A Pastor Prays for His People by Wendell Hawley

Today's musing is from A Pastor Prays for His People by Wendell Hawley

Everlasting God, Lover of our souls,
Open our eyes to see your love for us—
your love which was established before creation
and continues unfailing and unending, even unto this very hour.
Your Word tells us that you had a plan for us a long, long time ago.
A love for us not based on
performance,
or beauty,
or inherent value.
A love which sent a Savior to the unlovely,
the destitute,
the helpless,
the condemned.
A Savior whose love prompted him to say:
“Come unto me all you who are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

Lord, may you this day be the present help to all who turn to you,
whether hurt or ashamed,
whether sick or disheartened,
whether afraid or defeated,
whether troubled or angry.
You have come to change the human condition drastically, totally . . .
the sinful heart,
the stony heart,
the rebellious heart.

Holy physician, divine surgeon . . . work in our lives that our souls might
prosper in spiritual health and vitality.
Thank you, Lord,
for hearing,
for answering,
for meeting every need.
Amen.

National Day of What? By Wil Triggs

Back in the days when I used to read an actual morning newspaper, the kind that got delivered to my door or driveway, or somewhere close to either of them, I almost always checked out the little column that told me what was special about the day. I remember where it listed whose birthday it was, and what happened in history on whatever day of the year it was.

I no longer get a physical newspaper so I’m not sure if the column is still there. Instead, I get little messages that pop up, or Lorraine gets them and tells me, “Oh, so-and-so's birthday is today. Do you believe she is that old?” There are websites for this kind of thing, too.

Every day is, well, special.

Today, for example, July 9, is Collector Car Appreciation Day and National Sugar Cookie Day. It’s also Courtney Love’s birthday. It is the day that then Princess Elizabeth and Philip Mountbatten announced their engagement. It is the day that David Kelley and Allison Sipek will be married at College Church (I mean, literally, today). Perhaps most practical and momentous of all, in 1872 on this day, John Blondel was granted doughnut cutter patents that would make possible the mass production of the treat with a hole in its center.

We don’t remember who John Blondel was, but we live with his innovation a little happier than we would be without it.

Besides tomorrow being the day for Sunday worship, it is also National Kitten Day (I’m allergic), Pick Blueberries Day (where is the patch?), and most important of all, the beginning of National Doughnut Week and Krispy Kreme’s 85th birthday (ready for both).

Later this month, on July 21, we get National Junk Food Day. That’s what actually started this. Lorraine announced earlier in the week that she had gotten notice about this on her phone. And it made me think back to the morning newspaper ritual and I started thinking about, among other things, surprise, doughnuts.

Whatever day we’re in, and whatever we may face this day, one thing is certain: today is a day that should include prayer. God is the companion we ought not to neglect, yet so easily do.

We don’t need to hold a convention. We don’t need to even have a meeting with some friends to join us. Such days do exist and focus our prayers on a particular need or area of prayer. But today ought to be a day of prayer for each of us in some way.

In the summer book group this week, we talked about the chapter “Prayer Isn’t a Moment; It’s a Way of Life” in the book Wisdom from the Ancients. We talked about the Muslim calls to pray during the day and the early church rhythms of prayer throughout the day, stopping to pray at fixed times every day, not just morning, noon and night. We looked at Jesus’s words of warning about praying like Pharisees. We talked about whether to write or not write out prayers or to read printed prayers. We considered the biblical admonition to pray without ceasing. And then, before the night ended, we did it. We prayed.

Today is our chance to talk to the God of the universe and the Savior who is right here in the room, closer than we can ever imagine. It doesn't have to be long or difficult. The Spirit is right here. We can turn to him with whatever is before us. And if we are tempted to sin, how much more difficult is the little or big fall, how much easier the flight from temptation, if we are already open and speaking to the One who will never forsake us. If we are facing a storm or it's an ordinary Saturday, we sheep have access to the Shepherd.

