Faith Works 7-13-19 & 7-20-19

Faith Works 7-13-19

Jeff Gill

Strangers, sojourners, spacemen

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Last December this fifty-something space geek managed to work into the Christmas Eve service a reference to the Apollo 8 circumnavigation of the Moon, and the reading by the astronauts of passages from Genesis 1, the creation narrative, on that same evening fifty years before.

Now we're coming up on the next step half a century ago in our journey up from the Earth, out into space: the lunar landing achieved by the Apollo 11 astronauts.

Neil Armstrong, no longer with us, set foot on the Moon's surface with the words "One small step for a man," but he went on to make a point about the greater humanity that made his step possible.

Michael Collins, up as all alone as any human being had ever been in all of history, kept the home fires burning in the Command Module, "Columbia" as the "Eagle" lunar lander rested on the Moon. His "Carrying the Fire" is still perhaps the best book written by any of the American astronauts, a worthy counterpart to Thomas Wolfe's "The Right Stuff" from journalism's point of view.

And the indispensible and irrepressible Buzz Aldrin was the second man down the "Eagle" lander ladder, but he did have an interesting first for himself. The first meal, the very first eating and drinking done by humanity on another planet, was Buzz quietly and privately, but with Mission Control's permission "off microphone" opening up a small packet of bread and wine blessed by his Presbyterian pastor back in Texas. Communion was the first meal on the Moon.

All of the astronauts did the same thing at some point, from Armstrong to Aldrin to Collins, Lovell and Borman already a few months before on Apollo 8, and Lovell again famously (seen in the person of Tom Hanks) on Apollo 13 perilously relying on their Lunar Module as a lifeboat to preserve a crippled spacecraft around the back of the Moon, looking out their windows or visors back into space, at the Earth.

Right on down to Harrison Schmitt some three and a half years later on the last moon walk, almost every Apollo astronaut commented on the experience of looking back at the "big blue marble" in the sky, and realizing that every hope, every dream, every person they loved was on that dot they could cover with an outstretched finger . . . and they could see no borders, no human lines or distinctions, but the simple essentially fragile reality of all of life as they knew it wrapped around that one terribly special place.

Coming up to the Apollo 11 anniversary, which will and must be celebrated by all of us, whatever faith, whatever spiritual orientation you carry, whichever country you call your own, we all on this planet have again a chance to reflect on the point and purpose of life. Are we here as a cosmic infestation, a mistake of chemistry and biology, or is life and particularly human life here for a reason?

That question is the muscle and bone underneath the skin of any religious tradition worth considering. Why are we were, where are we from, and where are we going – and thinking about that from a completely different heavenly body really does put a great deal of such reflection into a kind of sharp contrast, as distinct as the space walkers said the shadows on the Moon appeared to their eyes.

And yes, how we handle the lines we have drawn on our maps, and the barriers to movement we establish as countries and ethnicities: how do they look from a heavenly perspective? What does fifty years of awareness of our necessary community on a single planet with oxygen and water and life tell us about how we should love one another?

I think we all, whatever our church home or religious inclination, can put some thought and even prayer into those questions as we celebrate what American ingenuity achieved on July 20, 1969.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he was not quite eight when he watched Walter Cronkite explain the blurry pictures on a black and white TV. Tell him how you remember that night, if you do, at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

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Faith Works 7-20-19

Jeff Gill

Beyond the Moon

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This night, fifty years ago, I was on my great-aunts’ porch in Chicago.

They had an enclosed area, surrounded by windows, a former porch that was more of a cold room in winter and a very hot one mostly in the summer, except long after the sun went down and especially when the wind was in the east, and blew in off of Lake Michigan, just a block and a half away.

As little kids we were not quite understanding what was going on, but picking up from the adults how important it really was. I was seven, nearly eight, and besotted by America’s space program, so I might have had a little more direct investment in it, but I’ll admit the small black and white TV with a loop and rabbit ears on the back, blurry even without switching to the lunar images, kept the majesty at arm’s length. I kept watching, though, because my beloved great-aunts, a pair of never married schoolteachers back when that was a thing, were riveted to the story, and so was I.

