Faith Works 7-02-05
Jeff Gill
Shalom, Peace, and Independence Day
"Be careful" is almost as frequent a saying as "Have a Happy Fourth of July!" this time of year. Fireworks are going off almost every night this week somewhere in our (any likely your) neighborhood, with a crescendo to Monday’s final blasts.
Add in water skiing at Buckeye Lake, potato salad in the sun, and poison ivy having a great year, and you get a sense of hazard along with the celebrational spirit for July 4.
It has been a year since I managed to have a very simple (OK, idiotic) fall in my driveway, break my arm in three places, have two surgeries, and put my life in order around casts, slings, and medical restrictions.
I am (ahem) young, fit (stop chuckling, would you?), and healed pretty fast according to Dr. Quimjian (three cheers for whom!), so there’s no real complication now and really was nothing to complain about then.
But I was amazed at how much I felt, well, "off" for months, even after the pins were removed and the last bandages came off. To fly with one wing for so long, and even with both limbs useable in many situations like driving, typing, or just putting the Little Guy to bed, there was something that just didn’t feel right. It wasn’t just the arm, it was the whole of me.
"Shalom" is the Hebrew word usually translated as "peace." Both greeting and farewell (like the Hawaiian "aloha"), shalom can be used in a wide variety of applications both in modern Hebrew as spoken in Israel, and when translating the Hebrew Scriptures, known to most Americans as the Old Testament of the Holy Bible.
Often in time of war, conflict, or upheaval, preachers know to point out that shalom is not just "peace" as the absence of war, but a fuller, whole-er, more active peace . . . peace seeking justice. We may seek peace, but the guns can stop firing and "shalom" not apply.
In a number of spots in the Old Testament, shalom refers to "wholeness," to the integrity of the human community, and even to bodily integrity. The state of shalom is where all the parts are communing in a blessed whole. Shalom is even used in a passage that discusses broken bones, when they are healed into renewed wholeness, or shalom.
Shalom does not accept partial wholeness. You are either together, or you aren’t; you’re in pieces, or in peace.
The American community, across faith traditions of all sorts, is "broken up" over the Iraq war. There was peace, the sort without open warfare, in Iraq before the war, but certainly no shalom. We now have casualties, some striking close to home in central Ohio, all fracturing families and futures, as justice is sought for an Iraqi people who have sought peace for decades, and need our help.
Whatever the outcome, and however one wishes the push to armed confrontation had been handled, we are still looking for shalom. That ancient Hebrew concept, rooted in the Semitic heritage of the cradle of civilization between the Tigris and Euphrates, points us to our need to include the wholeness of our community in any resolution.
The American Revolution was a time where armed conflict was a step on the way to shalom for the United States, but it took a president who knew his Old Testament well, George Washington (see his letter to the Touro Synagogue), to build shalom by bringing together not only Federalists and Whigs, but even Tory loyalists and oldline Patriots into the developing republic.
Communities of faith still have a role today in bridging the gap between individual independence so treasured by Americans, and the wholeness of creative interdependence that truly makes our national ideals a lived reality. We need to bring some "shalom" to the Fourth of July picnic!
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; healing and peacemaking stories alike are welcome at disciple@voyager.net.
k
Monday, June 27, 2005
Out Of Order Alert!!!
[that's out of publishing order, actually; watch the date after the column header, but normally these go up in order that they're published on wood pulp - jbg]
Faith Works 6-25-05
Jeff Gill
Insuring Good Pastoral Leadership
Did you know that General Motors spends more per car on health insurance for employees than it does on steel?
OK, you answer, I didn’t know that and it’s an interesting but disturbing fact, illustrative of modern economic trends. But I turned to the "Your Faith" page today to read the "Faith Works" column, not "Business Round-Up."
And so you did. I’m telling you this because many denominations are finding it harder and harder to insure their clergy, let alone other full-time employees, which leaves congregations and local faith communities of all sorts scrambling. How do we properly provide for our pastors, preachers, staff of all sorts?
