Social Distancing from Death by Wil Triggs

Wil first gave this as a talk at last Wednesday's Men’s Bible Study, when the teaching topic was death and the intermediate state.
Lately when I wake up in the morning, I check my weather app to see if the weather is 50 with wind or 25 with snow. I want to know how to dress when I walk the dog and what I’m in for when I step outside.

The other day, I noticed that the Weather Channel added a feature to its app—the COVID-19 button down in the bottom right corner. I clicked on it and got a Coronavirus graph of how many people have been diagnosed and how many people have died in DuPage County every day for the last seven days. You can get it by county or by the whole state. You can choose infections, deaths or both.

To tell you the truth, it seems a little macabre.

The thing is, COVID-19 is not the only thing that’s killing people. All the other ways people die are continuing unabated—flu, cancer, heart disease, stroke. Wouldn’t it be nice if all the other things killing people just stopped? Is it supposed to make me feel better when I see social media posts that say more people die of the flu than COVID-19? That really is not a comfort. 

When it comes to death, each of us is going to be part of a statistic like that someday. Every single one of us. It strikes me in the midst of this pandemic, that in normal life, death is something most of the modern world would choose to forget. Maybe this is not a modern phenomenon—perhaps it has always been that way. As humans, we do our best to social distance from death. 

But not now. Now, as I check my app every morning, I can’t help it. I look to see how many people died of COVID-19 yesterday in DuPage County. I’m kind of fixated on it. And I don’t think I’m the only one. I mean, they’re talking about mass graves in New York. So 125 deaths as of this morning in DuPage County isn’t so bad. But death is death. 

And since death is on my mind more than usual, I end up thinking about some of my best friends in life who have died.

I think of Jim. The best man in my wedding—and I was the best man in his—he was a youth pastor, magician, puppeteer, trombonist, master of the pun and corny jokes, Christian formation professor at Trinity and Biola Universities. Jim just sort of got me in a way that is hard to describe. People appreciate me. They like me, but with Jim, it clicked. He just got me.

One day he was walking with his wife, and his leg went numb. He thought he was having a stroke. But it turned out to be inoperable brain cancer.

I did my best to walk with him through that, even though I was here in Illinois and he was out in California. I called him most nights, and we checked with each other on how things were. Then, when he couldn’t talk anymore, his wife would tell me what was going on. Toward the end, he said he saw Jesus in the room with him, praying. And then he went to heaven. For me, there’s no replacing Jim.

And there’s Peter. He was the missionary force that God used to put my heart in Russia and Ukraine, to serve the church there. Mostly, though, Peter was a man who wanted to do everything he could to help other people know and follow Jesus. I was part of a handful of people who worked here in Wheaton while he lived in Moscow. Every morning there would be 20-30 sheets of handwritten fax pages telling us the latest news of what was happening and what we needed to do that day on top of our regular work. Then email replaced fax, and 20-30 fax pages became 20-30 emails. We worked to impact legislation on religious freedom, connected church leaders with key partners or directed them away from cult leaders who looked like any other Christian from the West.

Then, out of nowhere, he and his wife were coming home early and heading to Mayo Clinic. His lymphoma was aggressive and fast. He fought hard. and we prayed hard. One of the last things he told me was about our plans to do summer camp ministry with kids in Russia. Go, he said, you need to go. And we did. Peter’s energy, humility and ministry partnership with his wife have shaped me and Lorraine in ways that I can’t even begin to express. For me, there’s no replacing Peter.

Death is the enemy. Even Jesus prayed for the cup to pass if there was any other way. Of course, when we die, we won’t be taking the sins of the world on ourselves as he did, so his cup is a lot different than the ones we will all drink.

Death is with us because of sin. We aren’t supposed to embrace it.

I miss these people more than I can say. My life felt better with them physically here. The grief of losing them doesn’t end. But Jesus called them home. I trust him. Our days are in his loving, nail-scarred hands.

I don’t want to think so much of those dear friends that l lose out on the amazing wonder of the people right in front of me. I mean, every person is a universe of creative wonder, a unique expression from the hand of God.

