Notes From My Knapsack 1-28-16

Notes From My Knapsack 1-28-16

Jeff Gill

 

Here In a Small Town

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What does it mean to live in the village of Granville?

 

Having now passed the decade mark as a resident, I should be feeling even more a part of this historic community. I'm woven into the local landscape through the schools and Scouting and churchly involvements (and more than one congregation at that), have told some of our two century and ten millennia old stories in print and to the public, all of which should make me feel a part of this place.

 

It's long been true, though, that "Granville native" is not a title someone like me is likely to receive, even after two more decades pass (if I'm so blessed). Some would say that not only will the likes of me won't ever be really "from here," neither will my child (true, we neglected to give birth to him in Ohio). My wife and I are entangled, deeply, with the "fair college on the hill," but that hill sets apart much; not just the university but the staff & students thereon from the village below.

 

What would it take for me to be "a true Granvillian"? I'm not sure. If lighting luminaries for the walking tour in December and and shoveling horse droppings for the July Fourth parade doesn't qualify one, maybe it's just not possible. Perhaps there's a late night, closed-door meeting where these things are decided, in which I'm not yet approved. It comes up in the darndest moments, the observation of "you're not from here," and those saying so are rarely the older multi-generation residents as they are the ones just a bit older than I am, but with a few more years to their credit.

 

I do know that I like being from a small town, yet Granville has never quite reconciled itself to being one. We began with New England aspirations in our DNA, and the Averys and Roses and Bancrofts and their ilk all hoped to bring business and industry to these valleys. Periander Taylor, whose Tan Y Bryn home is now in use by the Granville (Township) Fire Department, was a man of strong words and vehement exhortations: he challenged God to rain properly, and was not abashed by record floods on Raccoon Creek in response. Ahab Jinks knew what architecture worked for him, even if building it meant he no longer worked for the leading church in town. Granville has long had cosmopolitan and in truth global aspirations, even if circumstances have kept us focused on the local, the regional, the particular.

 

Where I most feel at home is with my fellow local residents who are not "from here," but have claimed a place here as their place to stand, a place to pitch their tents, a place to rest. People who have not only come from but made a way for themselves in the big city, the big leagues, in a big way, but are looking for something smaller . . . not even smaller, but more intimate.

 

Today's modern urban usage is to sneak through life anonymously, not being noticed by no one, expecting nothing from nobody. We're to be part of nothing and not attached to anything because no one's going to stick around. Everyone around you is transient, which gives you a place to be on your own.

 

Cities do not tend to create community. That may not be what they're for, but what they do create is an ideal place to hide. If you fear commitment, rootedness, connectedness and accountability, a city is the place for you.

 

You can avoid all those things in a village, too, but here you have to work harder to do so. And why would you want to work that hard?

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County, and a discreetly lazy resident of Granville. Tell him where you pick and choose your labors at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

 

Faith Works 1-23-16

Faith Works 1-23-16

Jeff Gill

 

"In diet, in exercise, in spiritual discipline and financial health: we have to find a place of peace, from which we can grow as we ought."

 

I said that in closing last week, and in between I read an online essay by United Methodist pastor and writer Joe Iovino, from whom I am about to borrow (because I'm giving attribution, otherwise it would be stealing, somewhat...).

 

Joe suggests starting a new year with some spiritual decluttering, with ideas that go right to the heart of helping any of us find that place of peace if we're not finding it where we are right now. If your closets or garage are keeping you on edge because of useless debris or just impending confusion getting in your way, a decluttering is a way of peace: so why not a spiritual declutter?

 

One proposal: change pews. Right, or seats if your worship space isn't furnished that way, but you know what Joe means. Rather than worry about "getting your seat" and the view you're used to, why not make a Sunday morning move? See how the prayers and the music and the message sound when you're on the other side of the aisle, or from the front if you sit in the back, or vice versa.

 

What about trying a different Bible translation, asks Rev. Iovino? This doesn't mean you throw out your familiar one, the one you were given at fourth grade graduation, but take up another – they're easy to find, you know – and see what a season in a new edition does to your reading of passages worn smooth with repetition. Try the old and new in tandem, or stick with something different for a while, then go back. You may find yourself with new appreciation of the version you're accustomed to, but don't think much about.

 

It may be time, I would agree with Joe, to take up a different author or devotional this Lent, starting in just a few weeks. If you're a Beth Moore fan, fine, but see what another Christian writer does to your spirit. Try Max Lucado or Will Willimon, Phyllis Tickle or Anne Lamott, Lysa TerKeurst or Tim Keller (just to name a few). There's The Upper Room, The Secret Place, Christian Standard and Our Daily Bread (just for starters) as devotional options, monthly, weekly, daily.

 

And is there a group or book club or class you've thought about joining? Nothing like different voices sitting right next to you to startle you out of complacency, or worse, ennui. Take the plunge, try some new community in your life.

 

As to your church activities in general, maybe it's time you reassess those, too; what you've always done isn't necessarily what you've always got to do. Yes, some will say "what will we do without you?" In this world, maybe we all have to learn the answer to that for others, and for ourselves. If you've always worked with the Christian education, but have a hankering to sledgehammer down a wall or two, maybe it's time to volunteer for the Property team?

