Notes From My Knapsack 4-1-21

Notes From My Knapsack 4-1-21

Jeff Gill

Won't Get Fooled Again
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Whether this column runs, in print or online, April the First, we all know that there's a trust issue around any announcement or information that comes out around that date.

I've served on panels and committees that have contorted work schedules and release dates just to make sure that a press release or resolution doesn't have the dreaded "April 1" at the top of it, and run the risk of people thinking it's all a joke.

What's been so worrisome in public discourse over the last few months, certainly well before the events on the Capitol grounds in Washington at the start of January, is how many people are thinking it's April Fools Day 365 days of the year.

Not trusting government isn't new. Pete Townsend wrote "Won't Get Fooled Again" in 1971, and "The Who" released it just in time to be echoed by the New York Times with the publication of the Pentagon Papers. Mistrust of the federal government was a thing even before Watergate got rolling the next summer.

And now we have different branches of state government arguing about trust, with the legislature overruling a veto by the governor of a restriction on his ability to declare public health emergencies. Were businesses hurt more by Mike DeWine's policy decisions, or the reality of an infectious agent rumbling around our communities? Did the citizens of Ohio listen more to an inaccurate state leader, or to the evidence of their own eyes and experiences?

I have been baffled by the actions of Statehouse Republicans to make it a mark of party loyalty to not wear masks on the floor of the two chambers while in session; I have Republican friends and associates who have tried hard to convince me that their data about mask wearing is more reliable than the information the state health department is using, and that Dr. Fauci's initial statement a year ago is more reliable than what he said later as the pandemic developed.

To say the least, I am not convinced. But there's the whole problem in a nutshell: I have information sources and data analysis I trust, and they have different ones. My suspicion is that they are picking the inputs that get them the outcome they want — not having to wear masks and telling people to go on about their lives — and they suggest I am preferring studies which . . . and this is where it falls apart, I think, because I honestly don't see how anything about this past year suits me or has helped me or mine. If you know me personally, you can fill in about a thousand words of confirmation of that understanding.

When it comes to public policy, we've beaten to death the late Daniel Patrick Moynihan's apothegm: "You are entitled to your opinion. But you are not entitled to your own facts." The challenge for us all is that, in fact, people do pick their own preferred facts. The opportunity we have in public policy is in figuring out what irreducible facts are relevant to our common life.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's been fooled before, and wouldn't say he never will again. Tell him how you ascertain facts you live by at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 4-3-21

Faith Works 4-3-21

Jeff Gill

Following Jesus to Heaven

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Then Jesus says "Follow me."

To the cross, to the tomb, and to resurrection. "Christos anesti," "Christ is Risen" is the ancient greeting of Christians, one to another, on Easter day and after. "Alithos anesti, alleluia!" or "Christ is risen indeed, alleluia!" we reply.

Getting to this greeting, reaching the confidence of faith affirmed on an Easter morning, we do best to follow Jesus all through Holy Week, as long and as far as we can, for everything we have been put into this world to learn and share and comprehend. It takes a Lent to make an Easter, you could say. Following is the preparation we need for arriving.

Tim Keller's essay in "The Atlantic" that I've quoted before in this space (which is easy to find online), all-too-aptly titled "Growing My Faith in the Face of Death," has been a tool for me in cracking open John 21:18-19, to get at the good material within those two verses. 

After learning alongside of his wife that he has cancer, this Manhattan pastor writes: "Since my diagnosis, Kathy and I have come to see that the more we tried to make a heaven out of this world—the more we grounded our comfort and security in it—the less we were able to enjoy it. To our surprise and encouragement, Kathy and I have discovered that the less we attempt to make this world into a heaven, the more we are able to enjoy it."

Some say this world is all the Hell we need, all there is. That's a subject for another day. But certainly the sorrows and torments of this world don't take a great deal of description by me to convince you or anyone that it's far short of any kind of adequate Heaven. Just check out the last few weeks in this paper.

But part of the revelation of Easter is that resurrection takes place both in this world, and the next. I know the rejection of any hope or idea that there IS a next world, beyond the one immediately available to our senses or mental understanding, is what pushes some away from the Christian gospel. What Easter I believe opens a door for, whatever your present faith perspective, is the awareness that there is in THIS world the beginning of many of the promises of heaven. This sometimes hellish world also contains wonderful and mysterious hints of a heavenly hope, available to anyone.