God’s stamp is on each of us, and it’s not some kind of die-cut cookie cutter stamp. Everyone is different. My table guys at Bible study—Mike and Michael and Val and Rick and Jeff and John—what a gift to walk with them and pray together and look together at the wonder of God’s Word. Seeing their faces in little boxes on my laptop, that’s better than nothing. It’s good. But walking together through life with them—that’s so great. For me, there’s no replacing those guys either.

We aren’t people of death. We Christians are all about life. The hymn isn’t "Jesus Died and So Shall I." It’s "Jesus Lives and So Shall I"—and that means that I will see Jim and Peter again. That means that someday all of us connecting on Zoom won’t have to use the internet and our devices to connect. We won’t have to drive to church and find places to park. That day is going to be richer and fuller and better than we can even imagine, and we’re going to get to see Jesus and one another and Jim and Peter all at the same time and cry out together,

Worthy are you, our Lord and God, 
    to receive glory and honor and power, 
for you created all things, 
    and  by your will they existed and were created.
(Revelation 4:11) 

There’s one more thing. Not everyone’s going to see Jesus and have all this. People we know, people we love, some will go to a different place. Let’s not forget that and do all we can to show them the fountain of God’s love that none of us deserve but we all get to drink from because of the wondrous flow from the Lamb of God.  

Come. Drink. Live. 

Back to the Basics by Heather Owens

Heather and her husband, Daniel, and their two sons are College Church missionaries, serving the Lord in Vietnam.

Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. (1 Corinthians 13:4-7)

We are embarking upon week ten of closures and social distancing here in Hanoi. In the past two weeks, I haven’t left the house at all except to walk a few hundred yards to the corner grocery to buy vegetables and eggs. We live in an up-and-down house in a row of up-and-down houses facing an apartment block, so we don’t have a yard or a place to be outdoors. We also don’t have a car, and now that public transportation is shut down, we couldn’t go out even if we wanted to risk being fined. My teenager told me he wishes he could just hibernate.

Our family is used to spending a lot of time together. We homeschool even when we don’t have to, and Daniel works part-time from our house even when the college is open. We always eat dinner as a family and often lunch as well. We like each other. We like spending time together. However, we are not immune to the irritation generated by these long days in each other’s company. Did I mention this is week ten? Our fuses are all a bit short and my threshold for annoyance is suddenly very slim. I’m wondering if I need a room to call my “growlery” like Mr. Jarndyce of Bleak House.

Somehow I never seem to graduate from Kindergarten when it comes to living and loving well. I keep having to go back to the basics. Be nice. Don’t be mean. Treat others the way you want to be treated. First Corinthians 13 is famously read at weddings, but its instructions certainly don’t end at the altar. These basic reminders spoke to my conscience this week.

“Love is patient and kind” even when towels are left crumpled on the floor or there is a sticky mess around the trash can. Love is not “arrogant or rude” forgetting that I too have grating habits and personality quirks. Love “does not insist on its own way” or declare the rest of the afternoon “me time.” It is not “irritable or resentful” when expected to provide the third meal of the day for the umpteenth day in a row. Love does not “rejoice at wrongdoing” or self-justify or make excuses. It speaks hard truth to my rotten attitudes. Love bears quarantine, believes God is in control, hopes for the good that will come, and endures quietly while we wait. 

Heather first posted this on her blog, In This Meantime.

Handwashing for All Time by Lorraine Triggs

When it comes to handwashing, the CDC has nothing on my mother.

As a child, I probably washed my hands at least 10 times a day as a matter of course. Routine handwashings included before and after meals, before reading books, (magazines were exempt), after playing with the cat or doing daily chores.

Then there were seasonal handwashings: after digging trenches in the sandbox in which to race small pet store turtles, after any game played in the street, after poking any critter—dead or alive—and after eating grape popsicles in the summer or caramel apples in the fall. My mom's one-size-fits-all advice for anything that ailed us summed up her philosophy: Wash your hands and face and you'll feel better. (She was right.)

My mother came from a long line of handwashers that began with the tabernacle priests who washed their hands at the basin before and after entering the holy place. A symbol of the need to present oneself clean in God's presence.

Over and over in the Old Testament, that simple act of handwashing and clean hands is a picture of righteousness and a pure heart. And when David sinned, he pleaded with God to "wash me throughly from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin!" (Psalm 51:2) No amount of soap and water would do the trick. David needed to be totally disinfected from sin. As much as we are into handwashing, it takes more than these good habits to get rid of sin's infection.