 

Spiritual decluttering can take many forms, but like a closet or even just a desk drawer, it can simply be going through some stuff and deciding "is this necessary to keep, or is this something I can do better another way?" And it may be addressed as simply as walking into the sanctuary and sitting down where you never have before.

 

Which might make you the cause of someone else's reassessment, as you take their seat from them and they walk in later and wonder "what will church be like if I don't sit THERE?"

 

It may just be time to find out.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; this is all very unfair for him to write, because he has a seat up behind the pulpit that rarely gets taken by anyone else. Tell him where you like to sit in church at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

 

Faith Works 1-16-16

Faith Works 1-16-16

Jeff Gill

 

More or less, slowly considered

___

 

At our church, we're looking at the Biblical passages and stories about how Jesus "grew in wisdom and in strength," accounts that come after the better-known Christmas readings are over.

 

Growth is obviously a good thing. But to grow in wisdom and strength: does that also mean "more"?

 

For a child, to get bigger, taller, healthier, you're usually looking for more weight, more height, more resilience. If a young person is getting wiser, that basically indicates that they know more, think more, can process more.

 

So growth is obviously more, right?

 

Or is it?

 

If you keep wanting more, are worried about less, and grab another piece of gum even when you already have three in your pocket . . . and you don't chew gum! . . . is that what a mature adult does, or a child?

 

If being at the front of the line, sitting in the preferred seat, getting praise from the teacher is what drives you, that sounds almost a little childish, doesn't it?

 

In the recent snow, I had the misfortune to be out and on our highways that morning. When traffic was backed up from multiple wrecks, I saw some cars and trucks jostling and angling to get up and ahead and move around: even when it seemed quite apparent that the multi-car accident was caused by someone pushing a little too hard. And when I was in normally flowing traffic, there would be vehicles that would jerk out into the passing lane, which was almost invisible under a coating of rapidly freezing slush, the speeding cars fish-tailing their way around we (somewhat) slower moving drivers. I winced as they sped, skiddingly, towards the oncoming overpass, and blessedly only saw an increase in the oscillation, not a complete wreck . . . but I drove as if that's what was about to happen in front of me.

 

Is getting there fastest the most mature, best way to go through life, let alone an Ohio winter?

 

Getting older means, in some very real ways, slowing down. We tend to rail against this tendency of the flesh, but . . . is there perhaps a spiritual lesson for us in that? Is there a correlation between maturity and slowing down, not speeding up?

 

I'm a busy guy, I won't deny it. But I hope and pray that I keep some perspective on what's worth moving quickly through, and when it's time to pause, and breath, and be. My family knows that I have an irritating habit of trying to get others to notice sunsets and spectacular cloud formations; my friend Dick Shiels and I have gotten a chance this past year to learn how to slow down enough to actually see the movement of the moon across the sky, rising or setting, out at the Octagon Earthworks.

 

Yes, you can actually get to the place where you see the movement. But it requires that YOU slow down to the speed of the celestial spheres, which from our perspective is slow indeed. Dick may have the advantage of having retired, so he's a bit better at it, but we both enjoy trying to teach this obscure skill to others.

 

Is it growth to be satisfied with enough, with what you have, with where you are? I think it is. And as I'm moving towards my fourth anniversary in the pulpit at Newark Central Christian, I'm acutely aware that in ministry in general, the average tenure of a clergyperson is just over four years. For me, I'm just starting to get the hang of the rhythms and cycles and habits of this congregation where I serve.

 

And the studies done show that for congregations, growth and health for the community as a whole usually only comes to fuller fruition after about seven years. That makes sense to me, even in my impatient moments (and ask our board, I do have them!).

 

Growth may not only come through patience and waiting and acceptance of what is, but it also can't just be aggression and acquisition and advancement. And I think the balance for any of us, and for our communities, leans towards the more peaceful practices. In diet, in exercise, in spiritual discipline and financial health: we have to find a place of peace, from which we can grow as we ought.

 

And learn to watch the moon clamber branch by branch across the outline of a tree on the horizon. It moves, and you can grow your perceptions to see it, but it takes time. And peace.

 

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

Notes From My Knapsack 1-14-16

Notes From My Knapsack 1-14-16

Jeff Gill

 

Writing To Find Out What I Think

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 A new year, new topics, new themes, new possibilities.

 

For the privilege I have of writing this column, and the responsibility it is to come up with something worth saying twenty or so times a year, I come back to a quote I've had rattling around in my mental cellars for years, that is variously credited to Joan Didion, Stephen King, Mark Twain (of course), and a few others.

 

"I write in order to find out what I think."

 

It's true, really. You start – I start, anyhow – with an idea or two, and you begin with even a bit of a structure in mind of opening and argument or assertion and clever wrap-up. But more often than not, the logic of the sentences and the influence of the expressions start to shift my sense and my story in a direction I didn't entirely intend to go.

 

And at the conclusion, I read it through for typos and style and such, but I also am looking to see: what did I just say? And sometimes I'm surprised. Rarely do I go "that's not what I meant to write at all," even when it's not. I'm more like "oh, so it reasons out that way… okay."

