Faith Works 8-21-21

Faith Works 8-21-21

Jeff Gill

Prayer, chickens, and eggs

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Prayer at home, prayer in church. They've been a mutually supporting pair for most of us for a very long time.

In regular worship, among many other benefits of the experience, you hear others pray, and are led in prayer which requires little of you, and I say that not as a bad thing. In some seasons of the spirit, we need to pray without effort. We need to be lifted and carried in prayer, and simply listening and affirming and experiencing prayer spoken by others can get us through times when we have no words, no creativity, no imagination, no memory, just pain and sorrow and hurt. Letting others pray and praying with them can be a blessing, and worship is a place that happens.

Obviously, many of us have gotten to maintain the experience of worship in our lives, even under the most restrictive circumstances (illness, age, mobility) with online tools. The pros and cons, pluses and minuses of streaming video worship have been debated sufficiently in many other places for me to step past that morass for now. But as encouraging as some of the numbers associated with that option are, it's clear to anyone in faith community leadership that it does not, has not reached everyone.

So I know many have sampled and in some cases just declined the whole video conference or social media platformed worship option, and are trying to maintain some personal ties at home. Through occasional personal contacts, whether by phone or appropriately handled visits. But it's much, much less than what many had as a part of their spiritual formation and maintenance than we had before. And even some who have embraced online options have found them wearying, and cut back, reduced, trimmed down their screen time as a two-edged sword for spiritual health versus wearing on the spirit.

Where all that leaves us is, at least in my circle of contacts and encounters, more online than elsewhere, quite a bit of confession around how prayer lives are stretching to a breaking point, how seasons of prayer have gotten shorter, how some have even paused their prayer life and are struggling to feel ready to pick it back up again. . . though they feel a call to do so.

Which leads me to a pastoral suggestion for some, which is a set of reminders and habits I've held onto that feed my prayerful moments, keep me in a spiritual harmony I believe I need, to get through the tensions and anxieties of the world we're all in.

It's a chicken or egg issue: do you pray in order to feel more deeply connected to God, the world God has made, the people God has put in this world with us? Certainly most believers, in most faith traditions as well as Christianity, would say yes. So here's my counsel: sometimes, you can open up your cramped and closed impulse to prayer by working towards it the other way. Reflect on your connections to God, consider this world God has made, and engage as best you can with the people who are God's children. You may feel right now like that last item is something you only know intellectually, but aren't feeling these days. God's children can be a raucous romper room of little hellions, can't they? But beloved children we all are.

But you're not feeling it? Okay. Walk up to a piece of art, open up a volume (or a screen if that's all you've got), and gaze into it. Enter that picture, notice the details, contemplate the experience the artist is trying to capture, Cassatt or O'Keeffe, Monet or your mother's pen and ink sketch. Use art to extend yourself out of yourself.

Poetry is a verbal method of the same. Read slowly. Re-read twice over, slow. Consider the words, what each means, how they come together. Get out of your own head and imagine the thoughts of the poet, of other readers.

Or service. You might be able to do something for another; you could simply pray for someone else, the old discipline of intercessory prayer. If you can't pray for yourself, that doesn't mean you can't pray. In all these ways, getting outside of our own selves is how we get closer to where prayer is likely to meet us.

Visual or literary arts, acts of compassion, anything you can find nearby to take you out of the endless racetrack of your own thoughts, and onto a different path. Let God meet you there.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's partial to Vermeer. Tell him how you get out of your own head at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Notes from my Knapsack 8-26-21

Notes from my Knapsack 8-26-21

Jeff Gill

Granville and Deadwood

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Two summers ago, at the encouragement of a friend, we stayed a few nights in Deadwood, South Dakota. Our plans were to hit the Corn Palace and Wall Drug on the way, and up to Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse, and Custer State Park's bison herd in the Black Hills, all of which lived up to advance billing and beyond.

I knew Deadwood was touristed up, and my expectations were lower. Seth Bullock's grave I visited, but Al Swearengen the actual or the fictional character isn't in Mount Moriah Cemetery, though Wild Bill Hickok and Calamity Jane Canary and Preacher Smith and Dora DuFran are.

Down in the town, which is clustered tight in Deadwood Gulch on either side of Main Street, I was pleasantly surprised. Yes, they built their renewal of the historic district on gambling years ago, and casino action is still woven into the streetscape, but the peak excitement downtown is three times a day all summer (except Mondays), when they have . . . shootouts. 

Yep, shoot outs on Main Street. If you are a fan of logistics and crowd management (which my wife and I both are), it's fascinating to watch the cast quietly move into place, set out cones to re-route traffic, and start into their scripted but mildly variable live show at 2 pm, 4 pm, and 6 pm (with a trial for that last shooting in a theatre on the west end of Main most nights, which they claim is one of the longest running audience participation dramas in the world, and they may be right).

