Notes from my Knapsack 2-3-22
Jeff Gill
Development's subversive edges
___
Since I have professional reasons that get me out and around the county on a regular basis, it wasn't hard to find an opportunity not long after the big announcement to drive out Rt. 62, and out into northern Jersey Township along Green Chapel Road, Clover Valley Road, Mink Street.
Right now, it looks like most of rural Licking County. Turns out that's a big part of the attraction: the development's hub in this case wanted to be far away from major highways or railroads, but with access. That's us in a nutshell outside of our larger communities.
Our once and former Air Force Base, now an economic engine in its own right, came here because of deep sediments and low levels of unavoidable vibration, establishing a metrology lab for guidance system calibration. Those first guidance systems helped to spur the development of semiconductors, in a roundabout way, and now as the news decries the fact that 80% of the computer chips our US economy depends on are made overseas, we're going to become part of solving that problem, right here.
We're losing good farmland, there's no doubt about it. At some point, we have to come to terms with when and how we treat topsoil and fertile land with the respect it deserves, but as with fossil fuels, the reckoning seems far enough away to put off a bit longer. Each new housing development starts with scraping away all the organic soil down to more solid, stable, mineralized clays and silts; some of the smarter developers sell that stuff, others just find a place to dump it, then buy new topsoil a year or two later to put down in a thin layer around the new build on the stable footers dug down below the frost line.
Yet driving down Miller Road, whose meandering path bisects the parcel in question, and turning back towards 161 on Mink, I could see through the wintry spindles of barren trees tall grey and white and black warehouses marching north, as they've been doing for some time. In a sense, these fields have been doomed for quite a while. The question is whether we want more distribution centers and fulfillment facilities or an actual factory building out on this land.
Or we could shout "stop," and hurl our smart phones to the ground, after first deleting our credit card numbers from all the ordering and delivering and transportation apps, retreating to our homes where we retool our lives to grow our food and card wool together as a neighborhood and brew beverages for our community at the alehouse where we also eat communally.
I'm not meaning to make fun of any of that, truly. In fact, I think if we're going to have healthy communities and families, with or without billions of investment and tens of thousands of jobs, we need to find and maintain some kind of balance between our virtual lives and our natural interactions. Eating fast food isn't the problem as much as always consuming it is, and while we can't all grow all of our own food, it would be both psychologically and ecologically healthier if more of us grew some, got our fingernails dirtier, and got in touch mentally and physically with soil and fruitfulness.
Lots of people have quoted Joni recently: "you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone." Perhaps as we're losing some land to development, we can use this opportunity to gain some new appreciation for the land that gives us life.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he grows a mean pot of basil for his pesto, but hasn't raised his own garlic, yet. Tell him how you breathe deeply outdoors at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.
Tuesday, January 25, 2022
Faith Works 2-5-22
Faith Works 2-5-22
Jeff Gill
Cross currents and communion in church
___
Jaroslav Pelikan, the great Christian historian, was asked to address the problems and opportunities churches faced with ancient liturgies, modern tastes for innovation, and debates over how to honor both the old and the new.
His response still echoes in the ears of many worship leaders and spiritual teachers decades later: "Tradition is the living faith of the dead; traditionalism is the dead faith of the living."
My dad liked to point out that the measure of a community was how it cares for the most vulnerable, the least powerful. So the Bible teaches that our social priorities should emphasize the support of widows and orphans, strangers and sojourners. His observation, though, was that we really need to be mindful of how we tend to the dead.
Tombstones can't defend themselves. Cemeteries have a somewhat limited constituency. But a community that cares gently and reverently for such memorials and locations is probably one that understands how to make provision for the more lively groups of underserved people.
And when it comes to tradition, G.K. Chesterton was onto the same thing when he said "Tradition means giving votes to the most obscure of all classes, our ancestors. It is the democracy of the dead."
Pelikan's observation is a reminder that it's just as unhealthy to give the deceased an absolute veto. How to reflect on tradition today is tricky in all sorts of situations. What would Dorothy Day say about some political development? How would Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King take a stand about a current event? You can't just unplug them from their context and drop them as if living into today; when that's done rhetorically, it's usually to serve the speaker's purposes, which might well not be those of their historical figure's intentions.
