Notes From My Knapsack 2-5-15

Notes From My Knapsack 2-5-15

Jeff Gill

 

A Body in the Well: Feb. 1816

___

"Call for Hezekiah Mirk! Call for Hezekiah Mirk!"

 

The boy's shouts echoed off the slope of Sugar Loaf to the east, caroming faintly from Prospect Hill to the north and back west from Orchard Hill, blocking the already risen sun from the main intersection of Granville.

 

To the south, the valley of the Pataskala River opened out, down the slope past the Burying Ground. Hezekiah Mirk sat looking out over the valley, on the end of Mr. Gavit's tavern porch, sliding a blade across his sharpening stone with a steady whishh, whishh, whishh.

 

"Mister Mirk, I believe someone is calling for you," said Sarah Gavit from inside the door, over near the fireplace where she'd been walking an armload of wood in from the other end of the porch. She came back and began to close the heavy timbered door, leaning out enough to stare quizzically at his back. Whishh, whishh, whishh.

 

As if he saw her clearly and knew her thoughts as well, without looking up from his task Hezekiah said "He will get here soon enough at that rate."

 

She leaned back and began to close the door, then realized the patter of booted feet down Broad Street was what he referred to; the day's chill was not quite enough to keep her from not quite pulling the door shut, and listening at the opening.

 

"Mister Mirk, Mister Mirk, there's a body in the well!" So shouted a young lad, tall and lank, out of breath but with enough energy to leap onto the porch without taking the two steps, nearly falling across the pile of wood the Honorable Mister Gavit had piled at the street end the night before.

 

"Sit yourself down, take a breath while you still have one," said Hezekiah, standing and turning in one easy motion from his seat on the other end of the alarmingly creaking porch. "Whose well?"

 

"Mister Avery's well, beyond Sugar Loaf," the boy replied, gasping his way to more regular breath with admirable rapidity. "His wife found it this morning when she went to draw water." Sarah Gavit snorted just inside the front door, making the lad jump, turn, bow, and then go on. "He and his hired man pulled the body out, and it's no one they know from here."

 

"And newly arrived in Granville, they expect me to know him?" asked Hezekiah beneath bristling eyebrows. His already dark and ruddy face beneath a cap of thick black curls furrowed in a not-unusual frown, not unfriendly, either, but the worried look that people in the village were already learning meant thinking more than disliking.

 

"No, sir," answered the lad, "but since you've come from the wars and all, sir, they hoped you would know a bit more about how he . . . why it is that . . . "

 

"How he died? They take me as an expert on that subject, do they?"

 

The lad nodded glumly. Peters' boy, he suddenly remembered.

 

"Well, I expect I am. Not the only man in this place familiar with life's end, but with more knowledge of it than I might wish. Let me get my coat."

 

Sarah Gavit stepped back, holding open the door for him, to which he offered a courteous and sardonic bow, and then swiftly walked into the long room in the front of the tavern, plucked his well-worn Army coat off a peg near the fire, and made a slighter bow to the house's mistress as he went back out onto the porch. She closed the door behind him, and went back to her chores, questions set aside like a task whose time has not yet arrived.

 

Outside, fastening up his brass buttons, the boy asked Hezekiah "Do y'think he was murdered, Mister Mirk?"

 

With a short laugh that was more of a bark, he replied "That, or he was uncommonly clumsy. Come, show me the way."

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him what you'd like to learn about Granville history at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 1-31-15

Faith Works 1-31-15

Jeff Gill

 

Why a preaching robe?

___

 

 

Cue the "disrobed" jokes.

 

You can call them preaching gowns, Geneva gowns, academic gowns, and any more you don't see them all that often, but a special robe or gown for preaching has been a standard over the last generation.

 

In my own tradition, which has had its splits over the years, a hundred years ago a morning coat and striped trousers were more the norm, at least in Ohio; it "casualed" to a dark suit somewhere around World War I, and that was traditional in most Disciples of Christ, Church of Christ, and a fair number of Baptist congregations for many years.

 

Preaching robes, the cousin to more formal liturgical vestments still called for in communions like the Anglican and Episcopal, Lutheran, and of course Roman Catholic Christian traditions, are a practical solution to a problem many of us wrestle with again today.

 

If you are a presider or preacher in the liturgical traditions above mentioned, you don't get up Sunday and wonder "what should I wear?" It really doesn't matter much (although many traditions have guidelines for presiders on their subfusc wear, as it's referred to), since in a truly liturgical tradition, you might have your personal garb, a cassock over that, an alb atop that, and possibly a stole and cope and . . . well, it gets complicated.