But there's no getting around it: we're making a show, and a tourist attraction, and an event to photograph and enjoy, out of something we eye nervously and bemoan on social media when it happens on city streets and side alleys every weekend in urban centers all over the United States. It's . . . odd, if you think about it. Obviously, the appreciative crowd is not thinking about it (and are on vacation, and many are in a very relaxed state of mind to be kind).

For two years, I've kept thinking about it. Deadwood has a history, and a narrative thread of wild west storytelling which has been celebrated for years on television, in movies, and to more recent acclaim in the history warping but recognizably parallel and profanity laced HBO series. So it fits.

But can you imagine any of the cities, Midwestern or elsewhere, which are experiencing tragic levels of gun violence due to lawless, chaotic fights between drug dealers and other desperate characters, re-enacting those sudden fatal encounters in the year 2164? Perhaps they will, but I can't quite see it.

It's a good example of how we enjoy what we're familiar with, even when it makes no sense. The tourist crowd was "out west," the town is Deadwood, and actors are shooting each other dead with stage pistols in full and no doubt very warm costumes of leather and denim. Entertainment for all, huzzah! If I were to stage shootouts on Broadway in Granville, and do it just as well from an acting and logistical point of view, on a busy summer Saturday, how would people respond? Applause? Confusion? Probably more the latter, and hopefully someone would ask "Why?"

Ironically, we went to a church right off Main Street that Sunday, built in part by Seth Bullock, tied to the local history directly and personally. We were warmly welcomed, but it came up a couple of times before and after services that our appearance there was unusual. "Tourists never come here." Even though this, too, was literally part of that early history, there to be experienced.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's interested in living history, though perhaps not with bodies in the streets. Tell him how you've encountered the past in your present at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 8-14-21

Faith Works 8-14-21
Jeff Gill

A point that needs making
___

I have a long simmering hot take which I've kept pushing to my mental back burners for some weeks now. At this point, I just want to get it out of my head & out there in front of you all, as we look at all manner of reasons & rationales & strategies on vaccination, and that odd category of "vaccine avoidance" which we've all heard about, but I'm not sure we've considered sufficiently.

It comes down to this: for four years in seminary I ran blood drives three or four times a school year, along with the 40-plus years across which I've been a fairly regular blood donor. And whether I was directly asking, simply promoting, or just having it come up that I'd just given blood, I have for all those years heard many, many, many reasons people feel compelled to give me about their not giving blood.

At Christian Theological Seminary, the obvious but un-anxious reason was "I was just in Africa." That used to be an effective lifetime deferral, and we had a hatful of former missionaries on campus. But that was that. Some were on chemo, again, certainly. Others had health issues like diabetes or blood pressure: they'd note the barrier, and often ask if they could bring brownies or cookies for the donors. Great! Those were swift and simple and tension-free interactions over the blood drive, and the clipboard I would carry with my books the week before those events stayed in the crook of my arm.

But the overwhelming and more time-consuming group in size and defensiveness I can boil down to this: needles made them crazy. I've heard more stories than I can recount here, and rarely did I even try to argue, and my practice has always been to just answer what questions I'm asked. Even so, it was and has been a long-standing part of being a blood donor to keep smiling and nodding and being reassuring and supportive of people who feel very awkward if not guilty about not giving blood because "I just can't stand needles."

The Lord and the Red Cross be my witness, I have NEVER wanted to or tried to make such people feel guilty, and usually say when they wind down from their explanation: "it's okay, I'm giving for both of us!"

Seriously, I don't think ill of such people (maybe you, dear reader, but I doubt it); I tell this now to say I know from personal experience, while rarely hearing mentioned in public discussion: lots of people HATE and FEAR needles more than spiders or IRS audits. And that HAS to be driving a great deal of the vaccine avoidance out there. Which is also why I wish video media would ease up on all the close-ups of needles going into arms. I don't think you're helping with that large but indeterminate cohort, the needlephobic, aka trypanophobia, which I firmly believe is a thing.

How many people fit into that category? I don't know, and casual internet searching isn't showing me much. What I do suspect from my personal experience is that 30% of all people having a deep aversion to getting a needle stuck in their arm is a not unreasonable figure to start with. Deep, as in "I'd rather court death or debility than get that poke." Deep-seated fear and anxiety that people still apologize to me about literally decades later after seminary for not having been a donor, "but needles just scare me to death."

To get a vaccine, you gotta go out of your way to ask someone to do that very thing.

As a Christian, we've all heard and I've preached how we all have to accept carrying our cross. Often part of that message is a reminder that when the time comes, we need to faithfully and sacrificially accept the cross we're given to carry, and also a passing thought that we shouldn't be rushing to grab the nearest cross to die on. God will provide, in blessings and in crosses, but don't expect to pick the where and when.

