Sunday Best by Wil Triggs

Every summer, Lorraine and I try to visit a church or two. Doing this helps us remember what it feels like to be the newcomer at church.We do web searches for “church near me” and then check out their websites for the basics so we know for sure what time to get there and if there is anything else of note.

A lot of the churches have something on their websites about what to wear. It seems crazy. What church is going to say, “We only welcome people in dresses and suits” or “We are a jean and shorts only worship," or "We’re going for more of a youngish hip vibe.”  Clothes are a big deal, I guess.

I don’t really mind sticking out as a visitor. I want to see what the church does with us. Sometimes I do feel scrutinized by a new church as if people are wondering how well I'd fit in, if I'm "one of them." I hope we don’t do that with people either in church or outside of church because really, that's the totally wrong question. But there are some clothes that can’t be—or perhaps shouldn’t be—described on a website or captured with a smattering of photos.

These clothes can say a lot about who we are, and perhaps we shouldn't be so clueless about what we put on, and more importantly, what we're putting off.

Good morning, welcome to the church of the barbarians. Other kinds of people? You’ll have to look elsewhere for fellowship with them.

Oh, I see that the sin I love is also your sin of choice. So, in your case, yes, all are welcome, of course.

How about the church that says, “I love that shade of blue in your hatred.” Or “You’ve really done an amazing job with your one hundred percent cotton uncircumcised self-focus.”

My suit of anger, no matter how well-tailored, might be out. A blouse of wrath if it’s in the latest season cut and color, or my newly cleaned prideful polo shirt, well, I don't always feel so great when I put that on. We’ve got to get this under control.

Then there’s the silky sweater of slander with elegant obscene talk coming from high-achiever's mouth in the sweetest of tones. When we covet, even though it’s, you know, worn under all our outer garments, eventually it’s going to show. We can’t help that. A flowing dress of flattery is often applauded. Think of the lively leather coat of lies or the latest pair of jealousy jeans. These clothes are all made of natural, organic fibers. They're hard to resist. We easily embrace earthly fashions of the day.

Why do we celebrate such apparel? The world all around us does. We pretend not to, but all too often we’re just like everyone else.

But we don’t have to be.

We must get rid of those earthly clothes so admired by people everywhere. Do not save such clothes for another day or think we can keep them in our closets just in case. Don’t donate them to one of our resale shops. 

The clothes of heaven, however, are radiant when we remember to put them on.

Our church welcomes the barbarians, yes, but also the slaves and the masters, at least I hope we do. We don’t have to wait till heaven to wear the clothes of Christ. New people are like new wineskins—we are meant to hold the new and not burst with the burden of old clothes, but this is really nothing about clothes or music or age. Something completely different has come into the world.

Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him. (Colossians 3:12-17)

This is the church we want. It's where we belong. The blessed truth is that Jesus has made these new clothes for us. He is our tailor. Each of us has clothing that fits perfectly. This is not off the rack but custom-made finery. When properly worn, others can’t help but notice. Visitors might not know what to make of it at first. Can it be real now? It seems unlikely. Even we ourselves stand amazed because this Sunday best reflects Jesus himself. Yes, I really do look good in these clothes, and so do you. Isn’t it a marvel? Fresh, original and we'll never look better.

A Passing Grade by Lorraine Triggs

As a kid, I was taught that God answers our prayers either yes, no or wait. For some reason, I translated this to rankings like grades on a report card. If an answer was yes, that meant my prayer was perfect and God rewarded me with my well-deserved A. Lorraine prays excellent prayers. The no answer wasn’t the worst answer, it was more like the needs-to-improve comment on a report card. Lorraine could do better if she prayed harder. The failing grade went to the wait answer. Lorraine is not trusting God enough; otherwise, he would listen to her prayers and answer them.

Waiting has never been an easy part of life for me. Whether it's lines at the airport, at the grocery store or even slow traffic--think road construction on Gary or that downtown Sandbergs-to-Starbucks reno, waiting often seems like a big waste of time. This does not help me to accept the waiting part of prayer with open arms.

However, waiting is a passing grade, especially when we pass through valleys where deadly shadows lurk or tread on paths brightly lit with fiery trials and learn that God—the eternally existent one, the creator of all that exists, the one whom myriads and myriads of angel worship—this God hears our prayers in the shadows and trials.