Small business owners and managers have been dealing with the premium increase spiral for years, but most church boards or budget committees have been either sheltered from the chill winds of reality or left thinking someone else was covering the question. Fewer options and skyrocketing costs whether self-insured or through a large company have started to wreak havoc with public entities like school systems (most of the large ones like Columbus are self-insured, with their own pool of funds set aside for paying out claims) and not-for-profits.
Church groups have, as a whole, tended to keep the playing field even across their participants, with everyone paying the same rate regardless of age, part of the country, or specific circumstances.
But even the Catholic Church or United Methodists, who have very large pools to work with to balance payment in to costs going out, are finding it increasingly burdensome to maintain coverage without starting to cut into other programs.
More "free church" traditions have long left it up to individuals to buy individual coverage, but even loosely organized denominations have tried to offer a group insurance plan that can be paid for by the employing body (you have to pay taxes on money given you to buy individual coverage, which makes the apparent savings of individual coverage much less), and group insurance can go across state and regional boundaries. Clergy who may want to hold onto the flexibility of relocation later in their career are often unwilling to get a modest savings in cost in exchange for possibly tying themselves to one state for the rest of their career.
My own ordaining body, the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), is now having to ask for $14,000 for the highest deductible family plan: almost half the average salary and housing allowance paid across the denomination. You can get your own coverage for around $9,000, but since you pay taxes on that money (individual vs. group), we’re looking at $12,000 and less or no portability.
And it doesn’t matter, because the agency of the church that manages the group plan for the church is still losing $3 million a year, and says they will bail out at year’s end, leaving anyone on that plan to scramble for coverage, unless they are authorized to make drastic and equally painful changes to how the plan is offered.
That’s one modestly sized church body in the US. Your group, I can assure you, is facing equally hard choices of one sort or another.
One result of this trend has been two quiet but widespread developments: an increase in bivocational or what’s known as "tentmaking" ministries, where the pastoral leadership is part-time and works a secular job which carries benefits. If you weren’t clever enough to anticipate all this and marry someone with a benefits package (insert irony here), that may be your best option.
The other development is a sharp increase in ordained clergy leaving full-time ministry, working in other fields altogether and fitting in church work like everyone else does, as time allows.
For churches accustomed to full-time, ordained clergy, it used to be that you had to have at least 50 or so average worship attendance to have your own minister. When I started seminary in the mid-80’s, it was said to be 75, then 100, then... Now we’re looking at about 150, all because of insurance costs.
How is your church caring for your leadership at the size you are now, and with the expectations you have of ministry? The time for conversation is past, and action is needed.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he and the Little Guy are on his wife’s insurance. If your faith community has an innovative solution, tell him at disciple@voyager.net.
e
[that's out of publishing order, actually; watch the date after the column header, but normally these go up in order that they're published on wood pulp - jbg]
Faith Works 6-25-05
Jeff Gill
Insuring Good Pastoral Leadership
Did you know that General Motors spends more per car on health insurance for employees than it does on steel?
OK, you answer, I didn’t know that and it’s an interesting but disturbing fact, illustrative of modern economic trends. But I turned to the "Your Faith" page today to read the "Faith Works" column, not "Business Round-Up."
And so you did. I’m telling you this because many denominations are finding it harder and harder to insure their clergy, let alone other full-time employees, which leaves congregations and local faith communities of all sorts scrambling. How do we properly provide for our pastors, preachers, staff of all sorts?
Small business owners and managers have been dealing with the premium increase spiral for years, but most church boards or budget committees have been either sheltered from the chill winds of reality or left thinking someone else was covering the question. Fewer options and skyrocketing costs whether self-insured or through a large company have started to wreak havoc with public entities like school systems (most of the large ones like Columbus are self-insured, with their own pool of funds set aside for paying out claims) and not-for-profits.
Church groups have, as a whole, tended to keep the playing field even across their participants, with everyone paying the same rate regardless of age, part of the country, or specific circumstances.
But even the Catholic Church or United Methodists, who have very large pools to work with to balance payment in to costs going out, are finding it increasingly burdensome to maintain coverage without starting to cut into other programs.