 

So who knows what this year holds? Last year I had a thought about Granville history and 1815, and somehow it turned into a mystery of sorts with an actual couple, William and Sarah Gavit, and a fictional character, surgeon's mate and cutler Hezekiah Mirk. I pushed that story about as far as the irregular newspaper column format will let you go these days, and I have a few more stories in mind for my veteran of Lundy's Lane and acquaintance of Rev. David Jones, but they may have to find a home elsewhere.

 

Politics are all around us (love not so much), and I'm going to continue to say relatively little about that subject. A) because so many others are already going there, and I don't like crowds, and B) what is there to add, really?

 

My own interests tend to the local, and the community-oriented. Granville is a community in flux, and as far as I can tell, we have been since about 1800. Benoni Benjamin and his three brothers-in-law, John Jones, Phineas and Frederick Ford, and a hired man named Danner met Isaac Stadden on their way up Ramp Creek to this valley in the fall of that year. They liked what they saw and brought back their families the next spring.

 

The Welsh trickled in from 1802 behind the Rees and Philipps families, then the more familiar arrival in Nov. of 1805 from Granville, Massachusetts. The Licking Land Company left a mark on the land (with the help of men like William Gavit), but soon the canals spurred industrial plans along Clouse Lane and Clear Run, the National Road's proximity opened up paths to California gold and western opportunity, then the Civil War and the arrival of railroads turned this now rural village inside-out and outside-in.

 

We became a college town by degrees, then the interurban and automobile turned us into a developing bedroom community. Now the internet makes us a global hub with a bucolic atmosphere.

 

So as our community changes, resists change, and changes all the same, I think there's a place for trying to write out what's going on around us, and seeing together on the page what we think.

 

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

Faith Works 1-9-16

Faith Works 1-9-16

Jeff Gill

 

Less to come in the new year

___

 

At the congregation I'm part of, over the New Year's "bridge" of Sundays from the one after Christmas Day to the first one of 2016, we shared some thoughts together on "How do we want to grow in 2016?"

 

As the preacher and pastor there, I took the themes noted and input offered up the first Sunday to build a sermon last week on some of the particularities of our community's "growth" plans. Now I'd like to open that discussion up more widely, to people of faith and the many other seekers I know who read this column locally, and start a conversation about spiritual and personal growth in the year ahead, and I'd like to center that discussion on something I've already started to notice in my own church.

 

We need less.

 

Less.

 

I have a suspicion that it's the pressures of our culture that pushes people to think the right, the correct answer to a question like "how do you want to grow" is in "more."

 

More Bible reading, more prayer, more service.

 

How can a minister argue with that? Well, keep reading, I'll give it a shot.

 

Now, are there folks whom I think need a bit more time with scripture in their lives, who should be praying more than at red lights, entire families who should get off the sofa and out into the world putting their hands and hearts to the work of God? Sure.

 

In general, though, there's a social drive to hunt for "more," an urge that arises out of what the author and teacher Brené Brown calls "scarcity." She says in her book "Daring Greatly" that "We get scarcity because we live it…Scarcity is the "never enough" problem…Scarcity thrives in a culture where everyone is hyperaware of lack. Everything from safety and love to money and resources feels restricted or lacking. We spend inordinate amounts of time calculating how much we have, want, and don't have, and how much everyone else has, needs, and wants."

 

One could ask "and where does this come from?" with the obvious answer being advertising and consumer culture, and I'll leave that as sufficient for the time and a subject for later discussion. But I think the reality of "scarcity culture" is obvious, and insidious inside of our church buildings. One form of it that I'm acutely aware of is how no event, activity, or worship service is complete until at least three people say something about how either the same program had much bigger attendance in [name a date decades ago] or asking why this turnout isn't as big as [name another congregation in the vicinity]. Really? Isn't there something to celebrate and cherish in this particular gathering of God's people in this place at this time? No, we compare, and fret, and feed anxieties about the future.

 

But on a personal level, it comes out more quietly but I feel, pastorally, is always there. People ask "am I praying enough? Reading enough? Doing enough?"

 

The Church of Christ psychology professor, thinker, and maverick elder Richard Beck, from whose excellent blog "Experimental Theology" I got the Brown quote above, answered a critic in his comment by saying "One thing I'd push back on here, as a psychologist, is the notion that "people make time for what they care about." That's way too simplistic a model for human motivation, cognition and emotion. The fact is we care about many, many things, things that often come into conflict. Also, we care about things with different parts of the brain--cognitively and affectively--which also creates conflicts (e.g., why it's hard to keep New Years Resolutions)."

 

And as a Christian parson, I'd add the gospel observation that this all starts with understanding that you literally can't do "enough." You can't serve or pray or read your way into the heart of God's love, into the kingdom of heaven. You can't earn it, so stop trying. Jesus opened that door because God's grace, God's free gift, is to make that possible through faith alone. Quit working for something that's already been given, just accept it.

 

Which is why I'd like to talk a bit more about less. About growing in 2016 through doing, having, worrying, trying, and yes, even working . . . less.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he has less in mind than you might think. Tell him where growth and "less" might take you this year at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.