Faith Works 11-21

Faith Works 11-21-09

Jeff Gill

 

Or On the Other Hand, Maybe Not

___

 

If I were to hazard a guess that there were some readers of the Advocate today who weren't feeling too terribly thankful, it wouldn't be going out on too shaky a limb.

 

Given the state of the national, regional, and local economy, the odds that there are some people turning pages (actual or virtual) who are looking more for the Help Wanted pages than sprightly opinion & comment are pretty good, almost a certainty.

 

The parson's usual dodge, said the parson, is to suggest that everyone, no matter if they've lost their job, even if they're short cash or feeling the sting of already-burned-through credit coming due, should still feel thankful for something . . . or other.

 

You still have your health, even if no health insurance, says the optimist; you have the breath of life itself, says the faithful believer, which is a gift; the pragmatist points out that you aren't in jail. (Except for all our faithful jail readers – hey there, folks, hang in there!)

 

Thankfulness is technically something you can feel no matter what your circumstances, unless you're a corpse or at least catatonic. Medical science declares that feelings of thankfulness lowers blood pressure, supports your immune system, and promotes general well being.

 

Does that include forced or insincere thankfulness? Or is it one of those categories of thought and action where if you believe something, you'll start to live so much as if it's true that it will effectively become true. You can't think yourself tall, but thinking self-confidently can start to straighten your spine enough to actually add both height and the impression of height.

 

There's anecdotal evidence enough that if you decide to speak and act and claim to be thankful, thankfulness for yet another day, for a few basics, and for the promise of maybe something more at some possible point later, you really do end up feeling thankful right down to your ungrateful appendix.

 

"Give thanks, with a grateful heart" says the well-known praise song, and it's a piece of wise counsel, but what about just giving thanks, and asking for a grateful heart to warm up inside you as a result? Sometimes, you just don't feel thankful for anything, including, not just starting with, the fact of having woken up that morning. You may even be particularly displeased about that. You know you shouldn't, but it's been that kind of week, OK? (You think, grumpily.)

 

Which may be so, but can you concede that there is a reason, any reason at all in your life, to offer thanks: to God, to your higher power, to something or Someone beyond your own abilities and actions?

 

And then could you be open to feel it, to feel the effects of that decision to present a thankful attitude in the general direction of the cosmos? It would be a start.

 

Most areas around the county have a community Thanksgiving service, usually on Sunday night, since so many travel on Wednesday or Thursday of this week. Granville & Hebron churches band together for a 7:00 pm service, while Utica, always a step ahead, has one at 6:30 pm Sunday night, and there are no doubt others.

 

If you're feeling particularly un-thankful this year, my heart and sympathies are with you. There are some real challenges out there, and I wouldn't want to even hint that they are anything other than demoralizing for anyone feeling alone and pushed aside.

 

What I'd also like to offer is to come join one of the community Thanksgiving worship services, since there's probably one very near you, and since they include multiple congregations, it's a great time to drop in and not feel like the only stranger in the building.

 

And for that hour of music and singing and prayer, take a shot at being thankful, even if only for very little. It might just grow.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him what you're thankful for at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

Knapsack 11-19

Notes From My Knapsack 11-19-09

Jeff Gill

 

Give Thanks With Heart and Hands and Voices

___

 

Sunday evening at St. Luke's Episcopal Church the entire community is invited to start a week of Thanksgiving with a Community Thanksgiving Service at 7:00 pm, planned by the Granville Ministerium.

 

The Rev. Thom Lamb of First Presbyterian will preach, and The Rev. Stephen Applegate of the host church has arranged a number of us clergy folk from many different denominations in a worship service that can help raise up and focus our reasons to be thankful, as a village, as families, and as individuals.

 

Our offering at the service will go to the Coalition of Care's ongoing work, and a community chorus will sing for us.

 

That chorus is another expression of an impulse that's visible over on Newark's East Main Street, just past the big blue steel bridge, opposite the Licking County Justice Center. Right now, the "Church Build" Habitat for Humanity house is wrapped in blue material around the first floor framing, but sheathing will go on shortly, and then a crane will help lift the roof trusses into place.

 

Centenary UMC is celebrating a bicentennial year in 2010, and one of the ways they wanted to mark the occasion, along with the usual plates and such, was a gift to the community. A few members took the lead in the idea of pulling together county Christian churches, and got around twenty participants to commit to the idea, but Granville churches are strongly represented in both contributions and construction crew. The last day I was on the site, there were workers from Centenary, St. Luke's, Spring Hills, and St. Edwards.

 

The work will continue on Saturdays and Wednesdays through the holiday season; also coming right up – Thursday, Dec. 3, at 6:00 pm, is the Newark "Sights and Sounds of Christmas" guided tour of downtown churches. $5 per person, all for the Licking County Food Pantry, is a wonderful experience to see and hear some real county history, and great live music. Check out www.sightsandsoundsofchristmas.org for more info.

 

Of course the first Saturday of December is . . . time to leave town? Yes, I know there's a few Scrooges who feel that way, but this is the 20^th anniversary of the Lovely Wife and I first stumbling into downtown Granville as evening settled around the Four Corners, the Scouts lighting the luminaries, music echoing out of the churches, and a light snow fell all around. We were captivated and entranced and whatever else the thesaurus says about that, and if you'd told us that night we'd be living in this village fifteen years later we would have laughed and laughed.

 

If you'd have told us in 1989 we'd have a son in twenty years who would be lighting those luminaries, we might have cried, just a bit, with happy tears. And laughed.

 

Both of which we'll no doubt do on Dec. 5 at the Candlelight Walking Tour. See you there!

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him a story about your favorite anniversaries or events at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

Knapsack 11-14

Faith Works 11-14-09

Jeff Gill

 

Something To Believe In

___

 

 

I believe in Boston.

 

That may sound a little crazy to some, especially when I admit – I've never been to Boston. Got up to Newport and a quick run through Providence, but didn't make it Boston.

 

But I believe it's there.

 

Granted, much of my mental image of Boston is based on pictures taken from history and fiction; the Boston that is most real to me is the one described by Esther Forbes in "Johnny Tremain," a novel written during World War II set in the years before the American Revolution.

 

Add in Longfellow's "The Midnight Ride of Paul Revere," which is actually a poem, and some historical recreations in my junior high social studies books, and the dominant impression I have when I hear someone mention Boston is that of a long-lost city, with few points of contact with the current reality . . . whatever that is.

 

More recently, I have seen and appreciated the movie "Good Will Hunting," which is set in Boston as it is today, so I have an overlay which may or may not get me closer to the actual city, or at least the South End and parts of neighboring Cambridge.

 

Some of what I've learned over the years about Boston seems downright incredible: Beacon Hill, cut down to a plain, the volume used to fill in the ocean front bays all around the near-island of the city as it began? A vast tunnel where multi-millions of tax dollars went to die, which has been actually seen by few but discussed by everyone (in Boston), or a baseball park with a high, green wall called by all and sundry a "monster" unlike any other playing field? A boxing team on ice skates which fights sliding backwards, until occasionally a hockey game breaks out?

 

Still, I believe in Boston.

 

You might remind me that many have been there, and I could find them, even on my own street, so it is no "leap of faith" to say I believe in Boston. Yet I really can't think of ever having had a conversation with someone face to face about the place. It gets brought up on tv shows and lends its name to a particular brand of candy baked beans that are neither baked, nor beans, and the sum total of inputs has led me to decide: I believe in Boston.

 

If I chose to say "there is no Boston," then I might have to contend with those who say "you are wrong, I've been there, I had a cream pie." But whether anyone chose to confirm or refute my understanding, would that really affect the basic question, whether or not there is a city called Boston?

 

Some of you are saying "what is this lunacy? Everyone knows there is a Boston, and the reality of that place is tied to so many more everyday facts that to deny Boston would be like saying that there is no such thing as gravity." Which may be.

 

The fact remains that I have never been closer than fifty miles to Boston, have never seen it with my own eyes, have no direct contact with anything to do with the city other than knowing a few Harvard grads (which doesn't count, considering the broad Charles River between them), and do not root for either the Red Sox, the Bruins, or the Patriots, which play in Foxborough anyhow.

 

But I have decided that believing in Boston makes sense, fits into the rest of what I know directly of the world, and is no crazier than believing that I will, in twenty years, collect something from Social Security. I may not make it to Bean Town, may never walk the Patriot Trail past Paul Revere's House and Old North Church, or get a retirement check from Uncle Sam, but I believe they are there based on the evidence I have, both solid data and artistic impression, triangulated into a picture with depth and solidity in my mind's eye. Or at least Boston is solid in my assumptions, more so that the prospect of a government benefit.

 

And I believe there is a God, who takes note of my situation on a personal basis, but tends to creation with infinite care. Of Jesus I have heard much, and marvel at some, but his reality long ago and now is something that strikes me as better established than the likelihood of extraterrestrial life, on which thousands of scientists spend millions each year looking for.

 

Some of whom have endowed chairs at universities in the greater Boston area.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he has never been to Boston, but did cut through Fall River, MA late one night. Tell him about your trip to an unlikely spot at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

Coalition of Care newsletter - Fall 2009

Coalition of Care newsletter – November 2009

Jeff Gill

What Do You See When You Pray?

When it comes to personal prayer, eyes closed is the American norm.
That's what you see if you cheat and look around during most
corporate prayer settings, in church or in other places for that
matter – eyes closed, head bowed.

There's nothing in the Bible that commends shutting out the world
that way, except perhaps the "prayer closet" suggestion Jesus gives
his followers, though that seems to be more aimed at avoiding the
gaze of others than closing off your own. Don't go out where you can
get people to see you and congratulate you as your primary prayer
practice, Jesus reminds us.

But closed eyes is what we're used to, and we like what we're used
to. Except then you have to wrestle with the question, what do I see?

Living in a highly visual culture, the fact is that most of us still
"see" something when we close our eyes. We're all Steven Spielbergs
within our heads, shooting a story and layering in the special
effects from our well fertilized imaginations.

So then the spiritual discipline question is: with images, or
without? Some Eastern Orthodox spiritual practices quite specifically
call on us to "empty" our minds, and clear out all ideas and pictures
while focusing on God; other traditions of the Christian faith
suggest a specific image, and working on keeping that central in our
mind's eye.

During the closing portions of the Gospel Celebration, in a final
prayer together, I asked everyone gathered there to join me in
imagining a desk and a chair, two chairs, and the occupants of those
two chairs in prayer together. To me, that is a central image of what
the "Coalition of Care" is about, the time spent for two people to
hear each others' stories and pray together for discernment and
wisdom and guidance.

What's been in my prayers since then, though, is an image of just one
person, in a chair at home, trying to offer up wordless prayers
through anguish and pain. It's the prayer of a mother, or a father,
or whatever the individual, who is trying to muster the courage, or
maybe the humility, or just to set aside their pride while stumbling
on the awkward, painful embarrassment of having to go somewhere and
sit down and say "I need help."

That's the point where we all can only call on grace, God's grace, to
help move that hurting person. We can't help most folk until they
come in, but that moment of decision to come in – those moments of
choice, to leave the chair, get in the car or walk down the street,
to go through the door, to wait, even a short time, to sit down with
the Coalition counselor . . . at any one of those moments, they could
decide to say "No" and head back into the dark security of despair.

We need to pray for those people, those moments, that grace, so that
those who need to open their eyes and pray their way into a
conference with the Coalition will find that strength, walk in that
hope, and sit in confidence that asking for aid is what God blesses
them to do.

Faith Works 11-7

Faith Works 11-7-09

Jeff Gill

 

The Care and Feeding of Apophenia

___

 

At an archaeology conference held on the OSU-N campus in the Reese Center, one of the presenters talked about "apophenia."

 

If you work with the evaluation of survey data or graphic information of any sort, you know the word, but it's a concept that most of us bump up against without ever needing to put a label on it.

 

Apophenia is just the term for seeing patterns or something familiar where there is actually no intended meaning, whether turning a stump in the twilight into a dog, or calling an arrangement of stars a bear or plow or dipper.

 

Pareidolia is a related concept, more specifically when our senses help us mistake randomness for meaningfulness. The best example of pareidolia that we're all familiar with is hearing the phone ring while we're in the shower. The white noise of water spraying creates so many little audio signatures that our brain kicks into overdrive, trying to hear *something,* and forces from the sound the sense that a distant phone is signaling.

 

Scientists point out that pattern recognition is what makes our brains so useful, and in fact children and adults with autism spectrum disorders can be so sensitized to sorting out inputs (to a fault, perhaps even obsessively) that they notice patterns that actually *are* there, but that most average people don't catch.

 

To a very different extreme is when a mentally ill person hears a message just for them in the arrangement of TV advertizing, or a voice speaking to them just below the dialogue in a movie.

 

Each year in the autumn I think about apophenia, and ancient history, and faith. The talk at the Reese Center poked me because I usually don't write about this subject just before Hallowe'en because it has the potential to push so many odd buttons, and often it's barely a day after Nov. 1 and All Saints' when the big push to the Holiday Season eats all our attention.

 

When the days grow short, and the darkness gathers quickly, and pools of shadow never see light again in our homes and yards until  March or later; when the waving branches of bare tree limbs claw a skeletal hand against a full moon; when the skitter of dry leaves pace an irregular step across the garage floor . . .

 

There's a certain logic, a necessity of ghosts and spirits and haunting that I cannot but find inevitable when I think what life must have been like not so very long ago, and there is in our well-lit, open plan, tidy cornered age an equally unsurprising grasping after the uncanny where it rarely occurs without a little pump priming.

 

Think about green timbers creaking, board floors all askew, small windows with "crazy" glass (the term itself comes from the pattern of ripples and cracks in old panes), and that's just indoors. Think about deep gloom within the forest, actual predators not fearful of humans (and many more human predators, whatever you've heard of "good old days"), and the limits of candle and torch, themselves generating a dancing flicker of shadow as much as of light.

 

Seeing those who had died in the bedroom corner, the shed's fence corner, or along the treeline, especially when the dead grew more numerous in your life by the year, by the week, starting in youth – of course you did. Today not a few of us get into our 30s and even more before we even see a funeral or a casket with contents, and what house is without lights and outlets in every corner, inside and outside?

 

Add in a bit of malnutrition, a general state of ill health combined with rare glasses for no less frequent poor vision, and it doesn't take imagination or even wishful thinking to see what isn't there.

 

Having thought this through, I read old documents with a slightly different eye: then I run across those who skip along from such considerations to the assertion that all religious belief is apophenia, "hindsight effect," that pareidolia is the source of every encounter with the divine.