More "free church" traditions have long left it up to individuals to buy individual coverage, but even loosely organized denominations have tried to offer a group insurance plan that can be paid for by the employing body (you have to pay taxes on money given you to buy individual coverage, which makes the apparent savings of individual coverage much less), and group insurance can go across state and regional boundaries. Clergy who may want to hold onto the flexibility of relocation later in their career are often unwilling to get a modest savings in cost in exchange for possibly tying themselves to one state for the rest of their career.
My own ordaining body, the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), is now having to ask for $14,000 for the highest deductible family plan: almost half the average salary and housing allowance paid across the denomination. You can get your own coverage for around $9,000, but since you pay taxes on that money (individual vs. group), we’re looking at $12,000 and less or no portability.
And it doesn’t matter, because the agency of the church that manages the group plan for the church is still losing $3 million a year, and says they will bail out at year’s end, leaving anyone on that plan to scramble for coverage, unless they are authorized to make drastic and equally painful changes to how the plan is offered.
That’s one modestly sized church body in the US. Your group, I can assure you, is facing equally hard choices of one sort or another.
One result of this trend has been two quiet but widespread developments: an increase in bivocational or what’s known as "tentmaking" ministries, where the pastoral leadership is part-time and works a secular job which carries benefits. If you weren’t clever enough to anticipate all this and marry someone with a benefits package (insert irony here), that may be your best option.
The other development is a sharp increase in ordained clergy leaving full-time ministry, working in other fields altogether and fitting in church work like everyone else does, as time allows.
For churches accustomed to full-time, ordained clergy, it used to be that you had to have at least 50 or so average worship attendance to have your own minister. When I started seminary in the mid-80’s, it was said to be 75, then 100, then... Now we’re looking at about 150, all because of insurance costs.
How is your church caring for your leadership at the size you are now, and with the expectations you have of ministry? The time for conversation is past, and action is needed.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he and the Little Guy are on his wife’s insurance. If your faith community has an innovative solution, tell him at disciple@voyager.net.
e
Notes From My Knapsack 7-03-05
Jeff Gill
You will likely fly the flag this weekend, or at least see one going by. Old Glory, the Star Spangled Banner, the Stars and Stripes, the Flag of the United States of America. Whatever name you call it, the banner of the republic evokes strong feelings, especially around the Glorious Fourth.
I had the pleasure and privilege to teach flag folding and (of course) a little history to Cub Scouts at Cub Scout Day Camp a few weeks ago. Ric and Angie Eader put in amazing hours, for no pay, to assemble and run a program that sees almost 300 six through ten year old boys for four days (plus an older Cubs’ overnighter) pass through Camp Falling Rock out past Rocky Fork. Some thirty volunteers staffed stations, and a total th rough the week of 150 and more parents and grandparents as den leaders and walkers covered the truly rugged acres of up and down terrain.
And that doesn’t even count the dozens of "sibling camp" boys and girls who came when their folks were doing den duty.
Anyhow, I had the chance to share with around 500 Licking Countians proper treatment of the national emblem. Not that all of them didn’t know this stuff: they are Scouts, mostly. But they got a chance to practice what many adults never master.
You see, the US flag is folded like no other flag in the world. The final form is a triangle akin to a colonial cocked hat, a tricorn like the Valley Forge Continental Army wore in 1777 just after the thirteen stripe, thirteen star flag was approved by Congress in June of that year.
There are odd stories circulating on the internet about the "true meaning of each fold," which is just a quaint legend created long after we’d been folding the flag that way. But it is absolutely true that our level of flag etiquette and respect is different in this country.
The key is in the words of the Pledge of Allegiance, which is "to the republic, for which it stands." We do not swear an oath to the Crown, or put a Queen on all our coinage like those nice Canadians do, let alone our British cousins. A person does not represent this land, so we don’t enlist by the name of the President or Congress. We don’t swear on the land, to a place like the District of Columbia or by a Fatherland or Motherland. The states have changed in num ber and shape over and over for two centuries and more.