J.C. Ryle in his book Do You Pray? says “I beg you, let us keep a constant watch upon our private devotions. Here is the heart of the matter, the real backbone of our Christianity. Sermons, books, church meetings, singing praises to God and the company of other Christians are all good things in their way, but they will never make up the chasm that opens up if we neglect private prayer.”

I’d love to keep going, but I’m going to stop. You don’t need to read any more of my words but do spend a few extra moments today directing more of your own words toward the lover of our souls. Write them out or say them out loud. Or say them silently, not to yourself, but to Jesus, the one who is nearer than we can imagine, the one who intercedes. Pray for the people you meet, before or after you meet them. I have been trying to remember to not tell someone I’ll pray for them, but to just pray right then and there.

Go ahead. Do it. We don't have to tell God what to do; there is a certain level of absurdity in that, but we certainly are welcome to say anything and everything. This is an amazing gift open to us. Be mindful of it during the day. Pray every time you sink your teeth into a doughnut or pick blueberries or pet a cat or go to a wedding. Everything we do can be a celebration of turning to the Lord in prayer.

Today, after all, is International Day of Prayer to the One and Only God Who Died for Us, Rose Again, and Loves Us All the Time.

Gawking at the Rich by Lorraine Triggs

Only natives of Detroit and its suburbs can truly appreciate Woodward Avenue—State Highway M 1. Woodward ran from the Detroit River to the far northern suburbs. As you drove north, storefront businesses and car dealerships gave way to high-end restaurants and shops, and this is where we would go to gawk at the rich.

Birmingham, Bloomfield Hills and its famed Cranbrook, stately homes, wide boulevards and expansive green lawns. We did not, however, gawk at any rich people—none were to be seen. Big houses, manicured lawns and gardens, but no people.

F. Scott Fitzgerald began his story, “The Rich Boy,” with these lines: “Let me tell you about the very rich. They are different from you and me.” My excursions to gawk at the rich proved that true, especially beyond the borders of the Great Lake State to the Golden State with Malibu, Palm Springs and Beverly Hills. But still no rich people to gawk at, not at street level.

In the Gospels, the rich and poor, though different, are not absent. The gospel writer Luke introduces us to two rich people who were different from everyone around them. First is the rich ruler in Luke 18. He asks Jesus the right question, “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit life?” but isn’t happy with Jesus’ answer to sell all he has, give it to the poor, have treasure in heaven and follow Jesus.

When the people heard Jesus’ camel-through-the-eye-of-a-needle comparison, they were caught off guard. He’s rich—shouldn’t he have a different way to inherit eternal life? Perhaps they gawked at the ruler as he walked away, very sad.

Next, we meet Zacchaeus. Poor Zacchaeus—a chief tax collector who was rich at the expense of his own people. Poor Zacchaeus—a hated, rich chief tax collector. I wonder if Zacchaeus was glad for the anonymity the Jericho crowd offered. He easily slipped ahead, climbed that sycamore tree to make sure he saw Jesus from his vantage point, and remain unnoticed by the crowd, who weren’t on an excursion to gawk at the rich.

Except for Jesus. He not only focused on Zacchaeus but also invited himself over to the tax collector’s house, and then the people gawked and grumbled—not at the rich, but at Jesus who had “gone in to be the guest of a man who is a sinner.” (Luke 19:7)

We are not privy to the conversation Jesus and Zacchaeus had, but Luke lets us in on the end of Jesus’ visit when the lost was found and began to store treasures in heaven. Half of my wealth? Sure, why not? Fourfold restitution? No worries. By now, I suspect, the crowd was gawking at both him and Jesus.

Spiritually poor Zacchaeus was now rich, just as we are. In a grand fireworks display of words, Scripture describes God as abounding in steadfast love and compassion, preparing feasts before enemies, lavishing mercy on us, giving us immeasurable riches and a glorious inheritance.

