Notes from my Knapsack 4-6-23
Jeff Gill
A time to walk around the world
___
Do you see the world around you as a circle, or a square?
Anthropologists surmise that people long ago would have naturally seen their world as a circle, the horizon all around any one of us, before and behind our immediate vision. That imaginative circle would echo the outlines in the sky of the sun and the moon, and you could project from there the circle one would imagine from the orbit around us (as it appears), half in view overhead and half beneath.
When agriculture became a mark of civilization, it's likely the world starts to develop a different imaginative outline, a rectangle or square, after planting rows of crops. A field becomes the near horizon, and with the addition of a compass let alone a map you get north and south, east and west.
Navigate much with those tools, and you quickly pick up four more, northwest and southeast, southwest and northeast. Eight points, a rotated square, even an octagon of sorts for the principal directions.
Since Apollo spacecraft took astronauts around the moon, and back towards an earth rise, we've had a new appreciation of the circles we live in. But our smartphone maps pull us back down into grids and checkerboards, squares and rectangles. The push-pull, tugs back-and-forth, continues in how we imagine the world we see, and the world just beyond the horizon we don't see.
For the Octagon of the Newark Earthworks, the four open house days for 2023 have been announced, and while there's another coming in the summer and one in the fall, two arrive quickly, Sunday and Monday April 16 and 17. At the public area just off of 33rd St. and Parkview Road, there will be interpreters and guided tours from at least Noon to 4 pm, along with the museum at the Great Circle being opened there off of Rt. 79.
The Saturday before those two open house days at the Octagon, I will be leading again a three mile hike around the streets of Newark, on April 15 from 9 am to Noon, beginning and ending at the Great Circle Museum. We won't quite make it to the Octagon, but we will cover about half of the once four-and-a-half square mile complex of interconnected earthworks that the Octagon and Great Circle are 'corners' of, so to speak.
You are welcome to come join my stroll (bring water and a hat) on that Saturday, but I want to encourage anyone who can to take advantage of one of those open house days to simply go and walk the perimeter of the geometry there. 55 acres worth of octagonal enclosure, another 20 acres of the connected Observatory Circle. Take a tour if you wish, say hello at the interpretive tents, but make sure to simply go and walk around the world.
It may not be your world, it might not have been a cosmos in miniature, vast though the earthworks are, it couldn't just have been an observatory alone, but it was built to define a space and connect us to what is seen, and unseen.
Walking the outline of the earthworks makes me more aware of my horizons, even when I'm driving around now. And more conscious of how much is beyond my immediate horizon, but still part of my world. Spring is an excellent time to take such a trip, right here nearby.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he prefers the view on foot when he can take the time. Tell him how you slow down to see more at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.
Wednesday, March 29, 2023
Monday, March 27, 2023
Faith Works 3-31-23 & 4-7-23
Thought I'd get ahead a week as has been the usual wish in the past for Easter and other holiday weeks, so you have two columns here, in sequence:
Faith Works 3-31-23 (see below for 4-7-23)
Jeff Gill
Ride on, ride on, King Jesus
___
Palm Sunday opens Holy Week for most Christian congregations, a series of commemorations of events through the culminating week of Jesus at work in Jerusalem.
Maundy Thursday marks the institution of communion in the breaking of bread and the pouring out of the cup, shared together "in remembrance of" Jesus; Good Friday follows closely with the crucifixion narrative through that fateful morning and his death from noon to three in the afternoon.
And then, of course, Easter's coming.
In some churches, the "Passion story" or the events of the week to come are marked all in this Sunday, especially where it's unlikely people will be able to come together for additional services. But my preference is to mark the entry of Jesus, hailed as king and savior by the crowds, to set off the opening of the sequence. It's been said, and rightly so, that you do yourself a disservice to leap from triumph to triumph, from Palm Sunday's regal procession, to the celebration of the resurrection on Easter; that life isn't a journey from victory to victory without a trip down into the valley of the shadow in between from time to time. You'll have to make your own choices about Thursday and Friday.
But Palm Sunday, the ancient cry of "Hosanna!" and the rejoicing of an expectant crowd, it all has a place, both in the story of Jesus, and in our own understanding of how we are called to follow him.
Because there are so many moments like this we are asked to accept, triumphs which we know in the moment will be brief. Every tournament victory gives way to the next season just around the corner; any new opportunity can feel like a grand entrance, though you know there's some heavy slogging ahead. Retirement is an occasion for cake if no longer many gold watches, but so many smile nervously as they already calculate how soon they'll outlive their savings; each reprieve at the doctor's office is also step on down the road of aging and a need to prepare for the next turn in that road to come.
