Today's Table by Wil Triggs

With the early snowfall this week and the season rushing headlong into the holidays, Lorraine has already started playing Christmas music.

It softens the blow of the snow and ice, so I’m grateful. And we really do like all kinds of Christmas music, so extending the season works for us.

But it also forces me to start thinking about the holidays. And I’m working on Thanksgiving and Christmas at church and in other charity work, so it’s ever-present.

On top of all that, this year I’ve been mindful of those who aren’t able to be with family or “at home” for either holiday.

Maybe it’s because of a broken relationship. Separation or divorce can forever change holiday memories and traditions, not to mention where you go and what you do or who you celebrate with.

Or family who have moved an older member away from her home and church to a sensible and closer place where care is readily available.

Maybe there is a health challenge that keeps someone from celebrating Thanksgiving or Christmas they way they’re used to. Part of my memories associated with Thanksgiving and Christmas are of people I’ve loved who have died around the holidays. Not to be morbid, but that’s part of it, too.

Maybe it’s because of living across the world from family and home. I know of people in our church who have left their entire families on the other side of the world. There’s no visiting them. It’s far away; family celebrations are a thing of the past. Your parents can’t see their grandchildren. Your children can’t see the aunt or uncle you love, not to mention your parents. Geography, politics, money all get in the way.

So many hurts, so much pain.

And on top of all that, there’s Jesus.

As they were going along the road, someone said to him, "I will follow you wherever you go." And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” (Luke 9:57-58)

Wait. Did Jesus really say that?

I mean, of course, he did. Does that mean he had no home? No rest for the weary? That seems messed up. Like a king being born next to a donkey.

Or maybe he wasn’t weary. But he was fully human. So he got tired. Sometimes I can’t help but think of how tired he must have gotten with the teaching and the miracles and the half-understanding followers and the Pharisees out to get him.

Maybe heaven was the home he missed, which makes the other side of the world seem, well, a little bit closer, at least, on the same planet.

And in our crazy-busy rush to carve out a more measured and Aristotelian sort of life, what does that mean for those of us who follow him?

I don’t have the answer, and even if I did, I wouldn’t be one hundred percent sure of it. We focus so much of our energies and our hearts on home and family. These are such blessings, how can we not? And we get busy with life—so often that means not being able to give ourselves more fully to church itself.

But Jesus had his own perspective. "And a crowd was sitting around him, and they said to him, “Your mother and your brothers are outside, seeking you.”And he answered them, “Who are my mother and my brothers?” And looking about at those who sat around him, he said, “Here are my mother and my brothers! For whoever does the will of God, he is my brother and sister and mother.” (Mark 3:32-35)

Then there's Jesus' payment for our sins, not only for his "people," but also for those who were far off and hostile, not close to the family tree. He drank the cup and took God’s wrath on himself. We don’t follow him in that. He is our substitute. It’s all on him. That’s the point. And even if we wanted to, it would be wrong for us to step in and try.

Let’s bask in this Thanksgiving table.

The fullness of Christ means that we’ll always have family. This Father will never let us down because the Son on the cross was lifted up. And we want to please him, but we don’t have to be perfect—we can’t be, really, so the Holy Spirit is right there next to me as I write and you as you read. And there is help and hope for us to please the Father.

“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven." (Matthew 5:14-16)

How can we not tell others?

Honestly, it’s easy not to.

It’s easy to be like everybody else. In some ways, we want to be sheep without a shepherd and trade what Jesus has for an earthly family and home and that's it. But we’re trading down when we do that.

Where can we shine light today? Let’s go for it. Let’s risk shining light and discover a different kind of family and a tender pull toward a new home that’s not ours at all, but one where there is always light, and fullness and life. It’s a place where the Shepherd rules and loves perfectly. Let’s live the here and now with an eye to that place where my friends Joe and Mary Lou and Ken and Margaret and Nathan and Peter and Marge and Pauline and Wes and Carole and Nita and Don and Flo are, knowing home and family like never before.