 

This is where church leadership is tested, especially this time of year. Are the only two choices between agreeing with every out-of-the-corner of the eye apparition, or absolute scientific materialism? I'd say there's a fascinating middle ground for us to explore, and I hope to come back to this subject in the next few weeks.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he hopes you enjoy discovering useful words for odd occasions as much as he does. Share a new term with him at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

Notes From My Knapsack 11-5-09

Jeff Gill

 

Adaptability and Inflexibility Can Work Together

___

 

 

Julia Child and the Wright Brothers have been dancing together in my brain recently.

 

Julia Child, of course, has been back in the national consciousness with the movie "Julie & Julia," and that fun little film has also helped sell not only Julie Powell's book about making all 524 recipes in Julia Child's first cookbook, also titled "Julie & Julia," but it helped get a second book out into the public consciousness, or at least my own.

 

"My Life in France" is a memoir that Child wrote with her nephew, Alex Prud'homme, a project finished by him just after her death, written from a series of lengthy interviews he did with her over the year before she died at the age of 92 in 2004.

 

The book was the "other half" of the movie "Julie & Julia," the half that many of us wished was longer, which followed Paul Child and his new wife, Julia McWilliams, from 1948 to 1954 in Paris, Marseille, and ultimately Oslo, Berlin, New York, and to the home in Cambridge, Massachusetts whose kitchen ends up in the Smithsonian.

 

And it lays out the story of the writing of "Mastering the Art of French Cooking," a book which not only created a revolution in American cuisine, but in a roundabout but very distinct way led to the revitalization of WGBH in Boston and PBS in general, created the cooking show as we know it, and is why there is a Food Network that keeps me up late to see who wins on "Iron Chef America."

 

But the book almost wasn't written, repeatedly. It repeatedly should have died, and almost did, with encouragement. The reasons to give up were numerous and convincing, and partnership of "Trois Gourmandes" who officially wrote it was even more complicated and fraught with tensions than the movie indicated, and it indicated a whole bunch of it.

 

Julia Child had to catch her vision, find her own sources of encouragement, deal with pressures to radically revise her hopes into something more conventional, a book that would have gotten to press faster and almost certainly would have sunk more swiftly out of sight . . . unlike "Mastering," which now has a whole new life on the best seller list beyond Julie Powell's and Alex Prud'homme's books.

 

What's this got to do with the Wright Brothers? Well, I had a couple of occasions recently to be in the Dayton area, and finally got to Huffman Prairie. It's a bit out of the way, even if you've found your way to the Wright–Patterson Air Force Museum (bigger, better, still free, go see it!) or Carillon Park (thanks, Col. Deeds!).

 

Not to offend any North Carolina fans out there, but Kitty Hawk? Feh. It was one step, an important step of sorts in the journey to flight, but just one intermediate step. People had flown gliders further, and looped about a bit, and the engine of sorts that pushed the first Wright Flyer in December of 1903 was a necessary step towards powered flight, but just a hop of a few hundred feet skimming the sand.

 

But what made flight a reality, and a useable technology, was taking off, flying a circuit, and safely landing after repeating that loop a few times. If you use that as the benchmark for "the invention of flight," it was a fall day in October and November of 1905 that really opened up the Age of Aviation, and it was in Ohio where Orville and Wilbur did that. The field, Huffman Prairie, is still open, and has seven large white banners marking the circuit they flew, once in December of 1904 and with greater skill and confidence, to the point of flying until the gas tank emptied, in the fall of 1905.

 

Julia Child and the Wrights are both in my mind as I think about how they are often seen as geniuses who produced a revolution with a burst of effort, yes, but mostly inspiration and circumstance. What happens when you look closely at their respective journeys, from idea to actuality, is that it took great persistence combined with cheerful flexibility and an unbending belief in their core inspiration.

 

That's a story that needs to be heard and learned and shared, and merrily thrown into the teeth of storylines that claim it's lottery winnings and reality show victories and a good publicist that get you to success.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him a story at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

Knapsack 10-31

Faith Works 10-31-09

Jeff Gill

 

Not Too Many Saints On the Ballot

___

 

We've got an Election Day coming Tuesday, and many important choices on local representation and civic issues.

 

These are the votes that most directly make an impact on our daily lives (or drives), and call for discernment that considers people, personalities, and positions.

 

I'll admit to having a tendency to vote for candidates I've met, even when I don't entirely agree with them, policy-wise. That's not a terribly thoughtful standard in a time when I know that I don't spend as much time at home as I used to, or as my parents did, so who knows which candidates tried to knock on my door and got crickets?

 

Prayer and a seeking after more careful consideration is one spiritual fruit that an election can help produce. Not that election campaigning tends to promote that, but if you want to step back from the agitation and anxiety and frenzy that much political advertising can bring into our homes and heads, you have to intentionally cultivate a little more interior peacefulness to get there.

 

As you think about how and for whom you want to vote, see what it takes to set aside all the fears and aimless emotionalism, and ask for guiding signs that are rooted in calm, and confidence, and hope.

 

Trick-or-Treat is behind us, Time Change (Fall back, one hour!) is tomorrow, and it is also "All Saints Day" in some traditions, the root of Hallowe'en as the eve of "All Hallows" as ye olde English has it, as "gospel" is good news from the same linguistic source.

 

Saintliness is one quality you could look for in candidates, and the past "examples of heroic faith," which is one definition of what a saint is, can be a guide as well. To be perfectly candid, if not perfectly saintly myself, there aren't many saints to choose from in any party, and the candidates and office holders I know personally would likely agree without reservation. There's something about public life that isn't terribly conducive to sainthood, which is probably why Saint Paul said in Romans how important it is for us to pray for them!

 

Yet there's another definition of saint to consider, which simply encompasses all of us in the community of the baptized. Paul does talk about "the saints" in his letters in ways that make it clear he means the whole membership of the church, and in the Reformation, which led to so much backing away from talking about saints and sainthood, Martin Luther said "To forget that we are saints is to forget Christ and to forget our baptism."

 

So when Christians gather, there is a sense in which you are surrounded by saints, not just in that "great cloud of witnesses" mentioned in Hebrews, but next to you in the pew. They may appear no more saintly that the candidates you vote for on Tuesday, but today, they should point you towards God, which is the real function of a saint in any tradition.

 

Sunday afternoon, with All Saints' Day falling on most churches' day of worship, there's also a chance to get together with saints who can surprise you even more than the saint five rows over back in your own congregation. The Licking County Coalition of Care is holding their annual Gospel Celebration at the Midland Theatre, starting at 4:00 pm. Tickets are $20, with the proceeds going to maintain their work tying together the efforts of congregations all across the county to serve those who fall through the more official safety nets (which have more than a few holes in them these days). And they even invited me back to MC all the fun!

 

Choirs and ensembles from churches, academic institutions, and just gathered up from friends who love to sing and play, all will give us a couple of hours to spend with the saints. Where else would you want to be on the afternoon of All Saints' Day, anyhow?

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he's honored to help www.coalitionofcare.com again this year. Tell him about a saint you know at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

Faith Works 10-25

Faith Works 10-25-09

Jeff Gill

 

On the Importance of Dust, Et cetera

___

 

Orion is heaving himself up over the eastern horizon these days, right about the time all decent citizens of whatever faith tradition are sensibly heading to a warm and cozy bed.

 

Later, into winter, the three-star belted hunter will shine out as darkness falls, but right now you have to get back up about 5:00 am or so to see Orion; or Osiris, or Finnegan, or Nanabozho, or Mithras, or whomever your culture associates with the striding red capped figure walking across the night sky.

 

The Orionids are a meteor shower associated with Halley's Comet, that "short period" comet which reminds us of the vastness of scale used by astronomers, since it came in 1910 to carry Samuel Clemens away just as it had brought him, so to speak, 76 years before, and passed through our nights in 1986, not to be seen again until 2061.

 

While the comet's blaze in swinging 'round the sun is long past and won't come near again for decades, the debris trail left behind is a wider swath, which our planet crosses twice a year. This leads to a distinct, if sparse scatter of meteoric trails, originating from a spot in the sky just over Orion's shoulder.

 

I went out for the show, too late and again at too early, and saw a handful of silent, swift, emphatic slashes on the sky that left no lasting mark. Each one, no more than a speck of dust, really, but made incandescent by speed and friction and circumstance.

 

In fact, each day, literally tons of dust and micrometeorites settle onto the earth each day. Your roof may not have any blazing holes through it, but there are almost certainly a scattering of grains from beyond this planet that lay atop your house right now. Every year, tens of thousands, some say millions of tons of cosmic dust are added to the mass of our world as it orbits the sun.

 

With the new dawn, there are no more meteors to see, but the brilliance of the colors all around. Fall's glory turns to the usual autumn story of dropping leaves, with raking, mowing, mulching (and gutter cleaning) all to do. The bright colors fade into browns and greys, and the artist's palette of complete leaves drops to the studio floor, where they steadily break down into fragments and bits and . . . dust.

 

Water evaporates, materials compresses, and the whole drifted riot of leaf piles is no more than a thin layer of incipient soil – the agronomists assure us that it takes 500 autumns, 500 falls of forest leaf and dying vegetation, to make one inch of good organic soil. 500 years. Six inches of topsoil in your lawn? 3,000 years of dust laid down.

 

Even as you look up past the leaves in their descent, and enjoy the frequent stark blue of October noon, too quickly turning into dusk and dark, that cerulean is in fact the result of light scattering in the atmosphere, with the dominant color blue being due to . . . dust.

 

Then the skies grow less blue, not from impending evening, but with clouds rolling in from the west. Clouds, of course, being the moisture in the air coalescing around windborne . . . dust.

 

"Dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt return." These ancient words of committal tell a truth about one element of the human condition, the source and destination of the essential building blocks for our bodies. We hear them at funerals and Ash Wednesday (perhaps), and just a whisper of those words, echoed in the sound of a dry leaf scraping along a pavement next to the cemetery. "Dust thou art . . ."

 

Is dust a hint of death? Should we see dust motes in slanting autumn light as a sign of insignificance?

 

Or does our close connection to dust remind us of our roots in the heart of stars where carbon is formed; that our story layers into a deep, rich, fertile tapestry; we are formed of the same dust that draws bright lines across the vault of heaven, or uplifts the tall cap of cumulonimbus along with the wind and rain.

 

With the last week of October, we look into the graveyard, across the tombstones, and into the blue sky over a fading forest, shedding its color into a remnant, skeletal stand. Do we shudder with fear, or shiver with wonder? "Fearfully and wonderfully made" we are, and "to dust we shall return" may not tell us all there is to know about where that dust may yet dance.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; shiver his bones with a tale sent to knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

Knapsack 10-22

Chuck -- Two-way option -- if you have room for 450 wds next week, here you go; if you're good and full up, but have a nook or cranny, just run the first three paragraphs: 100 wds.  Enjoy proofing all those letters!  Pax, Jeff

Notes From My Knapsack 10-22-09

Jeff Gill

 

Community Discussions, Community Solutions

___

 

With the outpouring of letters of support for candidates and critique of ballot issues filling the pages of our Sentinel, there is little room or reason for columnists in this pre-Election Day season.

 

Read them, consider their reasoning, discuss the pros and cons with your friends, and make sure to keep track of Trick or Treat jumping out at you next Thursday and Time Change falling back the following weekend.

 

And don't forget the Midland Theater Gospel Concert to benefit the Coalition of Care on Sunday, Nov. 1 at 4:00 pm; tickets are $20 at area churches or at the door.

 

So with all that you don't need much from out of my knapsack. I'll just pull out one last thing with the spread of worries over flu viruses and vaccinations and children's health.

 

Wisely, there's much said about keeping a child home when they are showing fever, body aches, and sore throat. Of course you should. What's not as easy to say quickly is that a huge challenge in maintaining student learning is consistent attendance, and the reality of "swine flu" can all too easily be used as the newest excuse in some homes for not getting kids up, out, and into where they need to be.

 

We've created a system where a major performance measure for administrators is simply daily attendance, and we see state funding tied closely enough to daily attendance to make the equation basically per diem "butts in seats." In an era with budgets so tightly constrained by unfunded mandates from above and public scrutiny from below, a small uptick in absence can literally bust a budget, making for many direct impacts on students.

 

And for most of the lowest performing students, regular attendance is a key correlation to their outcomes. Is correlation the same as causation? Nope, but there's a connection between the two, beyond a doubt.

 

Which all boils down to: wash your hands, teach your kids to wash their hands thoroughly (no, go back in there and do it again; I didn't hear the water running!), and if they are well, get them to school. If we have a huge upsurge in "pre-emptive absence" over an excess of fear about the flu, we will see major negative outcomes in our district outcomes on multiple levels.

 

Flu is serious, but it always has been. Maintain an even strain, as the astronauts and test pilots say, and get the kids to school. See you after the election!

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him a story at knapsack77@gmail.com.

Knapsack 10-17

Faith Works 10-17-09

Jeff Gill

 

Dropping By the Mounds On an Autumn Weekend

___

 

If you aren't in the Reese Center at some point today to learn about the Newark Earthworks and Native American culture woven deeply into our cultural landscape, you're missing out. You've got until 4 pm; I'm the MC, so I should be able to promise we'll stay pretty much on schedule . . .

 

Or come out after church tomorrow and get a tour at the Octagon section of the earthworks. It's an "open house" day at 33^rd and Parkview, so no golf to worry about, just come and stroll and soak in the beauty of the turning leaves and the wonder of 2000 year old astronomy.

 

"I lift up mine eyes unto . . ." the moon? The sun? The stars? Of course the original Psalm 121 continues "the hills, from whence cometh my help," which is to say, it's a question.

 

Does my help come from the hills? Nope. "My help cometh from the Lord, who made the heavens and the earth."

 

So it's kind of funny, and as a Biblical scholar, a little frustrating, that almost everyone reads this passage as an evocation of the beauty of the scenery. It seems pretty clear that the Hebrew is trying to point us beyond the hills, beyond even the heavens and the earth, to a Creator.

 

This past week, with the "Walk With the Ancients" experience of pilgrimage, I've heard many prayers, some said, often sung, and not occasionally in non-English languages, calling on the Creator in thanks, in praise, and with humbly worded requests.

 

Native American spirituality is not a subject on which I can or should call myself an expert, but I've spent a fair amount of time around it. One thing that we "dominant culture" folk need to keep hearing is that, in the words of a recent book title, written by a relative of one of our leaders, "Everything You Know About Indians Is Wrong."

 

Some Indians are, to use their own words, not interested in spirituality at all. "Sorry," one such fellow said in my hearing. He sounded more amused than sorry, and I could see his point. His job wasn't to be what the passerby wanted him to be, with or without feathers.