Make no mistake, we are rich. What would happen if we shared these riches of grace and mercy with a hated sinner, someone more like sycamore-tree-climbing Zacchaeus than a respectable rich ruler. What if we caught up with Jesus and said, “Wait, I’m joining you and Zacchaeus for supper.” Or we showed fourfold compassion to the hurting or those who are hurtful. Or we no longer remain absent, and step out the front doors, daring to act and speak for all to see, even gawkers like I used to be.

I have a hunch that if people saw these displays of the riches, the good works God has done, they would end up gawking and then gazing at our Father in heaven, and not us.

Summer Then, Now and To Come by Wil Triggs

I was going through some old books this week and mixed in with the books was a little photo album.

The photos were from July 2001. They were taken on the first-ever College Church missions trip to Russia. At that time, the church in Russia was celebrating its freedom. Doors were opening. Summer camps for children run by evangelical churches were on the upswing. They were taking down the statues of Lenin and Christians were standing in the places and telling the story of Jesus.

Word spread. It was news that evangelical Christians were doing the camp. It was even bigger news that a group of Americans had come to join them. Most of the people had never met Americans. It was a little bit like we were from Mars.

Camp was in an elementary school the staff had rented from the local officials. Our big meetings took place in the dining/meeting hall. Kids and counselors and our team all slept in classrooms. I remember studying an old propaganda poster about local heroes in Afghanistan.

Cars were stopping with children in them. The drivers were moms or dads or grandmas or grandads. No, they had never been to church. But they had heard that there was such a thing—a Christian camp. Something our Russian colleagues thought impossible when they were growing up. They wanted to drop off their children to join the camp. The Russian counselors gave up their room and pitched tents outside so the staff rooms could be converted to rooms for. more child campers. They added more sleeping spaces in the other rooms as well.

We made tie-dye shirts with the kids. We brought over the shirts and dyes and soda ash, that just a few years later would have not been allowed because of security concerns. To keep dye from staining kids, we made makeshift smocks out of trash bags. In between cooking for lunch and dinner, the cooks managed to fit dunking the dye-drenched shirts into the giant cooking pots.

The next day after the dying, we unwrapped the shirts revealing the bursts of color. The kids could hardly wait to put them on. We tried hanging them to dry, but the bursts of color on the shirts were irresistible to the children. On the shirts went, dry or not.

During afternoon rest time, we got to know the Russian Christian leaders and counselors. We listened to them and they listened to us, telling how Jesus had touched and changed us.

This all happened about 130 miles south of Moscow. The expressway signs told us we were headed toward Donetsk. Another 370 miles on the same road, and we would have hit the border with Ukraine.

Things change, don’t they? The children in the photos are all adults. We would not be allowed in Russia to do now what we did then. The evangelical church there has to be careful what they do outside the walls of their churches.

But God did something. Most people would not have predicted or dreamed that it could have happened. And it was such a blessing that he used little us to be a part of it. A shadow falls as I think about that road to Ukraine and how different it must be now.

God never stops. Neither people nor Satan will defeat him.

Today, God is touching lives. He can still use little us, not in the same way as back then, but does that really matter? God can do what God wants to do. Ours is only to be willing and available with where he has put us and to not shrink back to our own ways.

When we look back in another 21 years, in 2043, we will be in a very different world. But Jesus will not have changed. The Holy Spirit will still be moving into the houses of souls. God’s living Word will still be speaking. Maybe the most hostile places to the gospel today will be places filled with churches and revival. May our hearts have grown to be more like the heart of Jesus between now and then. May we still be found serving Jesus, caring for and reaching out to others on the road to the kingdom that has no end.

