Notes from my Knapsack – Granville Sentinel 8-29-13

Notes from my Knapsack – Granville Sentinel 8-29-13

Jeff Gill

 

A story on the way home (pt. 3)

 

If Nelson had learned anything as a consulting engineer, it was to not make assumptions until all the information was assembled.

 

This town, this village, this Granville that he was driving into might be the place his now-deceased sister had put on her paperwork as hometown, but since as far as he knew she'd never lived here, there was a connection he wanted to find.

 

The connection could just be an aesthetic one: it's obviously a pretty place. The high tower on the ridge above, seen from the highway, then the encounter with the four corners of churches and strip of old-fashioned downtown, with no empty storefronts that he could see, and even commercial activity on the second floor, all made for a Norman Rockwell sort of scene that could call out to someone who had long searched for a place they could call home.

 

That would fit his sister, since he and she had been making their way in the world on their own for decades, after their mother's death and what with their father's long absence. Sheryl and he hadn't even met face to face in over a decade before her sudden death last week in Las Vegas, the last place her cross-country questing had taken her.

 

But even allowing for the question of why and how she might have passed through here, given that mother was buried in Georgia, Nelson had raised a family in Florida, and Sheryl's last three hospitals where she'd worked as a nurse had been Dallas, Phoenix, and Las Vegas . . . even allowing for that, would charming appearance alone account for that mysterious "Hometown" blank on her personnel file? Do you call a place home just because it looks like the home you never had?

 

Some might have, Nelson thought, but Sheryl was just hard-headed enough to make that unlikely. There was something else, something personal . . .

 

Turning into a parking place in the shadow of a ridiculously charming white Greek Revival church with a golden weathervane on top, Nelson got out of his rental car muttering "Rockwell." He walked directly into a bank, a little more modern inside than a Saturday Evening Post cover but very efficient in appearance and activity.

 

Stepping to a teller, he said "Excuse me, I'm just passing through, and wondered where a visitor should go if looking for a burger and a beer." The woman across the counter smiled, pointed back out the front window, and said "Brews is the place right across the street for what you want."

 

Nodding, Nelson went back out and across the street, half-waving at a driver who stopped as he entered the crosswalk who had waved at him. It must be that kind of place, he thought, and then stepped back as the car in the outside lane sped up and zipped barely in front of him.

 

Okay, not everyone. Making a mental note of the coffee shop before him, he turned to his left and headed for a place with a balcony already showing signs of being where a burger and a beer guy could sit and collect his thoughts.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him what you think happens next at knapsack77@gmail.com, or @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 8-17

Faith Works 8-17-13

Jeff Gill

 

Stigma, by any other name

___

 

In talking about the church and mental health regarding "stigma," a major issue is  how people of faith misunderstand counseling and psychology.

 

"Stigma" is generally thought of as negative assumptions about people. But I believe that there are preconceptions people have, and false impressions about the practice of mental health care itself that are keeping folks back from getting involved in potentially helpful steps, which is just as bad as the stereotype of thinking ill of people who admit to mental illness.

 

There's the couch. The whole Freudian picture of someone lying down on an oddly shaped piece of furniture you don't see outside of a great-grandmother's parlor, talking to the ceiling about their childhood while a bearded psychotherapist strokes their chin and takes note without looking at the patient.

 

There may be two of those kinds of counselors left, and they both live on Manhattan. Nowadays you sit in perfectly normal chairs and talk to friendly people who have reasonable, if occasionally tough questions to ask. So forget that whole "couch" image to start with.

 

Some people of faith have heard that most counselors and therapists are intent on mocking and refuting religion in general, and Christianity in particular. It's simply not true. Not true at all. You might find a vigorous and mildly unethical atheistic counseling professional who works hard to convince the faithful to abandon their beliefs, but it would take looking, and I've not encountered one here in Ohio.

 

You can find specifically Christian counselors, but even in general, mental health professionals are in favor of pro-social activities of any sort, and aren't interested in talking you into or out of any one particular faith.

 

In fact, while I can't say I've met and talked to every person involved in counseling and recovery in Licking County, I've met quite a few of them, and can personally state that many of them attend a church, pray, and deeply respect the role of faith in a person's life from their own personal experience.

 

I think there's a reverse stigma in these sorts of points that make people unwilling to make a call, to reach out for help, or even to learn HOW to reach out for help – because they think psychology is some odd, idiosyncratic activity that doesn't make sense to those who might potentially benefit from it; because they think counseling has some intrinsic hostility to faith; and due to an expectation that their mental health professional will themselves be hostile to faith in the lives of their patients.

 

So let's say you've gotten past these false impressions, and you have a friend, a family member with a deep depression, a pattern of behavior that makes you fearful for their future, or they're just plain stating an intention to kill themselves. What should you do?