Getting your shot is a little bit different, and the evangelism around it of a very different sort. How do you lovingly and compassionately encourage someone to step forward and do something that might not rattle you a bit, but fills them with fear? All I know is to walk with them, as far as I can, and let them know they are not alone.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he is not a doctor nor has he played one on television, but he did play a coroner once on stage. Tell him how you think we can keep our population safe and hospitals as quiet as possible at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 8-7-21

Faith Works 8-7-21

Jeff Gill

In defense of religion

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SBNR is a thing, and churches along with religious leaders need to acknowledge it. It's short for "spiritual but not religious" and church leaders have been hearing about that as a status people claim, or a position they have adopted, or an attitude folks take, for some time now. It's a stance churchly people like to dismiss, but I think we do so at risk of not understanding the era into which we're called to preach the good news.

I can defend, in a way, this viewpoint. Religious organizations in general have not had a good . . . twenty-first century, let's say. Structural church bodies, call them denominations if you want, institutions if you're being grimly technical, are not in great shape, and don't seem to offer much to a spiritual seeker.

This doesn't mean being spiritual only is necessarily a good thing. I'd like to say a word in defense of religion.

My timing is, as always, terrible. Religious bodies and church structures on a sectional and national level are delaminating at a shocking clip. Denominational numbers and budgets are cratering; even independent and non-denominational institutions are struggling and collapsing, the closure of Cincinnati Christian University being one recent example. The preference today when it comes to faith and life is for autonomy and personal choice; most imposed rules or limits or forced decisions are seen as bad if not outright wrong. Consumer choice extends to where we go to church, where we get married, how we bury our dead.

This column's roots go back to an editor who asked me "can you speak, at least regularly, to people who are interested in faith but don't want to hear about church stuff?" I said yes, and here we are fifteen years later. And the number of people who would call themselves SBNR has only grown.

But I would and do still call myself "religious." Religion is word that evokes doctrine and dogma and confessions of faith in Gothic print with red-letter capitals outlined in gold, aka "old stuff." Spiritual implies a connectedness to one's own spirit and to how the divine spirit is at work in the world which I wouldn't want to deny, but I hear people say they're "spiritual" and I catch an undertone of "but without all that old stuff."

Okay, doctrine and dogma aside: are you certain you and your experience are really that far in advance of three thousand or more years of accumulated, sifted, spiritually validated religion? Because that's what's underneath the calligraphy and canon law and catechisms: the work of the Holy Spirit to form the canon of scripture, to move believers in community to set up guidelines and reinforcements and patterns of holy and whole living, to bring about a structure that is sustainable for not only centuries, but millennia.

The dismissal of "the old" is most often strongest when it comes to moral guidelines, older ways of being in relationship that today look dated to particular assumptions about people and gender and lifestyles. And yes, there's work of interpretation to do when the Bible takes concubines and multiple wives and slavery in stride. 

Yet the very idea of covenantal bonds, the having of moral limits: I affirm that these not only can be positive things, but that we need them. Can these categories be abused? Can bonds become handcuffs; can limits become unfair & even unjust limitations? Sure, but neither is an argument to do away with them entirely. If a property survey shows that a fence is in the wrong place, you take it down, but in most cases you set up a new one in the right place.

Religion is a word derived from older usage to talk about the ties that bind us together, like "ligaments." The roots are even in the term "college" where "bound together" are scholars and different viewpoints, coming together in a college of learning and study. To re-bind, or re-legio, is the work of religion: to weave and connect and tie us together in our spiritual seeking.

The fluid nature of spirituality, I believe, needs a container. Religion is what we call where we pour our spiritual experience, to carry it forward and to pass it along.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's been religious for most of his life, spiritually speaking. Tell him where you pour your thoughts out at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Notes from my Knapsack 8-12-21

Notes from my Knapsack 8-12-21

Jeff Gill

A night in Granville
___

A few nights ago, I watched night fall over Granville.

To be fair, I've seen this happen many times: from my back patio or front porch, up on the Denison campus atop the hill, along Broadway during the street fair from the vantage point of a french fryer or on the rockers in front of the Avery-Downer House.

After all, the sun sets every day. Even indoors, we notice it, as the lamps go on and the windows dim and begin to reflect interior light more than daytime shining in.

And we have a lovely variety of places we can be in Our Fayre Village to see that happen. I fondly remember the bicentennial year and the long dinner table through town, the changing of the light and the move from meal to dessert to friends singing on nearby stages (hi, Mary Borgia!).

What made the recent experience I had somewhat unique was it was a weeknight, no particular events in train, just a Tuesday, but a special day in that old friends we'd not seen in person for years were passing through town on their way back to a distant city, Granville conveniently being about midway.

