Moving Across Town by Wil Triggs

My parents moved across town just in time for me to go to high school. I don’t know for sure if they did it so I would go to what they perceived as a better school, but at the time, I thought that’s why we moved. Self-focused, I know now, but it seemed real.
 
The move also meant I lost the apricot tree in our back yard. Actually, we lost the back yard entirely. Our new place was the front side of a duplex; behind us, instead of a yard, there was a four-unit apartment and behind that, a garage structure with parking for the cars of any of the residents who wished to pay extra for covered parking. We chose to save money and park on the street. The garage was too small for our pre-economy-car sedan anyway. I used to joke that it was made for the Model Ts or As from the days when cars first hit the market.
 
When we looked out the kitchen window onto the street in front of the house, we saw the slender trunk of the palm tree. This new home was not only within walking distance of my high school, but also just three blocks from the ocean. Growing up, we always had to drive to the beach. Now, with this move, I could walk there. The palm tree reminded me every time I looked at it that we were just a few yards from the ocean.
 
From our window, that tree didn’t look much different from the telephone pole that stood a few feet north of it, both within view. Two different columns, that’s it.
 
I didn’t pay attention to the palm tree, except on Palm Sunday. Then, I would always look up at the palm branches. The tree was two or three times the height of our one-story duplex. The crown of the tree was the top where the branches and the fruit were. The city we lived in would send a utility truck with a cherry-picker around once every year to cut away the branches that had died and dried out at the base of the crown. I suppose this was their equivalent of our snow removal fleet—their palm-tree trimming crew. They ground up the branches, and drove them away, so I never got to hold one or wave one. But they were big, and I imagined them to be somewhat heavy.
 
Over time, I’ve become aware that there are different types of palm trees—from the ones that take a crew to cut down to the gentle palms of green the children wave when they process through the aisles singing hosannas year after year. In Kindergarten we make them out of green craft paper. The cloaks and palm branches signaling the good and happy news that the King has finally arrived.
 
What kind of branches did they wave on that most significant parade in all of history? One man, sitting on a donkey, coats on the ground, palm branches waving. This parade of One is marked all over the world. Not everyone has access to palm branches, and make other botanical choices: olives, willows, yews, even boxwood stand in for the palm branches in places where they are not available.
 
Wherever in the world there are churches, the people of the churches are waving something to reenact in one fashion or another Jesus’ royal ride into Jerusalem.
 
In contrast, the Daily Mail reports that “The Gold State Coach will not be used by the King and Queen to travel to Westminster Abbey for their coronation on May 6. 
 
“In a break from tradition, the royal couple will instead travel to the ceremony in another vehicle. They could choose to use the Irish State Coach, which is often used to travel to the state opening of Parliament or might opt for a more comfortable car.”

No coats on the street. No palm branches. I do not think that a donkey is going to be one of the transportation options for Charles and Camilla. The article goes on to say that they will likely use the Gold State Coach to get to Buckingham Palace after the coronation. So, it won’t be a complete break from tradition, and people will be able to see the new king riding in the golden coach.

The king many wanted was not Jesus, but someone more like Charles. Signs of wealth and power are what we come to expect with royalty. Though many will watch this coronation, after a few years it will be mostly forgotten. There will be other coronations to take its place.
 
But Jesus was not like that. We do not forget his journey. One man riding into the town on a donkey knowing that in just a few decades, the city he was riding into was going to be destroyed, knowing that his own cross was just days away, understanding that his friends would abandon and deny him. Then the beating, the nails pounded in.
 
You know the rest. Death—the thing that ends a monarch’s reign, except for this one. This king is a king of love, the only king of his kind in all eternity.
 
Let’s sing Hosanna. Death is not the end of his reign but the beginning. His reign will take us where there is no death. Sweet suffering, loving Jesus, we don't deserve you, but you come anyway. You bring us a better way. Your donkey is better than any golden coach.
 
Wave the palms, whatever kind you want. Willows. Yew. Olive branches. Green construction paper. Throw your garments down onto the road. Our king has come, riding on a donkey . . .
 