 

First, if there is any immediate threat, you should simply call 911. That is simple and necessary. If the means to hurt one's self or others is up and out and in their hands, you should call 911. Ask if they can send a CIT trained officer, but call 911. (CIT trained because most jurisdictions have "crisis intervention trained" officers available, but it doesn't hurt to specify.)

 

The trickier part is if you have someone you've realized is talking about death, about hurting themselves in general terms, whose intentions you're worried about, but not clear what they'll do. Keep in mind that you can always, at any time, for ANY reason, call 211, which will connect you with Pathways of Central Ohio, serving Licking & Knox Counties.

 

211 or 345-HELP will put you in touch with trained phone crisis counselors who have a complete set of resource listings for central Ohio; they know how to help you figure out what to do next, and who to call.

 

Someone can say they are feeling so low they wish they were dead, and you will (and should) worry, and want to help. 211 is happy to help. If someone says, no matter how jokingly, "I want to kill myself," and they have done anything at all to make their intention happen – gathered a stash of pills, bought a hank of rope, talk about where they've put their gun – you MUST treat that as something more than "just a threat." And again, if there is even the smallest sense that there's an immediate threat, call 911.

 

You have the option during weekdays to call Crisis Services at our local Behavioral Healthcare Partners (bhcpartners.org), 522-8477 from 8 am to 5 pm and share your concerns about a family member or friend, or yourself. They can guide you in what to do, and outside of their hours: call 211 for much the same service.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him how you push back against stigma at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Notes from my Knapsack 8-15-13

Notes from my Knapsack – Granville Sentinel 8-15-13

Jeff Gill

 

A story on the way home (pt. 2)

 

Nelson had rented a car at the Columbus airport, and was driving east as his navigation device instructed.

 

The ramps and merges and exits were a labyrinth writ large, and mildly nerve-racking, although he thought there were few places more anxiety producing to get in and out of than the Miami terminal, which he was fairly used to.

 

His ex-wife and kids had moved to Miami years ago, and they loved it; he stayed in Charlotte, far enough to fly more than he drove when visiting, going often enough but not as much as he'd have liked. They had their lives, growing off in their own directions after college, the boy to FSU and his daughter to Wake Forest. Neither seemed interested or likely to give him grandchildren.

 

Or to make his sister an aunt, he thought, musing as the road straightened out, pointing due east and rolling up and down the mild hills of Ohio. There were moments of what, for Nelson, felt like grand vistas, though he suspected that locals were less impressed than he was.

 

His engineer's eye saw the drainage ahead, having crested a higher ridge which must have marked the watershed encompassing the urban area he was leaving behind. The valleys and distant ridges gathered watercourses to his left and right, the outflow somewhere on ahead.

 

It was clearly a rural area, and farms became more and more evident as he drew nearer to his destination; it made him wonder if this Granville was a farming community as much as a college town. With Denison in the heart of it, you would expect a different sort of country village, and it fit with the sign he saw flash by on his left, and high up atop a grain elevator, a single panel next to a flagpole at the summit, simply saying "Think" – not even an exclamation point, just the word, big and black.

 

If this Granville was a place where farmers and students would pause to think, it would be different than the kind of place he'd have thought his sister would be attracted to. She was more of a "Just do it!" person, with an exclamation point for sure, no question about it.

 

Sheryl's impulsive nature might have had something to do with her having listed Granville, OH as her hometown on the employment forms at the hospital where she'd only recently started working, but no one in Las Vegas knew her well enough to know what the connection was.

 

Nelson's work in hydraulic engineering, even after two kids through college, had left him comfortable enough, and the money his sister's insurance left to him felt like a sort of obligation. An obligation to find out what she cared about, to get to know his sister a bit better now that he no longer could, and put this bequest to work in her memory where he had so few.

 

What was the tie she had to this town, where as far as he knew from their wandering childhood they'd never lived, where there was no indication in her work history that she'd ever been as an adult? Yet he'd seen her strong, bold handwriting in the line marked "Hometown" put down Granville.

 

He curved off the exit the disembodied voice from his dashboard directed, and at the top of the ramp, turned left. Maybe this town could tell him something about his sister's history, and help him understand better his own.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him what you think happens next at knapsack77@gmail.com, or @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 8-10-13

Faith Works 8-10-13

Jeff Gill

 

Rick Warren and Me

___

 

Some years ago in this space I made a few comments about Rick Warren, and not long after got a cheery e-mail from him thanking me for the mention.

 

Of course, it could well have come from a staffer using an official account, but there were a few points to the missive that left me fairly certain it was from him, and no doubt the powers of internet search engines could put on someone's desk each Monday any time you'd been talked about online anywhere in the world, let alone in the US.