I made my way to Day y Noche, grabbed an outdoor table, explained to the server we might be a while (not knowing how right I was), a promising a tip to balance it out. My wife came along, then our friends within the half hour, and we had dinner, and talked. Let's just say all four of us do well in the talking department, and there was much to catch up with. Wine and margaritas and water with lemon kept us into second rounds, and our meal went from nearly too hot to shady with the sun passing north of the streetscape to the sky starting to purple up.

As will happen, after settling up and nearly closing the place, we jumped over to Whit's before they did the same, and with frozen custard in various forms in hand, we grabbed some public benches. Our conversation or conversations went on apace.

In the sky, the swifts in their irregular and swooping way, filled the dusk overhead and then slowly filtered out of the aerial display, replaced as they went to their elevated beds by bats getting up and out for the night. Both the wing profile and flight paths of bats are more jagged, certainly distinctive. Clearly by day our downtown attics and chimneys and Prospect heights older tree hollows have large numbers of sleeping bats, because there were mobs out as the stars began to come out.

Did I mention we talked? Of things past, and things to come, dreamed of and implausible, nearby and likely. The usual. But at a certain point, as the restaurants closed and the streetlights were all on, we realized the street was empty. All the cars were gone, save mine across the way. So we talked a while longer.

Just before midnight, we agreed it had to end else we turn into pumpkins, so they walked back to the inn, and I my spouse to her car. Then I strolled back down Broadway. No cars, empty even of traffic: I could have walked down the double stripe. It was as it usually is, beautiful, but in a new way to me. I got to my vehicle and interrupted the silence by starting up and driving home, but the next morning, the peace of that scene was and is still with me.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's closed a few joints in his day, but not recently. Tell him when you know it's time to go home at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 7-31-21

Faith Works 7-31-21

Jeff Gill

Enough is all you need

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After the last few weeks, I had a couple of people ask me if I was referencing a book that came out a couple of years ago titled "Enough," by noted Methodist pastor Adam Hamilton. My answer is "no," but clearly after posting the last column in this series, I need to get a copy and compare notes!

It doesn't surprise me that a perceptive and pastoral writer and teacher like Hamilton would have already been all over this topic, because as a minister, it's a reality of life we see in many forms, all around us. The congregation I last served knew of my references to the problem in my occasional comments from the pulpit about storage units, and how they had popped up like mushrooms in rainy summers all over the landscape.

One of our church leaders commented to me that she now couldn't drive past a row or fenced lot full of rental storage spaces without thinking about those sermons, to which a preacher can only say "mission accomplished!"

But I want to talk about something deeper than the highest pile of stuff, even though the stuff is the more visible, blatantly obvious part of the problem. This time last year I was shuttling to my childhood home in Indiana which my sister and I were working to clean out and sell for our mother, and we were getting rid of a lot of stuff. Dumpster loads uncounted, even with myriad Goodwill and other places to pass along what could still be used.

And I wrote a column or two then about warning older parents to check with their adult children about how much of the stuff they were saving for them, and whether they really wanted it. In the last few weeks, I've had three conversations with people who told me a) they didn't like my column then, b) they clipped it, and c) they did after much deliberation have those conversations with adult children.

Sometimes tears were involved, with their kids and with me. Some of it provoked gales of laughter. But all three ended with a large amount of pitching. Stuff isn't love, but we can confuse the one with the other in all sorts of ways.

Which is where this gets real. And getting real, for me, means getting theological. Buckle up for the sermon, friends.

Love is not earned.

This to me is the heart of the Christian Gospel, the good news we point to in the person of Jesus Christ. Love is not, cannot be, is never going to be earned. That's not how love works. Love is a gift, it is grace, a gift freely given, but it's not purchased, it's not obtained by force fiscal or physical, and it's not earned.

The lie this world tells us is that love is indeed earned. By effort, by good works, by our deserving it or achieving it by what we do. If we do the right things, we get love in return. And more complicatedly, love must be given if we have done what we think we need to do to deserve it. The fault line, the crack that is sin at work in the world, is the belief that runs right through the human heart telling us that we have to earn love, even as we understand the beauty and glory of love just clearly enough to realize we can never earn it by our own actions.

You can, however, earn stuff. Plenty of dollar stores to make even more stuff accessible, or you can go on the internet and get the pricey stuff to jolt our endocrine systems for a moment into thinking we got the moral equivalent of love. Or you can keep working to do good things and hope the next piece of goodness we perform will get the job done. That way, however, lies madness, or at least a pile of compulsive behaviors. 