“Say to the daughter of Zion,
‘Behold, your king is coming to you,
    humble, and mounted on a donkey,
    on a colt, the foal of a beast of burden.’”
 
From the stable to the cross, this saving king comes in humility, reaching the forgotten, associating with sinners, identifying with the poor, the lost, the animals. King Jesus calls us to follow him in this suffering world and beyond, to his kingdom where palm branches still wave and cloaks are all white.

After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!” (Revelation 7:9-10)

Under the Bus by Lorraine Triggs

Two separate stories on my news feed recently claimed that Politician A threw Politician B under the bus. Or was it the other way around? No matter, both politicians are now under the bus, which might be a good thing—or not.

As the youngest of three girls, one would think that I would be well acquainted with the underside of a bus—an easy target as it were for blame whenever our sibling skirmishes got out of hand. Fortunately, our mother wasn’t into throwing things or people under buses or other places. As arbitrator, she operated on a single principle when things went awry and none of us were taking responsibility. Obviously, one person was guilty; the second person was guilty by association, and third guilty by her silence.

According to Merriam Webster, “No one is certain where the phrase ‘throw (somebody) under the bus’—meaning to betray or sacrifice a person, particularly for the sake of one’s own advancement, or as a means of safe-guarding one’s own interests—comes from. But there’s probably enough evidence to throw British English under the bus.”

Perhaps the venerable dictionary should have looked elsewhere for the origin of this idiom, such as the Garden of Eden. The serpent intentionally threw Adam and Eve under the bus in the first move to advance his own kingdom. Adam and Eve may not have been as intentional as the serpent, but they were quick to safeguard their own interests to avoid blame.

It’s remarkable how much we resemble our first parents in shifting blame. It’s a bit like the advice my car insurance agent always gives—don’t admit fault—and if a bus happens to pass by, all the better. Even more remarkable is how subtle we are at self-advancement. Something goes wrong and we jump to the head of the line—not to admit fault but to clear our good name. It’s our kingdom, uh, our reputation at stake.

I take another look at Merriam Webster again and read the words betrayal and sacrifice. This is the language of a promise made and a promise fulfilled that the one we despised, rejected and didn’t esteem would be the one who would heal us with his wounds. 

In the language of another garden at another time, where a reputation wasn’t considered a thing to be grasped, where the Son, like his Father in the cool of the day in that first garden, came to seek and save the lost.

It’s not Merriam Webster, but the Bible, God's living Word, where the language of grace and of mercy and rescue and restoration begins to make a miraculous and unfathomable kind of sense. It is there that we see the Stone the builders rejected become the cornerstone in a whole new way of life. It is there that God himself looks, even goes under the bus, or wherever we’ve been hiding. Jesus finds us and keeps taking the guilt and blame on himself. God who forgives and brings us under his rule and kingdom, the hiding place where we find ourselves transformed, a people no longer in darkness but living, working, walking today in the place of his marvelous light

A Saturday Prayer

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

Holy God, Lord most gracious,
We are in great need and you have extended your beneficent invitation:
“Come unto me, all you who are heavy laden.”
That describes us: we are overloaded with the cares of our existence.
We are creatures of need, but there is a problem . . .
What we see as our need is not the way you see it.
We see our need as more money,
we see our need as better health,
we see our need as a promotion,
as greater respect from our family,
as less anxiety—less stress—less pressure.
You see our need as prioritizing:
Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness.
We confess that really, deep down, we don’t love you with all our hearts.
Lord, we see our sin. Forgive us.
We want to love you first and foremost.
Help us to experience the joy of love unblemished, a life lived to please God.
We pray that we will know you, whom to know is life more abundant.
We want to join with the psalmist in saying,
As the deer longs for streams of water,
So I long for you, O God.
I thirst for God, the Living God.
Amen.

Vacation Homes by Wil and Lorraine Triggs

The HGTV Dream Home Sweepstakes is closed to entries for this year.

As far as Wil knows, he and Lorraine will not be the lucky owners of this year’s giveaway, which their website describes as “a grand mountain escape packed with high-end design and located in Morrison, Colorado.”
 