 

Pastor Rick has a ministry far beyond Saddleback in southern California, a congregation he founded and has grown to incredible size and scope itself. Outside of that location, his books and his public appearances on TV, at conferences, and through a web presence, has given him a chance to do pastoral care literally around the world.

 

And I've heard from more than one colleague that they've gotten a quick e-mail note from the man.

 

So he has a pastor's heart, no doubt, and as a Christian leader even if you don't agree with him in all things, you're in awe of what he's accomplished.

 

With all of that, I wish it were more of a pleasure to find my path, as it were, crossing his, but the circumstances don't allow it. He and I have come to the same place in our Christian walk, and our ministerial calling, and I can only wish that the meeting were under different circumstances.

 

Rick Warren has taken on a ministry, woven through all the others, to extend a word to the church about mental health, and to reduce the social stigmas around mental illness, encouraging people to pursue treatment and care in traditional psychology and mental health care with the full and complete support of their faith community. Anyone who's seen what happens when he and his wife Kay take on a project will have no doubt that this goal will be pursued with passion, energy, and we all pray together, positive results.

 

They came to this decision, tragically, after the suicide of their son, who struggled with mental health issues all through his teen and young adult years. I'm sure there are many strands to this particular story, but the end has been chopped off short, so his parents are seeking to splice and knot a new storyline into where all the sympathy and support they're getting now can connect.

 

My path, blessedly, has developed over many years, without any one dramatic moment to push me to this point. In working with housing and homelessness, in trying to help relieve and prevent poverty, and from involvement with our justice system over many years here in Licking County, I've come to see that mental health is the missing piece of so many puzzles. We have some great resources in central Ohio, but there is even greater need. Step by step, I've realized that the call to help people seek their own transformation, and indeed even to hear the Gospel call clearly, folks need to be able to get help to still the voices that drown out hope . . . sometimes, they really are hearing voices (or think they are), but often it's the voice of their assumptions and doubts and fears.

 

What we in the churches dare not do is be complacent about mental health, and relapse into assumptions about "if you want to change, you just need to pray." On the other hand, too many mental health professionals think that all religious people, especially evangelical Christians, believe that prayer excludes psychiatry or prescriptions. This is not at all true, but widely believed. People of faith need to be present and speaking for themselves in the mental health care debates.

 

One way we can do this is to share information, and affirm the value of professional care as part of what recovery looks like, within the church as well as all around it. I'd like to praise the work being done in Newark at Wilson Middle School to reduce stigma and share information, and I can't improve on what John Davis, the principal, and Dava Kaltenecker, their linkage coordinator, has put together on a single webpage.

 

Find the newarkcityschools.org webpage, click to Wilson Middle School, then go to the bottom of the left-hand sidebar for "Community Agencies." Click that, then "Behavioral Health." You will find a marvelous summary of what's available in Licking County. I think Rick Warren would say that's a first step. We'll talk about a few more soon.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he also now serves on the Mental Health & Recovery board for Licking & Knox Counties. Share your story of recovery with him at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 7-3-13

Faith Works 7-3-13

Jeff Gill

 

Held gently in trust

___

 

St. Luke's Episcopal Church in Granville is coming home tomorrow.

 

For the last year, they've been assembling their two or more in Jesus' name up at Swasey Chapel, and thanks to the co-operation of Denison University, they've not lost sheep but even gained a few.

 

They worshiped up on campus because down in the village, their historic structure was bent, nearly broken, by the sheer force of last year's June 29 derecho winds.

 

With trusses cracked, the building could not be used. A historic Greek Revival structure, built in 1837, St. Luke's is the oldest church building still in use in Licking County. There are older congregations, and in Newark, Trinity Episcopal's original 1834 building still stands, but shrouded in an office complex; a close second is Old Stone Church of Christ, built originally in 1838 but abandoned from the Civil War until 1913.

 

So the unique status of St. Luke's as a community and county institution is the original craftsmanship and design still on display, and that the building has fairly continuously been in use. There is an element of our common history that is embodied by this place, whether we're Episcopalian or not.

 

To restore the building without markedly changing the character of what makes it special has cost, over the last few years, an investment that ran up into seven figures. The congregation has leaned into the effort, giving sacrificially, even as a certain modest amount of aid has come in from non-members.

 

From the outside, you could ask if it would make sense to just start over, to pop up a pole barn and finish off the insides decently, and have a new building with minimal upkeep in the near-term, plus all those resources that didn't go into preserving a landmark now there to spend on mission and outreach.

 

You could ask that, although a reasonable response is to ask "would those gifts be there if you didn't have the focus of a historic building to raise them?" It's hard to know. And even more to the point, a casual observer would quickly notice that, if anything, St. Luke's mission and ministry to the wider community has, during this pilgrim period, if anything increased. They are active in running the Market Street Pantry in Newark for food assistance, even as the Great Granville Garage Sale and Turkey Trot 5K went on as usual, blessing the Licking County Coalition for Housing and Food Pantry Network of Licking County.