The message of Jesus, from a certain angle, is about how we are each and all essentially loved, loved by God, so much that . . . you may know a Bible verse here. And with that love firmly established from the manger to the cross, we have no fear of the tomb or the storage locker. Because we know in Jesus that we are loved, and that is enough.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's still throwing out stuff. Tell him how you know you're loved at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Notes from my Knapsack 7-29-21 [revised]

Notes from my Knapsack 7-29-21 [revised]

Jeff Gill

Munson Springs flows with local history

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A tract of land north of the intersection of Newark-Granville Road and Cherry Valley Road is rich with history. We've seen new development nearby, but along with the Great Lawn of the Bryn Du Mansion, it's one of the last open stretches open for preservation on our village's eastern gateway, and there's reason to consider our doing so.

Full disclosure: I have been part of the discovery of this historical narrative, and I confess to some personal interest in how more people can become aware of what a hinge of history that intersection is, and can be. When I first moved to Licking County in August of 1989, I came with an archaeology degree in my background, and arrived just in time to attend a conference held by the Licking County Archaeology and Landmarks Society (LCALS), with speakers from National Geographic, Ohio State's faculty, and scholars from around the country.

That event got me introduced to Paul Hooge, the founder and executive director of LCALS, which had been doing summer field seasons with different archaeology programs including Ohio State on what was known as the Murphy tract. Soon I'd end up on the board of LCALS, but it was only a few weeks later I'd be invited to come help with the last day of that field season, which was going to be some site clean-up and the grunt work of backfilling and closing down a site for the winter.

There was snow in the air and a frost already on the ground when I showed up, and Paul introduced me to someone who would become a lifelong friend, Brad Lepper. He and I were assigned to cleaning off the sides of a unit dug to one side of a trench through a mound, near what was already being called the Munson Springs, named for the farmstead at the heart of the Murphy tract. The house and barns still stood where now is the Glen at Erinwood, east of Jones Road on the north side of Newark-Granville Road.

In another year, the Murphys would close down our work, and begin their intended development; along with facilitating some truly important archaeological digs, they helped with preserving the historic Munson home, which was moved a half mile east and across the road to become the core of the new Welsh Hills School. But the Munson Springs site had been given another year of work because in the previous year's site closure, an excavator had found a fluted point in the side of the trench.

Fluted points are relatively rare, and almost never found "in situ," in the ground. Often in Licking or Coshocton Counties they can be found in plowed fields after rains, knocked about and not necessarily located where they were deposited. They date to the first human occupation of this area, 10-13,000 years ago, just after the last glaciers retreated north. Paleoindian hunters sought out mastodons and mammoths, elk and caribou, and of course deer, using wood and stone tools, the flint projectile points on their speartips carefully crafted with a characteristic fluting flake off the base.

There are very few "in situ" fluted point finds in Ohio: one within today's village limits, at the Munson Springs site. I had the pleasure of finding a few more pieces of worked flint nearby in those last seasons, the fall of 1989 and summer 1990. And Brad gave me the chance to write up a site report with him in 1991, my first "professional" publication, on the Munson Springs Site. Thirty years ago now seems like a long time ago, but the story we told then was about how people have lived and worked in Granville for over 10,000 years, and known it as a good place to be.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he finds scraping and sifting soil to be therapeutic under the right circumstances. Tell him how you relax at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 7-24-21

Faith Works 7-24-21

Jeff Gill

When Jesus is enough

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While this column has been intended from its outset to be aimed at anyone interested in how faith gives shape to our lives and actions, how "faith works," it's only honest for your columnist to admit he comes at this from a Christian perspective.

I believe the Christian witness is true, even if there may be particular points of application where other Christians and I do not entirely agree.

So I have been talking this summer about a concept that has more church context than everyday usage, with the word "stewardship." I can extend my context to Judeo-Christian in pulling in the Genesis witness to what God is up to in creation, and how both Jews and Christians — along with many others, to be sure — understand that we have not just been given this world to use and abuse, but to tend and care for: stewards of creation.

Some look at those same Biblical texts and put the weight a bit more towards dominion and domination than others of us would, but the context of having a divinely mandated responsibility for how we care for creation in whole and of its parts is pretty clear. We are stewards, caretakers for a time, of a lasting cosmos around us. Humans may have levels of thought and reason and responsibility that are different than those of ocelots and armadillos, but we're also part of the whole even as we're particularly obligated to care for the whole.

There are those who interpret that stewardship call on humanity to mean we should be vegetarians, others who say we should be sparing in our eating of meat, and some would just say stewardship means being mindful of what meat-eating says about our place in the larger plan. Like I said, there are divergences in application when we talk about stewardship. I heard a very useful sermon in seminary, as I prepared for parish ministry, entitled "Do shepherds eat mutton?" It's an interesting question to reflect on, not just about dinner entrees.

But my own Christian orientation takes me to a perspective I like to sum up, like that sermon title, a great deal of consideration in just a few words of reflection: Jesus is enough.