 

Most Christian traditions common in Ohio, if not liturgically emphatic, either expected preachers to wear a somber suit (we're talking almost entirely men back in the day, too), or a simple black gown. A preaching stole began to be standard, where both the Christian calendar and some personal emphasis could be expressed. The stole, a narrow sort-of-scarf that hangs down in front going around the back of your neck, would display the color of the church season (purple in Advent and Lent, white for Christmas and Easter, red at Pentecost and ordinations, green for nearly everything else), and symbols of the Gospel on the ends, embroidered or woven.

 

At my ordination, I received a number of stoles, one from my congregation with the Disciples' chalice on it, one from my family woven in many colors, and one from my wife she'd picked up at a Benedictine monastery we'd been visiting earlier that she saw me handle with admiration. They symbolize both the towel Jesus took on an a servant at the Last Supper for the footwashing, and the yoke we share with Christ in leadership.

 

But today robes and gowns and such are considered a wee bit formal, and contemporary worship usually is led by folks in their nicer street clothes (clean, tidy, but ordinary), and that says something important to visitors as well.

 

At our congregation, I split the difference (yes, I know, you're shocked). The choir has robes, as they have a set-apart role in worship just like the preacher, and truth be told they don't love them, so our mutual deal is that in Advent through Christmas, and as we get further into Lent and for Easter, we robe up. And when I'm doing a formal church wedding, I both robe and have a stole my sister made with a cross and linked wedding rings, from the same material as her dress (she's talented that way). Sometimes for funerals in the church I will "go robed" and other times not. It depends.

 

And that's the challenge today. It's not, for most of us, a simple "check the book" decision on what to wear. Many of us in preaching and pastoring know that too much formality can push away a seeker, but some in search of a faith to hold want a little more structure than their lives have right now. It's a fine balance, when to lead in everyday clothes, when to don all the special garments I can find and keep the personal statements to a minimum. I go back and forth, and suspect that's the new normal.

 

It does mean that on Sunday morning you have to think, if you're preaching, about what to wear, something my honored predecessors mostly didn't, unless it was because they had a lunch program after church. There's something to the steady simplicity of Martin Luther's choice of a basic black academic gown, signaling "I've done my studies, and have prepared this word to you" without any ostentation or attitude.

 

That, and a bright woven stole on the dark background, is my favorite preaching uniform. What's yours?

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County. Tell him what you think best clothes a preacher or worship leader at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 1-24-15

Faith Works 1-24-15

Jeff Gill

 

Why a choir?

___

 

My little series for 2015 on "why?' about various aspects of church life needed to shift a bit this week from my original, semi-methodical plan.

 

(Stop laughing. I can be methodical, if not Methodist. Sometimes!)

 

Today, at Second Presbyterian Church, we will have a celebration of the life of Ann Glaser. Ann was a musician herself, and a music teacher in public schools (most notably in heath), but I knew her as a church choir director. She had been retired for many years, in very poor health these last few, but she never stopped singing.

 

Ann was a member at Second, and I thank Rev. Charlie Smith and their organist Rick Black for letting me be a part of Ann's homegoing; she directed both vocal and handbell choirs at Second, then when they hired a full-time music director she shifted to St. John's UCC, then came to Central Christian where I met her in my previous time at the church I now pastor, then as the associate.

 

She loved handbells, and her daughter Kris and I believe she was the first to bring handbell choirs to Licking County, a form of group performance that is now in many congregations around our area. She and Kris also put on the first handbell festival for the area in the early 90s, affirming and celebrating the unique qualities of these musical devices; the sound of eight handbell choirs playing together is something I hope never to forget.

 

But why do churches, most of them, have choirs in the first place? Well, like so many of these "why" questions, it goes back to monks. The monastic enclosures and customs that shape everything from school commencement ceremonies to Harry Potter iconography.

 

You catch a hint of this history in the names of the standard choir sections. A monastic choir would have been all male (convents are a completely different story, parallel history, for a later telling). The tenor voice "holds" the melody – think "tenacity" or "tenant" and you get the linguistic hook – so then lower voices form a "bass" from the Latin and Italian for "low". Higher voices were, of course, "alto" and those higher, supra- to the musical line, make up sopranos.

 

Most musical terms come from Italian, because the more Latinate history is also more one of chant, the sung form of religious service and worship that would carry through a vast stone church in the time before electronic amplification. Singing in a monotone can have its charms, but harmonies and polyphonies steadily developed through the centuries, and the parts we associate with a "standard" Western choir.

 

Even in the Protestant era – think Bach in Lutheran Germany – the idea that the music for a worship service is best delivered by a trained choir held steady, monks and nuns aside. The profession of choral singing developed, there and in Anglican churches of the English-speaking world.

 

In the resistance to state churches that gave birth to Congregational and Baptist forms, there was some reaction against choirs. A paid, set-apart group leading worship was displaced in favor of congregational singing, hence the rise of hymnody and hymns for all to join.