In worship, though, we can trace some odd and interesting patterns through history that give us hints, if not clear direction on how to do our services "the right way." Among Protestants, I can point out five or six different distinct eras over just the last few centuries where one generation innovated in terms of music and preaching, in the next few decades it became a norm, and then a rising generation comes along to look at the last innovations as dated and uninspiring while their elders defend that now beleaguered model as "tradition." Lather, rinse, repeat. Congregational singing versus professional choirs, or open air preaching with popular songs adapted, jostling alongside of Psalmody which gives way to Watts's hymnbook, organs displacing ad hoc instrumentals, electronic amplification and backing instrumentals on cassette tape, Singspiration and "Gaither music" to praise bands to . . . whatever is next.
I did not grow up in a liturgical tradition, but in a tradition that had many givens which were a de facto liturgy. Total improvisation and spontaneity were considered a mode for different churches, not for us. Now many of the churches I've guest preached at in the last two decades have had effectively no order of worship or set prayers, just an outline of "music, prayer, offering, more prayer, preaching, last song." I miss sometimes a style I've never really known, some ancient elements and parts of worship that connect us to generations before, which can offer continuity with those yet to come.
One of my phrases about what worship is for, when I'm in a space where that question can be discussed, is that at heart I think regular worship is made up of equal parts "birthing classes and funeral rehearsals."
If you've not had the opportunity either as a male partner or female directly involved party to attend birthing classes, they spend a fair amount of time teaching you how to breathe. Yes, even the man. Practice now, because you don't want to try to learn this later. Things will happen fast! But you are preparing with expectation for new life to join the family.
Funeral rehearsals are less something anyone has gotten to do, I suspect, but in a sense we are doing it every time we think about eternity, after us, the time to come. Preparing ourselves and those around us for the hard reality of what happens after life goes on, without us.
Birthing classes and funeral rehearsals. Every faith community is doing this in their gatherings, and it's where you really need the perspectives of both the old and the young present and participating. How do we make meaning out of our journey in the light of God, and honor each other along the way?
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's still not sure what the best way to worship is, but he's got a strong bias towards communion at the heart of it. Tell him where you find the heart of worship without quoting Matt Redman at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.
Jeff Gill
Cross currents and communion in church
___
Jaroslav Pelikan, the great Christian historian, was asked to address the problems and opportunities churches faced with ancient liturgies, modern tastes for innovation, and debates over how to honor both the old and the new.
His response still echoes in the ears of many worship leaders and spiritual teachers decades later: "Tradition is the living faith of the dead; traditionalism is the dead faith of the living."
My dad liked to point out that the measure of a community was how it cares for the most vulnerable, the least powerful. So the Bible teaches that our social priorities should emphasize the support of widows and orphans, strangers and sojourners. His observation, though, was that we really need to be mindful of how we tend to the dead.
Tombstones can't defend themselves. Cemeteries have a somewhat limited constituency. But a community that cares gently and reverently for such memorials and locations is probably one that understands how to make provision for the more lively groups of underserved people.
And when it comes to tradition, G.K. Chesterton was onto the same thing when he said "Tradition means giving votes to the most obscure of all classes, our ancestors. It is the democracy of the dead."
Pelikan's observation is a reminder that it's just as unhealthy to give the deceased an absolute veto. How to reflect on tradition today is tricky in all sorts of situations. What would Dorothy Day say about some political development? How would Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King take a stand about a current event? You can't just unplug them from their context and drop them as if living into today; when that's done rhetorically, it's usually to serve the speaker's purposes, which might well not be those of their historical figure's intentions.
In worship, though, we can trace some odd and interesting patterns through history that give us hints, if not clear direction on how to do our services "the right way." Among Protestants, I can point out five or six different distinct eras over just the last few centuries where one generation innovated in terms of music and preaching, in the next few decades it became a norm, and then a rising generation comes along to look at the last innovations as dated and uninspiring while their elders defend that now beleaguered model as "tradition." Lather, rinse, repeat. Congregational singing versus professional choirs, or open air preaching with popular songs adapted, jostling alongside of Psalmody which gives way to Watts's hymnbook, organs displacing ad hoc instrumentals, electronic amplification and backing instrumentals on cassette tape, Singspiration and "Gaither music" to praise bands to . . . whatever is next.