On the Move

Last Sunday was the International Day of Prayer for the Persecuted Church. As we lifted our voices to pray on their behalf, one of our watch missionaries sent us the following stories that vividly show that God is at work in miraculous ways. She helps serve at an Iranian fellowship in her country—a part of the world that is unwelcome to Christians.

Just a few weeks ago, an Iranian member brought his unbelieving family members to church. He has been sharing the good news with them for two years, and when he invited them to church, they did not want to come. His dad pointedly remarked, “I will never abandon my beloved Mohammad. You are an infidel, and now you want me to come and see you be the emcee at an infidel service?”

In the end, the entire family did come to church, which is quite a distance away for them. When the pastor saw the number of unbelievers present that day, he set aside his planned sermon and did a comparison of Islam and Christianity.

Recalls our missionary, “He was challenging, and at the end of the sermon, that 80-year-old father was the first to stand up and declare that he was ready to follow Jesus. He said he saw a man dressed in white standing behind the pastor as he taught.

"At this point, everyone started crying—then his mom believed as well. Then another member’s 20-year-old daughter came up and said she believed. Towards the end of the service, the Iranian man’s sister also came forward and said, ‘I teach Islamic theology, and you have destroyed what I believed. It’s not true. This is true. Everything you said is true.’ This man’s entire family accepted the Lord that day.”

After the service, the member’s younger sister said, “I am returning to Iran in two weeks. I will convert my husband and then our house will become a house church. Will you help me?”

Throughout the morning, four young men sat in the back of the room, watching everything. Finally, one of them spoke up, “When you first started talking, I was planning to go to the Iranian embassy and give them your name. But as you were praying, I saw a holy man behind you dressed in white. We want to accept Jesus.”

God is truly at work among them.

Another story involves “Helen,” a woman our missionary disciples. “She’s Afghan and the only one in her family who believes,” explains our worker. One evening, her older brother, who was the most vocal one against her faith, tore up her Bible. Her parents denied her access to her Wi-Fi password and tablet, essentially cutting off her only means of communicating with the missionary and other Christians. The whole family goes through waves of treating her poorly and teasing her because of her faith, but this had been the worst episode yet.

Our worker there connected with some friends who had visited Helen, and they related that both Helen’s parents and her brother woke her up that morning to apologize for treating her poorly. And they kept asking why she remained so loving towards them even after the bad things they did to her.

“Anyone familiar with the strong pride in this culture knows the great conviction it must have taken for her parents, especially, to sincerely apologize to her and why this was such a big deal. The brother served my friends tea and was quite hospitable, which has never happened before. We are praying that Helen’s whole family will believe,” our missionary says.

Providentially, "her dad memorized several Bible stories when he helped translate them into easy Dari for verbal learners. I think his heart is softer than her mom’s and more open. He also has come to church with her before. Please pray with me for Helen to remain strong in her faith, to keep growing and for her entire family to believe.”

Praise God who is sovereignly working in closed countries. Praise Jesus that people are making eternally significant decisions to follow him. Give thanks that the Spirit is using people like this worker to point people to faith in the one true, living God.

A Gaggle of Geese by Terri Kraus

It’s that time of year—in the Midwest, at least—when the amazing happens: the Canada geese make their annual trek to the warmth of the south for the winter, passing through on their way. I always wonder and marvel at this God-given impetus within them as I see a gaggle flying, in tight V-formation, against a clear blue autumn sky. What is it that triggers their need to get going? As the leaves begin to fall, and the wind cools, does God whisper in their ears of the shortening days?

There’s a lovely little pond behind our home, and it seems it’s become a popular wayside inn for a number of our feathered friends each year. I love hearing their earnest honking, sometimes in the middle of a foggy night—the plaintive, somewhat melancholy sound matching the feelings in my plaintive, melancholy soul upon having to say goodbye to another summer, not able to fly south, like they do, to escape the coming grey days of the winter cold.  