King David learned that and wrote in Psalm 31:21-22, “Blessed be the Lord, for he has wondrously shown his steadfast love to me when I was in a besieged city. I had said in my alarm, ‘I am cut off from your sight.’ But you heard the voice of my pleas for mercy when I cried to you for help.” God not only heard David’s fretful prayers but also showed up with his steadfast love in the besieged city—not just after the fact or after the answer to an A-quality prayer but during the attacks and alarm.

Like David, we learn lessons from waiting. As we wait for answers to our prayers, sometimes patiently, sometimes not, we learn to trust God when we are afraid (Psalm 57:1). In Psalm 31:24, David says, “Be strong, and let your heart take courage, all you who wait for the Lord.” Take courage as we wait in silence and weariness through the unknowns of life, and learn that our only hope is in God and his salvation (Psalm 62:5; 69:3). There is one last lesson from the psalmist: It really isn’t about specific answers to specific prayers. It’s about God’s steadfast love, and waiting on his name for it is good (Psalm 52:8-9).

When we think about it, as followers of Christ, our entire lives are waiting. We’ve accepted the invitation to the wedding feast, but we aren’t seated at the table yet. We have tasted and seen the Lord's goodness, but it’s a sampling of the realities that await us when we see him face-to-face.

For now, let’s make it clear that through the valley and shadows, on the path with its fiery trial, we are seeking our homeland, because “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) 

Full Service by Wil Triggs

There was a time not so very long ago when someone’s job was to pump gasoline into the tank of your car. And that same person would wash the windows of the car and check your oil and the air pressure in your tires. I may be forgetting something else they did. These were full-service gas stations. Road maps. Directions if you got lost.

If there was a problem with the car, there was a garage right there with a mechanic to do repairs, change tires, replace belts,etc. The gas station on Main Street across from the Wheaton Meat Market still provides that kind of work I think. But that used to be the norm.

As a kid, I also used to delight in the giveaways at the gas station. My favorite was the little orange ball at the Union 76 station, but there was also a set of glasses, a different one each week, for the duration of the promotion. Scratch-off cards where you could win prizes. There were also trading stamps that you could put into a booklet and use them to buy things. My first visit to Disneyland was funded by in part by my Green Stamp books. There were also Christmas mugs, an appropriately branded toy truck and ashtrays with the logo of the gas company so a person could flick their ashes onto the logo. I didn’t smoke, but there was a time where I used for spare change with easier access than a piggybank.

The average price for a gallon of gas in 1976 was sixty-one cents. Things changed. People had to wait in line just to get gas. Prices rose. “Full service” gave way to “self-serve.” Nowadays it’s rare to find full-service gasoline stations. We all pump our own gas.

The consumer shift from full service to self-service saves us money and time, but I think it also says something about us as a culture and a people.

It would feel odd to me to just sit in my car and have a stranger fill my gas tank, wash the windshield and check to be sure my car was running properly in terms of air pressure, oils and fluids, etc. I could get used to it again, but it would take longer. I would become impatient. Usually, I’m in a rush when I stop to get gas. I try to pick the shortest line at Costco and am not always so patient when someone has a problem with the pump reading a card.

I think the same could be said for us when it comes to worship service. Too often we just want to help ourselves to the riches set before us. If we do that, we miss everything.

When we go to our church “service,” what do we think we’re doing? In what way is Sunday church a “service?” Do we fall into the thinking that we’re just here, in-person, zooming through to serve ourselves to some insights from the pastor, some music to help us feel good, a quick prayer, maybe a donation or not—and then we can get back to a tasty lunch and whatever else we might have planned for the rest of the day?

That would be the self-serve approach to church.

But Full-Service worship is unlike anything else in the world.

This is a time for us to stay seated and let the divinely human stranger do his work. Yes, we serve others, and we should, but in the right spirit of service we find something greater than self-serve—the Holy Spirit is doing a work, using our words and actions and prayers to do something that we cannot do alone. How can this be? We must stay seated in the driver’s seat and not jump out to loosen the gas tank and take a quick swipe at the windshields.

Full service means we give over the soul tasks to the ever-ready attendant, the One who is waiting to address every corner of the heart and soul, the corners of which we may or may not be aware. All of them. He serves us.

If only we just not try to do it ourselves. We must let him. We will pay more. It will take more time out of our day. It will seem strange to not do what we have grown used to doing on our own. But we cannot do for our souls anything close to what happens when we enter into full service and let the true keeper of our souls do his work as only he can.