People say that cleanliness is next to godliness, and maybe there is some basis for that thought in traditions like these. But what do we do with Jesus, who seemed sometimes to go out of his way to get his hands dirty in the filth of human everything.

Ironically, the One who came to cleanse us from sin didn't always remember to wash his hands. Or, if he started off with clean hands, he was always getting them dirty. Like when his writing in the dirt made accusers fall away. Think of him touching the man with leprosy or making mud from his saliva and—gasp—touching the blind man's eyes.

In a display of love so amazing, so divine, Jesus' bloody, dirty, wounded hands embraced our sins, gathered our filthy rags and washed us thoroughly from the inside out. Jesus beckoned Thomas, the one with doubts, to touch, to reach, to feel where the nails pierced into the divinely human flesh, yes, to touch his side, torn and scarred for all eternity by our self-actualized dirt that no soap but the sinless blood of our dying God would or could ever wash away. But wash it did, and does and will forevermore.

“My Lord and my God!”

German Pancakes by Diane DiLeonardi

Day number? Well, I’ve lost count.

“What should we tackle today?" says my husband whose back is still tweaked from endless painting projects. My growling stomach signals what to do first—German pancakes.

As soon as my mind conjures up those two words, I’m instantly transformed into my 11-year-old self walking with my friend Jill the three blocks to Geneva Carlburg’s Victorian house (which, by the way, is still standing in this tear-down neighborhood) on a Saturday morning.

She greets us at the front door, inviting us down the long hall. A glimspe to the left, and we see her husband asleep in an easy chair in the living room. We continue into the room where good things happen—the kitchen.

Ingredients ready on her counter. Mrs. Carlburg guides us in how to make the perfect German pancake. She places the pan with butter in the hot oven. As we mix the batter she talks, we listen, we answer. The specifics I have no recollection, but her smile and love are so evident.

We pour the batter into the sizzling pan and immediately put it back in the oven with a stern warning not to open the door for 15 minutes. Our heads touching, Jill and I peer into the small oven window, mesmerized as the batter begins to puff around the edges, butter pooling in the center until it, too, raises itself like a perfect marshmallow on an open fire, browning with no char.

You must act quickly if you want to post your pancake on Instagram since leaving it in the hot oven causes instant deflating. Of course, back then, there were no pictures taken. Instead, a table set, prayer given, mangia. Eat.

This ritual was repeated many times, the consistency welcome, never griddle cakes, waffles or crepes. God’s love poured out on two little girls of divorce by a godly woman who felt led to do so. Our departing gift each time, beautifully calligraphied verses on crinkly vellum, fit into a paper frame. (I’m sure to find them this week as I go through old boxes)

Today, as I watched the batter rise, I wasn’t craving Alton Brown to scientifically explain how this thin liquid burst into action. Instead I metaphorically saw how God put people in my life at just the right time, again and again. Maybe a German pancake doesn’t bring you to awesome tears, but there’s a food, a song or an event that no doubt triggers your heart.

And this pandemic comes with its fair share of triggers to your heart and to the hearts of those you love. But, Easter is coming and what we do this Easter is essential. Find a way to share God's love, think outside the box. Your traditions are still viable with minor adjustments. Your Savior has risen.

Let your actions be a reward to others—Be devoted to one another in love. Honor one another above yourselves. Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. (Romans 12:10-11, NIV)

Geneva Carlburg’s German Pancake Recipe

Stay at Home to Save Lives by Daniel Bair

Daniel is the executive director of Englewood Family Outreach and one of our College Church evangelists.

Stay at home to save lives. That is sage advice. However, organizations that provide charitable and social services are exempt from this edict. Therefore, we as a ministry are faced with the difficult question of what to do in the face of such an unprecedented outbreak in our time.

The board of Englewood Family Outreach held a meeting the Friday night Governor Pritzker issued his order to discuss the ramifications for ministry.

We agreed unanimously that we cannot operate as normal, but there was room for discussion on how exactly we should respond in a way to love our neighbors. Do we stay home and eliminate all physical contact in order to halt the spread of this virus, or do we take the risk for the sake of restoring those in need? Staying home is probably the best way for most of us to love and serve our communities, it is not an easy question to answer for those who serve the vulnerable who will be disproportionately impacted by all this.