Saying "Jesus is enough" is a limiting principle that doesn't lend itself as well as I might like to a newspaper column. It works out in the living of it, by using the person and place of Jesus as a yardstick, a unit of measure, a ruler (in more ways than one!) for knowing where "enough" is.

But I think I can say to you all here that the starting point, for anyone, Christian or not, is to admit there are limits. Necessary and absolute limits. I am not eternal. I am not infinite. I am not everything. If I'm none of those things, then I have limits I need to respect.

Yes, there are human imposed limits on people that are wrong, even evil — discrimination, stereotypes, racism and bigotry, sexism and stigma — which we need to overcome at times. This, for me, is where Jesus comes in as a crowbar as well as a master key, but to say "I'm more than you think I am" is still not adding up to "therefore I am everything."

And where I believe faith is at odds with the spirit of our age: as a Christian, I find myself ruefully shaking my head at "I can do anything" let alone "I can have everything." I would argue that hunger for more, more, more can be traced back to a concept we shorthand as "sin." We can't have everything, and we shouldn't. Often wanting more is just a fig leaf for wanting it all, and I don't believe we can have that.

If in Jesus, through him, we have everything we need, then I don't need everything. And perhaps I can even find my way to knowing what is enough. And enough is usually a bit less than what I want.

How much is enough? Stay tuned: it's a long summer!

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's still working on knowing how much is enough. Tell him how you've got it figured out at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Notes from my Knapsack 7-29-21

Notes from my Knapsack 7-29-21

Jeff Gill

Layers of narrative at Munson Springs

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For me, the discovery of a fluted point in relatively undisturbed subsoil is an event in our local prehistory that takes us back, both 10,000 years or more when it was left in the ground by Paleoindian hunters, and its find by archaeologists a year before I moved to Licking County.

Where the layers of history that make up the Munson Springs site intersect most directly with my own story was when in November of 1989 my trowel pinged off a unifacial scraper, a piece of flint not really diagnostic as to dating in itself, but found within centimeters of the previous season's fluted point…and of the same type flint, along with a scattering of flakes made from more of the same.

With that find, a lone fluted point became a toolkit assemblage of sorts, and possibly even a base camp for those ancient early hunters across these hills and valleys. Just a few weeks later, all of us from the Munson Springs dig became involved in the excavation and recovery of the Burning Tree Mastodon, not directly related but of the same general era, with dating more precisely made there to 11,500 years before the present.

From that fluted point to the "settler" period of Granville history, the amazing thing about the area around the intersection of Newark-Granville Road and Cherry Valley Road is that we have in one place a meaningful indication in and on the land of every epoch. Paleoindian period stone tools, Archaic projectile points, Adena and Hopewell era mounds, late prehistoric Native American presence on the landscape, and then the arrival of the first Euro-American colonists.

At Galway Drive a marker reminds us of the first over-wintering settlers in 1801 from the East into Granville Township, Lillie and John Jones with their three children. The next year she bears their fourth child, dies a few weeks after, and the rest of the family departs: but nearby, just east of them, a quiet part of our pioneer story remains. Patrick Cunningham, born in Ireland, veteran of the Revolutionary war, thrice-widowed, had built his cabin just beyond the springs, where the Jones cabin was closer to the foot of the hill.

Cunningham helped bury Lillie Jones, and aided her extended family in moving her remains first to Newark after their establishment of a formal cemetery following 1802's plat of that town, then again after early Granville's leaders laid out the Old Colony Burying Ground. Before they did that, their main wagon train camped on the open land south of Munson Springs on November 16, 1805, the night before their entry into today's four corners and establishment of the village as we know it. Cunningham through those early years planted apple seedlings purchased from Johnny Appleseed on those south facing slopes, and an early account notes his orchards and cabin foundation could still be seen in 1889, though he had died in 1832. His son William fought in the War of 1812, dying of disease on his way home from the Ft. Meigs area and buried in the Old Franklinton Cemetery across the Scioto from Columbus in 1814.

By this time, Licking County has been marked off from Fairfield County, of which we were a part until 1808. From Smucker's 1876 history: "the County of Licking was organized with the following persons as its first Judicial and County Officers… Judge of Common Pleas Court, William Wilson; Associate Judges Alexander Holmes, Timothy Rose, & James Taylor; Clerk of Court Samuel Bancroft; Sheriff John Stadden, and Treasurer Elias Gilman…" (who promptly would go back into the village and build his house which stands just off of College St. today).

The account continues: "The first Court was held at the house of Levi Hays, four miles West of Newark and two miles east of Granville. There not being room in the house, the Grand Jury held its inquest under a tree…" directly across from Fackler's Garden Center today, and just down the hill from our historic Munson Springs. Our county's literal foundation begins at that historic intersection.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's convinced our history still speaks in this landscape, if we listen closely. Tell him what you've heard at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Notes from my Knapsack 7-15-21

Notes from my Knapsack 7-15-21

Jeff Gill

Munson Springs flows with local history

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A tract of land north of the intersection of Newark-Granville Road and Cherry Valley Road is rich with history. We've seen new development nearby, but along with the Great Lawn of the Bryn Du Mansion, it's one of the last open stretches open for preservation on our village's eastern gateway, and there's reason to consider our doing so.

