming grace, I will remember Zechariah, now the talk of the hill country of Judea, and his prophecy of a sunrise visit from on high to give light to those who sit in darkness.

And I remain indebted to Zechariah and Elizabeth’s son—the voice crying in the wilderness—who knew that sheep couldn’t fend for themselves, and declared when he saw Jesus, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29)

No, there was nothing silent about that night, but everything holy.

Merry Christmas.

by Dan Haase

Shepherd Candle Café by Wil Triggs

Jesus said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” (John 8:12)
 
Advent means “coming.” We light these candles as we prepare for the full coming of God’s kingdom.  
 
People who know me know that I love coffee.
 
It started in high school with my purchase of a Toddy coffeemaker, a precursor to the cold brew systems of today. It produced low acid coffee and tasted the way coffee smells.
 
Then I graduated to a stovetop espresso pot. Good in a different way. I’ve gone on to roast my own beans and made coffee in a variety of ways—Keurig, Nespresso, Neapolitan style, French press, the stove-top siphon, Cometeer pods.
 
As I drank my morning coffee a few days ago, a coffeehouse came to mind from my past. It was so long ago, that the memory was like a dream, almost surreal. 
 
The coffeehouse was in the capital city of a country that no longer exists. It was located just down the street from the dictator’s palace. I remember the oversized propaganda publicity on the sides of buildings. Giant faces, repeated of the same man. Giant political symbols overwhelmed the buildings they were on, especially dwarfing the people walking by them on the street.
 
Dictators don’t tend to like Jesus. He doesn’t listen to them the way they want. No, not very cooperative this Jesus—bigger than the propaganda and small enough at the same time to walk alongside the common people on the street. By his very existence he shows that their power is fleeting; Jesus is eternal and caring.
 
This coffeehouse was a place of refuge for searching people. These people grew up being taught that the reality of the material world was all there was. The leader of their country was their ultimate truth, a sort of savior. Except it became obvious to them that he was no savior. And so here was this little café where they could go and discover the truths of Jesus.
 
Before I got there, I imagined it to be a certain way. But it was shockingly not that.
 
Where was the cappuccino machine, the espresso pot, the oversized brewer like we have in the church kitchen? Or even just a home kitchen size Mr. Coffee brewer.
 
There was none of that. I have to tell you that the coffee they served was honestly not that great. In fact, it was instant coffee, out of a jar.
 
But people weren’t going there for the coffee. They wanted to say anything, ask anything. And open the Bible in that place. There is no keeping the Word silent.
 
They weren't really a part of their city or country. They were outsiders, like those other shepherds from long ago, watching their sheep at night. Out in the fields, the angels came, the heavenly sky, radiant with songs that you could see and light you could hear. Glory to God.
 
A sanctuary hidden in plain sight, where the forbidden things could be spoken, considered, believed.
 
Could it be true? Dare it to be true?
 
These coffeehouse shepherds weren't actually tending sheep, but they were being sought by the Lamb, and when they dared to believe, the Lamb became their Shepherd. In their country where almost nothing was true, they discovered ultimate truth.
 
This café was not a dream, but there is another one I visit in my dreams.
 
I step into that café and it’s bigger than it looks; busy and full, with room for more. Every time I dream it, different people are there in varying combinations.
 
Tyler, my friend from Five and Hoek Coffee brews coffee and espresso and the counter is staffed by Leonita, the cheese lady from Caputo’s that Lorraine and I pray for. Joe Bayly is there with a man who looks like he doesn’t belong. Ken Taylor is talking with William Tyndale and the Apostle John. Marr Miller is sitting with the videographer friend that Lorraine and I know from Singapore. My publishing friend from Nigeria is laughing and talking with Jonathan from Tenofthose and Brother Andrew.
 
My sister Barbara is having cake with Marge and Deby, somehow, they seem to know my friend Wambura, from Kenya, who joins them to round out the table for four. Bonnie and Ramon are there enjoying café au laits with Pavel and Barnabas and Norm and Sue.
 
Peter and Anita are at a corner table cooking up something with Mary, Martha and Lazarus.
 
My friend Jim, who never liked coffee, is pouring himself a cup of tea at a table with three empty seats, one for his wife, one for Lorraine and one for me. My mom is enjoying coffee with Lorraine’s mom and Vera, who translated for us in Russia and helps kids learn about God.
 
Tim is ordering Vietnamese coffees for Jack and Ed, Erik and Asaph.
 