As I pondered this, I couldn’t help but wonder what Jesus would do if he were here right now. There was a flesh-eating disease in that time known as leprosy. From fear of the spread of this disease or defilement, those who had it living outside the camp wore rags and had to proclaim loudly, “Unclean! Unclean!” When Jesus approached a leper in Matthew 8, he did something unexpected. Before he healed him, Jesus touched the leper. Granted, we are not Jesus. He knew he was going to heal the leper and (therefore) wouldn’t spread the disease but cure and end it. But more than the method, I marvel at the message—Jesus saw a person in need, not a disease. 

Our ministry has neighbors in need, and we are brainstorming ways that we can encourage them and help meet their needs, from the physical to the mental to the spiritual. There is a virus spreading rapidly; if it goes unchecked it will likely overwhelm our medical facilities. But there are people buried under the headlines of fear and toilet paper shortages who are being crushed by the havoc the coronavirus is leaving in its wake. Sure, the government is doing much to try to alleviate their suffering, but without the organizations that have already been serving on the frontlines, the organizations that know the people of the streets, there are many who will be lost and out of reach. We must see the people buried under the rubble. We must see them, touch them (in a no-contact sort of way) and point them to Jesus.

At the end of Matthew 25, Jesus says that he will come back as king and reward his righteous sheep for clothing, feeding and visiting him. Baffled they will ask, “When, oh King, did we do this?” The King will respond that as they did it to one of the least of his brothers, they did it to him (Matt. 25.40). 

In some divine mystery, we are given the privilege of serving King Jesus as we serve the least of his brothers and sisters in the neighborhood. That is the attitude we come to the community with—not the attitude of the hero riding in to save the day, but the lowly servant coming in to help his King. One way to serve them is to stay home and not spread the virus—we could make things physically worse if we become a link in that chain, and staying home is a prudent decision. There is also a second option.

There is something great at stake here. Right now, people are confused, vulnerable and scared; and that is nowhere more true than in our under-resourced communities (just today I spent time praying with a mother from our neighborhood who, full of fear, called me sobbing). We have a unique opportunity to speak peace into their lives. While helping insure their physical, mental and emotional well-being, we can also impact their spiritual trajectories. There may be no greater opportunity than the one afforded by this virus to speak into their lives. It may be that this virus strikes while we are positioned here for such a time as this. 

Yes, the coronavirus has been killing thousands and we want to curb that as much as possible. But in the end death will come for us all; our greater concern is the thousands who may face death from the coronavirus without the hope of Christ. Hopelessness is in the air. The streets are emptied. Businesses are closed. The lights have almost all gone out.

But we will keep a lamp burning. A light will shine forth from our refuge to possibly be the spark of revival in the hearts of people in our community. There may be a day that our light goes out, but it is not this day.

Discover more about Englewood Family Outreach.

Global Voices for a Global Pandemic

Strangely enough, a global pandemic makes some people less global and more local. It's easy when we're staying at home for that to be where our focus is—our own homes. But what's happening to us now is something we're sharing with everyone. To lift our eyes and help our ears hear the global voices of College Church, we reached out to some of our missionaries to get their perspectives on COVID-19 in the countries where they live and serve. Here's what we've heard so far.

DATELINE—FRANCE, MARCH 17, 8:46 a.m.
STANLEY OKORO
The current shutdown is giving us an opportunity to practice what we preach. We preach that the church isn't the building, it's the disciples of Christ together. Church isn't something that happens on Sunday, we should be living church all week. When we're living as church all week long it takes the pressure of having to squeeze everything that should be part of church life into one hour and a half meeting. So during the next two weeks (or more) we will continue to live church by praying together in small groups daily, having a time of worship on Saturday and a brief teaching on Sunday. We're extremely grateful for the technology that allows us to continue to 'be' together, and even help those who are in need of a meal or groceries all without leaving our homes. We're also on the lookout for ways we can be of help to our neighbors and point them to God through our good works - Matthew 5:14  

Thanks for praying for us,
Stanley (in Lille, France)

DATELINE—UKRAINE, MARCH 17, 10:40 a.m.
CHERYL WARNER
Thanks for your prayers. We're praying for all of you too. Here's a bit about life here.