 

Early America in this, as most things, saw all sorts; the last century has seen a general leveling, with fewer churches having paid soloists let alone choirs, but more congregations of all types emphasizing everyone singing (contemporary worship we'll also leave to another day). But we've also all seen that, left entirely on their own, congregations don't always sing out, let alone get an enjoyment of parts and harmonies. A few trained, even if voluntary singers in a choir, can bring out the best in the whole gathering, and a special worship offering or two can add even more at the same time.

 

Ann Glaser gave over a big part of her life to being that key trained professional, a choir director, who could lead the chorus but was always mindful of the congregation. I'm blessed today to have Patty Comisford and Susie Morris in those roles with our choirs at Central, and a strong chancel choir (that also has a great fellowship spirit together). Most pastors know that good choir directors are, as Proverbs 31 almost says, more precious than rubies.

 

I should know; when I found a good choir director, I married her!

 

For my wife Joyce, for Patty and Susie, for Kris and her mother Ann whose passing we mark today, for your choir director wherever you worship: let us all give thanks.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him about your use of music in worship at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Knapsack 1-21-15

Notes From My Knapsack 1-21-15

Jeff Gill

 

Cold, hard, silent seasons

___

 

Once the holidays are behind us, and even the college football national championship is a memory, not an anticipation, we're simply in winter.

 

Cold, hard, silent winter. Sometimes with snow, often with ice, always with a chill that reaches deep within, to rattle bones and shiver the skin.

 

This is why John Sutphin Jones left behind the beauty of Bryn Du and founded Naples, Florida (that long pier out to deep water? it ran a coal car rail line to bring baggage from steamers in to shore, thanks to the Sunday Creek Mining Company), that is why so many "snowbirds" leave us in central Ohio and flee to warmer climes whether on the Gulf, the Rio Grande, or any points south they can find.

 

Winter in central Ohio can be very, very hard. Hard on houses, hard on cars, hard on bodies, young, old, aging or infant. We've had a long run of fairly mellow seasons, with just the high drama of ice storms and derechos for seasoning. Last winter there was a coating of snow for most of the darkest weeks of winter; this winter our snow hasn't been as substantial, but the temps have more than made up for the lack of frozen precipitation.

 

Is there more or less winter in our future? Even the assumption of global climate change due to human impacts doesn't clarify what central Ohio will see over the next few decades: the models for what's often called warming can mean cooling and snowpack here even as glaciers melt elsewhere.

 

My aging joints and almanac interpretations point towards a more wintry future for Granville, with snow and cold to mark the season. Good news for skiers, not-so-good for pretty much everyone else.

 

Tree trimming means that limbs are clipped back beyond where they can freeze and fall onto power lines; snow blades and salt spreaders on village trucks keep the side streets clear, or at least maneuverable. Along Broadway, the restaurants are looking to specials that fight off the chill, even as our frozen custard shop is shuttered and dark until more friendly temperatures prevail

 

Comet Lovejoy has been a feature of night skies for those who know where to look, a borderline naked-eye cometary body recently discovered and briefly in view across the flanks of Taurus, now fading as it moves past the Sun. Orion gazes impassively at the shimmering fuzzy light to his right, while Sirius leaps to pursue from below and to the left as you look into the southern skies on these icy but crystalline nights.

 

Winter in Ohio has some attractions, the lines of low-light shadow across snowy coatings making a frigid geometry out of overpasses and tree limbs. Returning to warm living rooms and burrowing under thick blankets can bring a joyful glow to even the most wearied heart.

 

And bit by bit, morning by morning, the light at dawn comes sooner and sooner, days growing longer and night, and cold, feeling constraints on either end. Soon enough, we'll groan at dawn's early light, and mutter about the heat. In those days, may we remember these!

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in central Ohio; tell him about your joys of wintertime at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 1-17-15

Faith Works 1-17-15

Jeff Gill

 

Why a preacher?

___

 

Last week, I invited you to think through the question with me "why a pastor?"

 

What you may or may not think of as much the same thing is "why a preacher?"

 

Preacher, parson, reverend, padre, pastor are all ways of referring to the role I was talking about last week. You may hear "preacher man" but of course in many, even most traditions today, the ministerial role may be fulfilled by a preacher woman – my own denomination has long had women in ministry, and it was a lady Rev. who baptized and married my mother, so it's in my DNA of ministry images that women can serve in that central role of Christian leadership.

 

Preaching, public speaking in church, is an area that women in ministry have entered, and felt resistance in: we're not far from an era when the power of the voice was all that got a message to the back rows, and men were the assumed voice of authority in the culture as well as in church.

 

To be a preacher, though, is at essence to be a storyteller, and there are many means and modes in which to tell stories. Loud and overwhelming isn't the only way, not even always the best way, to take a tale and tell it to a gathering of hearers. So women in preaching has helped, I think, to expand everyone's understandings of ministry for many different approaches, not just genders.