With this increased seasonal population of geese, it’s not at all unusual to have to hit the brakes for a group of them as they make a valiant march across any number of local roadways. It’s not so bad on a side street in town at 30 miles per hour, but alarming on a 4-lane highway outside of town that cuts across the prairies where they graze, at 55 or 60. It would be almost comical, the way they take their time, waddling and then pausing to crane their necks, webbed feet on dirty pavement, unhurried, totally unaware of my hurriedness in getting somewhere, if it wasn’t so precarious for them. I hold my breath as cars from the opposite direction speed toward their graceful bodies. Will the drivers see them and stop in time? Unfazed by the squealing tires, they purposefully cross in single file, as the line of traffic builds in both directions...  

So I’m sitting in my car, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel with a bit of impatience, and I say out loud, as if they can hear me, “But you can fly! Instead of risking your lives, you can easily glide above the road, out of danger! Use the wings God gave you!”

And in that moment, I am stunned by this thought: Isn’t that so like me. How often I don’t use the wings God gave me, stubbornly tethered to this earth, bent on doing it my own way (which inevitably ends up being the harder, more perilous, precarious way) even when I know his ways are higher than my ways, and that he's proven this to me over and over. I trudge my way on a dirty road through many dangers, toils and snares, coming at me from both directions, on my own steam.  Slogging through, sometimes joyless, to get to the other side.  This, when my powerful God has equipped me with everything I need to soar, to mount up with wings as eagles in a clean, clear, wide open sky, and do it the heaven way. His way.  The far superior way. The way of joy.

Which is followed by another stunning thought: Isn’t it so like God, who is not tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, who is not impatient with me, as he looks on while I waddle along on the low road, season upon season, when I could be flying. How beautiful is his long-suffering, how he waits, waits for me to use everything he’s given me to live victoriously in this life, being all he has designed me to be in Christ. To rise above. He lovingly watches, lets me learn from my mistakes, only encouraging, with no condemnation.

And if my Heavenly Father does this for me, is this what I am doing as a parent, as a friend? If someone I love chooses the low road, will I be as lovingly patient with them? How well am I encouraging that friend who walks a dangerous path, with no condemnation, in the way to soar?       

Dear God, please whisper in my ear about the shortening days, and let me fly, O Lord, let me fly.                     
“But ask the animals, and they will teach you, or the birds in the sky, and they will tell you; or speak to the earth, and it will teach you, or let the fish in the sea inform you. Which of all these does not know that the hand of the LORD has done this?" Job 12:7-9

Visit Terri at terrikraus.com

Friends and Likes by Lorraine Triggs

It was this picture of our dog that led to our two-day obsession with Facebook. It began when Winfield Flower Shoppe posted a contest for the best pet Halloween costume. The rules were simple: post a picture of your pet in costume, invite friends to like it and the picture with the most likes won a $50 gift certificate to the store. 

I entered the contest Saturday morning, and voting ended Monday at 9 a.m.  I began checking the number of likes every hour on the hour, every half-hour on the half-hour, every quarter hour on the quarter-hour.

Facebook friends suddenly took on a new and immediate importance. They could help my dog win!

For most of the day, our dog was top dog. The competitors were few; our likes were many. Suddenly, Saturday evening we had a serious competitor, and the likes were up and down. It was nerve-racking.

It was not a restful Lord's Day. Our likes froze on Sunday at 8, 9:30 and 11 a.m. I guess it's a good thing people weren't liking our dog during the worship services. And we managed not to check our status during worship.

Then lunch came and we sent out requests to our friends to ask their friends to like our dog's costume. We emailed people to like our dog. We kept Facebook open on our devices to make it easier to track the likes. At 10:30 p.m., exhausted, we went to sleep. Our dog had two more likes than her competitor.

Monday morning. What do you think was the first thing I did? We checked Facebook. Our dog had surged ahead with 10 more likes. We could go to work now. At 9 a.m., we finally relaxed when the email announcing our win arrived in my inbox.

We, uh, our dog, had enough likes to be declared the winner. Our friends had come through.

I still sometimes obsess about my likes on Facebook. I want my friends to like my profound quotes or empathize with my bad news or praise my vacation, my garden, my family, my accomplishments. I like theirs, too.

But this dog contest and how I fixated on it made me think after the fact about the nature of real friendship. We remember it every fall season and laugh. It was funny and fun to win, but it got a little out of hand.