On March 9, we were just wrapping up a great week in the Middle East at a conference on ministry in Central Asia when we learned that the member care conference we were heading to in Spain had been canceled. Scrambling to change our flights scheduled for the next morning, we were able to reroute and go straight home to Ukraine. We're using this unexpected block of time to prepare for future events, communicate with our Ukrainian missionaries, avoid overdosing on the news, pray more, read Scripture more, keep worshiping, and tend to others' souls and our own.  (Having run out of excuses, I also started mopping floors and may have to wash windows if this goes on very long.) Borders are closed and we couldn't leave if we wanted to, but we're thankful to be right here. We thank God that we did not go to Spain and get stuck there, and we pray for our Ukrainian missionaries, who can't get home, to be shining lights where they are.

DATELINE—AUSTRIA, MARCH 18, 12:54 p.m.
JIM AND LYNETTE HATCHER
We are all navigating unfamiliar waters these days. Lynette and I are doing fine, confining ourselves to home and digital communication. We have taken walks together, keeping a safe distance from others along the way along the way; and today we had to do a shopping run. So far, we are fine and learning to do ministry in a new way. Here’s a brief look at that.

Austria is on lockdown, which is tough on extroverts like Lynette and me. I had some high needs to talk with people of late, these last couple of days, I picked up the phone and began making calls. The handful of seniors from church were grateful to chat. I was surprised how well and positive they seemed. They ended up being more of an encouragement to me than maybe I was to them. Next, I called my neighbor S, who is an atheist. Even on the phone, I sensed her fear and anxiety.

“It’s like war,” she said, “I’m afraid of people becoming desperate and trying to break in.” I promised to come over in my protecting gear, if she needed help. We both laughed. What are neighbors for, I said. She is in her 50s, but her husband is 67 and has high blood pressure. I hope S is less worried after the call, and I do know she feels loved.

After S, I called M, my Muslim friend and a refugee from Iraq and Syria. He is isolated and feeling terribly alone. He has a phone but no television or computer. His only friends are Christians in our church. We talked for nearly an hour. After these many calls, Lynette and I prayed for our lost friends, lonely and afraid, praying that they too would know God’s overwhelming peace and sustaining hope. 

DATELINE—FRANCE, MARCH 18, 9:38 a.m.
THAD AND JOY MCAULEY
We went on full lockdown France-wide at noon yesterday (March 17). For at least the next two weeks we are only to go out to the grocery, pharmacy or bank, and that’s being enforced. Kids are doing school from home, but the servers for the older kids are overloaded. We can go out to exercise, just not in groups. Borders are closing, even Schengen [an area comprising 26 European states that officially abolished all passport and border control at mutual borders]. It’s surreal, but people seem calm and understanding. Our family is fine.

From a ministry perspective, we obviously must rethink things for the immediate future. Our church has done its worship services and other gatherings virtually the past two weeks. Our venue for an Easter service that was to be combined with a few other churches has already cancelled. It’s forcing us to rethink how and why we do things, which is good.

Right now, we are reflecting on personally and with our GEM (Greater Europe Mission) teams across Europe is
Crisis=Gospel catalyst 
●When we can’t do things for Jesus, the focus can better become being with Jesus. 
●What might God be saying to us right now?
●What opportunities do we have to help others to experience Jesus?

DATELINE—VIETNAM, MARCH 18, 8:33 p.m.
HEATHER OWENS
Greetings from Hanoi, Vietnam where we are finishing our seventh week of school closures and other social distancing measures. In the early days we kept thinking, “Surely, next week will be back to normal.” After nearly a month of waiting for “normal,” Daniel put on his “IT guy” hat and found a way for the Bible college to move classes online. The problem here is that the majority of the students live in mountain villages, and many of them do not have reliable internet access. Half-way through one of Daniel’s first classes a student complained that his battery was running low. Another student helpfully suggested that he plug it in. “I can’t,” he responded. “I had to climb the peak to get a signal, and there is no electricity here.” 

Three weeks ago, Vietnam had successfully treated and released all known SARS-ncov-19 cases, so there was a brief window of optimism. The school brought the students back to Hanoi for a week of classes before more cases erupted. Hanoi Bible College made the difficult decision to cancel the semester for all but the graduating class of students. Those who have reliable internet access have returned to their homes. Those who don’t are doing classes online from the student house. Graduation has been moved to September in the hope that we will experience “normal” again by then.