A Prayer for Saturday Morning by Wendell C. Hawley

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

Father God, author and finisher of our faith,
Source of every blessing we enjoy,
how great are our privileges in Christ Jesus.
Bountiful is your provision for all our needs—
our sin is that we do not appropriate what is available.
You are able to keep us from stumbling.
But as we review even this past week, we’ve stumbled so many times:
stumbled in relationships,
stumbled with wrong attitudes,
stumbled in temptation.
Forgive me for stumbling when I need not have.
Keep me from stumbling:
be my arm of support,
my strength,
my stability.
You have promised to present me blameless.
When I consider my faults—and think of being presented in glory, faultless—
I am overcome with gratitude to you, my Savior,
my Paraclete, my advocate—thank you, thank you.
You have said you will present me with great joy.
Oh Lord, help us to finish the race set before each of us—
to persevere,
to walk in faith,
to love you supremely,
and like Abraham, to have an eye on that city
which has foundations, whose builder and maker is God,
that we might be presented with great joy.
Heaven rejoiced on the day of our repentance, and now you promise
rejoicing on our presentation!
All this is promised because you alone are our Savior—
we absolutely do not rely on anything or anyone but you.
So fulfill this promise to us today:
Unto him that is able to keep you from stumbling,
and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory,
with exceeding joy, to the only God, our Savior,
be glory and majesty, dominion and power,
both now and forever.
Amen.

Imaginary Friends in Real Life by Wil Triggs

In a discussion earlier this week, a person commented on historical books (his favorite) as reading about “real things” as opposed, I suppose, to reading fiction. I enjoy reading history and memoir. But the subtext to comments like that is the idea that fiction cannot be real. He may not have meant it that way, but it’s easy for us to say that fiction is not real and historical writing is.

I am sensitive to this kind of language because years ago, a colleague at another workplace made an even more horrifying comment on theater and acting. The person said to me that all acting is a form of lying because the actor is pretending to be something he’s not. I thought at the time that he had to be joking. I looked at his face for the beginning of a grin that would signal that he was playing with me, but no. He was serious.

As a lifelong theatergoer this was unimaginable. Going to plays has been an important part of my life. I love doing it and spend time checking what is playing in London, New York, Stratford, Chicago. It was a triumph of God’s Spirit that I did not get mad at that man.

And as a reader whose life has been shaped by some great pieces of fiction, I cannot say that the imaginary people of fictional works are not real.

Never mind Raskolnikov or Hamlet or Gandalf. What about Atticus Finch or Ebenezer Scrooge or Sherlock Holmes? When we read good books, we easily embrace the people in them one way or another. Either we see in them ways to live, virtues to aspire to, or bad choices that we don’t want to make. Sometimes we see both good and bad in one character and read through the suspense of what’s going to become of him. I want to be Scrooge at the end of the book, not the beginning, but the “real” me right now might not be there just yet.

The characters in Jesus’s fictions are so real that we easily forget that they, by definition of the people I’ve quoted, weren’t real. They’re fiction.

So maybe they’re hyper-real. In some ways, we can become them.

In real life, we can take on their roles like an actor becoming Hamlet or Willy Loman, but with these Scriptural characters born from the mind and mouth of Jesus, they may not be us at all, and yet, they could be pointing us to the way we might be, even should be.

We are like a sower who sows seeds that grow over time--as we did last weekend at the Cream of Wheaton when we gave away Bibles to people. Or when we teach in Kids’ Harbor we’re sowing seeds that will grow over time.

We can be the Prodigal Son’s brother or his father. We can be jealous of our brother or kill the fattened calf and throw a party. We can bandage and house the wounded man, taking on the role of the Good Samaritan, but not in some theoretical fiction, but with living, hurting people who are not at all like we are. We can knock on the door of prayer and not stop. Or we might need to play the part of the shepherd who drops everything for one lost sheep.

When we take on these roles like actors playing parts written by playwrights, it may not feel like us, but that doesn’t mean we’re lying. Perhaps we’re moving closer to heaven than earth, living as members of a kingdom that has come and is yet to come.

Consider Abraham and his promised descendants—they auditioned and got the starring roles as strangers and exiles on earth (so-called real life). They played the part, because “as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.” (Hebrews 11:16). Abraham was not a fictional character, but he went to places he never dreamed and God gave him a new name.