 

In fact, the congregation is acutely aware of the fact that they hold their church building in trust for more than just themselves.  That place, the history in and around it, and even the look and feel of the worship space, is something that is more than any one worship service can communicate: although I am sure that tomorrow, at 8 am and 10 am, Rev. Stephen Applegate will try!

 

T.S. Eliot was speaking of Little Gidding in England when he wrote these lines in 1942, during a time of trial for that country, when people of all faiths needed a connection, a tangible link to something that would endure. He said of the experience of visiting a historic church:

 

"You are not here to verify,/  Instruct yourself, or inform curiosity/ Or carry report.  You are here to kneel/ Where prayer has been valid.  And prayer is more/  Than an order of words, the conscious occupation/  Of the praying mind, or the sound of the voice praying."

 

For the congregation of St. Luke's, they will gather to kneel where prayer has been found valid for over 175 years, and where our prayers this day will gather around them.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he's delighted for his brothers and sisters at St. Luke's. Tell him about another historic church building at knapsack77@gmail.com, or @Knapsack on Twitter.

 

Knapsack 8-1-13

Notes from my Knapsack – Granville Sentinel 8-1-13

Jeff Gill

 

A story on the way home

___

 

"I've got to get out of here."

 

Nelson didn't say that out loud, but it was as distinct a thought as he'd had for some time.

 

He was looking out across the evening landscape of Las Vegas, with the jagged tips of the surrounding mountains still catching the last of the day's light, and the streets around the hospital were filled with headlights and taillights heading either way from his second story window.

 

Across the adjoining block, the raised expressway was also filled with cars, and Nelson knew that beyond it was the northern end of the famous Strip. He'd looked at it without seeing, in the backseat of a cab from the airport up the neon canyon shining at full even at midnight, not a full day before.

 

His sister was dead. There was some thought he would make it before she died, but he knew just enough about how nurses talked, since his sister was – had been – one herself. They didn't think it was likely, but it was worth a try.

 

Especially since it had been thirty years since he'd last talked to her.

 

Thirty years might be a stretch; he'd spoken on the phone to her, and even seen her on FaceTime over a computer screen, but they hadn't been face to face for all of three decades. Since their mother died, father had vanished (again), and life pulled them in their respective directions, the currents of career and love and personal interests had never brought them to the same state, let alone same town.

 

Until now. And now was over.

 

Apparently she had been in a club in one of the Strip hotels; no doubt he could recall which one by pulling out of his pocket the card nervously thrust at him by some casino functionary who had greeted him in the lobby of the hospital when he arrived, the same one who rushed out to pay his cabbie. They were clearly concerned that he was going to sue them, and it didn't suit his temperament to tell them there was not the faintest chance he would do that. The snappy suit was out of place in the hospital surroundings, and the wearer of it, after presenting his card and a request that Nelson call him if there was "anything we can do to help you in this painful time, anything at all," made his nervous exit – to everyone's relief.

 

The hospital social worker had told him she was probably intoxicated, and probably had been bumped by a crowd coming out of the show, one of the singer/magic/acrobatic somethings common along Las Vegas Boulevard, and she ended up falling in front of a bus. Nelson was, obscurely, surprised that Las Vegas had buses, but they did.

 

And one had killed his sister. Or had been what killed her. He felt the need to be precise about his feelings, because he didn't care for what happened when he let his feelings run riot. That had happened before, a long time ago but recent in memory, and it wasn't going to happen again.

 

The paperwork from the other hospital where Sheryl had worked was rushed over, a sort of professional courtesy arranged by the social worker. When she (what was her name? another card in his pocket…) had handed him the sheaf of forms and documents, he noticed the top sheet was a standard employment document, with information like name, address (an apartment he'd already visited across town, nearly empty of personal materials, unsurprisingly since she'd only been in Las Vegas a few weeks), and next-of-kin info with his own name and address in Florida staring matter-of-factly back at him.

 

What surprised him was the name of the place she'd filled in for "Hometown." He'd never heard of it, nor did it make sense that she called it hers, since he was pretty sure she'd not lived there in her first twenty-plus years.

Granville, Ohio.

 

Nelson thought to himself, not out loud, but quite distinctly: I guess I need to go there.

 

(end of part one)

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him what you think happens next at knapsack77@gmail.com, or @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 7-27

Faith Works 7-27-13

Jeff Gill

 

The Bible on the trail

___

 

 

In closing this summer series on the Bible as it is read and understood, at least in my Protestant context, I have a very personal coda I'd like to add.