 

Why, though, do we need preachers as part of what faith communities do? Is preaching to tell people what to do, or how to live? Can you do what religious folk call worship without preaching?

 

As a Christian pastor, I have a story to tell. The story of God's promises fulfilled and will revealed in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth is my story. It can be your story, too, and basically my job each week is . . . to tell the same story, again and again, so all may hear and know and understand and believe.

 

In other words, I tell the same story every week, every occasion for worship. No, really, that's what I do.

 

And I think most preachers in the Christian community would admit, with varying degrees of ruefulness, that we're just telling the same old, old story over and over and over again.

 

You can see where that takes some special skills – just to make the gospel story fresh and new and making sense in today's context (sometimes referred to as "keeping it relevant"). Some preachers are short and succinct, and others are out of an expository tradition where a longer, more methodical presentation of the Bible version of the gospel is the norm. So sermons may be more of a homily, five minutes or so in length; I grew up in a church where a thirty minute sermon was considered standard, twenty-five minutes being a gift for which everyone gave thanks at Sunday dinner. And our local history tells of preachers in the 1800s who were praised and honored for their ninety minute to three hour long sermons.

 

Seriously. (They didn't have anything else to entertain them, you might say uncharitably.)

 

I am generally what's called a "lectionary preacher," which is a three year cycle of the Christian Bible, Old and New Testaments, that many church bodies share together as a pattern for worship and sermons. Since the first Sunday of Advent last month, we've been in Year B of that cycle, with an emphasis this lectionary year on Mark's Gospel, A going with Matthew, C with Luke, and John's (the Fourth) Gospel sifted through all three, especially around Christmas and Easter.

 

But last year I took a different approach for a congregational effort to read the Bible together in a chronological approach, and left the lectionary behind. It's a guideline, but a good one; in general, the lectionary keeps me from just preaching on my favorite three or thirty passages, and not getting out into some of the wider expanses of Bible reading and preaching.

 

Can the laity, "lay members," non-ordained, not seminary trained people, preach out of scripture and tell the stories of the Bible in an illuminative way for the congregation?  Sure they can, but it helps to have a solid educated grounding in what the Bible is saying, so we can re-tell those stories in an inviting, converting, transforming way.

 

Have you ever preached a sermon? Have you ever wanted to?

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him about preaching has changed your life at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Downton Christian Church cabinet meeting

Downton Christian Church cabinet meeting (transcript)

 

Rev. Charles Carson: I believe it is time for us to begin. If you will take up your agendas and…

 

Thomas Barrow, chair of the property committee: Pardon me, but it doesn't look like we're all here yet. Perhaps if we waited a few more moments?

 

Mrs. Beryl Patmore, president of the CWF: Time's a wastin', I'd say. Those ham loaves aren't going to make themselves.

 

Miss Daisy Mason, new deaconess chair: Ooh, I could go check the parking lot and…

 

Mrs. Patmore: Sit down, Daisy.

 

Rev. Carson: As I was saying, our agenda calls for an opening devotional and prayer, and I've asked Dr. Clarkson to…

 

Robert Crawley, chair of the trustees (and owner of Grantham Realty): In fact, I had prepared a little something for this occasion, Rev. Carson, if you wouldn't mind.

 

Rev. Carson: Of course, that would be splendid, if indeed Dr. Clarkson does not…

 

Dr. Richard Clarkson, chair of the deacons: Mine will keep to the next month's meeting. (Shakes head resignedly.)

 

Rev. Carson: Why thank you, Doctor, that's very kind of you.

 

Mr. Crawley: In the later chapters of Isaiah, well beyond the familiar lines of comfort to which I know we all regularly turn in our travels through this vale of woe…

 

(Ten minutes later)

 

Mr. Crawley: …and with that brief survey, I fear we must conclude. (Sudden jerking of heads around the table from nearly nodding off.)

 

Rev. Carson (gently): And the prayer, Mr. Crawley?

 

Mr. Crawley: Oh, Dr. Clarkson may do that.

 

Dr. Clarkson: What? Who? Oh, yes, certainly. (Discontented shake of his head; prays.)

 

All: Amen.

 

Rev. Carson: So now if we could get started, not that we haven't been engaged in some very productive work (nodding to Mr. Crawley, who beams back at him), but on your agendas, you will next see that we have a special proposal from Mr. Barrow as to the re-roofing of the education wing.

 

Mrs. Elsie Hughes, chair of evangelism (softly): Now we're in for it.

 

Mr. Barrow: What was that, Mrs. Hughes?

Mrs. Hughes: Oh, nothing Mr. Barrow, not a thing that concerns you.

 

Mr. Barrow: Regardless, as I was saying, I have this friend who has been by our church a few times, not to attend, mind you, I'm sure he's very active in a church of his own elsewhere, not that that's any of my business, but when he's come by here, he's noticed our hail damage.