The caterpillar and the chrysalis, the spring blossoming out of winter, discovering in a box full of letters something a century old that speaks to us today: the Easter moments are all around us. And if we can take some of our anxieties and set them aside in the present moment, there are immediate joys available to any of us.

Keller went on to say about this world, in the light of his deeper hope: "No longer are we burdening it with demands impossible for it to fulfill. We have found that the simplest things—from sun on the water and flowers in the vase to our own embraces, sex, and conversation—bring more joy than ever. This has taken us by surprise."

This world is not heaven, but it can point the way to it. And if we don't confuse the map for the territory, the sign for the destination, there are joys in simply seeing the marker, the milestone come into view, saying "Columbus 21, Cumberland 236." Kirkersville may not be heaven, but you can find the way from there, just as it isn't Columbus, either. 

In Bethany, West Virginia, which is not on the way to anywhere, actually, there is a sign. It tells you on arrival in that Northern Panhandle hillside town: "This is the center of the universe. You can get anywhere from here." Likewise, you could say that the kingdom of God is in the midst of where you are; the realm of heaven is very near us, indeed.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's been seeking to follow Jesus more closely this Lent now ending. Tell him about your journey and temporary destinations at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 3-27-21

Faith Works 3-27-21

Jeff Gill

The Jesus I want to follow

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And after saying this he said to him, "Follow me."

John 21:19

Palm Sunday is tomorrow, and Holy Week is ahead, a journey from the Mount of Olives into the valley of Hinnom to the Temple courtyards, a way of sorrow through Maundy Thursday and Good Friday, a week of strong emotions and painful episodes before we reach the joy of Easter. We dress it all up with Latin and labels, "Via Dolorosa" and Passiontide, but the reality behind it all is hard.

A hard journey, with a solid hope at the end: Resurrection. That promise redeems a great deal of suffering, but the suffering comes first. And in a way continues, since the passage we've been gnawing at all Lent takes place in the light of resurrection, by the Sea of Galilee, with the Risen Christ speaking to Peter.

There Jesus talks to his leading apostle about what is to come, and after calling on him (redemptively) to take on the challenge of tending the flock of his Lord, he cautions him that everything will not be in his ability to command, even where he is to go. Specifically not always Peter getting to decide where he wants to go.

And then says "Follow me."

Palm Sunday marks a strange day where almost any of us can easily imagine joyfully and happily following Jesus. The crowd proclaims him king, and we shout out loud and in public the ancient formula of salvation "Hallelujah!" which is simply archaic Hebrew for "Praise God!" There's a parade and children and families and both Rome and the oppressing local authorities are safely at a distance, even if frowning. The Jesus movement is heading for the Temple, and we are all celebrating the Messiah together. "Follow me"? Sure!

Yet there is more to come. And still Jesus says "Follow me." The mystery of the supper in the upper, rented room. Darkness in the garden, then confused battles and betrayals; a trial, a whipping, humiliation, pronouncement of sentence. And Jesus says "Follow me."

And the way of the cross, through the streets, to the knoll overlooking the dump and civic garden and road towards the port and the world, to nails and spears and pain and death. And Jesus says "Follow me."

Yes, if you've read ahead like a good student, you know there's more to come. But there's also no short cut, no "skip a step" here. You want to follow Jesus in the Palm Sunday procession, and you want to follow Jesus into resurrection and life eternal, you will be following Jesus on the path in between to get there. Following Jesus when its convenient, when we want to, when it feels good and everyone is right there with us — that means ducking into the parade and out of it. The great thing about Jesus is he's always going to want to let you come back on board the bandwagon; the problem with sin and separation is that the more time we spend out of the parade, the more likely it becomes we won't find our way back into the procession.

The kingdom of heaven, the realm of God, is a street fair with a conga line that makes some strange turns along the way, into neighborhoods far from the temples and palaces and "good people," which can suddenly become a nervous, frightened line of children holding the hand of the one in front and the person behind us, walking down narrow alleys closing in on either side, the streetlights far behind and the doorways looming and ominous. Jesus knows what he's doing, but we wonder what happened to the band, the shouting, the joy. We recall something said earlier about parks and picnics and green grass and music on ahead, but why are we here you think, as you step into a puddle and rats scatter. You hold onto your faith in Jesus our leader, no longer on a donkey but still up ahead of us as always, and you're glad you didn't step out of the parade anywhere sooner because you'd never figure out this stretch of the path on your own, but you wish you were somewhere else. 

"Follow me," Jesus says.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's been in a few parades. Tell him about your path following Jesus has taken you at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.