We switched back and forth from Walter Cronkite to Frank Reynolds, and honestly I’m not sure which we were on when Neil Armstrong finally came out and made his cautious journey down the last steps into history.

What I do recall that Sunday night was leaning out a window and looking at the Moon overhead, and thinking “there are people up there.” It made the lunar surface closer, somehow.

In the last thirty years, I’ve done many tours of the Newark Earthworks, and had more than my share of opportunities to simply enjoy and reflect for myself on the grounds, the lines the earthen walls inscribe towards the horizon, and the arcs of Moon and Sun from their rising to their setting. Somehow, two thousand years ago, Native Americans living here were able to record and project and plan those movements so that they could encode into their walls and alignments the movements of the heavenly bodies.

And I’ve wondered often: did they wonder, those Native American scientists and leaders and everyday people, if other humans could ever stand on the surface of that circle? Did they envision it as a sphere; how clearly did they project its orbits?

The comparison of the only other octagon and circle connected earthwork in all of North America, just sixty miles southwest of us in Chillicothe, offer a tantalizing hint that, in their adjustment of the geometry of the octagonal figure, they understood enough about latitude that they may well have known they stood on a sphere. Two thousand years ago, not far off of when Egyptian and Greek scholars first calculated the same reality from solar geometry across a comparable stretch of landscape.

And if the Earth was a sphere, it wasn’t that big a leap to infer that the disk of the Moon was in fact the face of a sphere in the skies. They might well have known that here in Newark back then: but to somehow travel across the heavens, and stand on it and look back at us?

Yet it’s still hard even for me, a youthful space program fanatic, to imagine that we did it, and the living memories of those who did are passing us by. It’s amazing, incredible, and perhaps will again become unbelievable.

So too is the nearly unbelievable idea that somehow after we die our memories, our essential selves, our souls have a place to go. Some religious teachers railed against the lunar landings, feeling that the establishment of footprints in the sky like that would undermine our belief in a heaven.

It does tend to change our sense of direction, somewhat. Heaven after Apollo 11 is less simply “up there” than it is . . . well, Jesus did say that the Kingdom of Heaven, the Realm of God itself is within you. Not “out there,” not “beyond space,” not “a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.” Within you.

God’s promises are both infinitely within, and immeasurably beyond our human understanding. Earthly achievements may help us put them in perspective, like the view of Earth from the Moon does, but they can’t overshadow ideas that shine in the immense darkness, like “love one another.” That’s true for anyone looking up at the Moon, wondering how it looks to another in a different place, or even a different time.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he still likes to go out and look at the Moon from time to time, and imagine walking on its surface. Tell him how you think of the Moon at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 7-6-19

Faith Works 7-6-19

Jeff Gill

 

Faith, family, and friendships

___

 

In the last two weeks I wrote here about Sunday school, Vacation Bible School (or VBS), and Christian education in general, as well as how these initiatives developed into the church camp and conference program.

 

And candidly, how these are all struggling, in terms of sheer numbers participating, and as a consequence their financial stability is being challenged.

 

The youth programming marketplace, which churches had largely to themselves just two generations ago, now has major competition – especially in the summertime.

 

What's a parent to do then? How does a family make good choices, even if for next summer (not that it's too late for this one), about summer experiences and education in faith in general?

 

I sincerely believe it begins with something I'd call "intentional faith formation" – asking the question with intention and specificity "what do you want your children to know?"

 

If you just say "I want my kids to do good stuff" you're likely to end up down a variety of cul-de-sacs. Good for what? Stuff that leads them where? If you spend some time in prayer and reflection asking, out loud, "what is it I intend for my child to learn more about?" you are likely to end up with answers you should attend to.

 

Is it about Bible knowledge and content? Or are you more interested in passing along the outlines of the faith and doctrine of your religious tradition? And not by contrast, but alongside of those sorts of "head" matters, what about the "heart" areas of service and community?

 

This is what church camp has done without us having to think about the details, as pastors and parents alike. Today with so many opportunities for niche programming events and themed activities, it might be important to consider the baseline matters you're hoping to present to your youth.