 

Mr. Tom Branson, chair of the men's fellowship: Hail damage, Mr. Barrow? I'd not noticed anything like that.

 

Mr. Barrow (archly): Which you wouldn't. That's the sort of thing you wouldn't notice unless you were a roofing expert, which my, um, associate happens to be. He has very kindly offered to re-roof our entire complex for what, I can assure you, is a very reasonable amount, and assures me that we won't be out more than ten percent of the total since he will get it from the insurance company for the hail damage.

 

Mr. Crawley: Well, that's good, then.

 

Mrs. Patmore (softly): Ten percent back to him, more likely.

 

Mr. Barrow: What was that, Mrs. Patmore?

Mrs. Patmore: Oh, just a tickle in my throat. Never you mind.

 

Mr. Barrow: I see. (Glowers.)

 

Rev. Carson: Ahem. That's a question that should involve the finance committee, which is chaired by Ms. Mary, Mr. Robert's daughter, who was not able to attend due to a pressing engagement elsewhere. She was going to send her sister Edith, who turns out to be involved with something else tonight.

 

Mr. Crawley: I'm sure they're spending their time wisely.

 

(Around table generally): Oh, certainly….of course….yes, yes….

 

Rev. Carson: I was going to ask of the memorials committee if there were funds there we could use, to initiate this roofing project.

 

Mr. John Bates, memorials committee: No.

 

Rev. Carson: Ah. I see. Well, that sounds definite.

 

Mr. Branson: Could I ask, Mr. Barrow, if he has any details in hand about the type and quality of the new roofing, or what the total cost is likely to be?

 

Mr. Barrow: I've given this matter my best attention, and am fully aware of everything that goes into the question. The, um, details of the roofing materials are, well, something we can find out quickly from my . . . friend. They will be extremely cost-effective, I'm certain of that. And the overall color scheme will only change slightly, from the grey pebbled look we have now to a more slate grey texture.

 

Mr. Crawley: Oh. (furrowed brow)

 

Rev. Carson: Indeed?

 

Mrs. Patmore: Might one inquire what would be the problem with that?

Mrs. Hughes: Widow Violet wouldn't like it. (General raising of eyebrows.)

 

Miss Daisy: I don't understand; Mrs. Crawley isn't even on the cabinet?

 

(Shaking of heads around the table; Mrs. Patmore scribbles something on the back of her agenda, slides it over to Daisy, who quietly says "Ohhhhh.")

 

Rev. Carson: That would seem to close that line of inquiry rather completely. (Mr. Barrow looks disgusted, says nothing.) Let's continue on through our agenda in order, then, shall we?

Faith Works 1-10-15

Faith Works 1-10-15

Jeff Gill

 

Why a pastor?

___

 

So I promised to spend the first weeks of this new year answering some "why?" questions about typical forms of faith and practice, both for those who are not part of religious communities, and for those of us inside of them who don't often have a reason to stop and ask "why do we do this, or have this, or say this as Christians?"

 

One question that comes up in talking to non-participants in faith communities is a personal angle: so Jeff, what is it you do? Or in the general format here, "why a pastor?"

 

There are long theological responses available, and I may just let this be a two week long answer, but I'm going to start with what a pastor, or at least this pastor, does.

 

In making up my usual year end tally for the January meeting of what my church calls "the elders," the spiritual leadership of the congregation, I looked back at 2014: in rough estimates from some specific numbers that are neither here nor there, I spent about 100 hours on weddings, 150 hours on funerals, 325 hours on non-commuting driving for church work around Licking, Delaware, and Franklin Counties (plus a half-dozen trips to our regional camp in Union County), 40 hours with work on behalf of our denomination (called a region in my communion, but other bodies might call this the district or diocese or conference), 1000 hours on home visits of all sorts (nursing residential care to the simply home bound), 300 hours on surgery/hospital calling, 150 on Bible studies, 120 on board & committee meetings of all sorts, 200 on print & e-mail communications (newsletters, stewardship campaign, e-mailed devotionals). Now, I figure a standard full time ministry week as typically 60 hours, and I worked 50 weeks last year . . . that's 3,000 hours. Add to the above year-end report figures 51 Sundays, call 'em 400 hours net, plus (+100+150+325+40+1000+300+150+120+200), and you not only cross the 3,000 figure, you see why sermon prep always ends up Saturday night.

 

There's also a certain amount of housekeeping that ends up being done by me that I might be able to delegate better (washing up the coffee pots on Monday or changing the sign out front, except I'm very picky about how the letters line up, what with my mild obsessive compulsive tendencies), but that gives you a year-long panorama of what is, I think, a fairly typical pastor's time budget.