Our family life is relatively unchanged. In fact, I think we should have t-shirts printed that say, “We homeschooled before corona.” The boys have been disappointed that activities are mostly cancelled and that we don’t get out of the house as much as usual. However, I noticed yesterday that they were laughing and chatting together instead of bickering. I’ve also seen that, in spite of a general fear and suspicion of foreigners right now (the new virus cases originated in Europe), our neighbors have continued to be warm toward us. One lady passing by our house as I was sweeping the alley nearly fell off her bicycle swerving to put distance between us. A few paces on, though, she stopped and lowered her mask to smile at me—a meaningful kindness. Such small things are evidence of God’s great mercy. It is to His unchanging love and strength that we cling in these uncertain times.

DATELINE—PAKISTAN, MARCH 19, 12:52 a.m.
BETH TEBBE
I think what has touched me the most is the profound faith in the Lord of some of our lower staff—mostly all illiterate, with good jobs at Forman, but still not highly paid and living from one monthly paycheck to another. These folks still have all the so-called normal illnesses and crises that are present as part of life and don’t have a lot of context for how to handle this new challenge, how hugely it could/will impact their lives. The government has cancelled all schools and worship services (for everyone (but enforced more for the Christian churches); there is little capability or concept of social distancing in their small households. But they know the Lord is powerful and cares for them, and they pray their hearts out. My household helper tells me every morning about some prayer meeting she has attended the previous night. Food prices are skyrocketing and so much looks grim, but these least-of-these brothers and sisters will be called great in the kingdom of heaven with their firm faith in the Lord!

I’m continually humbled as we stew over the logistics of our responsibility in managing the crisis and their faith is a constant encouragement—if anything, whining less than usual, just accepting both good and bad as from the Lord’s hands!

DATELINE—ONBOARD AFRICA MERCY, MARCH 19, 5:56 a.m.
BRIAN BLACKBURNHere is the official Mercy Ships statement:
The current situation of COVID-19 on a global level and the increasing travel restrictions applied by several countries, have made it increasingly difficult for Mercy Ships to continue to carry out its programs to the required standards, while protecting against the possible spread of the virus.

Therefore, in line with the measures taken by the President of Senegal with the Ministry of Health, Mercy Ships has reviewed the activities associated with the Africa Mercy, and has decided to adapt the programmatic operations of our mission in Senegal.

The main concerns of Mercy Ships are the health of the Senegalese people and the safety and well-being of our own volunteers, crew and staff worldwide.

Now from Brian:
We are safe and well on the Africa Mercy (currently docked in Senegal.) Things are changing each day and Warrie seems to be in meetings from morning to late in the night. The hospital is stopping service and we will return to Senegal to complete our outreach when it is safe to do so. We are committed to stay on the ship and serve the crew until our Mercy Ships headquarters makes other arrangements. It is very hard to social distance while living on a ship! God is good and at work in our patients, day crew, and crew.  

DATELINE—KENYA, MARCH 19, 9:29 a.m.
STEPHEN RIGBY
We had our first case in Kenya confirmed on March 13, the government responded immediately and within two days added travel bans and closures of schools and other non-essential government offices followed. We were impressed with the speed of the response, but given we were the 116th country with a confirmed case, it was appropriate. Additionally we also knew with certain cultural proprensities and socio-economic realities implementing social distancing and eventual isolation here will be very difficult. We have many medical professionals in our organisation that are working at hospitals around East Africa. Several of them are on our leadership security response team and have kept us well aware of the unfolding situation since January and so we have been expecting this day, trying to anticipate what happens next.  

With news unfolding seemingly hourly at times and situations changing daily we as a team, and  other expat workers at large, have  been asking similar questions... should we stay? how do we help? what's the impact? and... for how long? We have adjusted as a team to implement social distancing and minimizing how much we are out and about. We are praying with and listening to the medical community as they prepare their families, hospitals, and staff to handle the projected onslaught of patients, while still carrying the burdens of everyday brokenness around them has been sobering. There is no question of leaving; there is a sense of how do we prepare for a Tsunami with extremely limited resources? We are engaged with the local church community and experiencing the deep sadness in the cancellation of worship and small group gatherings—in this we are witnessing a distress that is beautiful to observe when one realises how cherished the body gathering is to people. We too are figuring out how to encourage one another and will be remotely meeting as a small group for now. 