 

Many of you know I spent a big hunk of June in New Mexico, at Philmont Scout Ranch. This is their 75^th year of providing backcountry experiences for groups of Scouts, in the Sangre de Cristo mountain range at the southern end of the Rocky Mountains, east of Taos, NM.

 

I'd dreamed of going to Philmont since I was a Boy Scout myself, and my two brothers went, but I had the chance to attend a National Jamboree, and was on summer camp staff for ten years, so just never got to go myself.

 

The Lad knew years ago that he would, with me as his dad, have to become a Scout and earn at least First Class rank, and he would have to go to Philmont . . . so I could go with him. (Anything beyond First Class is up to him!) Well, he earned the needed rank to attend what Scouting calls a "high adventure" experience, and we signed up over a year ago to be part of this crew. Our troop had such a good response we actually took two crews, twelve youth and six adults in total.

 

When Newark Central was kind enough to consider hiring me last summer as their regular pastor, I had to put a small caveat on the table: next June, I'm going to Philmont. I didn't pretend it had a blessed thing to do with ministry, but simply a life-long dream of mine and a family commitment that was already locked in. They were understanding, which I did and do appreciate.

 

There's a small ongoing hazard for our congregation in that, the first night at Philmont, we attended chapel services, and I learned that they have a large contingent of volunteer chaplains (Jewish, Catholic, LDS, & Protestant) who come for two or three weeks at a time. "Hmmmm," I said, rubbing my chin. Even then, that prospect sounded delightful.

 

After our ten days under pack loads, across almost 90 miles of mountainous terrain, up to over 12,000 feet and down through rocky valleys, sleeping on the ground and living without daily showers, the idea still sounded wonderful, even more so with how impressed I was having seen the effects of backcountry adventure and youth leadership at work.

 

We went to chapel right before our closing campfire on "Philmont Day 12," and truth be told, it was pretty much the same chapel service we attended on the evening of Day One. But I noticed something among the young men sitting alongside me at that service.

 

We heard the beginning of Psalm 42, speaking of the deer thirsting for water and how that experience is like the soul's desire for God: and they all looked up, intently. They had known thirst of a new sort on the trail, a thirst that might have to wait, that was uncertain of when and where refreshment might come. And they had seen deer, and elk, and bison gathering where the water was fresh and pure.

 

Then we heard Psalm 95, speaking of of how in God's hand are "the depths of the earth, and the mountain peaks belong to him." As the other Scouts sitting around the outdoor chapel were courteously attentive, our crews, the only ones present, as it happened that evening, who had been on the trail already, were leaning in, and listening closely, with nodding assent. Because they had, in the previous week, been in an old mine deep within the ground, and looked back to the small speck of light that was the entrance hundreds of yards behind them; the day before that, they had stood on a mountain top, the cold wind blowing sharp and strong, the world stretched out all around.

 

And it occurred to me that our lives in almost two weeks on the trail, carrying our water and measuring out the journey in terms of where the next spring could be found, clambering atop rocky crags and journeying into miners' workings and learning of ancient geology – in the backcountry, our lives were probably closer to life as lived in Bible times than if we'd spent twelve days in Israel itself today.

 

Thirst and hunger and heights and depths had taken us closer to the original sense of the stories than any year's worth of preaching could accomplish. And I realized that maybe a little camping & hiking has more to do with understanding scripture than I had anticipated.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him what experiences have made the Bible real for you at knapsack77@gmail.com, or @Knapsack on Twitter.

Knapsack 7-18-13

Notes from my Knapsack -- Granville Sentinel 7-18-13

Jeff Gill

 

An anniversary of note

___

 

If I asked you about a story where an American who married into an important British family ended up running a landed estate in the English countryside, you'd probably think I was talking about PBS' "Downton Abbey."

 

If I added in that the manor house part of this story played out from 1901 to 1927, with staff turnover and intrigue mingling with controversy in the nearby small community over the rights and character of the rural citizenry versus wealth and fame (or infamy), you'd be certain we're talking about Lord and Lady Grantham's establishment.

 

In fact, the woman we should be thinking of was born in Licking County just north of Granville 175 years ago in a few weeks' time. She has a rightful claim to more fame (or infamy) than she has, and our village is the home of one of two monuments to her memory found anywhere in the world.

 

Her name is Victoria Claflin Woodhull, or Victoria Woodhull Martin as she was best known in the last third of her eventful life, but she was "that poor Claflin girl" in Homer shortly after her birth on September 23, 1838.

 

To be fair, a number of books have been written about her, and you can find some of them at the Granville Public Library, opposite whose entrance a figure of Victoria comes out and rings the hour atop her memorial clock on the west face of the Robbins Hunter Museum.

 

Robbins Hunter, Jr. added the "V. Woodhull" memorial clock to his historic Avery-Downer House in 1974 because with the nation's bicentennial coming, he wanted to salute a famous and groundbreaking American with Licking County roots, and he chose "Notorious Victoria."

