Playground Church by Wil Triggs

My grade school was James Garfield Elementary School. St. Lucy’s was the school where the children went who lived next door to Mrs. Robertson's home. Every school day from Kindergarten through grade six, mom took me to Mrs. Robertson's on her way to work at the local community college and picked me up at the end of every workday.

Mrs. Robertson’s neighbors were Mexican. At least that’s what we called them back then. Given current sensibilities, that may not have been entirely accurate, but they spoke Spanish and they looked Mexican. While their actual ethnicity may have not been precisely defined, one thing we knew for sure: they were Roman Catholics.

As a kid, I didn’t understand or appreciate the finer theological points. I heard but didn’t understand the criticism from Protestant adults that Catholics never go to church.

After all, neither did we. Not every week.

Not only that, Catholics confessed their sins to a person. For me, confessing my sins to Jesus in prayer was something I wanted to do, but telling someone else? And then that person somehow had the power to do what only Jesus could do? It shook my fledgling Protestant brain.

They had a pope, who was like the president, only in charge of churches instead of a country. Why did they need that anyway? If you didn’t like something at your church, I thought, you could just go someplace else. Spoken like a good Baptist boy. Even though we didn’t go to church, I was catching on to the Baptist way, or maybe that's an American thing.

As a family, we were not regular churchgoers. But in my head, I knew there was a difference. I knew these neighbors were Catholics and I was a Protestant. I knew that they were wrong (read bad) and that we were right (read good). They went to St. Lucy’s and wore navy and plaid uniforms. I went to Garfield and wore whatever I wanted. Our school was bigger and open to everyone. Their school was small, and you had to be Catholic to go. At least that’s what I thought at the time.

But between the hours of three to five in the afternoon, none of that mattered. That was playtime after I got out of school and before my mom got off work and picked me up. Even though the neighbor kids and I went to different schools, we were free from the schools when the bells rang that told us we were done for the day. And we liked playing together.

One day, I stumbled onto some other differences in this two-hour window where differences fell away and all we wanted to do was play.

It wasn’t a hopscotch or kickball or soccer kind of day. It was time for imaginative play. I don’t remember how this happened, but one day we ended up playing in their backyard and they wanted to play church.

It didn’t sound that fun to me, but they were enthusiastic. They ran inside the house to get what we needed to play church. I didn’t get it. What things did we need?

They came out with a book that looked like a Bible but wasn’t. They had a chrome cross about the size of a piece of notebook paper and Jesus was hanging on it, which seemed creepy, a bag of what looked like confetti, some other trinkets and a goblet.

“Instead of doing a regular church, let’s do a wedding,” announced Deborah, who was a year ahead of me in school. Usually we called her Debbie, but for some reason, she wanted to be Deborah that day. “Mary, you be the bride. Miguel, you can be the groom. And you,” she said, looking at me, “get to be the priest.”

“I’d rather be the groom,” I said. I had a bit of a primary-school crush on Mary, so even if we were playing, maybe it would be ok to be a groom. After all, I knew weddings. I had been the ring bearer at two of my sisters’ weddings and was a pro at the-walking-down-the-aisle part. Whatever went on once you got to the front was, well, boring.

Deborah turned to a specific page in the book and that had exactly what the priest was supposed to say for a wedding. It was like a play. The procession started. I looked over at Miguel and wondered if we shouldn’t have ditched the girls and just found some other guys for a game of soccer. But it was too late.

I was reading along when suddenly the wedding turned into a communion service. Communion only happened once a month at our church, and never at weddings. Deborah explained that they always did it, even at weddings. I’m surprised she didn’t sneak some wine out of the house, but she just filled the goblet with water and some drops of red dye. And then the bag that I thought was confetti turned out to be communion wafers.

I did not like this.

“We can’t do this,” I protested. “This isn’t right. Those are for church,” I said. I started to debate with Deborah. She got frustrated with me and declared a snack time break.

So, we broke file and they offered some of the wafers to me as a snack. “It’s okay,” they said as all three of them took small handfuls of the wafers and shoveled them into their mouths. “It hasn’t been blessed yet.”

I had no idea what that meant.

But I looked at the wafers. Little tissue-paper-thin circles. I put one in my mouth. As soon as it hit my tongue, there was a millisecond of flavor and then it seemed to magically dissolve.

“Take more,” Deborah said, “One isn’t enough for a real snack.”

They started to explain how the priest had to bless the wafer before it became something only the priest could give people. Before that, it was just like any other food.