He knows this because he did not enter to win.

Lorraine on the other hand, did enter, and she’s still holding out hope that we’re about to win the grand prize.
 
There were a few years when we entered the sweepstakes twice a day on two different HGTV-affiliated websites, imagining winning a home much larger than the one we lived in year-round and making that our vacation spot every year, even if we weren't wild about the home's location or design.
 
We have yet to win the dream home. All we've won so far is a lot of emails from paint, furniture, plumbing and deck companies.

This year, though, we actually did take a vacation. Before that, it was sometime before COVID that we actually had a real vacation, not long weekends or half days, but a week or more.
 
So it’s been long enough that we’ve been looking back on that trip, how we took our dog with us and spent most days writing, with breaks for coffee, sweets, ice cream, fixing the car’s dead battery, visiting a health food store to look at vitamins, going to a farmer’s market and discovering a privately run bookstore that was half used, half new, with a little of everything in it. Oh, and that Mexican restaurant that seemed like it was only for Mexicans, but yes, they would take our money if we wanted to eat there.
 
Mostly, though, in the mornings, we played with words on paper and laptops for longer than we normally allow ourselves. In the afternoon, we traded papers and read what the other had been writing. We’d talk, edit, debate, suggest and then break for dinner.
 
This might not sound like an ideal vacation to very many of you. For us, it was pretty great.
 
Being in the middle of a good time made us think about all the other good times we’d had. With the exception of our honeymoon and pre-9/11 trips to England and missions trips, our other top places to stay have been gifts of one kind or another from friends or family.
 
We have had the privilege of staying in other peoples’ homes, cabins, cottages, whatever you want to call them--friends or family who want to share life with others or bless us with a week of retreat we wouldn’t otherwise have. That probably sounds kind of terrible to those who have vacation memories on cruise ships or the top floor of luxury resorts or excursions.
 
The element of a home as a gift is something we have become familiar with, always on the receiving end of this sweet kind of sharing. Remembering these places has a beautiful sort of nostalgia because those cabins and homes and lodges come with people attached. They aren't dream homes; they're places of reality. They represent places of hope and rest and work in the best possible context—in the context of people who love us and email “The key is under the mat.” Or give us our very own key to their very own place or entrust us with their lone set of keys for a week.
 
Along with that beautiful nostalgia and reality comes a deeper longing for a lasting home, no HGTV designed home, but a reality home “whose designer and builder is God.” (Hebrews 11:10). It's not a grand prize, but a great and eternal gift. A home where God himself will be with us as our God, and he “will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.” (Revelation 21:4)

Saturday Walk by Wil Triggs

As I begin this Saturday, it means walking the dog and drinking coffee. This is the same almost every day. It’s also listening to the Bible readings for the day. It’s wondering how the strawberries in the produce aisle will look, and how much they will cost this week.
 
Early in the pandemic, I went into a store with my son. It was a Saturday errand. He wanted to buy some deodorant. It was close enough to home we could’ve walked, but we didn’t. We drove.
 
What about this one? I asked.

I don’t know what that one smells like, he said.
 
I pulled off the cap and held it over for him to smell.
 
“Oh, no!” a salesperson from store approached us and snatched the product out of my hand. “You ruined it. We aren’t allowing anyone to do that right now.”

“Do what?” I asked.
 
“You aren’t supposed to open and smell things like that. You should bring it to us.”
 
But you can’t smell it for us, I thought but didn’t say.
 
There were no signs posted. We weren’t going to use the product, just smell it. How were we supposed to know that?
 
No smelling allowed.
 
We left a little embarrassed, a little angry, confused.
 
Remember when touch was a good thing? In some ways, it still is. I was thinking about that around the same time as the smelling incident, how overnight I seemed to have lost permission to shake the hand of another person. Hand-to-hand contact was out of the question because of concerns about spreading the virus.
 