 

Victoria C. Woodhull is best known to American history for having made the first well-known and widely discussed run for President of the United States in 1872, even though women still did not have the right to even vote: a subject which the year before she had addressed, in the first time a woman had spoken officially to a Congressional committee.

 

Her life was filled with firsts, which themselves are worth a detailed review in a later column. But those groundbreaking achievements were also mingled with controversy, some inflicted on her, and some pursued by her, all of which left her reputation in the late 19^th century in tatters, and leading to her departure at the end of the 1870s for England with her sister Tennessee Claflin.

 

Married a third time into a British banking family with inherited estates in the west of England, Victoria became Mrs. John Biddulph Martin, with a house in the Hyde Park Gate neighborhood of London from 1883.

 

When Biddulph Martin died in 1901, she decided to remove herself for most of the year to the family country estate at Bredon's Norton, called Norton Park. Here she tried to implement her passions for reform on a scale smaller than the national, although she would from time to time try to put her influence behind encouraging Anglo-American co-operation.

 

And the Sherlock Holmes story "The Adventure of the Nobel Bachelor", written in 1892, has a number of indications that Conan Doyle had met and gotten to know Mrs. Woodhull Martin in London, including putting in Sherlock Holmes' mouth a speech often given by our own Victoria, about a desire to see the flags of the United States and Great Britain combined.

 

You are reminded of this odd link if you go to Victoria's other monument, the one not in Granville, but in Tewkesbury Abbey which Victoria and her daughter helped preserve, where the memorial tablet combines the flags of the land of her birth, and of her adopted home until her death in 1927.

 

How will we mark this remarkable woman in September for the 175^th anniversary of her birth?

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him your local history tidbit at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 7-13-13

Faith Works 7-13-13

Jeff Gill

 

Is the Bible a narrative?

___

 

We've been discussing this summer the role of the Bible, primarily as Christians understand it.

 

I suggested that we should look at the structure or outline of the 66 books that make up what most people call "The Holy Bible", considering the parallels between the traditional ordering of the Hebrew texts of the Old Testament (known as the Tanakh, or "Torah, prophets, and writings" in Judaism) and the Greek scriptures of the New Testament.

 

In the first installment of this series, I said we'd go on to talk about the Bible's narrative, and finally its meaning – not that we can sum it all up on either of those topics in 750 words!

 

But "narrative": you might ask, after we have broken down the Bible as a whole into the library that it also is, 39 books in the Old and 27 volumes in the New, whether it makes any sense to claim that they have a narrative binding them all together as if the library is a single work. You read four different books on Gettysburg, and you can see the overlaps and commonalities, but do they have a shared narrative?

 

In a sense, don't they? At least in terms of being about shared experiences, at a time and place to which they all refer. So perhaps my shelf of Gettysburg books shares a narrative arc . . . but the Bible?

 

Brad Pitt is a well-known public figure, and also somehow who at least seems to try hard to be an everyman of sorts (or at least as everyman as People's "Sexiest Man in the World" can be). He has working class roots, and is interested in keeping in touch with what you might call "real life," helping rebuild homes in New Orleans, traveling in the developing world, and talking to everyday folks in the places where he films.

 

Not long ago he was quoted in England's "The Guardian" newspaper; two summers ago he appeared in Terrence Malick's "The Tree of Life," a movie about family, life and death, and ultimately about faith:

 

Would Pitt describe his own upbringing as religious? "Are you kidding me? I grew up in the [deleted] buckle of the Bible Belt!" . . . "Terry and I, we have our areas where we meet and we have our respectful disagreements. He sees God in science and science in God, and I respect that. But this idea of an all-powerful, watching being that's controlling our moves and giving us a chance to say he's the greatest so we get into some eternal heaven – that just doesn't work for me, man. I got a real problem with it. I see the value of religion and what it offers to people as a cushion and I don't want to step on that. On the other hand, I've seen where I grew up how it becomes separatist, and I get quite aggravated and antagonistic. I see religion more as a truck stop on your way to figuring out who you are."

 

I suspect that Brad Pitt is every bit the everyman he claims to want to be with these sentiments. I've heard similar statements from folks sitting across from me at fast food places in Ohio, next to campfires in West Virginia, and so on . . . not an outright rejection of God, or a disbelief in a divine presence, but a rejection of the idea that such a being is in any meaningful way a "person," with interests or concerns, let alone having love for any one part of their creation.

 

Close on that rejection is a repudiation of religion, or more often "organized religion" as being able to represent, let alone speak for such a being. Or Being. And there's no getting around the fact that if an organization of any sort believes they are presenting a viewpoint that is connected to the Source of Being itself, they're not likely to be casually swayed by offhanded arguments around a campfire or at a lunch counter.