 

If our congregation of some 300 members and probably 450 connected souls in total didn't have a pastor, these would either be done on a voluntary basis, or they wouldn't happen. There are church bodies that have no formally "set aside" clergy, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints perhaps being the best known of them (also known as "Mormons"). And in some groups, as among Catholic Christians, the set-apart ministry of the priesthood is a very specific body of men indeed, and the things they do at the table in Communion or other sacramental acts can only be done by them.

 

In my religious tradition, the congregation can do Holy Communion without me even being in the building; we have what's technically known as "lay presidency" at the table. Communion is done reverently and respectfully, and that's come to mean that more often than not the clergyperson is presiding . . . but they don't have to.

 

What I see myself as, specifically, is the "preaching and teaching elder" that Paul speaks of in I Timothy 5:17, and the person asked to take on that responsibility the apostle also notes should be paid. So you see a precedent for a position such as a pastor all the way back into the earliest Christian church.

 

The idea is that you receive some compensation so that you can focus on preaching and teaching well, and that's where I worry a bit. As you can tell, calling and managing tend to eat the hours when you're in a modern pastorate, and to keep time set aside even as a full time clergymember for prayer and study can be a challenge. And that's why I like having the eldership of the church, where we have spiritual leadership together, to help keep me accountable to that core mission in my ministry!

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he doesn't spend enough time on prayer and study for his sermons. Tell him what you think he should cut back at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

 

Faith Works 1-03-15

Faith Works 1-03-15
Jeff Gill

You might just ask "why?"
___

This column is written at the beginning of a new year, with my intention being to chart a course for what will be a sort of series in the coming weeks.

It's not meant to be a menu, or a timetable, let alone a table of contents, but it is a sort of trailer, giving you all some hints as to the overall theme of what I think folks would like to read here . . . but leaving myself enough flexibility in later edits and final cuts to make changes based, in part, on your feedback.

My main focus in going to be "Why?' As in, why do Christians have, let alone care so much, about having a book they call their Bible? Why do we pray? Why do most groups within Christendom have clergy? Why do we worship together in groups? Why does marriage occupy such an important place in faith community identity, and why do we define it the way we do?

Before I go any further, let me cop to my usual outs: this is all quite biased towards Christianity in general, and my own perspective will always tend to the Protestant standpoint even when I'm probably not meaning to. I like to think I can speak coherently about Catholicism, and Lutheranism, Wesleyan and Anglican/Episcopalianism streams, the more Reformed Protestant groups (Presbyterians and some Baptists), and the strongly Congregational angle is one I come at as a native, but I try to keep up with developments among the Pentecostal, Orthodox (Eastern and otherwise), and Anabaptist traditions.

But east central Ohio has a history that is deeply rooted in Presbyterian, Methodist, and Baptist forms of Christian faith and practice; Southern Baptists in recent years have come to outnumber Northern, which are nowadays American Baptist Churches, and the Catholic Christian community has deep continuities in our area, going back to French trappers and traders and Jesuit missionaries, even as the Moravian Church, all too little known today even by their Protestant heirs, shaped much of our map in this half of the state.

So multiple groups are part of the story, even as the rise – or some would say "return" – of Enlightenment values has led to an increase in secularism and agnostic if not always atheistic values and practices in our culture today.

What is a constant for me, in talking about faith and works of faith in Licking County to a general audience, is that the vast majority of readers and audiences are what is often called "un-churched" and can also be tagged as "de-churched" people. On any given Sunday, counting broadly and even including those who drive out of county to attend services, barely 20% are in a worship experience. If you allow for the end of "blue laws" closing most businesses on Sundays, and modern work schedules in general, and say there's a group who would like to worship more often who just can't make it due to shifts or hours or even kids' sports, you could with an effort get the number of regular churchgoers up to 70%. (It would be a stretch, but I'll be generous.)

That means 70% of Licking Countians don't go to a worship gathering twice or more a year. Yes, Gallup still gets some 40% SAYING they go four or more times a year (which still leaves 60% un/de-churched), but that's to a nice person on a phone. The hineys-in-seats numbers don't support any such figure. However you do the math, well over half of you'ns don't attend a church.

Which is why I'd like to begin my second decade of "Faith Works" taking my shot at explaining, to a diverse audience, answers to "Why?" – as in why Christians, broadly speaking, value and affirm and DO the things they do. Perhaps you have some specific "Why?" questions you'd like to see answered. Let me know what they are!

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him what you'd like to know "Why?" about at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Notes From My Knapsack 12-15-14

Notes From My Knapsack 12-25-14

Jeff Gill

 

Years in review

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Jacob Little, our noted Granville minister of the early 1800s, liked to preach a year-end sermon that took stock of Granville and environs.

 

He would list in detail all the wrongdoing and bad behavior he could account for, and with a small army of informants he could account for quite a bit. His proposals for the future generally ran to more church attendance and increased faithfulness to the teachings of the Bible (as interpreted by Rev. Little).