Full disclosure: I have been part of the discovery of this historical narrative, and I confess to some personal interest in how more people can become aware of what a hinge of history that intersection is, and can be. When I first moved to Licking County in August of 1989, I came with an archaeology degree in my background, and arrived just in time to attend a conference held by the Licking County Archaeology and Landmarks Society (LCALS), with speakers from National Geographic, Ohio State's faculty, and scholars from around the country.

That event got me introduced to Paul Hooge, the founder and executive director of LCALS, which had been doing summer field seasons with different archaeology programs including Ohio State on what was known as the Murphy tract. Soon I'd end up on the board of LCALS, but it was for only a few weeks later I would be invited to come help with the last day of that field season, which was going to be some site clean-up and the grunt work of backfilling and closing down a site for the winter.

There was snow in the air and a chill already on the ground when I showed up, and Paul introduced me to someone who would become a lifelong friend, Brad Lepper. He and I were assigned to cleaning off the sides of a unit dug to one side of a trench through a mound near what was already being called the Munson Springs, named for the farmstead at the heart of the Murphy tract. The house and barns still stood where now is the Glen at Erinwood, just east of Jones Road on the north side of Newark-Granville Road.

In another year, the Murphys would close down our work, and begin their intended development; along with facilitating some truly important archaeological digs, they would help with preserving the historic 1810 Munson home, which was moved a half mile east and across the road to become the core of the new Welsh Hills School. But the Munson Springs site had been given another year of work because in the previous year's site closure, an excavator had found a fluted point in the side of the trench.

Fluted points are relatively rare, and almost never found "in situ," in the ground where last they were left. Often in Licking or Coshocton Counties they are found in plowed fields after rains, knocked about and not necessarily located where they were deposited. They date to the first human occupation of this are, 10-13,000 years ago, just as the last glaciers were retreating north. Paleoindian hunters sought out mastodons and mammoths, elk and caribou, and of course deer, using wood and stone tools, the flint projectile points on their spears carefully crafted with a characteristic fluting flake off the base.

There are less than a dozen "in situ" fluted point finds in Ohio: one was within today's village limits, at the Munson Springs site. But this is only the beginning of the story!

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he finds scraping and sifting soil to be therapeutic under the right circumstances. Tell him how you relax at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 7-17-21

Faith Works 7-17-21

Jeff Gill

Everything's not fine, but not so bad either

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For a few weeks, I've been asking some questions as a person of faith, with a worldview shaped by what church people call "Scripture and tradition," about whether or not things are as bad as you might think.

If you've been reading my reflections for any time at all, you know I have a running issue with the fact that, for many so-called opinion purveyors, worry and concern and anxiety and even fear are how they earn their income.

Nervous people don't change the channel. If you're shocked or provoked by "this weird trick" or what "you won't believe" you are more likely to click the link, turn the page, continue on into the story, read the second page of the three page mailer with a postage-paid return envelope. Getting people worked up into a state is how fundraisers and direct mail goobers and not a few media outlets pay the bills. So there is a huge bias towards bad news and dread invoking possibilities.

My long-time favorite example is how most people have been convinced by implication and innuendo that high school graduation rates have fallen over the last half century, when the opposite is the case. And the general case is made by quotations from antiquity on down, and by antiquity I mean written in cuneiform on clay tablets, about how the younger generation is ruder, more in a hurry, and less respectful of their elders than has ever been true. So we have a general tendency to believe these gloomy scenarios.

While I think education and opportunity and possibilities are better for more people today than at any point in U.S. history, I don't think we live in the Beloved Community promised for the end of the age. We're a long way from being as good and as happy as we could be, as I believe God wants us to be. And much of our misery is self-inflicted, which is why I hate seeing government and politics giving us more ways to make ourselves miserable. I can be convinced by many libertarian arguments, to be honest, but while I don't want to see many things made illegal, I dread the apparently inevitable advent of legal weed, online gambling, or even expanded access to fireworks let alone firearms. 

Where I think one's faith can be most helpful, and what faith communities can do when lobbying the legislature is of no avail, is to teach . . . truth. And while I get most of the email and other communications from interest groups that any minister sees, telling us how to define truth in terms of political issues and partisan candidacies, I reserve the right to define truth separately from the spirit of the age I live in, even when it's a sensibility I might agree with.