 

Organized religion, including the tradition to which I belong as a pastor, can be wrong. Wrong headed in intention, and wrongly supposing what right action is in certain circumstances. I've got no problem saying that. Just because I or a church body may be wrong doesn't mean their belief in God is. It just means that they, we, I didn't hear properly. My wife tells me I do this all the time.

 

But the narrative of the Bible in sum, I'd argue, is that God is a person, a divine person to be sure, but a person in the sense of knowing, caring, and acting – not just a force or a concept or a cosmic idea, but a person.

 

How to know this person is where we get to the question of meaning, and that's where I'd like to go next week.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him about the stories that are important to your life story in the Bible at knapsack77@gmail.com, or @Knapsack on Twitter.

August & Labor Day sermon themes

Aug. 4 – Colossians 3:1-11; Psalm 49:1-12*

                        "Someplace where you can't lose it"

 

Aug. 11 – Hebrews 11:1-3, 8-16; Luke 12:32-40*

                        "From a distance"

 

Aug. 18 – Hebrews 11:29 – 12:2; Luke 12:49-56*

                        "Made perfect, together"

 

Aug. 25 – Hebrews 12:18-29; Luke 13:10-17*

                        "Something untouchable"

 

Sept. 1 – Hebrews 13:1-8, 15-16; Luke 14:1, 7-14*

                        "Entertaining angels"

  

* The second text is only read at the 10:30 service.

Knapsack - Newark Central 7-10-13

Notes from my Knapsack – Newark Central 7-10-13

 

We're going to take a hike through the Bible the next two Saturdays!

 

No, you won't have to climb mountains or go twelve miles, but there is some actual walking involved. A few of you asked about the possibility of some summertime "Scripture walks," and I loved the idea.

 

The first is this Saturday, July 13, at Dawes Arboretum. We'll start at 9:30 am at the picnic shelter on the southern edge of the main parking area (Dawes is off of Rt. 13 south of Newark, enter, go through the gateway, and drive past the Visitors' Center on your right, then turn left into the large parking area and go to the back of it for our starting point).

 

Starting with Psalm 8 & 19, we'll cover a few miles of trail, pausing to reflect on Ezekiel 17, Matthew 13: 31-32, & Revelation 22:2. We'll be done by noon!

 

Then on July 20, the next Saturday, we'll shift from "The Bible & Nature" to "The Bible & the City," meeting in our own parking lot at 9:30 am and taking a walk down Hudson Ave., Mt. Vernon Rd., and looping over to Woods and back to the church. As we walk, we'll consider Psalms 46 & 87, Isaiah 58:12, Nehemiah 3, and Revelation 21.

 

Get out your Bible and comfortable walking shoes, and come join us in a moving time of study!

 

In grace & peace, Pastor Jeff

Faith Works 7-06-13

Faith Works 7-06-13

Jeff Gill

 

237 birthdays, and counting

___

 

Yes, I'm back from Philmont Scout Ranch, and yes, I know you've been promised a series of columns on the Bible that's not done yet (two more to go!), but I would like to seasonally digress before we go on with my scriptural mediations.

 

We're wrapping up a week of celebrations and commemorations of the birth of the United States of America, now 237 years young. During the days leading up to July 4, there've been some other special observances for the 150^th anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg on July 1, 2, & 3, and also of the end of the Siege of Vicksburg. Here in Ohio, we're creeping up on the bicentennial of the Battle of Lake Erie, Oliver Hazard Perry's key contribution to the War of 1812 and perhaps the brightest moment for the USA in that conflict other than the writing of "The Star Spangled Banner" in Baltimore harbor.

 

But it's the Glorious Fourth that we tend to focus on, which marks . . . well, what does it mark, exactly?

 

Technically, it is the date on the Declaration of Independence, approved by the Second Continental Congress in Philadelphia. John Adams had pressed the resolution which the Declaration itself represents on July 2^nd, and it was signed on August 2^nd, but the resolution was, technically, "ratified" on July 4^th, and some evidence indicates it was first read to the public on July 4.

 

John Adams wanted the country to celebrate July 2, which he felt was the moment in which a new nation was born, but he reconciled himself in later years to July 4, dying on that day in the same year as Thomas Jefferson, which certainly ratified the date in a strange sense.

 

Many of you probably are familiar with a letter John wrote to Abigail Adams and this passage from it: "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 Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more."

 

Yes, he was talking about what he thought July 2^nd would be for us in the future, but the general outlines have held true to our celebrations for the Fourth of July . . . except for . . . you're probably a step ahead of me here, aren't you? "Solemn Acts of Devotion to God Almighty."