It didn’t seem like any other food. In fact, it really didn’t seem like food period. A snack for me would be saltines with peanut butter, not something a company made for church communion, Catholic, Protestant or otherwise.

Suddenly, their mom came into the back yard. “What are you doing?” she asked them, seeing all the Catholic items that they had turned into toys. She started to speak to them in Spanish. They ran inside and the mom started to collect the Catholic items from the yard. Then my mom arrived, and it was time to go home.

I didn’t play with them for a while after that.

I asked my mom how the priest could change the wafer into something not quite like food.

“Catholics believe that when the priest blesses the wafer, it turns into Jesus,” she explained. “We don’t believe that. We know it’s just a reminder, a symbol.”

My Garfield School brain was pretty much done with that. I didn’t want to play church anymore. It didn’t matter to me if it was blessed by a priest or not. I felt guilty eating from that bag. It wasn’t right.

The good news for my guilty conscience was that Jesus did break bread and did drink from the cup. It was no play but reality that Jesus’ body was broken, his blood poured out, and my sins—our sins, the sins of the world—were washed away. Behold the Lamb of God.

Something special happens at the Lord’s Table. For us, that's tomorrow morning. It’s not a game. I don’t do it alone, but with the family of God, together. And it’s not only looking back, but also ahead to when the Bridegroom returns and he and the Bride feast together.

And the angel said to me, “Write this: Blessed are those who are invited to the marriage supper of the Lamb. And he said to me, “These are the true words of God.” (Revelation 19:9)

From A Pastor Prays for His People by Wendell C. Hawley

Eternal God, everlasting Father,
Great and marvelous are your works.
When we really contemplate you as Creator and sustainer of all things,
we are overawed by your greatness.
The flowers of the field are of greater beauty than Solomon in all his glory,
The sparrow is the recipient of your provision,
the object of your watch and care.
Nations and rulers are in place at your will and by your decree.
Events totally beyond our control
are subject to your purpose and determined will.
And in between sparrows and nations,
you extend your providential care to your children.

You, O God, asked Abraham: "Is anything too hard for the Lord?"
We need to have such truth reinforced in our thinking--
for the enemy of our souls besieges us with doubts
about your involvement in our lives.
We are overwhelmed with contrary circumstances,
and we are sometimes almost drowning in despair.
We confess that we have almost made security and money our idols,
thinking that investments and governments would see us through.
Now we need to realize there is absolutely no security except in you.
You, Father God, are our secure provision.

We need to pray and praise like Mary,
The Lord took notice of his servant and has done great things for me.

May that be our testimony this day.

Amen.

Sleight of Hand by Lorraine Triggs

I have a friend who is an avid birder. When I am at her house, we look out her kitchen window as she explains what birds are attracted to what feeders and flowers. I point out the antics of the crazy squirrel dangling from the green feeder that looks like a lantern.

I thought of her when I glanced at a recent feature in the New York Times titled, “Magic Tricks May Fool You, but These Birds Can See Through Them.” Even if I didn’t read it, I could send her the link.

Turns out, I read the article and now have a newly found respect for Eurasian jay birds. Researchers discovered that these jay birds are not fooled by the sleight of hand tricks that typically trick humans, even the old standby of the coin is in the left hand, now it’s in the right.

The researcher featured in the article performed three hand-to-hand tricks using worms for his feathered friends. One trick—the palm transfer—didn’t fool the jays at all. However, the human audiences were deceived by the trick.

What made the difference?

Humans focused on the human and his hands; the birds focused on the worm and picked whichever hand they had last seen it in. The birds weren’t fooled; they kept their eyes on the prize—the worm. The humans? Well, the humans did what humans do—they keep their eyes on each other, not the worm—which, according to the writer, was not the intended prize for the humans.

Perhaps another worm, the one humans mocked and scorned, is the prize.

I would do better to keep my eyes on that worm of a man, a dying man, one who had no reason to be in trouble yet loved me enough to give me the greatest prize ever.

Instead of zeroing in on this prize, I so easily turn life into an endless palm transfer magic trick, and keep my eyes on the human hands of magician-like siblings, neighbors, celebrities, politicians or friends. And then I do what humans do—compare myself to them—look at what they have that I don’t or I'm glad I don't have to face whatever. It’s either self-pity or pride. It’s about self-love that isn’t all that original of a sin.