At a table near the back, I recognize my only son at a table seated with a man who I only see from behind. Pip smiles at me. I draw near them and see the man he’s sitting with from the side and then the front. He’s younger than I ever knew him and yet, somehow, I realize that this man is my dad. And Lorraine’s dad is there with them, an open Bible before him.
 
I glance into the party room, where the hot chocolate freely flows. Our Kindergarten teachers are in there—Becky, Jennie, Claire, Kevin, AJ, Tom and Barb, Linda, Greg, Megan and Grant—and all those other adults who somehow look like our kids, with Kevin leading them all in singing “I’m Gonna Sing, I’m Gonna Shout, Praise the Lord.”
 
Then my dog licks my face. I wake up and it’s all gone.

Time for a walk and Bible readings and a cup of coffee to start the day.

Christmas Mismatches by Lorraine Triggs

A few Facebook years ago, the top Christmas morning posts were happy families in matching pajamas of red, green, candy cane stripes, evergreens and holly or red and black plaid.

That year, the non-conformist in me sniffed, “I would never wear matching Christmas pajamas.”

My inner child whispered, “Oh, but you did. Remember all those Christmas Eve pajamas you and your sisters donned?”

The realist replied, “Yeah, all before FB so it doesn’t count.”

Though not intentional, my husband and I now own matching Christmas pajamas. “We have matching jammies too,” I gloated, even though we purchased our pajamas months apart and they weren’t a family set, butthey matched. (No one will ever see us in our jammies on social media, and you can thank us later.)

Who knew that all it would take to belong to the world of happy Christmas morning families was pajamas, and the sting of an unfair job severance or the fear of a pathology report or the pain of bullying or rejection would simply disappear. Wait a minute. What? The realist in us knows better when we celebrate a mis-match Christmas, even while longing for matching pajama perfection.

The birth narrative in the gospels reveal more Christmas mismatches than our sought-after superficial Christmas perfection.

There’s the mismatch of Joseph’s resolve not to shame Mary and divorce her quietly and the angel of the Lord’s instruction not to fear and take Mary as his wife. Joseph chose the mismatch and called his name Jesus.

There’s the mismatch pairings of wisdom and foolishness, of life and death. The mismatch of wise men who, sight unseen, came to worship “he who has been born king of the Jews” and a foolish Herod who became furious enough to kill all the male children in Bethlehem and the region who were two years old or under. This mismatch pair of life and death would follow Jesus throughout his life.

Then there’s the most incredible mismatch of all: the Incarnation. In his bookLove Came Down at Christmas, Sinclair Ferguson wrote, “Here is a neat little summary of what happened at that first Christmas from the early fathers of the Christian church: ‘Christ became what he was not in order that we might become what we were not.’”

Let’s celebrate the mismatch of the Creator becoming part of his creation; of wounds that heal; of punishment that brings peace; of death that brings life; of the Father who “made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.” (2 Corinthians 5:21)

Let’s celebrate mismatch Christmases, because one day we will wear something far better than matching pajamas to a matchless celebration where we will be clothed “with fine linen, bright and pure—for the fine linen is the righteous deeds of the saints.” (Revelation 19:8)

Worth the Wait - Just as I am by Wil Triggs

I like Advent. Maybe it’s just the simplicity of lighting a candle or two and not imparting some power to it that it does not have that I like. It’s not an incantation, but it is a physical act that I do with Scripture and prayer and other people.

So, we have the wreath on our table and we light the candles, both at home and at church and even in Kindergarten Bible school, but with battery-operated candles.

As we approach the season, I sometimes get Advent all mixed up. What does the first candle represent? Yesterday I asked my wife, “What is the first candle again?” It’s a purple candle, I know, not the pink one.

Waiting, she said. Looking back. The prophets.

Oh yeah. Looking back at those who looked ahead. AD looking at BC. Before O Holy Night, the weary world is, well, weary. Weary and waiting. Before Jesus called the disciples, they fished or doctored or collected taxes or did what Pharisees do. Simeon at the temple almost all of his life doing what he needed to do but waiting.

Ordinary life waiting for extraordinary.

Advent is about waiting. You know how I said I liked Advent. Well, maybe when it comes to waiting, not so much.

Last week in Kindergarten, I read the children the first half of a story about a heroic Christian. I stopped. Can’t we keep going? they asked. No, we’ll have to wait for the rest of the story next Sunday. We don’t love the wait. We want the story to advance. Waiting is not always easy.

It should be said that as an American, I do not do waiting so well. Waiting in lines are the most obvious examples.

I remember being in Soviet Moscow and asking someone at the end of a line what they were waiting in line to buy. We don’t know, they said, but with this many people in line, we figure we don’t have it and must need it.