 

I've met Indian chiefs and tribal storytellers who are Methodist ministers; sat with drummers who sing the sacred songs who are Baptists with a passion for evangelism; stood and watched a moonrise over the alignments of the Octagon with people who sincerely say that the moon is a spirit who watches over us.

 

Theologically, I love these interactions because they push me to consider what my beliefs tell me about the world I'm given to care for, and in what way I can live out and embody and speak of my beliefs with respect for the integrity of the individual before me.

 

And it's reminded me that evangelism or mission cannot be, should never have been, won't be in the future to an "ethnic group." There's a racism, a sin of a slippery sort when you try to address a group as a homogenous whole. You don't minister to Indians any more than you can minister to "veterans" or "gays" or "singles." Any assumption you make about the needs of a person based on what group they affiliate with is likely to be wrong, and wrong in a way that can sneak up on you in the worst fashion possible. When you assume you know the opennesses and vulnerabilities of an individual because of a label, you may just have the contents all wrong.

 

Working with the last five years of Newark Earthworks Day programs has taught me all over again that listening is at least half of any meaningful conversation. We talk about what we believe, walking the mounds, strolling through display tables, and between the speakers in the Reese Center at OSU-N -- more than I overhear or have happen to myself on many Sundays inside church buildings.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him a story at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

Knapsack 10-10

Faith Works 10-10-09

Jeff Gill

 

Not Just One Day After Another

___

 

When Frank McCourt died in July, his fellow Irish author Peter Duffy wrote a tribute that included a quote from McCourt's own work.

 

Duffy observed in the Wall Street Journal that "To someone like me who grew up in the post-Vatican II church, it's a fascinating glimpse of a lost world. "The rain dampened the city from the Feast of the Circumcision to New Year's Eve," he wrote of his childhood home of Limerick, Ireland. In just a few words, we are transported to a time when every schoolchild knew that said feast was celebrated on Jan. 1."

 

Frank, whose "'Tis" really ought to be filmed as was his "Angela's Ashes" (let alone "Teacher Man," my favorite of his three memoirs), had the proverbial love/hate relationship with the church of his youth.  Whether or not the church he rebelled against as an adult was the church that was when he was an adult is a different discussion.

 

What Duffy's point affirms about McCourt's remembrance of things faithful from his childhood is the value of a ritual calendar, a cycle of events that mark the turning of the year. Do we really need a "Feast of the Circumcision"? I'm not so sure theologically (although it's a principal feast still for the Missionary Order of the Precious Blood, I recently learned up at Maria Stein).

 

What the Christian churches in general have lost, with a devaluation of the Christian year, is a sense of sacred time that adds unique meaning to each season and month and week. We just passed through a week with "Ember Days," and I have a sneaking suspicion that I'm one of about a dozen people in the county who knew, or cared.

 

Do we really need Ember Days? An interesting question. I don't know.

 

What I do know is that as the church backs away from a ceremonial calendar, the culture seeks meaning and vitality, and makes us up a new one. We've got no Ember Days to mark the cycle of the seasons into worship and devotional ritual, but my son was very excited to see that the seasonal Hallowe'en store opened once again in a vacant storefront. He doesn't expect to go inside, indeed, he doesn't even think he wants to, but the orange sign and activity there confirm for him what the shorter days and cooler wind rattling the dry fallen leaves are muttering all around him.

 

So what's the Fast of St. Martin, and what's it got to do with Advent? It makes Advent longer, you say, beginning around November 11? Yikes, no thank you. And so the culture builds up a ceremonial moment around events some 90 years ago, and calls for silence in the schools at 11 am, if only for a moment.

 

I'm not so liturgical to want a big deal over rose colored vestments at Gaudete Sunday: shucks, most Sundays I don't even wear a preaching robe, depending on where I'm filling in that week. What I do miss, what I miss that in many ways I've never known, is a sacred sense of time that can fill every turn of the wheel from Sunday to Sunday.

 

Here around the Newark Earthworks, we keep finding how the daily practices and giant architecture of the Native Americans who built them kept close track of the sun and moon, and we don't marvel that their spirituality must have followed that awareness. Many folks from around central Ohio will join the pilgrimage walk from Chillicothe up the 60 miles of possible "Great Hopewell Road," from tomorrow down at Hopewell Culture National Park, through our stroll next Friday afternoon (Oct. 16) from Geller Park up 30^th St. to the Octagon, between 4:30 and 5:30 pm.

 

This walk, part of the events of Newark Earthworks Day that actually span the weekend (see http://newark.osu.edu/earthworks), lets us connect our understanding of the seasons, our search for meaning in the movements of the cosmos, and a day and path set aside where they can connect.

 

As I look forward to following singers and drummers, walking up 30^th St. this Friday from Heath to Newark, I look to my own spiritual traditions to ask "how can we keep sacred time every day?" Just a little archaeology into our history turns up quite a few artifacts that still have some life in them.

 

Rogation Days, anyone?

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him about a unique date on your church calendar at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

Another viewpoint on brain funguses (fungi, i know) -- http://www.thesneeze.com/mt-archives/cat_brainwatch_timeline.php

Notes From My Knapsack 10-8-09
Jeff Gill

Movement, Momentum, Meaning
___


Walking across the parking lot of Ross’ Market, a strand of silken near-nothing broke across my face.

Reaching up with my free hand, I brushed away what wasn’t quite there, and then felt one, two, then more like three more threads pull gently against my head and chest, then snap.

Just enough tensile strength to tell me that there was a connecting cord, literally “gossamer thin,” which I was pushing through.

Almost certainly spider web, the long tendril which serves as a slightly steerable parachute for some types of arachnid, this time of year found on days with still air in broad open spaces like parking lots.

We can almost feel the tug of daylight pulling away from us, with each day growing shorter with indecent speed, and leaves have been falling, let alone turning, for quite a few weeks now.

Out Newark-Granville Road, some of the tall trees along the way that have burlap treatment strips still girdling their trunks head high. It’s quite interesting to see where some old oaks , with spores securely at home for years, deep in the crevices of the well aged tree bark, have huge bracket funguses that have grown right through the mesh of the weave, sticking right through the burlap.

Out at Octagon State Memorial, near the tee for the tenth hole of the golf course managed by Moundbuilders Country Club, a “brain fungus” is hugely expanding far above the ground on the site of a dead and broken branch, high up in a beech tree.

There and over at the Great Circle of Newark Earthworks State Memorial the great old trees are almost as well preserved as the mounds themselves. Their age shelters life forms that need the unique features that only time can bring to the structure of the trunk and the soil beneath. Pupas spin their silent transformative tombs, night hour habitués perch high in cavities, lichens paint the pillars of the forest, while as in trees of any age the buds of next spring are gently but insistently pushing off the leaves now turning and drying.

Next weekend, October 16, 17, & 18, special events around the Newark Earthworks will focus on pilgrimage across the landscape, and the Native American people who transformed it in ways we still marvel at, but the annual transformations of autumn will be no less an attraction to walk out among the long embankments and stroll within the vast enclosures. Check out http://newark.osu.edu/earthworks and come feel the connections, like spider web strands tugging across wide spaces and long centuries.

They will pull at you.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tug at him with a story to knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

For WOSU Public Media's blog --

National Parks: America’s Best Idea
A Newark, Ohio perspective

What’s very encouraging to someone like me, about the Ken Burns presentation on the National Park movement, is the amount of attention he’s brought to the relative uniqueness of the concept, and its “pre-history,” if you will.

We have only had national parks officially since 1916, something that most people don’t stop to think about. When I give tours of the Newark Earthworks, the peculiar preservation history of these sites only makes sense if we quickly (and no doubt imperfectly) explain that pre-“national park ideal” history.

There are two main sections of these internationally renowned Native American earthworks still visible as above ground constructions, the Great Circle between Newark and Heath, which was made the county fairgrounds in the 1850s and was home for the Ohio State Fair in 1854, and then the Octagon and Observatory Circle, less well known to the public because it’s also been the home of the Moundbuilders Country Club since 1910.

In Burns’ presentation, the first two nights made clear just how crucial John Muir was not only to Yosemite, but to the whole set of values and ideals that defines what we take for granted in the idea of national parks today – http://www.nps.gov/yose/historyculture/muir.htm

Here in Newark, we have a possible link to Muir in that it was 1890 that the local citizens, with no particular name or officeholder pushing the initiative, decided almost as a quiet groundswell of determination to put a vote on the fall ballot. They asked the entire county to vote on whether the Octagon and Observatory Circle should be saved from development by public purchase – remember, the idea of a national park is 26 years away, with only Yellowstone set aside by federal fiat in 1871.

But it was Muir, asking the state of California to take action to preserve Yosemite, who was writing in magazines and newspapers, particularly “Century Magazine,” a best-seller of that era, talking about the preservation of unique natural and cultural resources. Was Muir the inspiration of Licking County’s movement?

Whatever the cause, the vote was 74% in favor of a property tax levy countywide, well over 90% in Newark proper. The land was purchased, then used as a summer militia encampment, and then for light recreation by Newark High School after 1901 with a new sport called “golf.”

So while I may not be too happy about Ohio’s oldest continuously played golf course being on top of a 2,000 year old Native American earthwork, I do think we need to consider that for 1910, this was a creative solution to a very new problem – how to manage public preserves.

Even the history of a militia encampment fits into the larger arc of the development of the National Park ideal, as Park Ranger Shelton Johnson explains in his essay on the “Buffalo Soldiers” who were in a very real sense the first park rangers, and whose uniform is what you still see on park rangers today --
http://www.nps.gov/history/history/hisnps/NPShistorians/invisiblemen2.pdf

The Newark Earthworks aren’t mentioned in the Ken Burns program, but from Daniel Webster and Caleb Atwater first considering a federal act to preserve them in the early 1800s to the possible NPS connection in years ahead, as the sites are slated to go on the United Nations’ World Heritage List of significant natural and cultural sites, I hear our story echoing through all the other stories of how preserving these wonders for all to see, for generations to come, truly is “America’s Best Idea.”

Notes From My Knapsack 10-3

Faith Works 10-3-09

Jeff Gill

 

The Power of a Beckoning Finger

___

 

Across a crowded room, a single crooked finger, a shrug of a shoulder, or a raised eyebrow, can communicate all you need to know, while pretending to listen to someone speaking much but saying nothing.

 

These non-verbal signals are called "gestures." In an average day, we communicate perhaps as much through them as we do with spoken words, if you consider communication to be the act of sharing information effectively between persons.

 

In the post-modern world, a "gesture" is almost any act that symbolizes a larger meaning in a small action, often somewhat insincerely: a gesture indicates an action that you probably will never undertake in full.

 

A dollar into an offering plate is a "gesture" in this respect. You put a fairly insignificant amount towards the work of the church, which symbolizes that all of your assets are in the hands of God. Right? They are, except . . .

 

Or in terms of the environment, you keep a couple of re-useable grocery bags in the back of your oversized SUV. You want to be seen as concerned about things related to the future of resource use and consumption, but please don't think through the relative impacts too closely.

 

You can see where "gesture" picked up the "scare quotes." That's a pretty post-modern phenomenon, too, the practice of using quotes to "signal" a sense of irony or presumed insincerity.

 

Are gestures a problem? How hard should we be on partial indications of commitment, on half-hearted motions towards a full bodied engagement with real situations?

 

That buck in the bucket is certainly a problem if your giving never moves beyond that level. A life of gestures is like never speaking up, just winking and nodding your way through life. But a kiss blown at the window for someone driving off to work isn't insincere, just an index of love to be more fully shared when the day rounds off to an end.

 

Religious behavior can be gestural, and as such can be debated for relative sincerity, on each act's comparable significance. A bowed head can be a sign of humility not really felt, but of social conformity alone.  When we cross ourselves, or put on a crucifix, are we really meaning to take on the sign of Christ as the pattern for our lives?

 

Then some suggest that work trips and short term mission projects are as gestural as a recycled sack in the cargo bay of an Escalade. They don't really change the world, and may get in the way of "real change."

 

Whoops, I just used the scare quotes.

 

The thing about gestures, for me, is that we are always needing to be more self-conscious about them, but we can't live without them. And we shouldn't. Every act of volition can't change the world, and every farewell can't be a Hollywood clinch and dip kiss goodbye.

 

Gestures, thoughtfully used, are a sign also of humility. Even if I give all that I have, and offer my body to be burned, and have not love, I have nothing. (Wait, that should have had quotes, not "scare quotes," right?)

 

Sometimes, we can only do the small thing. Doing the small thing is a crucial reminder that often the small thing is all that we can do, but we should still do it. ("Do not grow weary in well-doing.") A gesture signals that we are aware that the biggest changes come from God, and our part is almost always going to be a "gesture," nothing more – but so much more.

 

So a tip of the hat, a wry smile, and a cheerful shrug of the shoulders for gestures. The CROP Walk for hunger next weekend, the Coalition of Care Gospel Concert in a month, your pledge card for the church stewardship campaign. Think about what you mean when you make them, and they (with God) can change the world.

 

Or maybe just "change the world."

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he likes changing the world in his "spare time." Tell him about your gestures of faith at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

Faith Works 9-26

Faith Works 9-26-09

Jeff Gill

 

Wade In the Water, Wade In the Water, Children

___

 

Wade in the water,

Wade in the water, children,

Wade in the water,

God's gonna trouble the water.

 

This weekend I have the privilege of doing an adult baptism. It's a very old, and in some ways very new practice of the Christian church, one adapted from Jewish purity ritual and commanded by the word and example of Jesus himself (in Matthew 3 & 28).

 

John the Baptist is the great bridge between those expressions of what it means to be washed in water, cleansing both body and spirit, using the Jordan River as a ritual location that was open to and affordable to all, regardless of social class or income.

 

Baptism is of course old with that Biblical history behind it, and it is new because . . . well, there are a number of factors making adult baptism a "new" area for many churches.

 

For many generations, baptism became more and more a membership ritual, and in quite a few traditions, something done to infants.  "Believer's baptism" traditions may have infant dedication and a "cradle roll," but don't take the plunge, so to speak, until twelve years old or so.

 

Add in that most people were "born into" a church to start with, and adult baptism tended to be with adolescents at the oldest.

 

Now that more children and families are avoiding church commitments altogether, it is less unusual to run into an adult who has never been baptized, and even in infant baptism traditions like Methodist and Lutheran, there's growing interest in "being baptized the way Jesus was."

 

Jordan's water is chilly and cold,

God's gonna trouble the water.

It chills the body, but not the soul.

God's gonna trouble the water.