I wonder if Psalm 22:6 was running through Jesus’ mind (“But I am a worm . . .”) when he told his disciples to “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) If those birds were Eurasian jays, you better believe they happily received food from the heavenly Father. Why would they look anywhere else? He held the prized food in his hands.

For us, the prized food is his hands, the nail-scarred rough carpenter hands, the shepherd's. hands that rescue the wayward sheep. Human comparisons fall away. The good news is that life is not an endless game involving sleight of hand. I can entrust myself to hands that hold the universe in place, hands that were held in place on a cross with nails, and hands that lavishly give me all I need: satisfying water, bread and wine, what I need for today and a feast to come.

Memorial Day Prayer

from Wendell C. Hawley’s book, A Pastor Prays for His People.

Gracious God, eternal Father,

Who has created us in your image and whose glory was revealed

in the face of Jesus Christ,

grant us to know Christ and his life,

that the same mind which was in him may be in us.

By your abundant mercy,

we have been born anew to a living hope

through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead,

to an inheritance which is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading,

kept in heaven for us

where neither rust can corrupt nor thieves break in and steal.

We praise you for such redemption.

You rescued us from the broad road that leads to destruction—

and turned our hearts toward the narrow path that leads heavenward.

Though heaven is our home, we don’t always manifest a heavenly spirit.

For such failures in speech, attitudes, and actions,

we fervently ask for your forgiveness.

Thank you, Father, for forgiveness—full and free.

Now may we heed the Lord’s words:

“Go and sin no more.”

Lord, there are many needs represented in this congregation—

needs greater than our ability to alleviate,

but they are no challenge to you.

This day, may you provide, out of your abundance, sustaining grace

to the grieving,

the lonely,

the financially burdened,

the unemployed,

those who suffer broken relationships,

those in troubling circumstances,

those facing secret battles against almost overwhelming temptations.

Many face debilitating health issues.

Lord, have mercy and grant a healing touch to them.

Father God, we thank you for those of yesteryear who left home and family

to defend our country;

we enjoy the fruit of their sacrifice—we worship you in freedom.

Remember your children worldwide who want to worship you openly,

but dare not.

Grant openness to the gospel in those places of satanic oppression.

Remember those of our extended family required to be in harm’s way

and all our military family.

Keep them from hurt and destruction.

Shield them from all harm.

Enable them to boldly and faithfully live a Christian life,

and may their testimony before fellow soldiers bear eternal fruit.

We pray all conflicts will end speedily

and the gospel’s power will permeate all those troubled lands.

Give divine wisdom to our national leaders

that they may govern in ways that honor you.

Amen.

Up-Close and Personal by Susan Perlman

College Church missionary to the Jew, Susan Perlman has a timely perspective on the situation in Israel and Gaza. Susan is the chief partnership officer with Jews for Jesus.

The war broke out while I was meeting with a small group of our leaders at a location in the States. Two were Israeli born, one, the current head of our work there. He was also away from home in 2006—on a reconciliation trip with Palestinian brothers in Christ—when Israel and Gaza erupted into conflict. As Eli headed home then, knowing he would be redrafted into the army, his Palestinian friends were crying as they feared for his life.

I asked Eli, how he was doing this time, some fifteen years later. He replied:

“Growing up in Israel you get used to the fact that there is a group of terrorists (not all by any means) who, if given the chance will kill you. As a soldier, you realize that it’s your job to defend your country so that others can live without that fear.

This time as I was far away from home, my wife who did not grow up in Israel, realized that same hate I just assumed everyone lives with. Even though she is Jewish, she kept telling me this is not normal. Military conflicts exist around the world. But the feeling that just because you are a Jew, or an Israeli Jew, someone would rather see you and your children die is, truthfully, not normal.

Sure, there is a political and military conflict, but the rockets aren’t targeting the military they are targeting my children. I was surprised when I saw on social media how celebrities and journalists insinuated that because so few had died in Israel, Israel must stop retaliating. Yet, in that case who would protect us. I don’t want a war here or in Gaza. I believe in the preciousness of all life. I wish no one would be harmed. As a believer I understand that war is an evil sinful part of the fallen world. However, it is part of the reality I have lived in growing up in Israel.”

The weight of the war in Israel is felt by all of us—by our staff on the ground experiencing it firsthand, but also by those of us moved by family, friends and our own love for the people and land of Israel. Those of us living outside of Israel extend words of encouragement, support, and prayer to those coping with this crisis in the most immediate way. At the same time, we recognize that our perspective cannot be the same as those experiencing rockets falling or personal attacks on the streets where we live.