 

It's also a good idea to ask these questions for yourselves. Are you studying and learning about your faith? Well, then, your youth are likely to emulate your own behavioral modeling. If you are putting in time to study and reflect, it's no guarantee but it's a major support for the youth you care about for them to see you doing the same.

 

What is closer to a guarantee is that if you don't spend any time on your own discipleship, the young people around you are much less likely to themselves.

 

For myself, spirituality always carries a need for a connection to the outdoors, to nature and the growing world around us. So many of Jesus' parables are about plants and birds and crops and weeds, of country roads and farm labor and what grows where. Knowing the Book of Nature helps us understand the Holy Book; a person young or old who only knows the indoors is going to struggle more with interpretation of scripture.

 

And if I were advising anyone on Christian education I'd ask if your intentional faith formation included work on relationships and friendships – do your children or church young people get a chance to interact with elders, senior citizens both inside your church and beyond it, from assisted living to the house next door. I've written before about my regard for Jean Vanier who passed away recently; his establishment of L'Arche was a piece of intentional faith formation for his own soul's good, learning how to live and work with people who have developmental disabilities. In so many ways, we need to keep asking beyond the comfortable church circles we roll around within about how we are in relationship to others, to "The Other"; faith in my reading of the Bible is very much entwined with learning how to live in community with people different than those they already know – whether that's racial, ethnic, or cultural differences.

 

My default assumptions for a very long time have been that long term, residential Christian community outside of the church walls is an idea place for improving your faith development. Which is a fancy way of saying "go to church camp." I'm going to keep promoting such experiences, but if camp is going to become less common an opportunity, then we all need to think very intentionally about how else we can deliver such faith forming contexts.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he's learned much at camp and not just about faith. Tell him what you want to pass along to succeeding generations at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter. 

Notes from my Knapsack 7-4-19

Notes from my Knapsack 7-4-19

Jeff Gill

 

Seeking refuge in America

___

 

It's a commonplace to say that we all came here from somewhere else.

 

Native Americans chuckle at our usual oversight, but archaeologists note that if you go back far enough, we all are migrants to Ohio.

 

Just on the eastern border of the village, thirty years ago, I helped with a dig where we found a flint tool going back to the days just after the glaciers retreated up past Johnstown and Croton, when cedar and sedge were the bulk of the greenstuff, and protein was hazardous to obtain from giant creatures padding across the sub-Arctic landscape.

 

And this December is the thirtieth anniversary of the re-discovery of the Burning Tree Mastodon, down past Heath off Ridgely Tract Road but not far from the not-yet Welsh Hills. Our excavations then and in the summer of 1990 revealed bones with flint tool cut marks, some 12,000 years in the muck of a former bog. The first marks of humanity passing through Licking County are those cut marks on rib and pelvic bones, from preliminary butchering and likely caching into a glacial pond as winter approached.

 

The cache was not accessed again, suggesting that the original hunters did not stay in the area, but were migrants, passing through. Did they get luckier later, or not survive to return? We will surely never know. Migrants often die without anyone even noticing.

 

More recently, the Welsh came to these hills; as is evident, they came here from Wales. A reputable place, perhaps, but still they crossed water and mountains to get here.

 

South of Wales, but closer to there than here, I was thinking of Italy and Italians the other day. I happened to catch a bit of "Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House" on TV, and there's much to connect to anyone who's moved to Granville in recent decades. The steadily increasing price of the house as the plans are worked out, the challenges faced in both site circumstances and sub-contractors, and of course the racism.

 

Oh, sorry. I mean the stereotypical presentation of ethnic types as . . . nah, let's just call it racism, shall we? But the big bogeyman, or men in this telling is the ignorance and incomprehension of the . . . Italian workmen.

 

Yes, Louise Beavers is the African American servant who bails Blandings out of a fix, and she's portrayed as somewhat hapless herself as was the racist stereotype of the time (1948), but I was struck by the almost equally unpleasant portrayal of the Italians. World War II movies hadn't quite finished flushing that bias out of the system.