I recently read an article that asked, "Are You a Friend of Jesus?" It pointed out four characteristics of Jesus' friends: they love one another, obey his commandments, understand his truths and are chosen to bear fruit that remains. There is nothing there about clever posts or gorgeous photos or bragging rights. The number of likes or friends or comments amount to, well, not much.

Jesus explains in John 15:12-17, "This is my commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you. These things I command you, so that you will love one another."

Jesus appoints us to so much more than we would ever imagine on our own. He does more than send us friend requests or posts to like. And he expects more of us than that. He calls us friends, and then gives us the grace and power to live like his friends. It's about Jesus and abiding in him and his love, and finding rest in this nerve-racking world.

God of Hope, God of Mercy by Dr. Wendell C. Hawley

God of hope, God of mercy,

Faithful God, forgiving God, holy God,

We have your Word, your promise—and we trust in the fact that

the Lord is near to all who call upon him,

to all who call upon him in truth.

We have been invited to ask, to seek, to knock, with promise of answer,

for we believe you rule over all,

and in your hand is power and might.

So we address our petitions to

the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only God,

worthy to receive honor

and glory for ever and ever

Father God, we would that our moments of trust were with us always,

but events come into our lives and we are filled with questions.

We need the reinforcement that you have the answers.

We stand mute before inexplicable circumstances, but there are no

mysteries for you.

There are no facts you do not know;

no problems you cannot solve;

no events you cannot explain;

no hypocrisy through which you do not see;

no secrets of ours unknown to you.

We are truly unmasked before you, and you see us as we really are—

filled with our pride,

our selfishness,

our shallowness,

our impatience,

our blatant carnality.

We would despair were it not so that

you, O Lord, are compassionate and gracious,

slow to anger and abounding in loving-kindness . . . .

You have not dealt with us according to our sins,

for as high as the heavens are above the earth,

so great is your loving-kindness toward those who fear you.

So we crave today

a clean life,

a quiet spirit,

an honest tongue,

a believing heart,

a redeemed soul.

Thank you, God, that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanses us from

all unrighteousness.

Now, may we enjoy you forever!

Amen

A Post-Happiness World by Wil Triggs

Two weeks ago, a news analysis piece in the New York Times titled, “Are We Living in a Post-Happiness World?” really sort of got me thinking.

The article defines happiness as “a positive state of overall well-being combined with a sense that one’s life has meaning.”

It seems that a lot of people are giving up on happiness. Yet there is considerable time, effort and money being spent on trying to scrutinize happiness on a global scale. 

Did you know there is a World Happiness Report? This was news to me. Produced by the United Nations Sustainable Development Solutions Network in partnership with the Ernesto Illy Foundation, the study has apparently been released every year since 2012.

In the most recent report, of the 156 countries analyzed, Finland ranks first, South Sudan 156. The United States comes in at 19, its lowest ranking so far. There are sections relating happiness and voting patterns, the effects of technology, prosocial behavior, addiction and unhappiness, and more.

Church is, in the author’s mind, perhaps regrettably, a thing of the past. In bygone days, churches were “central to a community’s integrity.” She quotes Dacher Keltner, director of the Greater Good Science Center at the University of California, Berkeley, who said, “Church gave you awe, joy and ecstasy.” Keltner continued, “You collected in a group. You sang a little. You gave money. You got to chant.”

Even when some replace the immediate physical space known as church with virtual substitutes, most people have a hunch that it is not the same. And this loss of physical space and the lack of shared flesh and blood experiences of regular worship together is all part of the post-happiness world.

But the church is still here.

Those of us who still attend church regularly might not think of our church as a place of awe, joy and ecstasy, but maybe we should recognize that perhaps that is exactly what it is. And while we may not realize it, at least Keltner recognizes it because it’s something he doesn't have anymore.

What if happiness and joy comes not from obtaining it ourselves, but from living in such a way that what we are doing is part of the joy of Christ? This joy isn’t exactly ours to own, but a sort of fulfilment, a vessel through which Jesus passes on the joy set before him.