I did not grow up in a liturgical tradition, but in a tradition that had many givens which were a de facto liturgy. Total improvisation and spontaneity were considered a mode for different churches, not for us. Now many of the churches I've guest preached at in the last two decades have had effectively no order of worship or set prayers, just an outline of "music, prayer, offering, more prayer, preaching, last song." I miss sometimes a style I've never really known, some ancient elements and parts of worship that connect us to generations before, which can offer continuity with those yet to come.
One of my phrases about what worship is for, when I'm in a space where that question can be discussed, is that at heart I think regular worship is made up of equal parts "birthing classes and funeral rehearsals."
If you've not had the opportunity either as a male partner or female directly involved party to attend birthing classes, they spend a fair amount of time teaching you how to breathe. Yes, even the man. Practice now, because you don't want to try to learn this later. Things will happen fast! But you are preparing with expectation for new life to join the family.
Funeral rehearsals are less something anyone has gotten to do, I suspect, but in a sense we are doing it every time we think about eternity, after us, the time to come. Preparing ourselves and those around us for the hard reality of what happens after life goes on, without us.
Birthing classes and funeral rehearsals. Every faith community is doing this in their gatherings, and it's where you really need the perspectives of both the old and the young present and participating. How do we make meaning out of our journey in the light of God, and honor each other along the way?
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's still not sure what the best way to worship is, but he's got a strong bias towards communion at the heart of it. Tell him where you find the heart of worship without quoting Matt Redman at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.
Sunday, January 23, 2022
Faith Works 1-29-22
Faith Works 1-29-22
Jeff Gill
Cross sections and cross country living
___
65, 62, 34, 62, 70, 85.
That's the story of the Gill men from the first to arrive here from England in 1777 to my father as that last figure, in terms of how many years each lived.
6, 8, 2, 11, 6, 4 . . . 1.
And on my paternal side, that's the story of how many children each had. To be honest, 6 & 8 are guesses; my dad and I tried to pin down just how many were born to John & Margaret and then to James & Rachel, but between spotty records and broken tombstones, we're not sure.
The one who only made it to 34 was a Civil War soldier who died three years after the shooting stopped, but we believe in part because of the impact of his service, and so William & Elizabeth had only 2 children.
That concluding "1" is me, with one child. There's a whole narrative of America's demographic history in those sequences of ages and family size. In general, people are living longer; in general, families are getting smaller. And I could add one more illustrative sequence: Pennsylvania, Pennsylvania, Pennsylvania, Pennsylvania, Iowa, and Texas by way of Indiana. After leaving Leeds in West Yorkshire in 1777, the Gills were in the Keystone State for four generations, but then young Harry went west with the railroads and his six children began to scatter across the country after World War II, and you know where one of Ron's kids ended up.
All of which is to say: we've never done this before. If caring for increasingly elderly parents even as we're starting to feel the bite of aging ourselves, across state lines and time zones, with changes in how estates are set up and powers of attorney operate, seems challenging and unprecedented, it's because this set of circumstances is pretty much unique in human history. We're making it up as we go, hoping our children are taking notes because we barely have time to stop and take stock.
Yes, people have lived to 100 centuries ago — but not so many. Yes, memory loss has been problematic before in human history, but it tended to start earlier, back when turning 50 was considered getting old, and such issues lasted a shorter period of someone's life, because life expectancy was shorter. You may have heard it noted that the original age for Social Security at 65 was established in the 1930s because the average lifespan was 67.
As individuals and families are learning how to cope with situations that are, at scale, essentially new and unprecedented, so too have faith communities had to figure some things out from scratch. In terms of buildings, we've retrofitted with ramps and elevators, and new construction tends to emphasize grade level plans and wider doorways, but the challenges we're still sorting out have to do with worship and congregational culture and community.
Again, if it feels like we're into new territory, we really are. Having such a range of ages and experiences in the church family, along with the tensions of increased mobility and access, means a "typical" church looks very different than my grandfather's did in Anita, Iowa. Big families and generational stability have given way to more scattered and blended households, with new faces the norm rather than the exception.