 

When I was in seminary, there was one class which gave us a chance to practice on each other. I got baptized quite a few times, being the tallest in my class ("if you can get Gill dunked, you can do anybody!" said the prof). The one advice on non-baptistry baptisms he gave us was quite practically useful: always keep the nose pointing upstream. You don't want to bring the candidate for baptism back up into the current; hard on your arms and back, and shoves more water up their nose.

 

But it was a long, long time before I had to think about that advice. Like most clergy, I stayed inside my comfortable baptistery, with heating unit built in and waders on a hook behind the door.

 

A few weeks back, I got to help Central Christian in Newark celebrate 125 years; once, I took their youth group to the E. Main St. bridge just west of where it crosses Raccoon Creek. That's where their church did baptisms for the first decades of their life together.

 

Down in Hebron, where the founding preacher, Deacon Thomas Madden started Hebron Christian in 1867 before skating up the canal to start the Newark church, they had the outlet of the old interurban power plant, where warm water kept a stretch of the canal ice free year round, so baptisms could happen even in February.

 

How many of us have a dim family account of Great-Aunt Hattie, and the elders chopping a hole in the ice to baptize her one cold winter's Sunday? No one is in a hurry to go back to the future that far, but more and more people are asking for a baptism outdoors, in a pool, a pond, even in running water.

 

And I'm happy to make that happen, and bring together a congregation of whatever sorts to that spot. There's something about the nature of that "first" baptism, with Jesus hearing John say "Me baptize you? That's crazy talk." Jesus didn't need baptism to be cleansed himself, but he not only set the example (as any leader would), he shows us that a big part of what baptism is about is how it reminds us – how it reminds all those who witness it of how they fit into God's story of redemption, of cleansing, of renewal, of rising up out of the waters, of resurrection.

 

If you get there before I do.

God's gonna trouble the water.

Tell all of my friends I'm coming too.

God's gonna trouble the water.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him your story of cold water and new beginnings at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

Knapsack 9-24

Notes From My Knapsack 9-24-09

Jeff Gill

 

The National Parks: America's Best Idea

___

 

 

Sunday, September 27, I suspect many of you already plan to be watching PBS in the evening, to catch the first of six episodes of "The National Parks: America's Best Idea."

 

Ken Burns has shown us familiar sights in new lights before, of baseball and jazz and the Civil War; most recently, "The War" asked us to consider the homefront of World War II.

 

You know the presentation – archival photos, artfully selected and drifting past out of a close-up angle, the almost recognizable voices reading from diaries and letters and original documents, blending into current color footage of the scene today.

 

It's almost a marvel that Burns' "Florentine Films" hasn't taken this challenge on before, but the scope of some 400 sites and almost 150 years, starting before we even had a National Park Service, may mean that he needed the work he'd done before to really do justice to this theme, and the subtitle which can strike you on first reading as almost banal.

 

Yet there is a striking truth to the fact that until 1916, there was no such thing as a "national park system," not here, not anywhere.

 

Which is where Licking County almost edges into the story that you'll be watching the next few weeks.

 

It turns out that in the early 1800s, national figures like Daniel Webster and Caleb Atwater said of the Newark Earthworks, just as Thomas Jefferson said of Natural Bridge in Virginia and Charles Dickens did of the prairies, that they should be made a special preserve of some sort.

 

In 1853 New York City set aside Central Park, but they weren't sure what to do with it. "Parks" were interchangeable with cemeteries and town commons, and their use or uses, let alone management, was still an open question.

 

During the Civil War, Lincoln happily handed the dimly appreciated acreage of Yosemite over to the state of California to manage, being busy with other matters; in 1872, Yellowstone was seen as unique enough to be worth preserving, but supervision was given over to the Department of War, hence the garb of park rangers to this day, with campaign hat and green & grey uniform. Michigan set aside Mackinac Island as the first official "state park" in 1875, and California designated Yosemite a state park in 1890 at the urging of John Muir.

 

And it was in 1890 that local residents decided that the Newark Earthworks, or at least the part that wasn't the county fairgrounds – as the Great Circle had been since 1854 – would be put on the ballot for a levy vote, to decide whether or not to purchase the Octagon & Observatory Circle for preservation. It passed overwhelmingly, and the county purchased the land.

 

Since the idea of a state park service was still alien to Ohio – private groups had bought Serpent Mound and Fort Ancient – various ideas were tried to manage the acreage, including militia oversight like the Army at Yellowstone, until the idea of a country club and a "low impact" activity like golf came up in 1910.

 

So as you listen to Ken Burns' story about how this country worked its way into figuring out one of the best ideas we've exported around the world, the concept of a "national park system," keep in mind that we have our own place in that still unfolding story. Those tales and more will be shared in the week around Newark Earthworks Day, coming Oct. 17 – check out www.newark.osu.edu/osun/NewarkEarthworks for more info!

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he's looking forward to leading the last section of the walk from Geller Park to the Octagon around 5 pm on Fri., Oct. 16! E-mail knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

Faith Works 9-19

Faith Works 9-19-09

Jeff Gill

 

Flames, Regret, No Lines, No Waiting

___

 

Seriously, you have no idea how much I'm holding back on this Disney thing. The ideas and inspiration that come to mind by looking at the little things around a Disney park – I had no idea. I should have, but it really was just a tidal wave of "wow" around every corner.

 

Can churches "do Disney?" Well, no, and I'm not trying to say they should. But learning from them can be an interesting challenge, just as faith communities learn from new musical styles (like Charles Wesley did) or new ways to gather the public together (as both Dwight Moody & Billy Graham did) or even new technologies (which more than 2 out of 3 congregations are with webpages and digital projectors).

 

Careful attention to detail is a hallmark of the "Disney approach" that I think churches can, should, and must pay attention to – signage and small corners like restrooms and nurseries are where people make up their minds, long before they hear the sermon, whether they're even going to come back a second time. Training, so that each person who engages a visitor is communicating something of the story and sense of place you are trying to create, from the parking area to the ushers – shucks, Disney should have learned that from churches, not the other way around. For Christians, we are the story we're embodying about Jesus, right? "Put on Christ" and live in that image . . . sound familiar?

 

But most of all, keep it simple, and be who you are, without hesitation or apology. Sure, if you clearly and unambiguously share what you believe your core message is, someone will doubtless complain. The growth of rudeness is only matched by the growth of willingness to take offense, whether intended or not, even an avid interest in finding offense where none is meant.

 

I mentioned last week that I was amazed at just how international the experience of Disney was. Foreign visitors were unmistakably the majority, simply on the basis of languages spoken around us in line, on the buses, at the hotel. But one day we were getting off the train at Main Street, USA, and the whole area was moving into an ordered arrangement – the staff got into lines, the band played, and a flag lowering was held at 5:00 pm, complete with "Star Spangled Banner," a flag folding ceremony, and then the singing by all and sundry of "God Bless America."

 

All activity stopped, and the program around the flagpole drew the respectful silence, and apparent approval of all in earshot. Folks, if this actively upset many citizens of other countries, I have no doubt Disney would stop doing it; I also have no doubt that someone(s) have complained from time to time. But they carry on, and it was a lovely and appropriate sight to see. If I'm ever lucky enough to be in Disneyland Paris, I'll expect the same with the French tricolor and the "La Marseillaise."

 

And then there's Hell. No, I don't mean the Florida heat in August. But I am forced to consider this – outside of the stray Jack Chick tract, I have seen in my entire life three depictions of eternal damnation to color my mental outlook. They all three include painful flames, punishment as the deserved result of intentional choices for the wrong, and deep regret with no end in sight, all presented not to titillate, but to prod the living to see their earthly choices in the light of eternity.

 

Those three are: "The Black Hole" (1979), "Mickey's Christmas Carol" (1983), & "The Haunted Mansion" (2003). All three are Disney productions. Yes, I've read Dante's "Inferno" (1300), but that's not a visual representation.

 

In fact, if you go to any of the park shows, whether by daylight at noon in front of the castle itself, or the various fireworks displays that light up the last of evening, you will see and hear a message that boils down to this: there is good, there is evil. Evil sometimes is victorious, and good often struggles to prevail, but good will win, and evil will not be rewarded. That's the plot of just about every narrative they have to offer.

 

Choose the good, and bring others with you. Apparently, that message has some resonance, and a cross-cultural impact. How clearly is your core message communicated regularly in your church, and what is shown to be at stake?

 

It's no Mickey Mouse question.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he promises not to talk about Disney again for at least a few weeks. Tell him what's inspired you recently at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow "Knapsack" @Twitter.com.

My latest Newark Advocate blog post, which is really just a long-winded salute to Dave Barry's column on getting your colonoscopy done like a grown-up.

Faith Works 9-12-09

Faith Works 9-12-09

Jeff Gill

 

Good and Evil and Disney

___

 

One thing I did not expect in going to Disney World was the overwhelmingly international nature of the experience.

 

I expected high humidity and hair drenching heat, but it had not occurred to me that you'd regularly go for long stretches of time not hearing a word of English . . . and when you did, it often had a strong accent of Liverpool or Bristol or even Sydney.

 

Families from around the world made every part of the Disney Parks empire feel like a bit of Epcot and the "World Showcase" (where you find the little enclaves of global culture strung around a lagoon reflecting the faux Eiffel Tower and Venice campanile, etc.).

 

Conversations with some of the Disney "cast members," the title held by all employees from trashcan cleaner to costumed character, indicated that more Americans like to come in the winter and during spring break, so my perception that international guests were noticeably dominant seems accurate. A few cast members said, smiling broadly at me, that Midwesterners are usually smarter than coming in August.

 

Some are, some aren't.

 

What I also did not expect was to see and feel that Disney really does have some lessons that the smallest church can learn from and adopt. First and foremost, as I mentioned last week, there is training.

 

Training means simply this: that no one goes out on any task without making sure that the employee has been taught the basic story and values of the organization, knows how their task fits into the larger goals and themes at work around them, and are prepared to step to help with anything that goes on in their immediate vicinity, even when it is just knowing how to find an answer.

 

Can faith communities do this? Could we all do a better job of making sure that anyone who has a ministry function of any sort knows how their task – nursery attendant, kitchen helper, morning greeter – fits into the work going on around them, and how that all is part of the core mission and themes of that particular congregation?

 

Or to put it a little more awkwardly: is it better to fill a slot with someone who has tunnel vision and no interest in anything other than their own particular efforts, or another less adept person who sees their work as part of a whole? Is it even better, sometimes, to leave slots open until the right fit and training can be found?

 

In Christian churches, we sometimes confuse "everyone has a gift" to "anyone can do whatever they want." Not the same. Identifying a person's giftedness is a ministry itself, and making sure that gift serves the larger purpose is leadership's heavy lifting.

 

Right behind training is applying a comprehensive vision, to the point where not only is every part of an environment part of the experience, but even the participants start to deliver, let alone shape, the experience they came for. In Disney Parks, I'm learning, you will often find yourself pausing to figure out where you are – and get asked sometimes by people on either side of you "Can I help you find where you're going?"

 

There's something about the immersive experience they create that makes people start to act like staff, but in a good way. For the opposite, put into a search engine "starbucks marketed like church" and watch the video that comes up. And cringe.

 

Can your parking area, your restrooms, your gathering space preach your message? Well, here's the newsflash: they already do. The question is whether they're preaching the message you want them to.

 

Your problem may be that your Sunday message says one thing, and your locked front door, dingy bathroom, and cheerless nursery attendant says another. Or it could be as simple as trying to say too many things, when "one dish is sufficient," as one of Walt Disney's inspirations once said. A simple, one word, or short phrase message can come across in many ways, while a longer, more complex theme can so easily misfire or be misheard as to create more confusion . . . than not even trying.

 

There's one more week I want to put into this look from the Magic Kingdom back into our worship centers and sanctuaries. And it has a little to do with the Devil and Hell, Evil afoot, and Goodness triumphant. Doesn't get much simpler than that!

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; why yes, he does have 1,200 Disney photos on his Facebook page, why do you ask? Ask him why at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

Knapsack 9-10

Notes From My Knapsack 9-10-09

Jeff Gill

 

Plenty To See, Plenty To Do

___

 

This week in Granville is an embarrassment of riches, all for little or no cost, each with lasting value for you as a participant, and for our community.

 

Thursday night, Sept. 10, at Granville Elementary School, the Girl Scouts are signing up for a new year of activity with their programs in the Multipurpose Room, while Granville Cub Scout Pack 3 is signing up 1^st through 5^th grade boys in the gym.

 

Pack 3's program starts at 7:00 pm and offers an overview to everyone for the next year's activities; you can sign up for the year with your son or just get your questions answered. The older Boy Scout program, represented by Troop 65 in Granville, meets at Centenary United Methodist Church on most Tuesday nights at 7:00 pm, open to boys through age 18.

 

This February is the 100^th anniversary of the formal establishment of Scouting in the United States, and we'll have more to talk about with the BSA Centennial a little later in the year. But for younger girls and boys who want to get a taste of Scouting, Thursday evening at GES is the place to start.

 

Saturday, Sept. 12, there will be a happy throng gathered in the pedestrian mall between the Granville Public Library and the Avery-Downer House about 11:30 am. Years ago, especially during the summer, kids would come running out of the library just before the top of the hour to watch something delightful on the side of Robbins Hunter's lovely Greek Revival 1842 house.

 

As the ornate clock beneath an eagle-capped cupola struck the hour, a lady would merrily piroutte around a small balcony below the clock face and above a small plaque reading "V. Woodhull." This was Mr. Hunter's local share of the national bicentennial celebration he prepared in 1975, saluting the Licking County native who was the first woman to run for President of the United States.

 

After his death, the Robbins Hunter Museum found it nearly impossible to keep the clockworks running, and for over twenty years neither the clock nor the lady have been at work – but thanks to the work of the museum board and staff, Victoria Woodhull will again promenade on the hour, starting at Noon this Saturday.

 

Sunday, St. Edward's Catholic Church has their parish picnic running until 3 pm, which is handy, because 3 pm on Sunday, Sept. 13, Pilgrim Lutheran Church would like to invite their community friends and family to join them in a rededication of their steeple.

 

It was one year ago that the effects of Hurricane Ike pushed up into Ohio, and blew over their steeple, with the cross on top bending and insisting on standing erect even as the structure beneath bent low.

 

The entire front of the church and worship space inside took damage which needed repair, so they will "rededicate" it all, and you're invited to join them this Sunday.

 

The great medieval cathedrals often had a spire atop a steeple, with the symbolism of a great pointer directing the eyes of we on the ground to the heavens. A later, more mathematical age liked to add to that the point that parallel lines only intersect in eternity.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; ask him about who's signing up what at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.