But we impart a secret and hidden wisdom of God, which God decreed before the ages for our glory. None of the rulers of this age understood this, for if they had, they would not have crucified the Lord of glory. But, as it is written,
“What no eye has seen, nor ear heard,
    nor the heart of man imagined,
what God has prepared for those who love him”—
these things God has revealed to us through the Spirit. For the Spirit searches everything, even the depths of God. 
1 Corinthians 2:7-10

Sorry! By Lorraine Triggs

On my first trip to England, I observed that everywhere we went, people said, “Sorry.” For someone who habitually says “I’m sorry” for all things big and small, I loved being surrounded by a whole bunch of other people—78% of the country according to recent research—who habitually said sorry. “I could live here,” I declared to my husband, right before bumping into someone on the street. “Sorry,” I breathed out reverentially.

In the country where I do live, I occasionally say sorry instead of excuse me when I accidentally bump into someone or cut in from of them in the aisle at Jewel. And the response to my sorry is what I love about this country, “Oh, no, you’re fine. Don’t worry.” Apology accepted and grocery shopping continues.

Life doesn’t always imitate grocery store aisles. It’s hard to forgive when hurts run deep and wrongs haven’t been righted. It’s hard to say, “Forgive me. I was wrong,” without making excuses.

Dr. Fred Luskin, developer and director of the Stanford Forgiveness Project, pointed out that forgiveness doesn’t happen immediately—people need time to grieve and “sit in the muck of unhappiness and suffering.”  Sometimes a person can spend a long time, even a lifetime, in such a state, but there can be a sure way out.

Divine forgiveness transcends human forgiveness, and yet the divine chose to enter Adam’s race and sit in our muck of unhappiness and suffering—and to redeem and forgive this rebellious lot he created. We also need to sit in the muck and unhappiness of the sin of our own making because when we do, we are blessed, ready to receive God’s favor and mercy.

On his website, Tim Challies posted an article, “It Has To Be Dark Before We Can See.” (September 20, 2021, www.challies.com) In it, he wrote, “To know the hand of comfort we need to know the pain of sorrow. To know the bright light of God’s blessing we must first know the dark shadow of our own depravity. For it is only when we admit who we truly are that God reveals what he truly loves to do, only when we admit ourselves to be lost that he reveals himself as the one who saves.”

Think about the woman caught in adultery. Even to this day, we know her by her sin, but Jesus knew her heart and the hearts of her self-righteous accusers. They weren’t looking for forgiveness, and perhaps the woman wasn’t either. But who received grace? John 8:1-12 tells us. “Jesus stood up and said to her, ‘Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?’ She said, ‘No one, Lord.’ And Jesus said, ‘Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on sin no more.’”

As those who have experienced God’s forgiveness, we are to forgive as he has forgiven us. It doesn’t mean that everything will be tidy and turn out the way we hope, but it does mean that we can exchange our hurting hearts for compassionate hearts.

When we tell God "Sorry," when we turn from our sins and embrace new life in Christ, we can replace bitterness with kindness, pride with humility, and anger with gentleness and patience, as we wait for the day Jesus returns, when all will be well and at rest.

Better Homes and Gardens, Not the Magazine by Wil Triggs

Memorial Day and Labor Day are bookend weekends for summertime. Looking back, most years I’ve tackled some form of home improvement chores on these two holidays—big or little things for the season.

This Memorial Day we put in our summer garden. It started with digging up thistles that came back after we thought we’d pulled them last year. Then we prepped the soil and went off to our favorite nurseries. Six different tomatoes, leeks, tomatillo, lettuce, spinach, dill, cucumber, cilantro (two varieties), parsley, basil (three varieties), oregano, thyme, lemon verbena, rosemary, chives and tarragon. We also added five more lavender plants--all to encourage Lorraine's dream of a backyard herb business. It sounds like a bounty, but after a season of bunnies, deer, tornadic winds and whatever else comes our way, we’ll see.

Now that Cream of Wheaton and Summerfest have passed, what are we to do?

Yahoo Tech and Popular Science suggest that life would be simpler and more secure with a second cellphone number, a more private one. 

Forbes magazine suggests a $900 32-inch device with $100 wood frame add-on to bring order to home and family life.

House Beautiful recently published an article “The 74 Best Living Room Paint Color Ideas to Complement Any Design Aesthetic.” For house-painting enthusiasts, this is surely helpful—reducing colors choices from thousands down to a simple 74. Only 74?

I appreciate the theological undertone of Benjamin Moore’s color, “Providence Blue,” but 74 is way more colors than rooms/walls in my house.