So the Flag of the United States of America is a symbol of freedom and democracy as other places see a monarch or geography as the emblem of their national ideals. The Flag represents the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, our elective officials, our judiciary, and executive officers, our military and astronauts and park rangers.
The Flag is Us.
Which is why we taught kids to fold the flag correctly, raise it smartly in the morning, an d respectfully in the evening, and salute it to hat or heart as appropriate as it passes by.
You’ll be somewhere this Fourth of July weekend and see the flag in a parade. Stand when it approaches, and salute as it goes by, with most hats coming off and mo st of us with a simple hand over the heart.
When you salute the flag, you affirm that "we do not bow the knee before kings and princes" or take "oaths of tyranny" let alone swear by the ground we walk on, all concepts rejected in our nation’s founding. W e salute the flag because we know that a simple piece of cloth made from various strips and symbols of "a new constellation in the heavens" is enough. It is all we need to represent the values of a land where anyone can afford to own a flag of their own a nd fly it off of a porch in the country, no less than the occupant of the White House or a mansion downtown.
We salute simplicity and basic principles, not every policy initiative from the government or each choice made in the expansion of the states to t he Pacific. No gold or jewels, no hero even holding the staff is needed. We just salute the flag, and the democratic republic "for which it stands," and for which we should stand, too.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; if you see the flag respected in a newly meaningful way this weekend, tell him through disciple@voyager.net.
{n
Jeff Gill
You will likely fly the flag this weekend, or at least see one going by. Old Glory, the Star Spangled Banner, the Stars and Stripes, the Flag of the United States of America. Whatever name you call it, the banner of the republic evokes strong feelings, especially around the Glorious Fourth.
I had the pleasure and privilege to teach flag folding and (of course) a little history to Cub Scouts at Cub Scout Day Camp a few weeks ago. Ric and Angie Eader put in amazing hours, for no pay, to assemble and run a program that sees almost 300 six through ten year old boys for four days (plus an older Cubs’ overnighter) pass through Camp Falling Rock out past Rocky Fork. Some thirty volunteers staffed stations, and a total th rough the week of 150 and more parents and grandparents as den leaders and walkers covered the truly rugged acres of up and down terrain.
And that doesn’t even count the dozens of "sibling camp" boys and girls who came when their folks were doing den duty.
Anyhow, I had the chance to share with around 500 Licking Countians proper treatment of the national emblem. Not that all of them didn’t know this stuff: they are Scouts, mostly. But they got a chance to practice what many adults never master.
You see, the US flag is folded like no other flag in the world. The final form is a triangle akin to a colonial cocked hat, a tricorn like the Valley Forge Continental Army wore in 1777 just after the thirteen stripe, thirteen star flag was approved by Congress in June of that year.
There are odd stories circulating on the internet about the "true meaning of each fold," which is just a quaint legend created long after we’d been folding the flag that way. But it is absolutely true that our level of flag etiquette and respect is different in this country.
The key is in the words of the Pledge of Allegiance, which is "to the republic, for which it stands." We do not swear an oath to the Crown, or put a Queen on all our coinage like those nice Canadians do, let alone our British cousins. A person does not represent this land, so we don’t enlist by the name of the President or Congress. We don’t swear on the land, to a place like the District of Columbia or by a Fatherland or Motherland. The states have changed in num ber and shape over and over for two centuries and more.
So the Flag of the United States of America is a symbol of freedom and democracy as other places see a monarch or geography as the emblem of their national ideals. The Flag represents the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, our elective officials, our judiciary, and executive officers, our military and astronauts and park rangers.
The Flag is Us.
Which is why we taught kids to fold the flag correctly, raise it smartly in the morning, an d respectfully in the evening, and salute it to hat or heart as appropriate as it passes by.
You’ll be somewhere this Fourth of July weekend and see the flag in a parade. Stand when it approaches, and salute as it goes by, with most hats coming off and mo st of us with a simple hand over the heart.