I’m probably not saying it quite right. It’s what Jesus prayed and Pastor Moody preached, “that they may have my joy fulfilled in themselves.”

So the happiness we long for, the joy that refreshes, isn't even something we can own. What if joy comes when we do things Jesus wants us to do, things that we may not think we want to do or even can do on our own, things we can choose to do no matter what life is throwing at us? It’s the Holy Spirit at work, encouraging us, enabling us to what we might feel is impossible.

I’m thinking of the people who came forward to serve in Kids’ Harbor so that other people's children could have a place of their own to learn and grow.

Or the retired missionary who used to give money to our evangelism camps in Russia back when such camps were legally permitted there.

What about the people who spend a good amount of time faithfully praying for College Church, clicking on the missionary prayer letters in our church family news emails on Fridays and praying for them, asking God to bring revival to our tired and angry world.

What if joy is on display in the mom and her kids walking to Wheaton Square apartments to invite children who live there to a Backyard Bible Club. The mom, then leads a parade of joy-filled, happy children across Main Street, behind the buisness and down the street to the right backyard for the club. 

I remember a family who vacationed in Eastern Europe and saw a need there so great that they came home and started a family foundation to make a difference there.

Or the unseen STARS families who stay past the third service to clean up the plastic communion cups after our Sunday morning communion services.

I think of every person who walks into church on Sunday carrying hurts and pains and sorrow, only to set them down to help carry another brother's or sister's burdens. Together we stand and pray and sing and hear God's Word preached.

The Times piece concludes by quoting an authority on happiness and joy, “I don’t think about happiness anymore,” she said. “I think about joy. And if you string together enough moments of joy, maybe you can have a happy life.”

Comparing that conclusion with the joy I witness in the people around me, well, there really isn’t any comparison.

So how will the joy of Jesus Christ be fulfilled in us today and when we gather together tomorrow?

Thy Humility by Emma Bodger

Emma is a sophomore at Wheaton College as well as a member of College Church. Her parents are Keith and Melody Bodger. Says Emma, "I have been going to College Church for almost six years and have enjoyed reading your Saturday morning musings for almost as long." We're delighted to post a musing from Emma today.

I read a great devotional a few months ago, written by Amy Carmichael. She wrote, “Take the opposite of your temptation and look up inwardly, naming that opposite: Untruth—Thy truth, Lord; unkindness—Thy kindness, Lord; impatience— Thy patience, Lord; selfishness—Thy unselfishness, Lord; roughness—Thy gentleness, Lord…” and so on. 

I decided to try this and come up with an opposite word for my every sin and look up to God as my source. This worked until I found myself feeling prideful. Pride, that pesky sin most easy to fall prey to, the prompt inside that isn’t even a voice because all it has to do is point toward yourself. and you think, “Yeah, what about me?" Pride is not a skeleton in your closet, and it doesn't lurk in the recesses of your basement. Rather it dresses respectably and slides quietly into the passenger seat of your sinful heart, making you forget it’s there.

So as I was trying to apply this simple practice as a defense against this perpetual sin, I found that I couldn’t do it when I deemed humility as the opposite of pride. I couldn’t pray, “Thy humility, God” to the God of the universe! This is Yahweh, "the Lord, the Lord, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin, but who will by no means clear the guilty." (Exodus 34:6-7)

He is the only one who shouldn’t be humble—the one who deserves all glory forever and ever. Utterly and completely sovereign and good. So when I felt my pride taking hold, I'd beseech God, “Thy…” and then halt, feeling the impossibility of my supplication.

After several weeks of this, I remembered the hymn Paul wrote in Philippians 2:5-11 (CEB version):
Adopt the same attitude as that of Christ Jesus.
who, existing in the form of God,
did not consider equality with God
as something to be exploited
Instead he emptied himself
by assuming the form of a servant,
taking on the likeness of humanity.
And when he had come as a man,
he humbled himself by becoming obedient
to the point of death—
even to death on a cross.
For this reason God highly exalted him
and gave him the name
that is above every name,
so that at the name of Jesus
every knee will bow—
in heaven and on earth
and under the earth—
and every tongue will confess
that Jesus Christ is Lord,
to the glory of God the Father.