Apartment Therapy reports “IKEA’s Mid-Century Modern Lamp is Giving Champagne Taste on a Beer Budget.” But not only a lamp. The article goes on to describe a new rug, linen curtains, an accent chair and a couch. It all matches in a vibe of Scandinavian modernism. 

Adding new tech or changing up the color on a wall or getting a new lamp can help us to feel refreshed or improved in some way.

But there’s another way to look at home. It’s not about how it connects to your tech or looks mid-century modern or whatever style you like or even a harvest basketful of homegrown, perfectly ripened food from your backyard to your table. It’s more about what happens in your home than how it looks, maybe not even in your home, but in some other part of you.

I’m thinking about the part of you that you may not know yourself, or maybe only about halfway. What about the part of you that you’d just as soon forget?Like the place in your house that needs attention, but you just put it off or let it go. It’s a place you don’t show others so it’s not so bad. Or maybe it’s something you pay others to take care of because of your own lack of skill or time or interest.

The thing of it is, you may not know yourself as well as you think—but God knows every part. He wants to show it all to you—to give you a glimpse of what he saves you from and to discover what he set inside you to give him honor and glory in a way that no one else can.

But he doesn’t want to leave us there. The answer is not inside us, but outside.

What if Jesus is calling you to something new this season? Not in your house, but in your soul. This summer mean a new season of prayer. A time when you discover a new way to serve. Perhaps Jesus will show you something new to do with your riches. What if you are to meet a new person or to help someone become a new person? What about reading a book of the Bible as if for the first time? The hobby you’ve let slip could open a door. The neighbor you’ve never spoken to might surprise you. Things you don’t know but always wondered about. An estranged friend or relative. 

Sometimes God brings hard things from which there is no escape. Even in times like those, we can take heart because of the nearness of Jesus in time and space, the presence of the Holy Spirit right now, and the power of God’s Word to shed light and hope in every situation.

Listen to him. Do what he says.

Wonderful things ahead.

In Luke 5, Jesus said to Peter, “Put out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch.” And Simon answered, “Master, we toiled all night and took nothing! But at your word I will let down the nets.” 

Encounters of the Compassionate Kind by Lorraine Triggs

Just when I thought I was managing my self-care, along comes self-compassion. In a May 25 article in The New York Times, “How to Stop Being So Hard on Yourself,” writer Christina Caron points out that self-compassion is different from self-care. It’s “empowerment to be yourself, to feel what you’re feeling, full and without needless defense.”

Sounds like a lot of Kindergartners I know, but for we less-than-self-compassionate adults, the article offers advice such as saying kind things to yourself every day; or taking a compassion break to investigate your emotions and responses to them, especially if you assume something is wrong with you.

Psychologist Tara Brach notes that assuming something is wrong with you “is probably the biggest suffering that people have: ‘I’m unlovable, I’m falling short, I should be doing more.’” Her solution: once you figure out what the suffering part of you needs, send yourself a kind message.

After fleeing the Lord’s presence, being tossed overboard and surviving three days in the belly of a fish, I wonder if Jonah felt in need of some self-compassion, a few kind messages from himself before he headed to Nineveh a second time to deliver God’s message of destruction. He must have found that self-compassion and empowerment as he called out, “Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!” (Jonah 3:4)

Then the unthinkable happened. Jonah’s self-compassion encountered God’s compassion, when the king of Nineveh decided to take a risk on repentance. “Let everyone turn from his evil way and from the violence that is in his hands. Who knows? God may turn and relent and turn from his fierce anger, so that we may not perish.” (Jonah 3:8, 9)

Jonah knew exactly what would happen when the people repented, and he told God what he was fully feeling: “O Lord, is not this what I said when I was yet in my country? That is why I made haste to flee to Tarshish; for I knew that you are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and relenting from disaster.” (Jonah 4:2)

God’s compassion changes everything. 

For those who think they are unlovable, God abounds in steadfast love. To those who say they are falling short, God says, “Yes, you are falling short. Everyone has fallen short of my glory, but I know your frame, which is why I redeem you from the pit.”

To those who think they should be doing more, God reminds them that he is the one who forgives iniquities and crowns us with steadfast love and mercy. We can do nothing other than repent as the king of Nineveh did and be overwhelmed with God’s compassion, mercy and abounding steadfast love.

No, the suffering part of ourselves does not need more kind messages or empowerment, our suffering selves need—and have—the Suffering Servant, who has removed our transgressions as far as the east is from the west.