Knapsack 9-5-09

Faith Works 9-5-09

Jeff Gill

 

Learning From a Mouse, In a Goofy Way

___

 

Did you know that Cinderella's Castle is made of sheetrock?

 

Seriously. The iconic, amazing structure we all know from television, towering over cypress swamps west of Orlando, Florida, is built on a fortress-like concrete foundation that goes up to the first level, and the fairytale pinnacles are mostly fiberglass, but the rest of what you see is treated, steel-reinforced gypsum board.

 

In many ways, it's the same as my own house, except I don't have Tinker Bell flying off the uppermost gable to touch off a fireworks display every night.

 

As everyone who knows me on Facebook is tired of seeing, 1,200 uploaded pictures later, my family went last month to Walt Disney World.

 

The Lovely Wife had been there three times with her parents and once for a conference, but neither the Lad nor myself had ever been to the Magic Kingdom. Before going, I'll admit I was a mix of studied indifference and mild curiosity, and our son was a little apprehensive over his first (that he could recall) airplane trip.

 

We came back almost equally amazed, delighted, and impressed. The main difference being that my points of interest are much geekier to recount than those of my son, who met and got "signatures" of just about everyone but Oswald the Rabbit – didn't see him, but there's always the next time.

 

Can a church learn anything from Disney? When "Mickey Mouse" has become a term of derision, and "Disneyfied" is not used as a compliment, you might wonder.

 

Before I went, and after I had spent three weeks doing church and Scout camps, I was talking to a pastor who also works with youth activities, and mentioning where I was heading to the next week, added with a laugh "I'll see if I can learn anything worth bringing back."

 

His response was a grim "it's amazing what you can do when you have money."

 

Well, yes, there's quite a bit of money at work at Disney World's four parks. Of course, most of it is brought by willing participants in the magic, who come determined to leave their money behind. No one is guilted or begged or forced to do it; the joke that even "cast members" often make is that they simply make sure that you get a chance to lay your money down, at every opportunity.

 

Those "cast members" – that's what every employee of the Disney Parks is called. They are trained so that each and every thing that happens is meant to be part of a visitor experience, from the street sweepers along Main Street USA to the fellow who drives the bus back to the airport at 5:00 am.

 

We saw one sweeper cast member finish a trash swipe, fill his long-handled bin with water, and use his broom on a patch of sunny pavement to draw . . . Mickey Mouse. It was a good likeness, too.

 

The common thread I saw and felt and experienced, and even got to talk to cast members about, was training. Each and every cast member got a pretty complete training cycle before being sent out to greet the public. Everyone knew the message and the purpose and the methods that went into not only their own stations, but the work zones around them. Their training also was clearly consistent in telling them all that "I don't know" isn't an answer, but "What a great question; let's go find out who knows the answer to that" is.

 

Is everyone happy in the happiest place on earth? Nope, we're all humans here, except for the anthropomorphic animals and Goofy (if you ask the accompanying cast member whether Goofy is a canine, they all quickly point out that Pluto is Mickey's dog, but Goofy is Goofy, end of story).

 

It happened that I saw not one but two fights, between family members, sad to say, who brought their troubles and conflict right on into the park with them. The Disney approach, which I learned was also – yep – part of the training, is to never have a one-on-one confrontation with a guest. As fast as possible, there were two Disney staff engaging each of the combatants, and they largely focused on separating the warring parties, and then listening. Just listening.

 

Training, problem solving, teamwork, and everything – and I mean everything – focused on delivering the themes, from trash sweeping to waiting in line. None of that begins with spending large sums of money, though the money is clearly being spent to deliver that.

 

Like the sheetrock holding up Cinderella's towers, the Disney experience isn't that far from home, except for how it's arranged.  More about that next week!

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him your unexpected insight at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

Faith Works 8-29

Faith Works 8-29-09

Jeff Gill

Dissecting Death Panels and Other Mythical Creatures

___

One more "Faith Works" column on health care and your beliefs as a
religious person . . . and then I promise to move on to a different
subject, at least for a while.

This is the topic that seems to be occupying a spot right next to the
coffee pot after most worship services, so I trust offering a little
grist for the mill is welcome. If not, well, there's always the
Sports section, with high school football back in view!

Generally, I'm neither here nor there with the propriety of folks
talking about "death panels." On the one hand, politically, there's
the opinion that it's a lie, there's no such thing in any proposed
legislation, and the phrase is being used by those opposed to any of
the plans in principle. All true, I'd say from my reading.

On the other hand, there is great concern about costs that don't look
like they will be managed, only assumed by the federal government,
hence leading to increased rationing (since we all know there is a
form of rationing going on right now); and a very sincere anxiety on
the part of pro-life/anti-abortion groups that the Democratic
majority in Congress and the Obama administration is committed to
increasing access to abortion and funding of it through public means.
For that side of the debate, "death panels" becomes a short-hand for
a complex but very concrete group of issues that don't lend
themselves to sound bites.

(Note to Democrats – if you want people to stop talking about "death
panels," don't send Peter Singer of Princeton out to allay fears. Bad
choice, that.)

What everyone is working their way to understanding is how we can
care for the vulnerable and helpless, and at the same time recognize
limits on what can be done. Some say "what are the limits of what
makes a meaningful life?" Others ask "what are the limits of freedom
when life itself is endangered?" These are both discussions where our
faith perspectives necessarily play a role in where we come down on
drawing the lines that connect or divide policy considerations.

As a Christian, I accept taxation from a duly constituted government
as one of the "delegated" authorities that Romans 13 and elsewhere
discuss, as part of caring for the wider society; as an American
citizen, I have some opinions about what percentage of my household
income should come off the top for civic purposes.

But I'll admit that I saw a disturbing trend begin when a few decades
back, a denomination I'm often involved with received a bequest. That
isn't too unusual, but the news around the gift surely was. An
elderly couple, not gravely ill or in pain, but experiencing limits
and frailties, decided to end their lives so as not to "be a burden
or spend down their assets," and left their estate to the church.

My first thought – naively, perhaps – was that the denomination would
quietly but firmly turn down the gift. What would accepting such an
inheritance say to generations still living, or yet unborn?

They did not. There were words about how the couple might have not
been quite prudent about hastening their end, but much more about how
thoughtful their concern for the poor and needy was in their final
legacy.

As you can tell, this decision still bothers me. The decision to die,
to kill one's own self in order to make resources available for other
purposes, was in error. Sorry, but it was. And the decision to accept
the outcome of that error was, in my theological opinion, a
compounding of that error.

Or perhaps we should end the parable of the Prodigal Son at Luke
15:12 and call it a happy ending right there.

We do not have "death panels" in any of the health care legislation
under current consideration, but somewhere between outright denial of
dying and human limits, and the very beneficial ministry that is
hospice and palliative care, there are less formal but no less
concrete places where people are deciding who should live, and who
should die. Sometimes, it's simply when a person looks in the mirror
at themselves around 3 am.

There will soon be some form of civic involvement, in providing more
aid than is currently available for medical care. That is necessary,
and just, and surely even Christian. What no legislation can replace
is our need to speak clearly and honestly about what we believe
begins life, and when it rightly ends, and how. Most of us will have
to make some kind of choices about the pace and manner of dying, our
own if not also for others near to us.

It's a harder conversation than politics, and much more necessary.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around
central Ohio; tell him about your experience of end of life decision
making at knapsack77@gmail.com.

Shakespearean

Jon Meacham, editor of Newsweek, on MSNBC's MorningJoe this am has the word, and the word is "Shakespearean."

That's a fair summary of Teddy Kennedy's life. It's not a word that any of us should want to have applied to our lives, but Edward Kennedy, liberal lion of the senate and man who would be president, wore it like a suit of rusty but well-fitting armor.

His life followed an arc suitable for a Richard II, a Hamlet, even a haunted Macbeth, or a triumphant Henry IV -- Tragedy, comedy, self-inflicted tragedy, then redemption unearned and renewal hard-earned . . . a festive, placidly married & politically frenetic fourth act, and then a poetic, poignant reversal of expectations in the fifth with a new young prince embodying long-faded hopes under his wing, exeunt laughing.

We should not forget Mary Jo Kopechne, or the still living and painfully struggling Joan Bennett Kennedy, cast aside in the wake of her bearing the pain, in her admitted alcoholism, that Teddy tried to push past; likewise we must remember his realization of limits that led to more bipartisan work than almost any senator in American history since Henry Clay or Daniel Webster. His aims and intentions became purer and more honorable through the years -- even if i might disagree with the means he chose to legislate, that much seemed clear -- and if his weekday Mass attendance began as an affectation as he tried to live out a repentance that his other actions rarely demonstrated, it seems beyond doubt that the act began to influence the intention, and many conservatives in Washington DC today are quietly noting that they often shared a pew with Teddy on a Tuesday or Wednesday, where he was more regular in attendance than they.

His biography, if done in full and unvarnished, will be an epic and a must read tale of temptation and power and chastening. I look forward to reading one like that, and saying one more time -- Godspeed, Teddy.

Notes From My Knapsack 8-27

Notes From My Knapsack 8-27-09

Jeff Gill

Remembering Bill Laidlaw

___

When I wrote this column two weeks ago, it was actually four weeks
ago, and my family was getting ready to leave on vacation. I'd been
thinking about the state budget situation, the programs that I work
around in particular, that serve the most vulnerable in society, and
how to balance those needs in a time of crisis against the needs of
historic preservation & interpretation.

My thought was to ask you all to think out loud with me on what has
to be done, what we can do, and how it will get done. Then we got
back from vacation to learn that the executive director of the Ohio
Historical Society, Bill Laidlaw (a man I'd come both to respect, and
to enjoy speaking with, in person and by e-mail), and who was
scheduled to retire at the end of this year, had died while on
vacation himself, with his family during that very same week.

So my topic has to change a bit, because even though losing hours or
access to a historical site or library is a dilemma, as the old
saying goes, every time a person dies, it's like a library burning down.

And some libraries are larger than others.

So I wrote the following immediately after hearing about Bill's death:

There's one approach to history that focuses on "great men," and a
contrasting understanding that says "trends and movements" are the
real hinge of historical developments.

When people look back in years to come on this era for the Ohio
Historical Society, they will surely see the broader influences of
significant economic shifts in the state, with budget cuts defining
much of the story, but they will unavoidably notice a particular
person who stands at the heart of the turmoil and trials of this time
– William Laidlaw.

Bill may not have liked the label "great man," but his influence has
been great, even if in humble and unassuming ways. Bill's greatness
has been in good humor, by bringing a cheerful spirit and
constructive attitude into tense meetings and challenging situations,
with a smile and a raised eyebrow where others might raise voices and
offer a scowl. That was not a look you saw often, if ever, from Bill
Laidlaw.

With a background in management and academia, he chose to take on a
radically new challenge at a point in his life and career when many
men simply look for a capstone achievement, one ideally well within
their comfort zone. Instead, Bill took on the task of helping
reformulate a not-quite-state-agency that was already known to be in
not-quite-good if not outright difficult financial straits. Not long
after he got his pencils sharpened on his desk blotter, the state
budget forecasts turned dark and got progressively stormier than
anyone could have forecast -- but Bill stayed the happy warrior and
gracious civic servant right through his latest rounds of statehouse
lobbying and public advocacy, last May and June.

And as he worked with his staff to shape the statewide picture as
much as circumstances allowed, he continued to communicate with
individuals and families about the joys of history and the excitement
of sharing knowledge. Here in Licking County, a mom down the street
came by this afternoon to ask if it was true what she heard "about
that smiling nice man with the white hair," who had e-mailed her back
after a chance encounter about places she and her four children would
find interesting and accessible. She couldn't quite recall his name,
but she knew that "the boss" of the state historical society had
taken the time to do personally what so many in his position would
have quietly handed off to a junior staffer. Plus, she remembered
the smile, and the interest in her kids.

In the next few months and years, historic sites and cultural
landmarks in Ohio will be getting formal recognition from the United
Nations of their unique significance, their greatness in a global
context. Bill Laidlaw would be quick to point out that the major
work, the detail work, the groundwork was all done by others. But
for those of us who will be honored to see that day come when Ohio
has sites on the UNESCO World Heritage List, we will all know when
that day comes that it was the cheerfully persistent leadership that
Bill brought to OHS that was crucial to making it happen.

Was Bill Laidlaw a great man, or the right man at a time when
greatness was called for? The right answer, many of us suspect, is
"both."

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around
central Ohio; you're invited to add your stories of Bill to http://
wemissyoubill.wordpress.com.

Faith Works 8-22

Faith Works 8-22-09

Jeff Gill

Death Has a Way of Getting People's Attention

___

When I was serving a pulpit ministry, in any church I served my
practice was to include in the sermon, every year and a half or so, a
suggestion to think about your own particular end.

The sermon context would change depending on circumstances and the
Holy Spirit, but the constants were, for me, two-fold. I'd tell
people what a blessing it always is for families to find, or better
yet to know right along, that a plan or even just an outline for the
service the way you wanted it was written down somewhere (and an
obituary written by the decedent is always a bittersweet pleasure to
read).

And along with providing outlines to pick up in the back for planning
your memorial service, I would also make available the most current
forms for living wills, medical powers of attorney, and "do not
resuscitate" orders. DNR orders, by the way, can say what you DO want
done along with what you don't want.

I've been known to mention that having a will is a very, very good
idea, but not with the same pastoral insistence that the message
about preparing for your demise has carried. In general, there are
all kinds of things that I think are sensible, like being insured,
wearing a bike helmet, or keeping an emergency kit in the basement.
But those aren't close to the core of my faith as I understand it and
feel called to preach it.

But acknowledging that we will, inevitably, die (insert Rapture
qualification here, but c'mon, no one's supposed to count on that
one) is something that surely every responsible Christian and most
other faith traditions can accept. And to acknowledge, mind, body,
and spirit, in the times and seasons we find ourselves, means we
should let our families know if we do or don't want the bronze,
electrum-plated coffin or the pine box, ashes or embalming, hymns
sung or (gulp) Jimmy Buffet played.

A Christian witness in this day and age also, I believe, requires
that we give our closest ones a few advance directives on how to
navigate the turbulent waters of dying in MediWorld 2009.

So am I bothered by some of the stuff in the various floating
(bobbing, twirling, occasionally submerged out of sight) plans for
health care reform? Well, that gets tricky both personally and
pastorally.

If Medicare is going to start reimbursing doctors for spending time
talking to patients about end-of-life decisions, which they do not
currently, then I say "Amen!" That is a vital part of a healthy
doctor-patient relationship, and if Medicare et alia creates various
incentives and disincentives, then simply making end-of-life care
conversations reimbursable is a positive step.

