Notes from my Knapsack 2-6-25

Notes from my Knapsack 2-6-25
Jeff Gill

Arcades from Paris to Ohio, a pedestrian tour
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When the Newark Arcade has a grand re-opening on Feb. 7, it is perhaps ironic that this forerunner of shopping malls is finding new life even as those downtown destroying behemoths are themselves going onto life support.

A covered passage between buildings, opening up a variety of shopping outlets and business offerings to a short stroll, the Newark Arcade was built in 1909, becoming one of the earliest such "shopping arcades" in Ohio. Eugene Barney had built a grand one in Dayton just a few years before; you'll find his family name on a Denison campus building. The Cleveland Arcade was first in the state, and has already had a couple of renovations and repurposing over the years.

Providence, Rhode Island and Watertown, New York caught the arcade fever from Europe, and especially France; while this country's first two were built by 1850, in that year Paris had over a hundred. Usually glass covered to allow plenty of light to street level, you could stroll along in all weathers to see shop windows within the arcade's corridors. The construction of these interior block arcades, taking mercantile activity off of the busy streets, arose along with increasing freedom and mobility for women in the middle classes of French society.

You can easily connect the implied dots between arcades of the late 1800s and early 1900s to pedestrian shopping malls that began to spring up after World War II, with the mothers of the Baby Boom wanting a shopping experience where with their baby carriages they could safely and comfortably go out and shop for their household. Open shopping centers on town edges soon became enclosed shopping malls out in the suburbs, and as the downtowns changed in function and purpose, the arcades often were the first to decline, and often end up demolished.

The arcades of Paris have dwindled down to just a couple dozen, and are more of an upscale retail experience. They have an antique charm all their own; during COVID, I spent some time at home on my computer using a common map and street view program to "walk" most of the remaining 25 arcades in Paris.

My interest in arcades came from our own local landmark, and the work of Walter Benjamin, a cultural critic and philosopher who died in the opening days of World War II, having spent over a decade and a half on his magnum opus "The Arcades Project," which came out in English translation in 1999.

Benjamin is best known for his essay "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction" which invites the reader into a meditation on authenticity, between a real original and copies. If you work with museum exhibits and cultural resource interpretation, it's an interesting subject.

"The Arcades Project," which I'm not suggesting everyone run out and read (it's over 1000 pages with footnotes) anticipates both the coming of shopping malls, and their demise, as we seek authenticity in objects, and do not find it. How we shop, what material culture means to us, and what is real: you can find your first steps into this sort of reflection by visiting our own original Arcade in Newark. Maybe even dip into the book if you want to go farther.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's walked through the Arcade many times before and since the renovation. Tell him about how you find meaning in objects at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.

Faith Works 1-30-25

Faith Works 1-30-25

Jeff Gill

Mercy as the gentle rain from heaven

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An online etymology dictionary says of "Mercy (n.): [the origin of the word dates to the ] late 12th century, "God's forgiveness of his creatures' offenses," from Old French mercit, merci (9th C.) "reward, gift; kindness, grace, pity,"… in Vulgar Latin "favor, pity;" … in Church Latin (6th C.) it was given a specific application to the heavenly reward earned by those who show kindness to the helpless and those from whom no requital can be expected."

There's been an ongoing reaction to a preacher asking a president to have "mercy." Yet she did "ask," and there was little if any specific insistence on what that mercy would be. To ask of a sovereign "mercy" is a request that still acknowledges their power, but asks of them a use that might not be the full exercise of what they could do. What they should do is still up to them. Nothing rude or overbearing about that. Just a simple plea from the pulpit: "have mercy."

Where I specifically don't agree with Pres. Trump's reaction is in his initial retort to a reporter asking him about the service. His reply on the West Wing colonnade was "Not very exciting. Did you think it was exciting?" Of course there was more pointed criticism later on social media, calling the Bishop "nasty" (his go-to insult for women in any role, it seems), but he went on to reassert "the service was a boring and uninspiring one." So I'd like to focus on his initial response. "Not very exciting." This is a challenge many clergy face, and when leaders press the "make it exciting" button in such a public setting it's going to trigger a surge of similar criticisms for local ministers, well beyond any policy oriented preaching or political overtones.

Worship is not always exciting. Or as Rick Warren said in his best-selling "The Purpose Driven Life": "It's not about you." There's a question of spiritual formation here around what people have been taught to expect of an occasion for spiritual assembly. If "is it exciting?" becomes the primary measure of a quality service, then exciting worship becomes the expected norm. And I can hear the objections already: why shouldn't it be exciting? Why can't each service be exciting, moving, uplifting & transforming? Isn't that what you preachers & worship leaders are supposed to be crafting & delivering, a compelling service of sermon & song & excitement?

Routine & ritual & regular rhythms of the Christian year, quiet devotion & corporate thanksgiving, all that might be set aside in the pursuit of excitement. Psalmody, unison prayer, even silence might all get tossed onto the ash-heap of history in favor of jarring percussion, driving chords, startling graphics, and yes, fog machines.

When I'm preaching, my walk up song isn't "Crazy Train," it's more likely to be "Surely the Presence" or even the "Gloria Patri." I think good worship even includes sometimes choosing the live musician that isn't so good, versus the recorded track that slaps.

I know, many of my clerical friends are concerned about other aspects of the aftermath of that "Service of Prayer for the Nation" [link to outline below if you want it ~ ed.]. But I'm haunted in parallel with that reflexive "Not very exciting." It's a tendency that doesn't need encouragement. Quite the opposite. 

Let William Shakespeare have the last word, from Portia's speech in "The Merchant of Venice":

The quality of mercy is not strain'd.

It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven

Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:

It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.

'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes

The thronèd monarch better than his crown.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's preached a few unexciting sermons in his time. Tell him where you think mercy could be a gentle rain at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.

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https://cathedral.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/Service-of-Prayer-for-the-Nation-2025-Online.pdf