Within Ambassadors Football, all our programs have been shut down. With this we feel the weight of the cut off of our regular program income that we depend on to sustain our office for an indeterminate period of time and the effect that has on our staff who depend on that income. My coworkers give me a perspective from the impoverished community that is skeptical of the government, concerned for their neighbor who needs to go out of the house to fight for the $2 per day to survive and inundated with WhatsApp messages sharing poor theology, inaccurate medical advice and conspiracy theory information about coronavirus.  

The myriad of responses around us has reminded us of our role to stand in the gap. To hold onto the hope of Jesus while facing the reality of the situation. Not overspiritualising our response (if you pray Psalm 91 enough times the virus won't affect you) or ignoring what's coming (it won't impact Africa). We seek to be wise, actively pray and be generous in this time. Psalm 112:7 is what my mind keeps coming back to, "[The righteous man] is not afraid of bad news; his heart is firm, trusting in the Lord." May we anchor ourselves to the Lord in this season so that we may bear witness to his glory.

DATELINE—SPAIN, MARCH 20, 2020, 4:35 a.m.
DEBBIE DAVIS
For us personally it means National Lockdown. In our homes. Everyone must stay in their homes, military and police patrolling the streets and fining those that break the lock down rules. There are only eight justifiable reasons for leaving the house, only one person can be in a car, and if shopping for food or medicine there is a two meter safety distance to observe. Hotels are becoming makeshift hospitals. And there is an App that now helps us to self diagnose and communicate symptoms should we experience them.  

For us ministry wise, we had to send our Canadian short termers home before they got stuck here. All church ministry is cancelled, although pastors and elders try hard to work via WhatsApp. In our personal ministry, we had to cancel Mision Posible, National Youth event for which GIles and I are directors, and  would have begun April 9. We have a committee meeting today to determine what a possible next step could be. We already had 300 students paid, and some are asking for their money to be returned, while we cannot quite give answers about a future date since the location is unavailable at all possible future dates, and hotels are not able to focus on this topic at the moment. So we really need wisdom when interacting with people about it.  We also do not want to see the enemy rob the country of this gathering, but maybe there is something else we have not thought of, that the Lord would have for youth. We just want to hear His will and desire. 

Thank you for asking. We covet your prayers, and we are praying for YOU too. We know Freda cannot have visitors. And Tim, Giles brother at Washington House, is also getting antsy. We pray for the College Church staff, and all the ministry YOU all have to do as well in these tremendous times.

An Elder Prays for His People by Tom Nussbaum

Elder Tom Nussbaum prayed this prayer in our morning services last Sunday. May it frame your morning today.

Dear Father, we come before you acknowledging that you are the creator and sustainer of the universe;

The shepherd of the stars . . . over 100 billion in the Milky Way alone

The master accountant knowing the unique 23 DNA-paired chromosomes of each cell of the 37 trillion cells in each individual.

Oh, what is man that you are mindful of him,

and the son of man that you care for him? (Psalm 8:4)

“Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty,

who was and is and is to come!” (Revelation 4:8)

You are holy, Father. We are common, profane.

You are perfect, Father. We are broken, flawed, corrupt.

Your heart is pure. Ours are desperately wicked, diseased.

We long to be like David, a man after your own heart who fulfills your will . . .

that our hearts beat together in concert with your heart

But we have not, we have sinned.

We are out of divine rhythm.

The spiritual arrhythmia of our hearts are due to our selfish desire to control our lives, to be god of our lives.

This morning, Father, we let go of the self-controlled steering wheel to direct our own beat: we are tired, afraid, chained.

We now submit and let the Master Physician do the work on hearts.

We now enter the holy surgery room and confess our sins to you.

Thank you, Jesus, for you alone can forgive sins.

Because of the risen and living Jesus, may we hear the heartbeat of the Master: clear, strong, purposed.