Like My Dog by Wil Triggs

"Heaven goes by favor. If it went by merit, you would stay out and your dog would go in.” Mark Twain

Peter said to him, “Even though they all fall away, I will not.” And Jesus said to him, “Truly, I tell you, this very night, before the rooster crows twice, you will deny me three times.” But he said emphatically, “If I must die with you, I will not deny you.” And they all said the same. (Mark 14:29-31)
 
I need to admit that I am more like the disciples than I am my dear dog. I am afraid that he loves me more in his doggy way than I love my Jesus.
 
There is no better time of day for my dog than when I come home. When I am gone, he sits on the sofa and waits for me to come back. It’s like a job or a calling.
 
When he hears the car, he waits at the front door. When he sees me, he barks or cries with doggy joy. I unlock the door—he’s barking, tail wagging. 
 
He does enjoy other things—squirrels to chase, food, water, certain food items he digs out of the trash, but nothing compares to when I come home. The door opens and we are reunited. It is as if all of life is wrapped up in those singular moments of joy. He greets me as only he can—a yearning sort of cry, a dance around me or the room. 
 
What are we going to do? He asks. Will you play with me? Feed me? Will we walk together?
 
I am his master, the source of his food, the one who rubs his tummy, gives him treats, scratches under his chin where his paws cannot reach. He knows all this is true.
 
There is no better time, but there are others that come close—when we wake up in the morning and he sniffs me. When I read in the living room and he sits on the sofa on his pillow. Being a dog in the room where I sit seems to validate him just by my presence. If I reach over and stroke his back, he wags his tail. He delights in my care and any sort of attention at all that I give. When we have dinner, he sits under the table, hoping like his gospel counterpart to snag a treat-scrap that falls to the floor.
 
He delights in any hint of a smell of me that he can find when I’m gone—discarded socks, the chair where I sit, other traces, any bit smell.
 
It seems to me that he lives to be with me and please me. He takes great joy, maybe the greatest joy, in just being in the house with me.
 
As for me, I can hear Jesus asking, "Are you still sleeping and taking your rest?”
 
How might I relate to God more like my devoted dog relates to me and less like the disciples who were convinced of their own faithful strength just before they fell asleep in the garden?

Positive Outcome by Lorraine Triggs

The other day I took an online quiz to find out my “social biome.” I wasn't exactly sure what a social biome was when I took the test, but I am happy to report that I got a high score. Yay me.  

I didn’t bother taking the quiz on my exercise IQ, because I already have a pretty good idea what my IQ was when it comes to exercise.

I like interactive quizzes, especially ones that make me feel good about myself, and if I don’t like the results of the quiz, I can go back and retake the test until I get the result I want. I also enjoy checklists like five fool-proof ways to organize my closet, or tips for a stress-free life that include take a nap, listen to music and play with a pet. With every tick mark I make, I achieve an outcome I can see every time I open a closet or toss a toy to my dog—or not.

There is something about us humans that prefer tangible outcomes over ones that build slowly over days or even years. We prefer results now rather than in the fulness of time.

In Exodus 32, the children of Israel had enough of waiting for Moses who had gone up to Mount Sinai to meet and speak with God. Instead of waiting for “this Moses, the man who brought us up out of the land of Egypt,” (32: 1), they told Aaron to make them a god who would go before them.

Huh? Didn’t they already have the one true, promise-keeping God to go before them. Never mind. The people wanted an outcome, and Aaron delivered. . . a golden calf.

Like me looking for affirmation in a man-made online quiz, those chosen people were looking in the wrong place.

Hebrews 11 reminds us that faith isn’t a checklist to achieve a specific outcome. No, faith is “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” It’s building an ark for “events as yet unseen,” (11:7). It’s considering the One who promised to be faithful, not considering outcomes—good or bad.

I look back at Hebrews 11:3, and in that paradoxical way of Scripture, I am reminded that  by “faith we understand that the universe was created by the word of God, so that what is seen is not made out of things that are visible.”

The word of God, the Word that was in the beginning, the Word that was with God and was God—this is the Word that became tangible and visible. This Word became flesh and lived among us. This is the One that John and the other apostles saw and heard and touched with their hands. This is the One who invited Thomas to “Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side. Do not disbelieve, but believe.” (John 20:27b).

As Thomas obeyed, he put his hands out and touched; he saw the outcome of the Word becoming flesh for him, for us—he felt and saw the scars of eternal life.