 

Not to knock morality and piety, which each have their place, but vision was not the good pastor's strong point. His perspective was one of checklists and rosters and membership. It should be noted that while his public persona was that of a scold, his ministerial reputation was as a caring, thoughtful, even loving leader of his flock.

 

As a pastor myself, I read about Little's public pronouncements, and suspect that he had his public inflexible side, and many private moments of compassion that never were recorded in year-end sermons or official reports to session.

 

Today, it wouldn't be hard to replicate the harsher side of that Presbyterian parson's presentation. The lists of offenses and improprieties are now a matter of public record, with no need for a preacher to hire young people to run about for him or her and to tally up drinking establishments or private entertainments in public places.

 

This very newspaper runs Granville's own Mayor's Court notes, and the county courts have their own accounts that tell of drunkness and vandalism and divorces and dissolutions. You can watch the television stations at 5, 6, and 11 to hear about shootings and stabbings and conflagrations of all sorts.

 

Rev. Little would perhaps add a few words about fire safety and the need to avoid unshielded candles to each tally of house fires, and preach about sin and brokenness in the human heart if it had to do with arson, but we still have our own twisted enjoyment that filled a church a century and a half ago, and keeps ratings high when "if it bleeds, it leads." We say we want good news and happy conversation, but in truth it's tried and true that bad news sells, especially when it happened to someone else, but it keeps selling if we have reason to worry that the bad news might happen to us someday.

 

It was said that the full house old Jacob could count on was because people wanted to know if they would be mentioned by name, or to hear about their neighbors' transgressions. I think it might be safe to say those who gathered had multiple reasons for coming together and hearing out the preacher, whether they looked forward to the experience or not.

 

We've got a chance to gather together to review and anticipate as a community, coming up in just a couple of weeks. At the high school, at 7:00 pm on Thursday, January 15, the Granville Schools' Board of Education is sponsoring a . . . well, they're calling it an "Economic Sustainability Summit." They've invited key economic players from the public and private sectors around Licking County to come, and they've invited you, and we're going to look at, economically, how we got where we are, funding-wise, and where we're going. It's both review, and vision, all on the table for our future as a community. They intend it as an educational focus, but I think it has implications for much more.

 

Rev. Jacob Little would have gone to one of these. I certainly plan to attend. And you're invited! Maybe you should go just to see if your name is mentioned…

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County. Tell him about your year-end assessment at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 12-27-14

Faith Works 12-27-14

Jeff Gill

 

The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle

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There's a Christmas season tradition in our household that may not be quite to your tastes, but it suits me right down to the ground.

 

Along with all the other seasonal favorite movies, from "White Christmas" to "Christmas Vacation" to "Fred Claus" I like to slide in, somewhere between "Christmas in Connecticut" and "The Family Stone," a Sherlock Holmes episode.

 

Holmes has been interpreted in recent years by Robert Downey, Jr. and Benedict Cumberbatch, but I have a warm spot in my heart for Jeremy Brett's PBS programs recounting the original Sir Arthur Conan Doyle stories. From 1984 to the early 90s these were the best Sherlock stories to be seen this side of Basil Rathbone.

 

They're not at all Christmas-y, except for one. "The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle," as filmed let alone as told in the print original, is soaked through with Christmas spirit and imagery. The music, the pub atmosphere, the markets of Victorian London, are all at work to serve the idea of an English traditional Christmas.

 

It is also the story where most famously, after the wrongdoer has admitted his guilt and explained the turns of events to Holmes and Watson at 221B Baker Street, the consulting detective says to the criminal "Get out." When the law abiding doctor hints at even a slight note of disapproval, Holmes emphatically retorts that he is not employed to resolve the deficiencies of the official law enforcement services.

 

"Get out. Not a word."

 

Holmes is, in his own roughhewn way, engaging in restorative justice. And there's more of that built into our legal system than you might think, from judicial discretion (less of it than there used to be, but that's a whole 'nother discussion) to jury verdicts, where a tribunal of twelve citizens tasked with a decision can make their decisions within a certain area of latitude. Plus the more affirmative forms of restorative justice that include victim-offender mediation, whether as part of a diversion plan or built into a sentence; all mediation-based approaches are a way to say that retribution is not the only path to justice. 

 

An older tradition in the West, still seen in various parts of the world, is a Christmas parole, the release of prisoners by act of the executive or senior magistrate. Sentences are commuted, the imprisoned are released, time off for good behavior is given even to those who've been more naughty than nice.

 

Our modern justice system does not have any seasonal adjustments built into sentences. If there is a change in warmth or good cheer inside the facilities, it's an unofficial thing.

 

In general, the Christmas season has this thread woven through it of forgiveness. Which makes sense when you think of whose birth we're celebrating.