On reading the language used to do this, though, I see a great deal
of "the doctor shall" and "the doctor will" language, and it does, in
fact, seem to lean very hard towards leaning on doctors to lean on
patients to choose the speediest possible demise. Matter of
interpretation, you could say, but I hear that in the wording, and
say not "Amen," but "Whoa."

Add in all the rhetoric over families supposedly asking for pointless
and extreme medical interventions for hopeless cases – yes, I've seen
a few, it does happen – and the implication that care for the very
ill elderly is keeping the country from caring for children, and
quite frankly I get angry.

I've been in too many ERs and waiting areas, pastoring in three
states, where a sick elderly person, incapacitated, has a cousin or
nephew rush in from two time zones off, and quite frankly, they want
this done and over, and want the closing stages sped up with all due
haste – and not infrequently, with indecent haste. Sometimes, not
even the elderly, but simply a person who has no immediate family or
spouse to speak for them. As a pastor, i (rightly) have no voice or
vote at all. Even if i know what i've heard from the person, now
unconscious in that bed. If it isn't in writing, then the impatient
relation's plan becomes reality.

The plural of "anecdote" is not "data." I'm told by some medical
folks, but mainly political partisans, that the problem I describe is
a blip, but "unnecessary care" is a crisis. Could be.

Meanwhile, I continue to say – make your wishes known. Accept your
mortality, and write down your intentions, for the service, for your
remains, and before any of that, for your care. If you want zero
interventions, God bless you and support you and put it in writing.

If you want them to start your heart a couple times more before they
throw in the towel, you'd better write that down, too. God be with
you in getting that care as well.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around
central Ohio; tell him your funeral plans at knapsack77@gmail.com.

Remembering Bill Laidlaw



There’s one approach to history that focuses on “great men,” and a contrasting understanding that says “trends and movements” are the real hinge of historical developments.



When people look back in years to come on this era for the Ohio Historical Society, they will surely see the broader influences of significant economic shifts in the state, with budget cuts defining much of the story, but they will unavoidably notice a particular person who stands at the heart of the turmoil and trials of this time – William Laidlaw.



Bill may not have liked the label “great man,” but his influence has been great, even if in humble and unassuming ways. Bill’s greatness has been in good humor, by bringing a cheerful spirit and constructive attitude into tense meetings and challenging situations, with a smile and a raised eyebrow where others might raise voices and offer a scowl. That was not a look you saw often, if ever, from Bill Laidlaw.



With a background in management and academia, he chose to take on a radically new challenge at a point in his life and career when many men simply look for a capstone achievement, one ideally well within their comfort zone. Instead, Bill took on the task of helping reformulate a not-quite-state-agency that was already known to be in not-quite-good if not outright difficult financial straits. Not long after he got his pencils sharpened on his desk blotter, the state budget forecasts turned dark and got progressively stormier than anyone could have forecast -- but Bill stayed the happy warrior and gracious civic servant right through his latest rounds of statehouse lobbying and public advocacy, last May and June.



And as he worked with his staff to shape the statewide picture as much as circumstances allowed, he continued to communicate with individuals and families about the joys of history and the excitement of sharing knowledge. Here in Licking County, a mom down the street came by this afternoon to ask if it was true what she heard “about that smiling nice man with the white hair,” who had e-mailed her back after a chance encounter about places she and her four children would find interesting and accessible. She couldn’t quite recall his name, but she knew that “the boss” of the state historical society had taken the time to do personally what so many in his position would have quietly handed off to a junior staffer. Plus, she remembered the smile, and the interest in her kids.



In the next few months and years, historic sites and cultural landmarks in Ohio will be getting formal recognition from the United Nations of their unique significance, their greatness in a global context. Bill Laidlaw would be quick to point out that the major work, the detail work, the groundwork was all done by others. But for those of us who will be honored to see that day come when Ohio has sites on the UNESCO World Heritage List, we will all know when that day comes that it was the cheerfully persistent leadership that Bill brought to OHS that was crucial to making it happen.



Was Bill Laidlaw a great man, or the right man at a time when greatness was called for? The right answer, many of us suspect, is “both.”

Re: Faith Works 8-15

Faith Works 8-15-09

Jeff Gill

 

When Ethics Meet Policy, "First, Do No Harm"

___

 

There is a medical saying that often is attributed to the Hippocratic Oath, which in Latin is "Primum non nocere" or more familiarly, "First, do no harm."

 

Going back 2400 years, the Hippocratic Oath is one of the very oldest professional ethics, and a version of it is still said by new doctors. The original version is theological in that it is sworn in the name of Greek gods, mainly Apollo and the lesser divinities Asclepius and his daughters Hygieia and Panacea (the staff of Asclepius is the symbol of medicine still, the snake entwined around a rod).

 

In fact, the Hippocratic Oath doesn't quite have this phrase, although "never do harm" is close. You might even notice that the once common phrase "primum non nocere" is Latin, and Hippocrates was a Greek physician.

 

The root source of "First, do no harm" seems to come from a Latin translation of one of Hippcrates' books, called "On Epidemics." The line in question goes "As to diseases, make a habit of two things--to help, or at least to do no harm." It's also possible that the Roman physician and pharmacist Galen started the aphorism, but he may have been loosely quoting Hippocrates himself.

 

It's good advice and a solid basis for ethical thinking, whoever came up with it first. If ethics, especially practical or "lived" ethics is the process of applying basic principles of what is good to what one must do, "first, do no harm" is not a bad place to start. It acknowledges that for all one's skill, knowledge, and training, you still have limits – if you have reason to believe that taking an action you have in mind is more likely to do harm, more than the slight possibility to do good that motivates you to go forward, then stop.

 

In working with disease and injury and sickness there will always be risk, but an ethical doctor (so says this principle) will not take a risk simply on the off chance that it might help. If the alternative to risk is death or serious injury, then you take your chance, but still with humility and an understanding of your own limitations. A gangrenous leg is a terrible thing to lose, but dying of gangrene is worse, so a surgeon does "no harm" in amputating the limb to save the life.

 

Much of the anxiety and outright fear around the current debate over health care and a national policy or plan goes back to how one calculates the essential ethic of "first, do no harm." Many critics and political leaders argue that we have a case of gangrene on our hands, with a limb of excessively bloating costs and expectations endangering the whole body. Radical surgery, they say, is not harmful, but necessary.

 

Other pundits and polemicists say not so, there is an injury and even a systematic illness here, but lesser treatments targeted at the specific cause of what's wrong with the body politic are what's called for. Some even claim that once under the anesthetic and the knife the patient will lose not one but two legs out of an excess of caution or extremes of zeal to cure the problem.

 

No one is saying that our current health care situation is just an ingrown toenail, but somewhere between that and gangrene is the diagnosis, and then the debate over the proper cure. And over it all hangs the words of . . . well, maybe Hippocrates: "First, do no harm."

 

How does your religious faith inform your ethical stance on personal treatment, and public policy? I suspect this subject will be discussed around more than a few coffeepots before and after worship this Sunday around Licking County.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he is not a doctor and has never played one on TV.  Send him your diagnoses at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

Notes From My Knapsack 7-23-09
Jeff Gill

From the Earth to the Moon, and To . . .
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Forty years ago this week, many of us were holding our collective breath.

We were counting down, a phrase still new back then (10, 9, 8, 7 . . . 2, 1, blastoff!), counting down the days and hours until the utterly amazing yet long predicted conclusion of the Apollo 11 mission, splashing down in the Pacific Ocean.

From the Atlantic coast of Florida, where Jules Verne had “launched” his moon shot in an 1865 novel, Ohio native Neil Armstrong (and Purdue University grad), Buzz Aldrin, and Michael Collins rode the mighty Saturn IV-B booster rocket that carried the Command Module and Lunar Module, Columbia and Eagle, into Earth orbit, on to the Moon, and ultimately to Armstrong and Aldrin landing in Mare Tranquillitatis, the “Sea of Tranquility,” which Armstrong named Tranquility Base on July 20, 1969.

When Armstrong, an Eagle Scout, says that he said “a” in that first transmission from the surface of another heavenly body, “One small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind,” I believe him. The radio signal was spotty, the TV picture more so, but given that less than ten years before this was all just a wild tale told by 19th century French novelists and 20th century American science fiction writers, they did pretty well.

I don’t recall Walter Cronkite saying much about poor picture quality. We were watching on a 12 inch black and white set with rabbit ears, Channel 2 in Chicago, where we sat on a back porch of a three story brownstone on the South Side hoping for a breeze while praying for the astronauts.

My ninth birthday was coming up in a month, and it turns out about a mile away, the future Michelle Obama was watching the same unfolding drama on a similar porch hoping for a cool breese on a warm Chicago night. (Barack was watching from Hawaii, his ninth birthday right around the corner, but it wasn’t after his bedtime as we all waited for someone to come down the ladder of the LEM.)

Robert Heinlein sat in with Uncle Walter, a name I recalled from having recently read “Space Cadet” (yeah, yeah, laugh if you must, but go back and read it – what a book, what a story); the night spurred me to want to read more of Heinlein’s work.

Engineers, explorers, scientists, pilots, politicians, even writers . . . how many people, of whatever age, watching that night, were inspired by the awe and wonder and complexity of what the moon landing meant, to go on and attempt and achieve something they couldn’t have imagined before July 20, 1969?

We haven’t been back to the lunar surface, not to leave human bootprints, since 1972 and Apollo 17. There are many earthly challenges that evoke the phrase “if we could put a man on the moon, why can’t we . . .”

And I have to admit I’m one of those who thinks, when that’s said, “. . . put someone on the moon again?” There’s a multiplier effect of the dollars spent on an effort like the Apollo program, but it’s the multiplier effect on dreams and vision that pays the real benefit down the line.

I hope we go back in my lifetime, and I salute this week our fellow Buckeye, Neil Armstrong, and all the thousands who stitched the spacesuit gloves and hammered the bolts for Grumman and drove the trailers at Canaveral, in the vast effort that put him, and us, on the doorstep of the cosmos.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; if you called him a space cadet, you would not be the first. Tell him a tale of science fiction or fact at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

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Notes From My Knapsack 8-6-09
Jeff Gill

Few Dollars, Careful Decisions, Timeless Implications
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With massive budget cuts slicing through the infrastructure of Ohio this way and that, and with almost that random a pattern, it’s hard to know what impact to bemoan or be bothered by first.

Human services, cuts that reduce the ability of agencies like Job and Family Services to protect children, rebuild families, or aid recently unemployed persons, those really hurt. Mental health seems to be kicked to the curb big time, even though untreated mental illness sure seems to be a major cause of many other issues that end up with the state and counties and communities spending major dollars whether they want to or not (jail, for one).

Developmentally disabled folk, both children and adults, have a marvelous group of people working for their interests here in Licking County, but they’ve been short the allocation they need to fully support everyone they would like since before electric lights became all the rage.

And education receiving actual cuts, not just “as adjusted for inflation” reductions, seems like the cruelest cut of all. The only way to create the jobs that we need in manufacturing and engineering, to start building and making and crafting actual things again is to support education, and not just youth warehousing, either.

But it’s the sweeping, devastating cuts to the Ohio Historical Society that I want to talk about in the space I’m offered here, not because I think the social services above or the library services not even mentioned here are less important, but because I worry that OHS has so many fewer advocates than any other public purpose on the chopping block. You will no doubt hear more about the Licking County Historical Society and the budget impacts from the county commissioners reduction than you will about OHS, even though the latter owns four major properties in this county.

(By the way, this is written long before the actual figures and decisions will be made, most of which will be finalized and irrevocable, for this year at least, by the time you see these words on newsprint.)

Given that the emotionally distraught, the mentally disabled, the immediately hungry and hopeless must be served first, where does that leave a state entity like OHS?

In my next “Knapsack” column, I want to ask you to join me in a “blank sheet of paper” walk through the question of what a state absolutely must have and still be worth calling a state with a history and a story worth telling.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; if Ohio was burning down, what history would you grab on the way out the door? Tell him about your choice of an armload at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

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Notes From My Knapsack 8-13-09
Jeff Gill

Picking Up and Preserving the Pieces
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When I try to think through a “blank sheet of paper” assessment for an Ohio Historical Society budget, asking “what absolutely must be done, even in trying times?” the list I come up with goes like this:

The state archive has to be protected; the documents and papers and books and pictures that make up the primary sources of the Ohio story have to be preserved. Ironically, not allowing access to them might help preservation a bit, and the state does not require that OHS have certain visiting hours, just that there are certain public records they are legally and duty bound to protect.

So there too, no library hours to speak of . . . well, three hours on Sunday afternoon. But the humidity is kept under control, the lights kept dim, and the archival boxes of acid-free cardboard sit on their shelves.

Properties must be preserved for future generations – when I’ve done student groups and class field trips out at Flint Ridge and Great Circle, I would always remind them that the Ohio Historical Society exists to 1) preserve, and 2) present the story of Ohio for the people of Ohio. I’m a big believer in 2), but if you don’t do 1) then you won’t have anything to present.

That means mowing, snow plowing, and roof repair, plus a little security to make sure no one snuck in a basement window of a historic building or interpretive museum. There would need to be some landscape architectural oversight of earthen and semi-buried structures.

And for all the treasures of the past that turn up on a near daily basis even as excavation and construction continue on a slower basis, you need a few archaeologists to help figure out what’s been found, and what to do to preserve, which is to say stabilize the locations that often don’t look like anything from the side of the road.

The scary part for people like me is that my back of the envelope calculations say that doing just that much, the least they absolutely must do, probably maxes out the best case scenario of what they can expect in state government grants and aid.

To do anything more by way of restoration, education, or recreational educational activities, may take us beyond the budget dollars from the state and also beyond what local supporters can raise (nickles). Seriously, how many golf events and raffles and car shows and 50/50s can one area support?

Bill Laidlaw, OHS executive director, and local leaders here in Licking County helped to show how a new model of partnership could help keep properties owned by OHS open. The Licking County Convention and Visitors Bureau, and The Ohio State University’s Newark Campus’ Newark Earthworks Center have helped maintain much of the educational and interpretive programming at Great Circle Earthworks. Getting that museum renovated, renewed, and shared with LCCVB staff means that a tourist attraction closed for some five years is now open and greeting visitors from around the world. When the pace quickened, and Flint Ridge looked on the verge of closure (already having a newer, up to date museum), the Licking Valley Heritage Society jumped into the gap and is holding things together.

You will hear more in the coming weeks about the next “Newark Earthworks Day,” October 17, which will come at the end of a remarkable week of pilgrimage, with a party of walkers making their way on foot from Chillicothe’s ancient mounds and embankments and Hopewell Culture National Historical Park, some 75 miles by road and 60 miles as the thunderbird flies to the Newark Earthworks. Much is being held together, if only by careful application of metaphorical and actual duct tape.