As a one-issue organization, we are intentional about not taking political stances in ways that would distract from the gospel message. However, the current Israeli-Palestinian crisis is provoking more than politics. It’s brought out spiritual and emotional issues, and blatant hatred and anti-Semitism—and it’s to those issues that we must speak. The heart of the gospel we aim to share remains unchanged, allowing us to be unified even as we contextualize that gospel message for our worldwide communities that may experience this situation differently, with various issues arising.

Our hearts agonize at the expressions of violence and hatred in our homeland, and subsequently, around the world. Israel is where many of us, our family, friends, and coworkers call home. As a Jewish ministry, we have a personal stake in this conflict. But it’s not just us who care. A large majority of U.S. Jews (82%) say caring about Israel is “essential” or “important” to their Jewish identity, and a large amount of the Diaspora agrees.

For a country that only makes up 0.24% of the land in the Middle East, Israel garners a disproportionate worldwide spotlight—whether positive or negative. Global news outlets have made Israel a daily headline fixture, and much of the media coverage of the current Israeli-Palestinian conflict has been incredibly polarizing. Some have called for the end of the existence of the State of Israel and the annihilation of all Jews. Some paint Israel as an idealized entity beyond reproach.

Neither stance reflects the truth. This conflict is the latest manifestation of an ancient, biblical conflict that predates us. Israel, like any country, can make mistakes. Criticism of Israel is appropriate where necessary because Israel is not perfect—but perfection is not a prerequisite for existence. If criticism of Israel is disproportionate, based on untrue assumptions, or uncontextualized, it can lead to the perpetuation of anti-Semitism. Often, anti-Zionism is a cover for anti-Semitism, and when that’s the case, we must be vigilant and stand against it.

Yet, we are called to be peacemakers—to show love to our enemies and grace to those who disagree with us. As peacemakers, we should seek balanced and credible information, listening to and supporting those who have been closely impacted by the conflict, and use our voices to speak truth, advocate for peace, prayer, and the preservation of life for all people. As Colossians 4:5-6 says, “Be wise in the way you act toward outsiders; make the most of every opportunity. Let your conversation be always full of grace, seasoned with salt, so that you may know how to answer everyone.” (NIV)

Yeshua lived in a politically tumultuous time. He set an incredible example in his ability to sidestep the trap of polarizing questions and instead engage with the issues of the heart. He prayed for his enemies, engaged with people of diverse backgrounds, and spent time immersed in and meeting the needs of his community. His message had the power to tear down the walls of division and bring unity, to show grace in response to hatred.

This time is an opportunity for our Jews for Jesus’ missionaries and all believers to demonstrate the love of our Messiah. We carry in our hearts the only hope for lasting peace for our people and now more than ever, we need to share that hope—online and in person. Through the light of Messiah that dwells in each of us, we can stand against the darkness that threatens to weave itself into history.

Our staff are encouraged not to be fearful of going out of our comfort zones to engage with our Jewish people through ministry during this time. Here are some of the ways we are doing this:

• Conducting street outreach offering prayer and a message of peace for people of all different backgrounds.

• Creating environments and spaces for people to dialogue in peaceful ways.

• Posting gospel messaging using some of the language I’ve used in this article

• Reaching out to our contacts to provide a listening ear, support, and prayer as they navigate these painful times.

A wonderful example of how we as believers can demonstrate our unity is this statement by the Jewish and Arab pastors and elders in Israel. Here is an English translation:

In light of the current situation in which it is expressed in polarization and hatred between Arab and Jewish citizens, we Israeli Jews and Arabs, who share the same faith in Jesus as Messiah and Lord, declare that we are united in brotherly love that is rooted in our faith and based on the Scriptures of the Old and the New Testament, as written John 13: 34-35: “A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this, all people will know that you are my disciples if you have love for one another.”

Our hearts agonize at the expressions of violence and hatred in our country, where we all live together and we have no other country. Therefore, we call upon all our brothers and sisters who believe in Jesus our Lord, to practically express our unity in Christ Jesus, in love, in mutual help, and steadfastness, confronting the forces of Satan that are full of hatred. All of these since we have been called to be ambassadors of the Lord, and so that the name of God would receive glory and his son Jesus Christ our Lord would be magnified glorified bothin our country and in the world.