Even finishing the dishes and taking out the trash are quiet celebrations which last only as long as the next plate and fork in the sink, and don't even get me started about the laundry. This is all a universal aspect of life, of living, of staying the course, for buckling down to the long haul.
All of this, I would suggest, is in Jesus's thoughts as he climbs onto his donkey, and starts into Jerusalem. The crowd is ready to celebrate a big victory for God's purposes, and has the very highest of hopes: for Jesus, against Rome, and towards as much a divine plan as their own desires. What Jesus also knows is that the joy of the moment is not going to be enough to fuel their endurance for the days and week and years to come. There's a quiet hope, a lasting intention which is all that can endure against the obstacles of this world. You can't eat birthday cake every morning, and tomorrow the dishes will need to be done all over again.
Traditional art of Jesus on Palm Sunday tends to get this right, I believe. Jesus is not weary, but he is a bit wary, aware as only he could be of what was yet to come. Celebrate, rejoice, shout hosanna . . . and be ready for the next thing. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, and keeps on going.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's cultivating endurance at this stage of his journey. Tell him how you keep going at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.
=+=+=+=
Faith Works 4-7-23
Jeff Gill
Innkeepers on the road, in the story
___
If you are an innkeeper, a tavern owner, a manager of an establishment for rest and refreshment, you have to worry.
Is there room for all those who come seeking shelter? And will they pay?
You could think having too many customers would be a good problem, but the thing about turning people away is that they might be back your way again in the future, and you want them to think of you and your establishment. This is where you want them to turn aside, to rest their animals, to feed their bellies, to lay down their heads. At your place.
At Christmas time we hear about a couple turned away "because there was no room at the inn." We can debate Koine Greek some other time on the details, but the point was somewhere they might have stayed, they couldn't, and where they did go, this wasn't how it normally would have gone. Mangers, maybe a stable, certainly animals nearby, and we'll trust Isaiah's anticipation that an ox and donkey were in the neighborhood.
This feels like a sweet symmetry to me that from Luke's nativity narrative to the stories of Christ's resurrection we go from inn to inn, from temporary resting place to a table along the road. From Bethlehem's birth to Emmaus and new birth, for Jesus and Clopas and someone else who could be anyone and whom Luke may well have intended to be us, sitting right there, unseeing until the breaking of the bread.
And in between, there's another inn, unambiguously so stated in Luke 10, perhaps just a place in a parable by Jesus, but there had to be a resting place halfway from Jericho up to Jerusalem, a caravansary along the way too far for a single day's journey by foot or even by camel. I've been there, thirty years ago, and I remember clearly the shock and delight of seeing an inn right where the story of the Good Samaritan would place it, and the sign on the door, indicating that Diner's Club was indeed accepted. Perhaps that's changed, but little else in two thousand years.
What happens at that inn? Someone who is hurting is helped; a traveler who may well have been a scamp or a rascal themselves is aided by a stranger, and not just a stranger, but an other, an alien, a Samaritan. Did the fellow fall among robbers by his own fault? We aren't told. Did he deserve help? We most certainly are not told that. The point of the story, and that inn, is that someone in pain was cared for, and that the glory of God was shown in that care, given without regard for persons.
Is there a connection, then, between these three inns? In Bethlehem, where Mary and Joseph are not welcome; on the Jericho Road, where a stranger is cared for as a neighbor; at Emmaus, where in a place of public refreshment, God's love is made known in a simple gesture of hospitality?
May your table be a place where those you love, and those whom God loves, will know Jesus, and his love which is alive and active this very day.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's met Jesus in the strangest places. Even in church! Tell him where you've seen Christ at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.
Faith Works 3-31-23 (see below for 4-7-23)
Jeff Gill
Ride on, ride on, King Jesus
___
Palm Sunday opens Holy Week for most Christian congregations, a series of commemorations of events through the culminating week of Jesus at work in Jerusalem.
Maundy Thursday marks the institution of communion in the breaking of bread and the pouring out of the cup, shared together "in remembrance of" Jesus; Good Friday follows closely with the crucifixion narrative through that fateful morning and his death from noon to three in the afternoon.
And then, of course, Easter's coming.