What churches of all sorts still offer, for all the change we've had in our culture and communities, is the opportunity to have intergenerational experiences. Even newer contemporary worship oriented churches tend to attract at least a critical mass of older persons, and in whatever setting, the reality in our modern society is that it's incredibly easy for children to grow up not only without being around older people very much, they may well not even be around their own grandparents much. As we celebrate the new investment and employment coming to Licking County, it occurs to me that it will also mean hundreds and even thousands of people leaving family and roots behind elsewhere to come here, looking not only for work but also for a place to put down new roots.
Churches can and should and must be a place for putting down roots. Like a tree planted by the water. Jeremiah 17:8 tells us about our personal basic commitments, and how we need to find the right place, a location that promotes healthy growth in relationship to God. I believe we do better with that when we are surrounded by people from a variety of backgrounds, and that includes a diversity of ages.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's got one more installment on this theme in mind. Tell him about how you see intergenerational encounters as important for growth at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.
Jeff Gill
Cross sections and cross country living
___
65, 62, 34, 62, 70, 85.
That's the story of the Gill men from the first to arrive here from England in 1777 to my father as that last figure, in terms of how many years each lived.
6, 8, 2, 11, 6, 4 . . . 1.
And on my paternal side, that's the story of how many children each had. To be honest, 6 & 8 are guesses; my dad and I tried to pin down just how many were born to John & Margaret and then to James & Rachel, but between spotty records and broken tombstones, we're not sure.
The one who only made it to 34 was a Civil War soldier who died three years after the shooting stopped, but we believe in part because of the impact of his service, and so William & Elizabeth had only 2 children.
That concluding "1" is me, with one child. There's a whole narrative of America's demographic history in those sequences of ages and family size. In general, people are living longer; in general, families are getting smaller. And I could add one more illustrative sequence: Pennsylvania, Pennsylvania, Pennsylvania, Pennsylvania, Iowa, and Texas by way of Indiana. After leaving Leeds in West Yorkshire in 1777, the Gills were in the Keystone State for four generations, but then young Harry went west with the railroads and his six children began to scatter across the country after World War II, and you know where one of Ron's kids ended up.
All of which is to say: we've never done this before. If caring for increasingly elderly parents even as we're starting to feel the bite of aging ourselves, across state lines and time zones, with changes in how estates are set up and powers of attorney operate, seems challenging and unprecedented, it's because this set of circumstances is pretty much unique in human history. We're making it up as we go, hoping our children are taking notes because we barely have time to stop and take stock.
Yes, people have lived to 100 centuries ago — but not so many. Yes, memory loss has been problematic before in human history, but it tended to start earlier, back when turning 50 was considered getting old, and such issues lasted a shorter period of someone's life, because life expectancy was shorter. You may have heard it noted that the original age for Social Security at 65 was established in the 1930s because the average lifespan was 67.
As individuals and families are learning how to cope with situations that are, at scale, essentially new and unprecedented, so too have faith communities had to figure some things out from scratch. In terms of buildings, we've retrofitted with ramps and elevators, and new construction tends to emphasize grade level plans and wider doorways, but the challenges we're still sorting out have to do with worship and congregational culture and community.
Again, if it feels like we're into new territory, we really are. Having such a range of ages and experiences in the church family, along with the tensions of increased mobility and access, means a "typical" church looks very different than my grandfather's did in Anita, Iowa. Big families and generational stability have given way to more scattered and blended households, with new faces the norm rather than the exception.
What churches of all sorts still offer, for all the change we've had in our culture and communities, is the opportunity to have intergenerational experiences. Even newer contemporary worship oriented churches tend to attract at least a critical mass of older persons, and in whatever setting, the reality in our modern society is that it's incredibly easy for children to grow up not only without being around older people very much, they may well not even be around their own grandparents much. As we celebrate the new investment and employment coming to Licking County, it occurs to me that it will also mean hundreds and even thousands of people leaving family and roots behind elsewhere to come here, looking not only for work but also for a place to put down new roots.
Churches can and should and must be a place for putting down roots. Like a tree planted by the water. Jeremiah 17:8 tells us about our personal basic commitments, and how we need to find the right place, a location that promotes healthy growth in relationship to God. I believe we do better with that when we are surrounded by people from a variety of backgrounds, and that includes a diversity of ages.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's got one more installment on this theme in mind. Tell him about how you see intergenerational encounters as important for growth at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.
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