But there’s research that physical human contact has many benefits. It seems to have the ability to lower blood pressure, lower heart rate, lessen depression and anxiety, boost the immune system. One article published in Psychology Today commented that  “It’s ironic that during a highly contagious pandemic where our immune systems are being the most stressed, we are being deprived of something (human touch) that is so essential to its function.”
 
I supposed I'm far enough away from those incidents that I can write about them now.

Modern life changes what is acceptable. One area of research can call something good. Another can say it’s life-threatening. And somehow both might be true at the same time.
 
The examples come from COVID and the physical self, but what about our souls and fallen life and our modern world?
 
Are we losing our ability to taste and see that the Lord is good? Are we trading down moment by moment, day by day?
 
There is a longing in our souls to be with God.
 
Even for unbelievers with no faith, the longing echoes from Creator to created one. Walk with me. We don’t have to put the longing there. God already did that. All the unbelieving people around us, who seem just like us in so many ways, it’s inside of them, too, even though they probably don’t know it yet.
 
Walk with me.
 
We resist. I’m too busy. My to-do list is long today. I’m under the weather. I have to get ready for the party. There’s too much hurt in me, too much sin, too much pain. I must bury my dead.
 
The real problem is my environment. I need a new house. Maybe a new state or even a new country. At the very least a new car. This Jesus thing, it’s just too much. I don’t know.
 
I’m just so tired.
 
Walk with me.
 
A few weeks back, our Bible lesson with the kids was about rebuilding the wall. How great it was with everyone working together in harmony. And when it was done, what great celebration.
 
“Have you ever moved into a new home?” I asked the children and was surprised by the number of hands that went up.  “I mean a brand-new home, no one had ever lived in it before you?” A few of the hands went down. Then I asked them, “Did that new house, as great as it was, make you sin less?” In unison the kids all said “no.” Simple question.
 
What about our stuff? The toys and things we love—do they make us holy? Do we sin less because we have them?
 
Another unison “no” and then one honest boy added, “No, but they sure do make me happy.”
 
Material happiness, though, doesn’t smell or taste as good as it seems, at least, not over time. And when we let that stuff take over, we lose the most important things of all.
 
When we wouldn’t walk with God, he decided to walk with us.
 
Walk with me.
 
We should be trading up, not down. In his Word and by his Spirit, God calls us to touch, to smell, to taste that he is good. One of Jesus' disciples wrote that "which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we looked upon and have touched with our hands, concerning,"--and this is what is astounding, the writer didn't write "concerning Jesus," he wrote "concerning the word of life." (1 John 1:1)
 
The Word of life who came to us and told us things. He did things no one else could or would do.

I am the bread of life.
I am the light of the world.
I am the door of the sheep.
I am the good shepherd.
I am the resurrection and the life.
I am the way, the truth and the life.
I am the true vine.
 
This is the person. The One. He is closer than we can imagine. Waiting.

Walk with me.

So, go ahead and eat the strawberry. Drink the coffee. Live your day. But also see the nail marks in his hand. Serve the people. Put your finger where the nails were. Love the people. Put your hand into his side. Tell the people. Give yourself away. Believe.
 
Praise God that we can walk with him today. 

A Morning Prayer

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

Lord of power, Lord of grace,
All hearts are in your hands, all events are of your sovereign will.
You alone do all things well.
Sometimes we don’t think all is well.
We pray for the change of hearts in others,
but maybe it is our own hearts that need your transforming power!
Perhaps the failures we condemn in others are really our own failures.
Perhaps situations are distorted because of the log in our own eye
even as we complain about the speck in another’s eye.

If this be the case, help us to focus on what you want to teach us . . .
the changes needed in our hearts.
Convicted by your Holy Spirit,
enlightened by your holy Word,
enabled by your powerful presence,
assured by your matchless grace,
I confess my sins, my failures, my foolish independence, my lovelessness,
believing that
If we confess our sins, you are faithful and just to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.
Thank you, God, for complete forgiveness.

Now I pray honestly and earnestly, God of great power: Control my tongue.
Keep me from saying things that make trouble,
from involving myself in arguments,
that only make bad situations worse,
only cause further alienation,
and make me think everyone else is at fault except me.