People from around the world are coming, have been coming, will come. How shall we greet them? And for coming generations who will be on the scene someday to assess how we have cared for our past and theirs (which will include us!), how will they look back on our stewardship?

There are no easy answers, but much to be discussed, let alone plenty to be done.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; if you have ideas for how to preserve and present Ohio’s past into the future, tell him at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

Faith Works 7-11-09

Jeff Gill

 

Uploading Your Life To Reliable Storage Media

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Fourth of July week wrapped up with a Ferris wheel ride and a last corn dog (there'll be more of those in August).

 

It didn't wrap up with a bang, those having come earlier in the week, and truth be told, I don't take pictures of fireworks. They never even remotely do anything for me – films of them, almost, but still not quite.

 

From fireworks to parades to street fairs to quiet time on the porch at home, I had plenty of photographs that did do something for me, and there are relatives and friends across the country (and even a couple overseas) who want to see something of the Lad and the Lovely Wife and possibly even me, at least if it's an amusing shot of me peeling potatoes.

 

Like much of the earth's mammalian population, I'm on Facebook now, have been for some months, and I'll say that their photo album feature is fast and easy, the latter being a very important quality for me. We just got a digital camera last August, and it took a while to figure out how to send photos other than as email attachments (hint: not a good way to make yourself popular, even with people who want the pics), and I've fiddled around with a number of online album sites.

 

So late last Sunday night I'm uploading digital photos from my camera to my laptop, and then picking through the hundreds I shot for those dozens that would go into an album where even my non-FB friends and family (some folks haven't gone there, believe it or not) could see them and download them if they were of a mind to.

 

And it occurred to me: do these pictures really exist? OK, that's the philosophy major way of putting it, but maybe I could say it this way: how real are these shots, anyhow?

 

They were electronically shown on a mini-monitor on the back of the camera, showed up in thumbnail shots on my hard drive that I clicked and slid over onto a menu screen that turned them into in-betweeny sized images on my web browser at a certain page, where you could click on them and make them bigger.

 

At no point had the captured image hit chemically treated plastic film and made layers change color, or been projected onto sensitized paper and slowly revealed itself as a print awash in a pan of fluid.

 

In that sense, pictures are real. They aren't, of course – Errol Morris, the essayist and Academy Award winning documentary film maker, has made a career out of helping us understand how film and photographs bend and shape the truth – but they are tangible and actual . . . and preservable.

 

True, you can run across a box of old photos at an estate sale, separated from those who know the faces and can put names on them, and my dad has spent years telling family members "please, please, put names on the photos you have" out of frustration from how many pictures he's been given with more missing names than known ones.

 

They are still around, though, in drawers and trunks and chests, and capture a bit of something. Digital photographs, now, are everywhere and yet . . . nowhere. If my hard drive crashes, the website is deleted, and there's no backup file anywhere, it will be as if I had never taken the picture at all. Ever.

 

And if I back up the folders from my laptop onto a flashdrive, but years from now the program that "reads" the 1s and 0s is no longer around, the digital artifact may itself be unreadable, and the picture is just as gone.

 

Reliable data storage. That's what we are so often looking for: the knowledge that our most precious memories and images are fixed somewhere, with someone, in a way that can't vanish in a sudden flame or degrade into dust, silica or silt.

 

Where, we ask, can we look for a secure home that will endure, beyond fire and damp and earthquake and . . . because somehow, we are more sure that we exist now, if there is some way in which we have a stake, a place in that which endures.

 

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him about the picture that preserves you, or that you keep close to your heart, at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

 

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Faith Works 7-18-09

Jeff Gill

 

There's a Ditch On Both Sides Of the Road

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No getting around it, especially in the formerly damp parts of Licking County, where horsedrawn scrapers and steampowered tractors often dug drainage ditches that still go deep alongside the modern paved roadway.

 

If you don't watch yourself on a warm summer day, you can slowly swerve off to one side, and if your tire catches a sharp edge of pavement, and you correct poorly, you can jam your car right down into a ditch that even a Hummer would have trouble getting out of.

 

What would be even more embarrassing is if you do catch yourself ka-thumping off the road on your right, over correct with the steering wheel, and suddenly jerk across the oncoming lane, only to fall into the opposite ditch.

 

It's fairly common to find ditches on both sides of the road, although you usually are only close to one or the other . . . if you're equally spaced between the ditches, you're right over the yellow line, which has its own hazards.

 

Traveling the road of faith has some tendencies you have to watch in the same way you need to tend carefully to your steering on certain roads.

 

On one hand is the possibility of authoritarianism, of subjecting your understanding to one person or particular view in such a way that you lose all your critical faculties. The standard definition of a cult is when the new adherent turns all their decision making over to an authority figure, or their representative. When a parent comes to the door and asks "can I talk to my daughter?" the answer "I won't speak to you, Mother, unless Brother Ruprecht says I can" tells Mom to call the deprogrammer.

 

That's what happens in the ditch of authoritarianism, but many of us drive closer to that edge than others. In practice, most of us need to acknowledge that we aren't the first people to travel in this direction, and there are those who have gone before us and travel with us now who have valuable experience.

 

Listening to authorities, and even letting some of our life choices be guided by something other than how we feel (heart, stomach, lower) at the moment, is not a bad thing in and of itself.

 

If you swerve too sharply away from the side of authority, you can quickly find a couple of wheels hanging out over the ditch of uncertainty. The default mode for most of us finite, limited, tangibly restricted human beings is to say "who knows" to most questions . . . but when we answer "who can know, anyhow?" there's a ditch that becomes an abyss beneath you.

 

Staying up on the solid road, a certain amount of uncertainty can actually support not only the pavement, but a solid layer of humility.  "I don't know" is a good answer for many of us more often than we use it, even when we are speaking of subjects where our knowledge is great, but our wisdom may be limited.

 

There's a ditch on either side of the road, and you don't want to put yourself in either of them.  You need to be in the correct lane, and most religious traditions help to lay out for you the rules of the road by explaining where they drive.

 

Some faith communities stay right up against the white line, nudging into authoritarian practices that they feel give their congregation coherence and clear direction. Others encourage questioning almost to a fault, with their uncertainty beyond a few bright lines being the very ground they traverse.

 

There are those who say they'd rather be in the ditch on their side of the road than traveling down the wrong lane. My sense is that we're all called to stay heading in the direction we believe God is calling us, and that none of us should ever settle into the ditch, let alone the valley of shadow.

 

Or as my grandmother would say "A mind stuck open is as useless as a mind that's stuck shut," which matches nicely with what Groucho almost said – "A perfect church wouldn't take me."

 

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him about the road you're traveling at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

 

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Faith Works 7-25-09

Jeff Gill

 

That Which Divides Us May Bring Us Together

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The last hundred years have certainly seen a shift among Christians in general, in de-emphasizing doctrinal differences.

 

Time was that you could make a Calvinism joke around Methodists, or crack wise about Arminians around Presbyterians, and people would smile and nod, while a few would hope for a stinging rebuttal of the errors in the other group's beliefs.

 

Now, if you make a smart remark around a roomful of Presbyterians about Calvinists, they not only won't take offense, they won't know what you're talking about. Catholics are generally not thrilled about making jokes about popes (ask them for a couple, and you'll hear some good ones, but you don't get to tell them); make a sardonic comment about works righteousness or that darn German monk, Brother Martin , and it'll fall right flat on the ground.

 

My point is that within living memory, those sorts of remarks would get a general response because that was the sort of thing that you would hear in preaching. Non-Presbys would take shots at predestination, non-Methodists would snipe at either having bishops you voted for or for having bishops at all, non-Episcopalians would snark over the crazy outfits their clergy wore on the altar, and non-Baptists would snicker over all that darn water sloshing around their sanctuaries.

 

It's hard to argue that anyone wants to go back to the days when pastors and congregations built themselves up by tearing separated brothers and sisters down, in preaching and teaching. On the other hand, I think we go backwards in some ways when from the point of view of most people both inside and outside of our churches, their main takeaway is "what's the difference?"

 

Can celebrating our differences actually draw us together? Well, if we really have nothing that makes us distinctive, we should merge tomorrow. No one thinks that is likely, for reasons bureaucratic but also theological ones. If there are places and settings where further organic unity should be practiced, I think that we can do that best if we understand how we became separate expressions in the first place.

 

And in large part, I don't see God calling out for more organizational union, but the call for unity in purpose and ministry starts in John, chapter 17, and echoes into the world today in many ways.

 

What our differences preserve are varieties of gifts that should ultimately bless the oneness of spirit that is our proper inheritance. So . . . I love the expression of the Catholic church in sacramental practices that remind believers how all of creation can be a vessel of the divine.  I love how Calvinism, Presbyterian or Baptist, turns our often unwilling hearts to the glory of God being larger than everyday logic.  I love how the Society of Friends teaches us in what the world calls "Quaker worship" that silence is filled with more meanings than words can often provide.  I love how the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints shows us what a vital and joyful awareness and closeness to God the Father can look like.

 

I love how The Episcopal Church lives out the awful mystery of what faith-filled democracy looks like in practice (and how their Anglican roots gave us the English language at its best).  I love how the United Methodist Church holds high and low styles of worship, liberal and fundamentalist strands together in a relative lack of tension, on both the local and wider level.  I love how the Church of the Brethren keeps washing feet, even when it would be so easy to take this one little tradition and put it on the curio shelf.  I love how the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) manages to take so many elements of these other churches seriously, but little of it all literally.  I love how the Assemblies of God manages to maintain a strong identity and unity in the Holy Spirit while having almost no visible structure at all.  I love how the United Church of Christ shows that you can have multiple mergers and still not appreciably change the genial atmosphere of congregational life in multiple strands.  I love the Southern Baptist Convention because they told me I should!

 

And, to close an emphatically non-exhaustive list, I love how Lutherans celebrate such deep roots that still transplant so very well from place to place, even if it amuses me that so many of them seem to think Jesus grew up in a small village on the north edge of Bavaria, speaking flawless Deutsch.

 

There are none of these differences that I would happily see vanish into the mists of history. Few of them are necessary, little enough about these quirks finds a rootage in the Gospel, but there is a history and a reason why these qualities are so distinct in each communion.

 

If more of us knew what these variations were, and why, it might be that much more likely our stories can weave even more closely in the future.

 

Meanwhile, you can ask Msgr. Enke about that tunnel in his church's basement.

 

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him about a different thing or two at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

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Faith Works 8-1-09
Jeff Gill

The Arc of History Bends Towards Justice
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Martin Luther King Jr. once said that "the arc of history is long, but it bends toward justice."

An arc, like a rainbow, spans a broad swath of sky, bends a wide bundle of light to cast a bright colorful shadow across the landscape. The story of the civil rights movement in America, the campaign against Hitler from lonely journalists in Munich to GIs and Russian infantrymen shaking hands across the Elbe, the journey from Goddard’s Massachusetts backyard (or even the Wright Brothers’ bicycle shop in Dayton) to the moon – 40 years ago last week! – these are what Hollywood screenwriters call “story arcs,” long tales with multiple subplots that draw you in and hold your interest.

The arc of Scripture . . . when we talk about the wisdom found in the Bible, the automatic reflection is on short, punchy phrases: “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom,” “"Train up a child in the way he should go; and when he is old, he will not depart from it," “Come to me, all ye who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”

(This time of year, I love the direct practical wisdom of Deuteronomy 23: 12-13; yes, I’ve been at camp the last few weeks.)

There are also the strictures and requirements that are quoted in a few words, some of which got quite a workout with some of the public admissions of political figures earlier this summer, many of which include the word “accursed.”

Those are the pithy aphorisms of Biblical wisdom, and they stick nicely in the memory.

For wise action, we have the examples from Scripture found in stories, “pericopes” in the technical language of Biblical studies. There’s the Good Samaritan in Luke 10, with its climactic question by Jesus of “Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?”

The story of Job plays out over 42 chapters, from temptation and torment to ambiguous vindication, anchored by Job 19: 25 “For I know that my Redeemer lives, and at the last he will stand upon the earth.”

Even Solomon’s wisdom displayed in I Kings 3 requires a full narrative: just saying “cut the baby in half” doesn’t quite sum it up very well. You need the story in full.

So you have the phrases and the commandments, which carry one sort of wisdom, and the stories, which expand teaching and guidance beyond length to depth and breadth.

Where I think you really start to grapple with the wisdom, the deep knowledge of how God is speaking to you and to me in today, found in the Bible, is when you read across chapters and books and even from Old Testament to New, and follow the arc of not just history, but of wisdom, bending towards revelation.

During the summer season, the most unexpected folk pick up big, thick, heavy books. Michael Patterson and Danielle Steele and John Irving and Amy Tan can put out a paperback that looks like it would serve as a structural support for a small shed, and people still shell out for them and take ‘em to the beach.

Now, I know lots of beach reading titles don’t get read all the way through. But what about some Biblical beach reading, a long family epic that starts with a refugee family (Abram and Sarai out of Egypt, Joseph’s brothers heading back into it), meanders through temptation and redemption and a dramatic, tragic exit (Samson and Delilah), builds to a dynastic family struggling to maintain the family business with collateral relations often ending up collateral damage (Saul, David, Solomon, and then the two sets of heirs from their bashing their way to an ultimately bloody end), and then exile.

I haven’t even gotten you to Bethlehem and the innkeeper yet.

Is the Bible suitable beach reading? Why not? The plot and story and dialogue holds up next to most of what the revolving racks have on sale.

And the ending . . . well, the arc of the Bible is long, but bends towards . . . oh, I don’t want to spoil it for you.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him what devotional reading you hid in your magazine on vacation at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

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Faith Works 8-8-09
Jeff Gill

Flavors of the Summer Taste Sweeter Than Honey
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“Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!”

Psalm 34: 8 reminds us of the power of taste to speak to the deepest impulses of our heart.

I love this line from the Psalms because it clearly reminds us that the goodness of God, the doings of the Almighty are not just a matter for intellect and rationality.

We can get stuck in “think and understand that the Lord is good,” with the logic of sermons and study guides the royal road to theological comprehension.

But in the Psalms, in Ezekiel, and in Revelations, we’re asked to relate to God’s teaching and lawgiving by flavor: “How sweet are your words to my taste,
sweeter than honey to my mouth!” (Psalm 119: 103)

For my wife, the goodness of summer and a bit of the glory of God is in getting a big plate of sweet corn roasted on the grill right inside their own green husks, and a sliced garden fresh tomato fanned out red and juicy. Summer is not right and God is not secure in heaven until the corn and tomato dinner has taken place – but when those fresh flavors hit our palates, we get a feeling that encompasses our whole being that all’s right with the world.