Jesus, equal with God, chose to become human, taking on all of our human
limitations, in a position without prestige, dying in the most ugly, shameful way possible at the time. He washed the feet of his friends and disciples, he hung around with and healed people no one else would have anything to do with.

And this is the God of the universe. He is worthy of all blessing and honor and glory, the Righteous One who will open the scroll when the time comes. He took
on human flesh and lived as a servant and died as a criminal.

When I pray to God, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, I can pray "Thy humility," because impossibly, bizarrely, in the greatest reversal of all time, he humbled himself in order to take the penalty of our sins so that we can be made clean.

Proceed to the Route by Lorraine Triggs

My husband and I just came back from a relaxing and refreshing few days in the country. I am talking real country—cornfields, forests, show pig farms, posted signs for squirrel hunting, deer, darkness with stars and quiet. It’s a bit strange to this city girl that all this exists just over an hour from Wheaton.

What's strange to me is how quickly I lose my sense of direction in all that wide-open space. I can locate the rising sun, but it doesn’t feel like real east to me as in the lake is always east. That east. Miles are meaningless to a person who goes by the number of streets or traffic lights or markers in route to a destination.

I tend to give people specific markers to look for—“Okay, the bank time and temp sign is on the left and our street is on the right. It may or may not be working, but you know what I mean. If you go through the traffic light and see a Walgreens, you’ve gone too far so turn around and go back one short block from the traffic signal and turn left at the bank sign.”

Out in the country, it’s hard to be that specific about cornfields, at least for me. Hence, our recent heavy reliance on Siri for directions, and for comic relief. The directions to the short ten-minute drive to town were straightforward. But we didn’t trust ourselves to remember which way to turn at which cornfield on the way back.

“What did Siri just say?” said my husband who was driving and not staring down at his phone which was programmed with a cheerful Aussie.

“He said to turn left at ‘four-thousand and six-hundred and fifty street,” I choked back my laughter. I figured that the length of the street sign alone would work well as a marker. The street sign was short, sweet and well-placed on the corner: 4650 Street.

Old paper maps from my childhood seem better in some ways; folding and unfolding them as a child was an entertaining puzzle. And wouldn't my father have preferred my know-it-all eight-year-old voice from the backseat to an automated voice from a phone, something that would have seemed right out of H. G. Wells.

But even on this trip, there were times we didn’t rely on Siri, especially when we saw a handwritten sign: “Farm fresh eggs.” We made a sharp turn into the driveway and spotted another sign “Drive on up and turn around to get your eggs.” The best sign was taped to the blue and white cooler: “Eggs inside. Thank you.”

By now, on our detour to get farm fresh eggs, Siri was squawking “Proceed to the route. Proceed to the route. Proceed to the route.” Imagine what we would have missed if we did proceed to the route.

When we were outside the car, walking on a trail without our phones, we relied on trail markers. Even then, one said to turn left, so we went right just to see where the path would take us and we saw a herd of deer along the creek.

There are days I wish life came with its own personal Siri or had a few more markers for me to follow. I could type in “heaven” as the end destination, hit go and then take the most direct, detour-free, least painful route to get there.

Instead, life comes with the Redeemer, who doesn’t need our help to program our journey to heaven. It was set before we were even created. Jesus doesn’t hand us the latest device and leave us to our own devices to figure things out. He gave us his Word so we can know him, love him and follow him.

Often, though, God diverts our path to discover things we'd miss with just a straightforward route. Along the way, we turn this way or that and find eggs or deer and maybe even a hurt Samaritan along the side of the path.

Jesus is the shepherd who guides us through detours of green pastures and dark valleys. He knows that the best route home to heaven might be a twisting, turning detour, which he delights in showing us that it was a smooth path after all. 

Jesus is better than Siri. He doesn’t just say to proceed to the route; he is the way, the only route, the truth, the path and the trail and the trail makers all in one, the life, taking us all the way home to heaven.