 

The best scene in "Home Alone" to me isn't one of the spectacular torments of the self-named "Wet Burglars," or even the shock and scream when the little boy puts aftershave on his face, but it's the discussion in the church between Old Man Marley and Kevin.

 

Marley is there at a rehearsal to see his granddaughter, because he and his son are at odds. Kevin, who's learned a thing or two the last couple days about facing fears, suggests to his elderly neighbor that he needs to let go of his anger, which goes along with letting go of his fear that it won't work out, and call his son. I trust this isn't a spoiler for much of anyone when I tell you he did, they did, and the little red-haired girl is seen again in her grandfather's arms.

 

Forgiveness. It takes a number of forms, and requires both an interior shift and external actions, but the Christmas season is not just for giving stuff, but for forgiving. That might be a gift only you can give. And even a couple of days after the Big Day, it's a gift that's still going to be welcome.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; forgiveness is in the heart of the Christmas story if you read it all the way through. Tell him where you've given or received forgiveness at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 12-20-14

Faith Works 12-20-14

Jeff Gill

 

Christmas 70 years past

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This week marks the 70^th anniversary of the Battle of the Bulge.

 

It was the last offensive by Nazi Germany, a final desperate attempt to force the Western Allies to sue for a negotiated peace rather than accept unconditional surrender. Adolf Hitler ordered his war-weary troops to a last massive thrust against American and British lines even as his defenses in Italy and to the east against Soviet Russia were crumbling.

 

Wehrmacht General von Rundstedt directed a push that created a "bulge" in the formerly solid front that the Allies had been driving steadily east from the English Channel coast towards the Rhine and ultimately the German heartland, and Berlin itself.

 

In truth, fuel as much as personnel doomed this last spasm of the Nazi war machine. Hitler simply didn't have the gas to fulfill his intention to get his troops from the Rhine valley to Antwerp, Belgium, cutting the Allies in half and slowing even further the advance of their armies to the defeat of Germany.

 

They had enough to muster a powerful, concentrated thrust that pushed in, dangerously far into Allied lines, dangerous for the German troops isolated into a salient with Americans now behind their advance on one side, and British and Canadian troops near to flanking them on the other.

 

And the dogged resistance at Bastogne by the 101^st Airborne under Gen. Anthony McAuliffe was summed up seventy years ago Monday in his response to a flowery and threatening demand for surrender from the Nazi forces encircling him.

 

"To the German Commander.

 

NUTS!

 

The American Commander"

 

The junior American officer who delivered this answer had to do some colloquial re-translation for the benefit of his German counterpart. McAuliffe was a gentleman of the old school, and rarely used profanity, but a profane equivalent was soon understood.

 

For the next few days, the unseasonable cold of an Ardennes winter, and restrictions on fires and warmth in general, left the besieged Americans in a grim state, even as the day of Christmas crept closer. Cheer was in short supply along with food, fuel, and yes, ammunition.

 

I was born nearly a generation after these events, yet I grew up hearing again and again stories about Christmas Eve, 1944. From members of my church growing up, from Scoutmasters at camp, in movies shown on television in my youth, and still today I am honored to hear from a soldier of that time and place a couple of times a week in the congregation I serve, on that cold December and the days too short and nights eternal (hi, Joe!).

 

They shivered their way through the long dark wait, hoped as they watched the steel-grey skies by day, then felt their hearts leap when Christmas Eve day saw the skies open, the USAAF zoom in . . . and I've talked to pilots and crew of those days about the cold of the airs above Belgium, but the warmth of bombs felt even from far above, as they relieved the siege and opened up corridors for Patton's army to push the bulge back into place, and then the other direction.

 

You've all watched the opening scenes of the movie "White Christmas," which for years I thought of as happening in and around Bastogne. It seems that the intention of the screenplay was for Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye to serve under Dean Jagger's Gen. Waverly in the Italy campaign, but the sense was the same. It's Christmas Eve, they're far from home, they have only each other right now, but their dreams of home are the largest part of what's getting them through the fighting, the frozen nights, the fearful destruction of towns, troops, and time.

 

"White Christmas" came out as a bit of a novelty song by a Jewish tunesmith based in New York City but working for Hollywood. There's a whole story in the original opening stanza. But it showed up before the public just as Pearl Harbor had turned the nation's attentions from domestic concerns to foreign affairs.

 

The song "White Christmas" became a sign, a signal, a totem for both the homefront and those serving overseas, a good luck charm that promised a safe return. "I'll Be Home for Christmas" was an even more overt down payment on such a hope, but it was the dream of a white Christmas that kept hope alive in foxholes such as dotted the Belgium-German frontier seventy years past.

 

We sing it still to their memory, as much as to the statement of faith at the heart of Christmas itself.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him about your connections to Christmas traditions at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.