“Taste and see.” The Lad is not always as thrilled with the vegetables that so excite his parents; Dad gets very excited each time the basil plants are ready to be whacked back and a pesto fest is the result. I know eating food grown in our own garden, product of this land and location, is both good for your nourishment and good for creation, taking in calories that took almost no fossil fuel investment to produce.

He, on the other hand, sees a vegetable paste, and wants nothing to do with it. Next, he knows, I’ll be trying to get him to like peas again, and that ain’t happenin’.

As parents, we know that an unexpected taste might jar the mouth, but we have experience and wisdom that helped us realize that this was indeed good. It will take time, and patience, but we know one of our jobs as parents is to not let him just stick with the three foods he likes right now – “taste, and see . . . this is good.”

Sharing our faith with others has much in common with trying to encourage a skeptical friend to try Thai food. We know what’s so right about a plate of pad thai, and we know our friend even likes spicy food, but they like spicy food with an order of refried beans on the side. Where are the refritos with these odd looking noodles, anyhow? “Taste, and see . . .”

You can’t just shove food into people’s mouths and expect them to go “yummo.” They have to choose to pick up a forkful, and chew with an open mind, and stomach.

To imagine the journey of faith as a banquet, a table set out (in the presence of mine enemies?), covered with both comfort food our grandmothers used to make, and strange delicacies that we’ve never heard of, let alone seen before – what might this image do for our spiritual growth.

Taste, and see. Don’t just take my word for it, or rely on your prejudices. Taste, and try for yourself, and after a fair interval, see how the flavor settles into your mouth and your mind and your life . . . until you find yourself asking for more.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him what tastes good to you this summer at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

Knapsack 7-9

Notes From My Knapsack 7-9-09

Jeff Gill

 

Out Across the Hilltops

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Some forty feet above Broadway, the Lad and I sat in a swinging bucket of a bench, waiting for the Ferris wheel operator to unload and load passengers right below our dangling feet.

 

The view around us gave a sense of what made this site worth selecting in 1805, to the pioneers who could not have imagined whiling away leisure hours sitting on a vast electrified circle turning as if by wizardry.

 

But this charmed circuit showed us, above the treetops, a leaf shrouded simulation of the wooded bowl where they stopped their ox carts and chopped down the first log of their lean-tos.

 

Straight ahead, Sugarloaf, just to the left of Broadway's indistinct line. Then clockwise around: College Hill, dipping into the saddle where Swasey Chapel sits, and rising to the prow of Prospect Hill, pushing Pearl Street into a broad curve.

 

Then looking over my shoulder, the breadth of Clear Run valley, the golf course of today invisible from that view; beyond, Alligator Mound ridge running as a north-south wall across the eastern horizon. Switching shoulders, Mount Parnassus to my behind-left, then a sweep across Raccoon Creek to Flower Pot Hill on the far side.

 

These six hills neatly define a bowl, cut by two watercourses and percolated with a chain of springs out of the south-facing layers that draw their flow down out of what becomes the Welsh Hills to the north.

 

A sharp glance down ("No rocking" a sign reminds us, which we did not need, paused at the peak of the cycle) and the modern lines and edges and electricity of Broadway and the street fair brings us back to Granville today.

 

Back down on the ground, we stroll back towards the food booths (Troop 65 fresh cut French fries, hooray!), and pause as we do each year under the traffic light at Broadway and Prospect. "You can't stand here any other time," he reminds me (annually), as we put our right foot on the survey disc and spin around three times.

 

Some friends walk by as we do this, and ask "is this some old tradition?" Yes, I answer, a new one we're trying to start! And they join in.

 

There's no place like home, there's no place like home . . . and here we are.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him a tale of home, lost and found, at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

Faith Works, July 4, 2009

Faith Works 7-4-09

Jeff Gill

Freedom's Just Another Word For Nothing Left To Choose

___

233 years after yesterday, when the Declaration of Independence had
been approved by the Second Continental Congress the day before that,
John Adams wrote to his beloved and trusted wife Abigail these words:

"The second day of July, 1776, will be the most memorable epoch in
the history of America. I am apt to believe that it will be
celebrated by succeeding generations as the great anniversary
festival. It ought to be commemorated as the day of deliverance, by
solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized
with pomp and parade, with shows, games, sports, guns, bells,
bonfires, and illuminations, from one end of this continent to the
other, from this time forward forever more."

Well, we got the pomp and parade and illuminations part right. John
was off by two days since they privately approved, with New York
abstaining, the motion on July 2; but the full, edited Declaration
was approved the next day, today, July 4.

"Solemn acts of devotion to God Almighty" got a little lost in the
shuffle, didn't they?

Just to keep everyone disoriented, Adams was a Unitarian. Anyhow.

So I'm thinking about freedom and self-governance and no taxation
without representation this week, as we wait for word out of Columbus
for how the addicts will rationalize their habit. You see, the
spending junkies in government know that if we stop spending money we
don't have, then the federal government will stop sending us money
they don't have, and since it's for Medicaid, it's all good, isn't
it? Health care for poor people . . . except we apparently aren't
spending enough at our currently bankrupting rate, so we need
national single payer health insurance for (almost) all, and we just
have to decide how illegal it will be for doctors to provide services
that aren't authorized by a federal bureaucracy, and how we will
provide these services legally to people not here legally.

Which means, voters get kicked to the curb, and all our "votes" to
the contrary, with all the Ohio faith communities, liberal and
conservative in complete agreement (please go read that clause again,
would you?), liberal and conservative Christians in complete
agreement, affirming that state sponsored gambling is not healthy for
children and other living things – but we're gonna have more
gambling, run by and for the state government, in order to pay for it.

Because, as I'm sure you know, gambling happens all the time (true)
and especially in neighboring and further but easily accessible
states (also true), where they are making money (quite true) from
something people would do anyhow (possibly true, hard to know), so
let's do it here because we'll make a huge pile of cash (likely
nowhere near as true as the backers claim).

Which makes me think in this Ohio corner of the land of the free and
the home of the brave – so we will be legalizing prostitution soon,
right?

Oh, don't be so drastic, you say. That's not gonna happen.

I can easily recall when gambling was Las Vegas only, and Atlantic
City was a controversial second, with Steubenville a distant historic
Dean Martin memory. If you can remember that, can you recall
envisioning that we'd have people buying lottery tickets in line
ahead of us at the feed store, the grocery mart, or when you're just
trying to buy five pounds of ice?

I'm just asking about prostitution – it happens all the time (check
the papers), more so in neighboring states (explains all the Michigan
jokes), and they are making money from something people would do
anyhow (check that with Gov. Sanford), so let's do it here because
we'll make a huge pile of cash (not really all that much, but the
procurers will tell us our cut will be huge right after the next
payday).

And we can license prostitution, thereby checking health care
quality, providing inoculations, and protecting public health, while
replacing mean spirited pimps with good hearted governmental
supervisors, who will have taken all necessary sensitivity training
classes . . . and who will make sure Gov. Strickland gets his cut.

Seriously, although I would dispute the math behind this statement
with all my might, if restoring library funding and Ohio Historical
Society support and the "Help Me Grow" program was only possible by
adding even more legal gambling that is state run and directly
earmarked, I would say to all those worthy causes: Don't take it.
Don't eat the pod. Don't take the trade off.

Or: "What profiteth a man if he gains the whole world and loses his
own soul?"

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around
central Ohio; he's not against gambling, just the state doing it and
calling it "revenue enhancement." Feel free to disagree with him at
knapsack77@gmail.com.

CUB SCOUTS -- JOIN IN
Granville's Annual 4th of July
“Mile Long Parade”


(Last year's award winning Pack float!)

MEET: Wildwood Park Entrance
WHEN: 9:30 AM (Broadway will be closed for parade preparations)

Parade Starts at 10:45 AM and the Scouts will be Handing Out Candy and Flags

Contact Brandy Brooks or Ed Hock for any questions
mdbrooks@windstream.net or triciahock@windstream.net

The view(s) from Finney Peak - posted from Flickr for my Dad! From north, clockwise around to west-northwest...

Summer Solstice Sunrise at Great Circle Earthworks:



As i was shooting this, i kept looking up over the camera to see if i was . . . seeing what i was seeing! The glowing patches looked like lens artifacts at first, but then they began moving, right to left. There wasn't really any ground fog or mist directly visible when i walked in, but as my stills showed when i ended this and walked towards the Grand Gateway, there was just enough moisture above the turf to catch the light.

Faith Works 6-27-09
Jeff Gill

Summer Slump May Be Story Of the Past For Churches
___


There really was a day, a summer day for many congregations, when the sanctuary pews were empty, or at least emptied out.

Once upon a time, when travel was harder, but ironically, vacation was often longer, there truly was such a thing as the “summer slump.”

Part of me wishes for people the chance to take a two or three or even four week trip, even as I understand that in a time of double digit unemployment and workplace competition, the concept of “a month off” is not going to make a comeback – not this year.

It is true, as Rick Steves keeps reminding us all on his PBS travel shows, that Americans take both the least AND the shortest vacations of any industrialized nation. If we get four weeks off, we’re likely to take two one week vacations and a few days here and there . . . at the most.

This may not be as good for productivity as an economist might think (let alone a manager), since getting your head out of the details might be the best way to get your head in the game. Studies show this, and the Biblical injunction of Sabbath has something to say about it, as part of the very nature of Creation itself.

So faith communities might do well to speak up for time off, both on a weekly basis in Sabbathkeeping, and through the year for a sort of annual Sabbath. We could remind people of the values, contingent and eternal, behind remembering how God is in charge and we aren’t. Vacations do that for us.

Plus, some of the most interesting ideas in congregational life come from church members who go visit a place of worship somewhere else, and return saying “Hey, did you realize we could do THIS?”

What’s more immediately of concern, on the home front, is the tendency to echo the world’s ways and get so blooming busy through the summer that any rational believer would start thinking “I need some time off from this place.”

Somehow, it seems like we’ve gone in a generation from churches that often all but shut down from Memorial Day to Labor Day (other than the odd church that did a VBS or an occasional rummage sale) to being twice as busy in June, July, and August than we are any months that don’t have “ecember” in them.

What can we do to improve this situation? I think it can be a Godly and gracious thing for churches to think and speak as if vacation time is part of a healthy, inspired life, not something to apologize for. You know the flip side: the folks who are first to say “oh, a vacation; I’ve never taken one in the last fifteen years.”

No, church leaders can affirm and celebrate time away, and also lift up worship as a healthy part of this health-filled decision; we can offer to help identify locations near where you’re going to attend worship, or we can provide materials for family worship out on the beach or up in the mountains. Little “vacation worship pacs” in the narthex say to everyone “time away is actually time that is part of a fully engaged life, and worship has a place there.”

The alternative is, well, what we have, where the whole “um, yeah, we’re, uh, taking some time off” along with the horrendously unhealthy “what happens in Blank stays in Blank” leads to the auto-assumption that no sane person goes to church on vacation.

Truly, some of the most powerful and personally productive worship services I’ve attended have been during “time off,” when I was utterly just another worshiper, with no other expectations or assumptions weighing my soul down.

And for those still hesitant about taking their growing personal faith and taking into corporate worship: there is no better way to try out church attendance, without worrying that a congregation you know you can’t stand will chase you for months, than going to Sunday services hundreds of miles from home.

Maybe on vacation is where you can start to find the path to your heart’s true home.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him a story of worship on the road at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.com.

Knapsack 6-25

Notes From My Knapsack 6-25-09 – Granville Sentinel

Jeff Gill

 

Stepping Cautiously Into Adulthood

___

 

When does a child become an adult?

 

I have the honor and responsibility of writing a column every Saturday in the Newark Advocate for the "Your Faith" page, and last week's "Faith Works" asked Licking County faith communities to think about their rituals and observances and milestones for young people that mark their passage into adulthood.

 

Out at Camp Falling Rock last week, I had the chance to think about this watching a record setting Cub Scout Day Camp play out, with over 400 kids and more than 100 adults spending Tuesday through Friday clambering around the fields, rocks, waterfalls, hills, and high points (real and symbolic).

 

Pack 3 of Granville was also represented by 34 Cub Scouts and over a dozen different leaders and parents (some one day, some all four), anchored by Cubmaster Ed Hock, who was very pleased and proud with the turnout.

 

For these kids, from all around Licking County and a few Packs out of neighboring counties, there were many who had their first time in a rowboat, first time shooting arrows from a bow or firing a BB gun, who had never launched a rocket they made themselves from a two liter bottle (air pressure style) or walked up a creek looking for crawdads and frogs. A few may even have never been in a pool before, or walked up a hill so steep they couldn't see the top of it when they started.

 

That's part of why events like Cub Scout Day Camp are so memorable, for children and parents. They're full of firsts, of benchmarks and bright lines and beginnings of new experiences that may pale and wear smooth with repetition, but whose origin will never be forgotten.

 

Which is marvelous for seven and eight and nine year olds, who start to sense their place, and their ability to find it, in a world they now know is larger than the backyard and TV remote can encompass. But they know, as they watch the older Scouts helping out (which my son got to do for the first time this year), that they're still a long ways off from adulthood.

 

When is that, though? We put driving at sixteen, which is a major milestone for young people, but voting is at eighteen, "adult beverage" consumption is at 21, and quite frankly, we seem to keep back some sense of cultural acknowledgment that "young adults" are really grown up and fully responsible right through college graduation around 22 and beyond.

 

As we look around the country at an out of wedlock birthrate now past 4 out of 10 babies born to single mothers, I wonder if there's an element in this of young people wanting to prove in a definitive, inarguable way: "I am an adult." Fathering a child or giving birth to one is, indeed, a horizon you can only step across once.

 

Somewhere between a learner's permit and pregnancy is a place where as a community we need to help affirm the gift and privilege and responsibility of saying "I am responsible for my choices and actions and decisions." Even as we build a society where, blessedly, many hard landings are cushioned and buffered, can we also create a solid place to stand that says "Here I begin to shape my life with intention and purpose."

 

One possibility: I think I see and hear a bit of this sort of "rite of passage" with those who go on work trips and mission trips, to take their beliefs and values somewhere beyond their comfort zone and act on them, whether with drywall mud and hammers, or in conversation and conversion.

 

Those who come back from experiences like that know they are creating their lives, not just experiencing events; even as they better understand how dependent they are on others, no matter how independently they might adventure.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him about a rite of passage you've known at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow "Knapsack" @Twitter.com.