Control my thoughts.
Shut the door of my mind against all envious and jealous thoughts.
Shut the door of my mind against all bitter and resentful thoughts.
Shut the door of my mind against all ugly and unclean thoughts.
Help me to live in purity and in love.
Henceforth, may my focus be on the completion of your work—your good work—in my soul.
Then, Good Shepherd, I shall not be ashamed in the day of Jesus Christ.

Amen.

Trails by Marr Miller

Photographs for this month’s word: TRAIL

Greg Schmidt’s footprint on the beach (Mediterranean) in Tel Aviv, Israel.

Family on a hiking trail in Weowna Park above Lake Sammamish, Bellevue, Washington.

A deer hiking the Tipsoo Lake trail, East of Mt. Rainier, Washington.

Decisions, shadows on the McKee Marsh trail, Blackwell Forest Preserve, DuPage County, IL.

Hiking trail under the Sprutz, Upper Lauterbrunnen Valley, Switzerland.

Upward and onward, Mt. Rainier, Washington, above Paradise.

Bagley Lakes trail and the Heather Meadows, Mt. Baker, Washington.

A Doxology Psalm

Today's Musing comes out of this week's ArtSpace workshop. Participants included teenagers to those in their seventies. Thanks to each of them for their worshipful contributions to this psalm in three parts. We asked everyone to consider the Trinity through metaphor and simile. Consider these, a sampling from the evening, first draft thoughts and images of the God who loves us. 

God the Father
The beginning, always, infinity, reality, light, present.
God is like a firm rock foundation, a perfect just judge, the best friend.
God forgives our sins like a person who is in debt to the master and the master forgives him.
God the Father is like a skyscraper, shining in the sun.
Love, our Creator, Protector, Potter, the strong yet gentle One.
A house that gives us refuge and shelters us from storms.
God the Father is like a fresh-flowing stream.
The Commander, sends forth his word, hosts of heaven,
The Father is like the sun covering his children with warm light that makes the flowers burst from the earth even through snow.
He sees like an eagle and a mouse inside our hearts.
True North,
The master gardener.
Weaver of a stunning tapestry, the universal manager,
The Artist, the Playwright, the Sculptor,
Vast pillar of stone, Canopy of the sky.
 
God the Son
The calm after the storm
Like a David Austin rose, splendor in its beauty
Friend, Life Preserver, Lifeline, Mirror,
Jewel, Strength, Advocate, Defender
The storied warrior, slain in battle, comes home victorious.
A fruitful vine, like a brother
Teacher, firm yet encouraging, showing his love.
Truth, our rescuer.
Jesus is a whirlpool, pulling everything into his dominion.
The hero who rescued me, the glue that holds all things together, the road and the destination.
A desert oasis, a mighty oak, beloved one.
Jesus is like a dog; He walks with us and is always there for us. Faithful.
A protecting brother, our defense attorney, our umbrella from God’s wrath,
The bridge across the bottomless pit of sin to God the Father,
The perfect sacrifice, the creator of earth come to the ruined world; the never-sinner.
The One who hears all who call.
 
God the Holy Spirit
Healer,
Consuming fire, voice of God, like a wind, like a dove.
A whirlwind all around us.
The Holy Spirit is like the snow that blows from the church steeple, softening the deepness of night in his blanket of white.
My helper. A constant companion showing me the way.
An eternal flame, like a piercing beam of light.
Water, breath and wonder.
A rainstorm that refreshes and gives us new energy to persevere.
All-directions wind,
Uplifting breath,
Cleansing, rushing waterfall,
The wind, the white noise to which I fall asleep.
Our stronghold in seemingly empty and void places.
The Holy Spirit whispers in our heart and tells us what we need to do.
The Holy Spirit helps us to overcome the temptations of Satan, sin and this world.
Full of surprises. Intense joyl
He listens to everything we say and turns it into a song that he sings to the Father.
 
Praise God from whom all blessings flow;
Praise him all creatures here below;
Praise him above, ye heav’nly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.