In some churches, the "Passion story" or the events of the week to come are marked all in this Sunday, especially where it's unlikely people will be able to come together for additional services. But my preference is to mark the entry of Jesus, hailed as king and savior by the crowds, to set off the opening of the sequence. It's been said, and rightly so, that you do yourself a disservice to leap from triumph to triumph, from Palm Sunday's regal procession, to the celebration of the resurrection on Easter; that life isn't a journey from victory to victory without a trip down into the valley of the shadow in between from time to time. You'll have to make your own choices about Thursday and Friday.
But Palm Sunday, the ancient cry of "Hosanna!" and the rejoicing of an expectant crowd, it all has a place, both in the story of Jesus, and in our own understanding of how we are called to follow him.
Because there are so many moments like this we are asked to accept, triumphs which we know in the moment will be brief. Every tournament victory gives way to the next season just around the corner; any new opportunity can feel like a grand entrance, though you know there's some heavy slogging ahead. Retirement is an occasion for cake if no longer many gold watches, but so many smile nervously as they already calculate how soon they'll outlive their savings; each reprieve at the doctor's office is also step on down the road of aging and a need to prepare for the next turn in that road to come.
Even finishing the dishes and taking out the trash are quiet celebrations which last only as long as the next plate and fork in the sink, and don't even get me started about the laundry. This is all a universal aspect of life, of living, of staying the course, for buckling down to the long haul.
All of this, I would suggest, is in Jesus's thoughts as he climbs onto his donkey, and starts into Jerusalem. The crowd is ready to celebrate a big victory for God's purposes, and has the very highest of hopes: for Jesus, against Rome, and towards as much a divine plan as their own desires. What Jesus also knows is that the joy of the moment is not going to be enough to fuel their endurance for the days and week and years to come. There's a quiet hope, a lasting intention which is all that can endure against the obstacles of this world. You can't eat birthday cake every morning, and tomorrow the dishes will need to be done all over again.
Traditional art of Jesus on Palm Sunday tends to get this right, I believe. Jesus is not weary, but he is a bit wary, aware as only he could be of what was yet to come. Celebrate, rejoice, shout hosanna . . . and be ready for the next thing. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, and keeps on going.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's cultivating endurance at this stage of his journey. Tell him how you keep going at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.
=+=+=+=
Faith Works 4-7-23
Jeff Gill
Innkeepers on the road, in the story
___
If you are an innkeeper, a tavern owner, a manager of an establishment for rest and refreshment, you have to worry.
Is there room for all those who come seeking shelter? And will they pay?
You could think having too many customers would be a good problem, but the thing about turning people away is that they might be back your way again in the future, and you want them to think of you and your establishment. This is where you want them to turn aside, to rest their animals, to feed their bellies, to lay down their heads. At your place.
At Christmas time we hear about a couple turned away "because there was no room at the inn." We can debate Koine Greek some other time on the details, but the point was somewhere they might have stayed, they couldn't, and where they did go, this wasn't how it normally would have gone. Mangers, maybe a stable, certainly animals nearby, and we'll trust Isaiah's anticipation that an ox and donkey were in the neighborhood.
This feels like a sweet symmetry to me that from Luke's nativity narrative to the stories of Christ's resurrection we go from inn to inn, from temporary resting place to a table along the road. From Bethlehem's birth to Emmaus and new birth, for Jesus and Clopas and someone else who could be anyone and whom Luke may well have intended to be us, sitting right there, unseeing until the breaking of the bread.
And in between, there's another inn, unambiguously so stated in Luke 10, perhaps just a place in a parable by Jesus, but there had to be a resting place halfway from Jericho up to Jerusalem, a caravansary along the way too far for a single day's journey by foot or even by camel. I've been there, thirty years ago, and I remember clearly the shock and delight of seeing an inn right where the story of the Good Samaritan would place it, and the sign on the door, indicating that Diner's Club was indeed accepted. Perhaps that's changed, but little else in two thousand years.
What happens at that inn? Someone who is hurting is helped; a traveler who may well have been a scamp or a rascal themselves is aided by a stranger, and not just a stranger, but an other, an alien, a Samaritan. Did the fellow fall among robbers by his own fault? We aren't told. Did he deserve help? We most certainly are not told that. The point of the story, and that inn, is that someone in pain was cared for, and that the glory of God was shown in that care, given without regard for persons.
Is there a connection, then, between these three inns? In Bethlehem, where Mary and Joseph are not welcome; on the Jericho Road, where a stranger is cared for as a neighbor; at Emmaus, where in a place of public refreshment, God's love is made known in a simple gesture of hospitality?
May your table be a place where those you love, and those whom God loves, will know Jesus, and his love which is alive and active this very day.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's met Jesus in the strangest places. Even in church! Tell him where you've seen Christ at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.
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