 

Frankly, the scenes with the Italians made me think of half a dozen conversations I've had in Our Fayre Village with people about Hispanic landscapers and roofers. A group regarded nervously, speaking their own language, not noticing us nor we noticing them, but necessary to make the project come in on budget.

 

We need them, we virtually expect them, but we're not sure how to deal with them. There's a human sense of wanting to relate personally to them, but a barrier, a wall of sorts, that may someday come down but for now is a tangible distance between us.

 

What's going on along the Rio Grande is driven both by instability and unrest behind refugees, and the hunger for cheap or cheaper labor in front of them. Those scenes to our south are no more distant from us then 12,000 years ago is apart from us as we stand here today.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he knows we're all connected to each other and struggles with how to live like that's true. Tell him about your local connections at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 6-29-19

Faith Works 6-29-19

Jeff Gill

 

Faith out of doors

___

 

Last week I talked here about Sunday school, Vacation Bible School (or VBS), and Christian education in general; its history from England to America and its development from a substitute for what we now call public education to a faith formation adjunct to church life.

 

When in the early 1900s Ohio and most other states made education legally required for all youth up to age 18, the original intent behind Sunday school and VBS had to change. The growth of formal public education also started to change expectations parents had around the school experience, both secular and religious.

 

Churches built special rooms or wings or buildings for education, and these were generally well filled through the Baby Boom era. What hit many churches like a one-two punch was a decline in overall numbers just demographically, in the "baby bust" that followed the spike of births in the "baby boom" post-war; then the culture shifts around Sunday closing laws ending and entertainment and activity options for youth increasing dramatically.

 

One program that leapt into this gap was church camp. Youth conferences on college campuses or at camp locations began to be popular between the 1890s and 1920s; by World War II one of the most common requests for exemptions in wartime rationing of gasoline was for travel permits to go to church camps.

 

The building boom that echoed the Baby Boom after 1945 took place out in the countryside as well as for new church buildings. Camps added swimming pools, full service dining halls, and bathrooms to replace pit latrines.

 

And an observation got made all across the denominational spectrum: if you get a child to Sunday school every week, that's 52 hours of Christian education – if you get a child to camp at 3 pm on Sunday and pick them up at 10 am on Saturday, then end up with 70 or more hours of exposure to preaching, teaching, and religious oriented conversation and fellowship.

 

That was important, because as camps took off, Sunday school began to struggle. Older youth became less in evidence on Sunday mornings, and more travel plus changes resulting from the increase in divorce meant visitation schedules often complicated regular participation. Camp was an ideal supplement as the standard method of Christian formation grew weaker.

 

But as any of you reading this have already realized, summer time has gotten shorter, and the options are greater. I'll pull out the dreaded phrase "when I was young," but it was true that, as a kid, my parents had the choice of Scout camp, church camp, or "get out of the house, you're driving me crazy."

 

Today, many parents – and in two households – wrestle with concerns about "how are we to best allocate the precious resource of summer schedules for the kids' educational enhancement and athletic opportunities?" Training camps start with August 1, school leaks into the first week of June, and in between there are many and diverse enrichment programs, day camps and residential programs – in air conditioned dorms on quiet campuses empty during the summer – all competing to convince parents that their program will get the kids into a better college, or at least prepare them for success in higher education.

 

How, exactly, does church camp compete with that? We can say – and we do – that we aren't preparing kids for college, we're preparing them for life (and eternal life, at that), but it's a tough sell. It's a highly competitive marketplace, and many church camps have a hatful of deferred maintenance on top of their no-longer-as-appealing rustic atmosphere.

 

Which is why church camps are struggling, too. There are big events that attract Christian youth, music events with preaching in between the bands and camping nearby, or mission camps which involve more travel and much more hands-on application of faith to life. Many of these new options are excellent in their own right, and the parachurch organizations which often sponsor them can sidestep some of the denominational politics that plague other programs.

 

What's a parent to do then? Will you come back next week, and let me offer a few thoughts, if not for this summer, on summer experiences and education in faith in general? Thank you!

 

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he's learned much at camp and not just about faith. Tell him what you've learned or taught at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.