Truth, in scripture, is a simple matter of cause and effect, action and reaction. And I frame it less often than some might wish as morality as I do stewardship. Truth is that if I drop a hammer, it will land on my big toe. Yes, I've seen the video, there are exceptions: if I'm on the space station, if there's a really high wind, et cetera. But in general, Scripture & tradition are reliable as norms, and dropping a hammer means something's gonna land hard. So rather than tossing a hammer to one side, I set it down, with care, watching out for people and property.

Likewise, sex. Folks, we can talk this one to death but the reality is the spirit of our age spent decades trying to convince us all that if we could have more sex more freely we'd be happier. Forty years of pastoral counseling and I'm pretty clear that hypothesis has been disproven. The Bible teaches that sexual intimacy is fire, a flame that can spread easily and burn indiscriminately. It needs a hearth, a safe setting, a secure environment to be a blessing and not a bane.

Fireworks, sexuality, it's all a question of good stewardship to me as a preacher. There's little enough we can legislate or regulate if we don't have more individuals committed to the stewardship of the time and resources and gifts God has given us, to use with care what blesses us with the good of others in mind.

If there's anything wrong in our world today, it's not so much the lack of things as it is having more of a sense of enough. I hope to conclude with a word about "enoughness" next week.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; if there's a good way to to know how much is enough, he'd be happy to hear it from you. Tell him how you set boundaries and practice stewardship at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 7-10-21

Faith Works 7-10-21

Jeff Gill

What's wrong, and what's to be done?

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Having committed some inexcusable and apparently, to some, unforgivable lapses of optimism recently, I'm willing — but only in the context of my prevailing hopefulness — to share a few of my less encouraging, more worrisomely concerned takes.

As a Christian, let alone a person with a calling to faith community leadership in preaching and ministry, my hope is in the cross. That means I have a peculiar relationship to hope at best. Call it pessimistic optimism, or optimistic pessimism either way. I believe things will work out for the good, but likely through a very painful and temporarily unpleasant pathway. Like, say, the cross.

In the cross of Christ I glory, which means I have my hope anchored in heaven and eternity, but I see how the way there means suffering and sacrifice along that Way. It's in the Book, it's part of the operating manual, it's what we've been told to expect.

And I trust in God to use our mistakes, our missteps, for a greater good. My theology unpacks it this way: that in each moment, God is working for our blessing, and in almost every moment, we fall short of making the best use of everything God has given us, so God is eternally and infinitely working on Plan B. There's a vast and majestic Plan A guiding the whole, but in any one moment or life span we are all called to be co-creators, to work out our salvation with fear and trembling as Paul says, and to trust grace in how we will mess that up and that Divine Providence is constantly sweeping up behind us.

So for what's wrong, let's start small. Fireworks. I think it's a horrible, terrible, no-good idea to (as the vendors all agree and are preparing for) double the amount of consumer fireworks going into private hands and in many cases blowing up in them. Someone said on Twitter last weekend that we should keep in our prayers those for whom this is the last day they'll have ten fingers; the news has told us about how even youth and wealth are no protection from amateurs using not-quite-high explosives in their backyards, with death the occasional result. Am I happy about legalizing fireworks use? No. Is this a problem for the church? Well, we preachers can talk about stewardship and the care and keeping of fingers, I guess, but in general, no.

Sports betting on your phone. Hey folks, I have spent now over a year shuttling back and forth to my home state of Indiana, where sports books are all competing like mad for your $5 bets and credit card numbers with access to notifications on your devices. My social media as soon as I'm over the border lights up with betting ads and posts, thanks to geographic ID, and it's . . . well, to me, it's nauseating. Not because I think gambling is a deep moral evil per se, but because all the claims of "they'll bet anyhow" and "Ohio is losing money to other states" and "it's recreational" are belied by the tiny notices of where to call to deal with addiction and gambling. It's going to be what it always is: a tax on ignorance, a burden on those already behind the 8 ball (I'm fine with pool, you see), and the most regressive form of paying for public costs we could come up with. I hate it, and ask my son how I feel about the word "hate."

Yes, churches fought gambling in Ohio for years; when the constitutional amendment workaround prevailed on the ballot, most have given up and caved in. I don't encourage churches to spend much time shouting at the tide on sports betting as state policy, but I can assure you preachers will mostly be warning their flocks: it's not good stewardship.

More worries? Sure. How about guns? I'm not taking a position here on the Second Amendment or pacifism, I'm just going to say it: there are too many guns out there. We have more firearms than people in the US, and too many idiots (let alone lawbreakers) can easily get ahold of a pistol when they're in a mood. Do I think guns are evil? Nope. But our (everybody, now) stewardship of what we've been given should ask why we're spending so much on overpowered weaponry we don't know how to handle.

Enough for now? Next week, come back and we can worry about sex. How's that for concern trolling?

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he worries about plenty, thank you very much. Tell him about what you hope for at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.