One spring break in England, we went to a castle. It was a bank holiday, and the castle was filled with adults, children and students. We stood in the orderly line with the others to go up the highest tower. We dutifully walked in a slow line up the dark spiral stairs. When we reached the top, we discovered the only thing to do was join the line of people at the top queuing up to go back down. The line snaked its way round the tower, so we did see the 360-degree-view from the top, but, only from the queue.

Somehow, I don’t imagine the same line scenarios going so well here.

Trying to guess the shortest, fastest gas line in the Costco two-pump lines. Which grocery store line will be the fastest—the shortest is not always the fastest. I won’t even dwell on the security lines at O’Hare and Midway.

Prophets spoke to the people of their day, but so much of what they said predicted Jesus, waiting, longing, their words promising.

My human heart waits for the love that is stronger than death. It waits, but it does not always wait well.

Jesus, we don’t come to you though the longing is undeniable. Instead, we become impatient and go on our way. We don’t want to wait for you. But out of the silence as we turned our eyes to other things, big and small, you came. You come. When we were far away, when we are far away, you came, you come.

Just as I am—without one plea,
Find rest in love prophets promised me,
They spoke of the one they could not see.
O Lamb of God, you came, you come.

Just as I am—and waiting not
Impatient with sin and my own rot
You love the whole deplorable lot—
O Lamb of God, you came, you come.

Just as I am—though tossed about
Your enemy me, I curse and shout
On my own I’m not clean within, without—
O Lamb of God, you came, you come.

Just as I am—poor, wretched, blind;
Seeking riches, fame, the enlightened mind,
In catacombs of self you redeem, you find—
O Lamb of God, you came, you come.

Just as you are—Incarnate divine,
Both God and man, bread and wine.
The fish-filled nets, in the dark you shine
O Lamb of God, you came, you come.

Just as you are—the demons flee
The storm is stilled, the blind can see;
To you alone all glory be—
O Lamb of God, you came, you come.

Just as you are—of that free love
The breadth, length, depth, and height above,
Here for a season, then above—
O Lamb of God, you came, you come!

Prelude to Joy, Joy, Joy by Lorraine Triggs

My beloved alma mater, Moody Bible Institute, introduced me to Flannery O’Connor (I remain forever indebted to Dr. Rosalie de Rosset for the introduction), but it didn’t offer college-level courses on William Shakespeare. I had to wait till I transferred to Wayne State University (Detroit, MI) for that.

Though hardly a Shakesperean scholar, I did wow the professor with my grasp of the playwright's English, no matter how archaic it was to the other students. After one class, my professor, who knew I was a transfer student, asked if I had studied the Bard at my other school.

Me: No.

Professor: Then why do you understand so much of his language?

Me: Uh, I read the Bible?

The version of the Bible I read at the time was the Kings James Version with its beautiful archaic language that expanded my vocabulary as it taught me the truths of Scripture, even with its thee-thou-thine language and canst and mayest.

With Advent beginning next Sunday, I canst overlook the begats of Matthew 1.

I used to wonder why Matthew used up seventeen verses with begats, and just didn’t start his gospel with the birth of Jesus. Patrick Schreiner posted on The Gospel Coalition site a few years back five reasons why Matthew begins with a genealogy: it summarizes the story of the Bible; it reminds us that this is a true story; it highlights Jesus’ inclusive family; it shows us God is faithful; and it displays Jesus as our only hope.

I would like to add a sixth reason to Schreiner's list. These seventeen verses are a prelude to the angel's "glad tidings of great joy" (per the KJV version of Luke's gospel). The genealogy clearly aligns Jesus precisely where he should be, but it also reminds everyone of generation after generation of faithful lives that fall short, people who are less than Messianic. In Matthew's prelude, Christmas joy has notes of severe testing, of fear and loneliness, of abuse and pain, and grief and loss . . . foreshadowing crucifixion and sealed tombs.

In his letter to scattered, homeless believers, James pushes all of us forward to glad tidings of great joy when he writes to “count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.”

He surely also speaks to the people today who are in flight from birth country to another place of refuge or to people in lands of grief and sorrow looking for the strength to keep going. The darkness and silence between the testaments, yearning and groaning, the pain of childbirth in the place where animals find shelter and rest. Our brothers and sisters around the world facing terrible evils, yet Jesus is present in every sorrow, all hardships, Incarnation's understanding and presence, the Spirit bringing  hope where humanly there may not be any.

Joy and trials. Steadfastness and suffering, a mind-boggling prelude to the second Advent that will come as sure as the first one did with pure joy, joy, joy.