What role will you act today? Sower, father, Good Samaritan? Stranger or exile? Sometimes acting, like fiction, can be a pathway to truth and becoming a new you that’s more like Jesus and less like the natural men and women we are so accustomed to being.

A Manageable Yes by Judy Hulseberg

The STARS ministry needs summer volunteers again. This announcement took me back to a conversation I had with one of my sons years ago. During a busy season for our family, he asked me why I chose to work in a STARS classroom on Sunday mornings. 
 
He knew I loved to volunteer in most classrooms. He just couldn’t understand why I would add one more activity to my weekends at that time. As a hermit-level introvert in a lively family, our weekly marathon of activities left me practically comatose by Saturday night and ready to knock myself out with a frying pan for some alone time. In the years after having children, I had learned to welcome any solo activity. A trip to the DMV was heavenly with a good book or a daydream. Ditto for any delay in a doctor’s waiting room. And occasional MRIs and root canals have provided some of the best opportunities for napping and thinking in the last two decades.
 
As a matter of survival during that season, I became adept at the art of saying no: to work advancements, volunteer opportunities and social activities. I even told myself that it made sense to keep saying no to Sunday ministry commitments for a little while longer. But the Holy Spirit kept nudging in that area, so I looked for a manageable yes.
 
That summer, a call for STARS classroom aides seemed to promise the kind of limited commitment that even I could handle, both in scope and in the skills required. It seemed sufficient to possess a willing heart, a smile, and the ability to hand out snacks and worksheets while other volunteers did the heavy lifting. That was about all I had to offer, so I figured a summer in STARS would be a way to serve without dropping any of the other plates spinning in the air. So I said yes to a tiny commitment.
 
That first summer passed, and something entirely unexpected happened: I discovered that being in a classroom full of animated STARS was actually energizing rather than draining, a small miracle for the extreme introvert. Before I had time to think it through, I had signed on to serve year round, and—even more surprising—STARS Sundays became a favorite activity on my calendar.
 
I shouldn’t have been surprised that a grudging little yes would turn into a great blessing and joy. I know that following God’s leading works that way. I had just forgotten to trust what I knew was true.
 
During those Sundays in STARS, God began reminding me of this and other spiritual truths. “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” (Isaiah 55:8-9) And “But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise and what is weak in the world to shame the strong.” (1 Corinthians 1:27)
 
God’s living and active Word seemed to tumble into my mind each week, and the STARS classroom began to feel like a master class on the reliability of God’s Word and the wonder of his ways. 
 
Watching the students patiently listen to each other’s heartaches and concerns reminded me of moments when I talked more than I listened. Hearing them express gratitude for being together each week brought to mind times when I grumbled and complained while ignoring countless blessings. Observing their absolute confidence in prayer revealed to me the solidity of their faith and the flimsiness of mine. Through those deemed weak in this world, God humbled and convicted me over and over again, demonstrating his brand of wisdom and reminding me that his ways are infinitely higher than mine.
 
God also revealed glimpses of something about how life ought to be—not the struggle and pain of a life with disabilities, of course—but something about God’s values and heart.  In a world that prizes accomplishment, abilities, and advancement, the STARS classroom was characterized by simple but transcendent moments: The wonder and awe when a student who hasn’t spoken for months suddenly laughs at a joke or sings an entire verse of Jesus Loves Me. The delight when an ordinarily detached student holds your hand or shares a secret. The unabashed joy and enthusiasm of praising God in song without worrying about pitch or key. I walked out every week with a refreshed view of what is really important.
 
And then there was the unexpected laughter. It seemed that we were always laughing at something—inside jokes and good natured-teasing, humor skillfully woven into every Bible lesson by wise and funny volunteers, and a stream of unfiltered comments and observations. My favorite came one day when A., who never misses a detail, couldn’t stop looking just above my eyes and finally announced, “You really need to take care of that.” That was my unruly hair, which on that morning could have starred in its own episode of the “Alaskan Bush People.”   
 