Our prayers are that the fighting and hostility would cease and that the peace of God prevails in our land and among our neighbors: For He himself is our peace, who has made us both one and has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility. (Ephesians 2:14) That they may all be one, just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. (John 17:21)

With blessings and hope for quieter and better days,

The Board of National Pastors and Elders

College Church family, as we navigate this situation together, let’s pray for one another to respond in a way that brings glory to the Lord. We have prayed for a ceasefire, and now there is one though no one knows how long it will last. Pray for protection of the Jewish and Arab citizens of Israel. Let’s pray for the Lord to change our hearts and attitudes to reflect his. And most important, pray that even in the midst of death and tragedy, God would bring about salvation and new life.

My Class Acts by Wil Triggs

Back when I was in Bible college, to fulfill one of the Bible and theology requirements, I had a choice between a class on the Book of Acts or a class more overtly focused on evangelism. I chose to take the class on the Book of Acts.

I’m embarrassed to say that I don’t remember the professor’s name. He wasn’t one of the more celebrated full-time profs. He taught one class at night on the side. Maybe he taught the same course another day, I don’t remember. He was the pastor of a church no one heard of. He had no office space. He drove to the college, taught his class and drove off back to his home and church.

Given the title of the class, I assumed it was going to be class on that particular book of the Bible. I’ve always loved the Book of Acts and was looking forward to studying various aspects of it. I took other classes in Romans and in John and found both to be formative to my faith in the years that followed.

Imagine my surprise when the class really turned out to be a class on evangelism. If I had wanted that, I would have chosen the other class, the real one called evangelism. I don’t think my class was meant to be that exactly. The teacher just couldn’t help himself.

He was passionate about telling other people about Jesus, and even though he was pretty sure we were all Christians, he did his best to tell us the gospel. This was, in part, because we as Christians are made for and meant to tell others the good news. But I think he also recognized that some students were encouraged more by their paying parents than by their transformed hearts to come to a school that required as many units of Bible and theology as whatever course of study you chose. The prof also did open-air evangelism in Los Angeles. He was always talking about the different people he had engaged in gospel conversations.

He required us to memorize the Romans Road, which was his favorite approach to sharing the gospel. He challenged us to pray for opportunities, and when they came, to take them.

He warned us, and it was a warning, not to fool ourselves into thinking that evangelism was something we did; instead, it was something that the Holy Spirit did through us and circumstances and other people.

He prayed for us in class out loud to have opportunities to tell other people about Jesus. Looking back, it seemed to me like he prayed that in every class, and it wasn’t a rote prayer, but a passionate one that came from his heart. We all were pretty sure that we were Christians, so finding people who weren’t was kind of a challenge.

I went home one weekend and connected with a good friend from high school. I’ll call him Ray.

Ray was smart. He was smarter than I was. He wasn’t a Christian, but we were in band and orchestra together through high school (he played French horn and I played trumpet) and we ended up in several other classes together. He made sure his Christian friends knew that he wasn’t a believer, but he liked us anyway. I knew I wanted to go to my Bible college (Biola), Ray went to USC. That impressed me—the big, exclusive, private, expensive school that always went to the Rose Bowl and usually won. (This was a long time ago.)

That weekend, he came over to my house, and we compared notes on our colleges and caught up with each other. During our conversation, Ray kept asking me questions about my faith in Jesus. It was sprinkled in between our talk of other friends who we had or hadn’t heard from and things we liked or didn’t like about college.

All the Scriptures that my nameless professor was pointing us to in class. . . I found myself opening the Bible and showing them to Ray because they were answering the questions he was asking.

I remember thinking, this is the weirdest thing. I mean, ringing in my ears, I heard the prayers of the Acts professor as I was talking. I remember thinking that God was answering that man’s prayers right then and there. The Holy Spirit was giving me the Scriptures that answered the exact questions Ray was asking. I got excited.

This was not the day he decided to follow Jesus. But a few weeks later, Ray made the leap from unbeliever to believer. Eventually he served several terms overseas as a missionary engaged in Bible translation.

A lasting lesson I learned from my professor is that evangelism is more than a technique or campaign. It's a story, your story, of how you were lost but now found, dead but now alive, far off but now near. Come to think of it, evangelism is also more than your story—it is God's story told throughout Scripture. It's his story we are to retell as we keep our eyes wide open for the lost and dead and far off, and our hearts wide open to the Holy Spirit working through us. Every person we meet has a story. We have only to pray, listen and be willing to speak.