 

You can tell that John, Massachusetts puritan that he might be by birth, was wanting something more than solemnity ("Shews, Games, Sports" et cetera are all on the list), but devotional moments are part of the program in his vision of July 4. Did we use them all up back on Memorial Day weekend, those pauses for reflection and prayerful appreciation? I don't have a program in mind, I'm just noticing the general lack.

 

Part of what we might need to reclaim Adams' sense of what this observance should be is right there in the letter to Abigail.  Because while many have heard the preceeding statement, too few know the very next lines of their July 3, 1776 correspondence: "You will think me transported with Enthusiasm but I am not. -- I am well aware of the Toil and Blood and Treasure, that it will cost Us to maintain this Declaration, and support and defend these States. -- Yet through all the Gloom I can see the Rays of ravishing Light and Glory. I can see that the End is more than worth all the Means. And that Posterity will tryumph in that Days Transaction, even altho We should rue it, which I trust in God We shall not."

 

As we celebrate freedom, and recall from Gettysburg's battlefield a "new birth of freedom" Lincoln called for from there; as we watch Egypt stumble in implementing democracy and we welcome home our "blood and treasure" from Afghanistan even as we hear calls to send troops in harm's way for well-meant purposes around the world; we might just read and reflect in our Independence Day events and activities on the rueful reflection and prayerful consideration suggested by John Adams in these lines, the ones he wrote right after commending to us "bonfires and illuminations" and fireworks in the night.

 

I trust in God that we shall.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him about your reflections on independence & freedom at knapsack77@gmail.com or @Knapsack on Twitter.

Knapsack 7-04-13

Notes from my Knapsack 7-04-13

Jeff Gill

What is America, anyhow?

___

It was disconcerting to read a letter to the editor in a recent Sentinel expressing the hope that a writer whose opinions disagreed with their own would not be heard from again here.

These pages, and the columns of any American newspaper, are ideally a place where the rich, full, complex and diverse range of community viewpoint can be aired, where they may find themselves in open disagreement, and where they might be able to exchange full and frank arguments about the basis of their respective perspectives.

To say not "I disagree with you, and here's why," but rather "I wish you'd go away and not come back" is . . . well, to me, that's not America.

What is America?

America is Eugene V. Debs, and William F. Buckley. This country has given birth to the Republican Party, and the Democratic Socialists of America. We are Mother Jones, and Mother Angelica. We’re Rachel Carson and Dorothy Day, Carrie Nation and Hillary Rodham Clinton. This nation is Jimmy Carter and Ronald Reagan, Strom Thurmond and Robert Byrd, Harold Stassen and Norman Thomas.

Woody Guthrie's song reminds us we extend as a nation from California to the New York island, even as Irving Berlin's song asks God to bless America; we also encompass the train they call the City of New Orleans, and the Big Rock Candy Mountain, and on beyond the hundredth meridian.

Within this very week, committed pacifists will enjoy martial music from marching bands as fireworks explode overhead, while elsewhere on the ground in broad daylight SEAL teams in combat zones will use alternative dispute resolution techniques to end arguments peacefully. Those are both very much America.

America is "Howl" and "Leaves of Grass" and "Casey at the Bat." We are Phyllis Schlafly and Madalyn Murray O'Hair. Our nation has been led by elected officials like Harvey Milk, Richard J. Daley, Barbara Jordan, Bella Abzug, Salmon P. Chase, and James Traficant.

To our bemusement and amazement, we are "Birth of a Nation" and "Die Hard 5," but we're also "The Trip to Bountiful," "Places in the Heart," "Days of Heaven," and "Field of Dreams."  Of course, we're also "Transformers: Dark of the Moon."

In music, we're the inspiration if not the nationality of the composers of "From the New World" and "Grand Canyon Suite," while we're certainly "West Side Story" and "Fanfare for the Common Man." We are the Ramones and Frank Sinatra; we're Etta James and Janis Joplin and Joan Jett; we're Willie Nelson and Mark Mothersbaugh. America is jazz and rock and roll and elevator music, we are jukeboxes and iPods and streaming downloads, we are for good or ill the home of MTV and BET and CMT as much as we are Univision and Telmundo.

America can be Scout troops and soccer leagues, art academies and drill teams, amateurs and professionals working side by side with children underfoot and interns doing the heavy lifting. We're capitalists and state socialists and social democrats. We're media celebrities if only for fifteen minutes, and we're small town publishers of weekly print products that work three times as hard to sell the same amount of ad space.

As Walt Whitman, that great unacknowledged legislator of Camden, NJ said, "Do I contradict myself? / Very well then I contradict myself, / (I am large, I contain multitudes.)"

And we need us all, for it is only from "e pluribus" that we get our "unum"; it is only out of many that we can find our common oneness. Because that's what America is: a one that only can be found through the many, and as for that many, as Uncle Sam's finger points out, this means you, too.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in central Ohio; tell him where you find America at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.