This type of candor and a genuine warmth permeated our interactions. We received enthusiastic greetings and hearty hugs just for showing up. Of course, the most exuberant affection was reserved for the veteran teachers and volunteers. The students adore them. They are greeted like rock stars, and it strikes me that this is as it should be. Faithfully serving and loving the STARS for decades warrants rock star status in my mind, and it is wonderful to be in a place that gets it right.
 
When I cautiously agreed to invest a little time in STARS, God took that miserly investment and began paying generous dividends in regular lessons about his character and ways. Each week with the STARS, someone reminds me again that the wisdom of this world really is foolishness with God; and through the very ordinary tasks of “helping” the disabled, God continually demonstrates his extraordinary ability to reveal something about himself in and through each of us.
 
Sometimes a parent or ministry coordinator thanks me for serving in STARS, as if I am kind or altruistic to be there. I’m never sure what to say because volunteering in STARS doesn’t feel like service at all. It is neither a sacrifice nor a burden. It is a privilege and a joy to be with the STARS, and I’m grateful that they warmly welcome me, bad hair and all.

The Last Breakfast by Wil Triggs

Back from LittWorld, Media Associate’s International’s triannual conference, there is much to think about. But the last breakfast keeps me hungry for more.

I’m thinking about Byato. He had sat in front of me in a workshop on publishing books, but we hadn’t spoken until that last morning breakfast. He pulled out a chair at the same table where Lorraine and I were sitting.

He described Mongolia, his homeland, as a culturally Buddhist country. He didn’t grow up knowing much about religion. Mostly what he knew was terror at home. His dad had been abusive, so much so that he and his brothers plotted to kill him. He didn’t go into detail except to say that the plot did not work out. All it did was end his childhood. I could hear the regret.

As a young adult, he fell into bad habits. His mother suffered. Already living with the difficulties of her husband, she was now seeing her beloved son make bad choices.

He saw this, too. Byato tried to stop them to ease her pain. He described trying to wash the smell of tobacco out of his clothes without much success and the subsequent pain of not being able to either stop or successfully hide his habit from his mom, which he knew caused her pain. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop all the bad habits. He could not get the smell out of his clothes.

When he went into a church for the first time, he heard people singing as he approached. It drew him in. The people were singing about the cleansing power of Jesus’ blood, how it could make a person truly clean. It wasn’t just the smell of tobacco on the surface of his clothes, but the utter failure in his soul that they were singing about—cleansing from the inside out. Somehow, by the Holy Spirit, he knew it was true and, in that truth, change and life came to him. We talked more about his work as a Christian broadcaster.

Then breakfast was over. Time to go our separate ways. There was so much more I wanted to know.

Every year, I tell the story of Hudson Taylor to the Kindergarteners--a similar story of faith in curriculum I inherited from Linda Murphy. Mr Ni was an idol worshipper. Yet he never could get over his sense of sin. One night he heard a bell ringing, and he followed the sound and found people in front of a building. It was Hudson’s home.

One of the people told him that a man was in the building who would tell them about God. Curious, Mr. Ni went in and sat down. Hudson told of Jesus and the forgiveness of sins. Mr. Ni raised his hand and stood up in the middle of the message. Hudson shared more and Mr. Ni believed.

A few days later Mr. Ni asked Hudson how long it had been since they had first heard about Jesus in his home country. Thinking he would hear 20 or 30 years, Mr. Ni was shocked when Hudson told him that it had been hundreds of years.

Mr. Ni thought of his father, who had died never hearing about Jesus. “Why did it take you so long?” he asked.

In his good and loving sovereignty, God directs our paths. Working now on our Cream of Wheaton display, I’m praying for opportunities this summer, that we might have the courage to sing the song and ring the bell.