Father through the mystery of the Holy Spirit we ask that you knit our individual hearts together as a body,

That our church may beat as one unified heart together,

Calling hearts in unison for our grieving, broken, anxious and alone,

Missional hearts as we lift up to you our missionaries,

Anticipating hearts as we pray for your continued work in lives of our sisters now on women's retreat,

Giving hearts in chorus that proclaim a gracious and bountiful God,

Determined hearts that will not waver to teach, admonish our children to fear and to know the Lord and your Word,

Brave, bold and burdened hearts to proclaim to our loved ones, neighbors, coworkers that Jesus alone saves.

Glory to you, Father, that your heartbeat will never end.

Glory to you, Jesus, that your heart is not willing that anyone should ever perish, but that all should come to repentance.

Glory to you, Spirit, who has given us a new heart and puts your Spirit within us, transplanting a heart of stone to a heart of flesh.

Lord, continue to fuse our hearts together as we pray the divine cadence

Our Father in heaven, hallowed by your name. . .

June Bugs in February by Lorraine Triggs

Dr. Jack Van Impe, president of Jack Van Impe Ministries International, died on January 18. A popular revival speaker among independent Baptist churches like my childhood church, Dr. Van Impe was an end-times, accordion-playing preacher and televangelist. He had memorized an incredible number of Bible verses and never shied away from calling people to believe in Jesus.

I first heard about the news of his death on my former church's Facebook group. It buzzed with activity throughout the day as people posted tributes to Dr. Van Impe. I immediately thought of June bugs.

My parents modeled and taught respect for church leadership, especially our pastor, especially guest preachers. They didn’t complain about his suit, his haircut, his personality or mannerisms in the pulpit. Nor could we. We could, however, weigh in about the content of his Sunday sermons. Ours was a lively, opinionated dinner table.

Unfortunately, my parents didn’t have a contingency plan for June bugs.

Every June, the first real week of summer vacation, Jack Van Impe and his lovely wife, Rexella, held revival meetings at the church. At my church, revival meetings were meant to stir our hearts to go and win others to Jesus. Dressed in our Sunday clothes, we crowded into the non-air-conditioned auditorium and stirred the hot stuffy air with cardboard fans, courtesy of the local funeral home. We looked out the windows, wondering if the gathering thunderstorm clouds would knock out the electricity, wondering if Jack Van Impe would even notice if the lights went out. We chewed on lint-covered peppermint candies my dad doled out from his suit pocket. We refrained from kicking the seats in front of us and each other.

One revival meeting night, my sisters and I were suddenly focused on the man in the pulpit. A June bug was flying around Dr. Van Impe’s head. He brushed it away once, twice, three times. It returned. Van Impe kept preaching and waving. My parents gave up on keeping us still.

We began cheering for the June bug as it flew closer and closer to its mark. Would the June bug fly into his mouth? Would he swallow it? Choke on it? Stop preaching?

Then it happened. The June bug flew into his mouth.

My parents, my two sisters and I gasped.

Jack Van Impe spat that June bug out of his mouth, pointed a finger at the five of us and shouted, “Satan sent that June bug to distract you!”

All of us dissolved into laughter. So much for a revival that night.

These days, Satan probably sends a lot more—and a lot less—than June bugs to distract me. Ones that aren't flying into a preacher's mouth but lodging in my mind and heart. This morning, the lesser distractions include the The New York Times app, the pile of laundry, the overdue library book in the stack on the nightstand and our barking dog—all designed to distract me from 1 Peter and morning prayers.

Lesser distractions buzz around all day. Not really sins—yet. It doesn’t take much, however, for annoying distractions to morph into greater distractions: anxiousness or frustration or impatience with people who just don’t want to change or difficult situations that go on and on and on. How many things can I check off my list before lunch? Why can’t the person snap out of it and see things my way? Why doesn’t this issue go away so I can have my much-deserved peace and rest.

The accumulative effect of these distractions is my sure and steady gaze on the present, the here and now.

"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?" (Matthew 6:26)

I barely look up from my downward gaze—so concerned about the June bugs in February sowing and reaping and gathering—at the birds of the air, let alone the heavenly Father who feeds them.

But one look at the clear blue sky of God's Word and I know. It's a grace, then, as I swat at my own version of June bugs to look further up and further in and to hear Jesus’ words, “But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and these things will be added to you.” (Matthew 6:33)