When you salute the flag, you affirm that "we do not bow the knee before kings and princes" or take "oaths of tyranny" let alone swear by the ground we walk on, all concepts rejected in our nation’s founding. W e salute the flag because we know that a simple piece of cloth made from various strips and symbols of "a new constellation in the heavens" is enough. It is all we need to represent the values of a land where anyone can afford to own a flag of their own a nd fly it off of a porch in the country, no less than the occupant of the White House or a mansion downtown.
We salute simplicity and basic principles, not every policy initiative from the government or each choice made in the expansion of the states to t he Pacific. No gold or jewels, no hero even holding the staff is needed. We just salute the flag, and the democratic republic "for which it stands," and for which we should stand, too.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; if you see the flag respected in a newly meaningful way this weekend, tell him through disciple@voyager.net.
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Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Faith Works 6-18-05Jeff Gill
Mission trips for youth groups are a popular way to build community among the participants and teach core values of the faith.Some groups travel far afield, to San Antonio, Texas, Mexico, or even overseas to places like the Ukraine or the Phillipines (all spots Licking County groups have gone in service and ministry in recent years).Jeanelle Gutheil, youth director for Central Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), has taken the Christian Youth Fellowship from her church on long term mission the last few summers to Michigan, West Virginia, and western Pennsylvania.This last year has seen Jeanelle deal with some complications in planning and scheduling, so like most creative youth group leaders, she came up with a Plan B. Instead of a mission trip for a week to somewhere a ways away, she's leading a "missional experience" for high school youth every Wednesday through the first week of August.Each Wednesday morning, young people will come to the church building on Mount Vernon Road and Rugg Avenue, and spend the day in service around the community, helping with tasks at the Salvation Army shelter, and other opportunities for service right in their north Newark neighborhood."This doesn't replace the idea of traveling for a mission trip," says Gutheil. "But you can't always make the travel to see other places and ways of doing things. You can always find a place where God needs you, though, like right here in town."The group will travel: for fun and fellowship, they look forward to an overnight trip to Kennywood, a historic amusement park south of Pittsuburgh where their CYF has been at the end of an earlier mission trip. Not as large as Cedar Point or as well known as King's Island, Kennywood has history along with the roller coasters, and a location near the heart of a large city where challenge and success are both near at hand.Mission trips, at their best, reveal the differences and the similarities of the human condition as close neighbors, and teach how one's faith can bring about reconciliation and empowerment. A foreign land where a different language and a sense of being in the minority can be a powerful setting for learning what "missional work" in church life really is.But crossing a state line, or even just getting out of your famililar neighborhood, can be a step in the right direction.What is your faith community doing this summer to turn a piece of leisure time into mission experience?
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio. Tell him about your mission trip at disciple@voyager.net.
Mission trips for youth groups are a popular way to build community among the participants and teach core values of the faith.Some groups travel far afield, to San Antonio, Texas, Mexico, or even overseas to places like the Ukraine or the Phillipines (all spots Licking County groups have gone in service and ministry in recent years).Jeanelle Gutheil, youth director for Central Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), has taken the Christian Youth Fellowship from her church on long term mission the last few summers to Michigan, West Virginia, and western Pennsylvania.This last year has seen Jeanelle deal with some complications in planning and scheduling, so like most creative youth group leaders, she came up with a Plan B. Instead of a mission trip for a week to somewhere a ways away, she's leading a "missional experience" for high school youth every Wednesday through the first week of August.Each Wednesday morning, young people will come to the church building on Mount Vernon Road and Rugg Avenue, and spend the day in service around the community, helping with tasks at the Salvation Army shelter, and other opportunities for service right in their north Newark neighborhood."This doesn't replace the idea of traveling for a mission trip," says Gutheil. "But you can't always make the travel to see other places and ways of doing things. You can always find a place where God needs you, though, like right here in town."The group will travel: for fun and fellowship, they look forward to an overnight trip to Kennywood, a historic amusement park south of Pittsuburgh where their CYF has been at the end of an earlier mission trip. Not as large as Cedar Point or as well known as King's Island, Kennywood has history along with the roller coasters, and a location near the heart of a large city where challenge and success are both near at hand.Mission trips, at their best, reveal the differences and the similarities of the human condition as close neighbors, and teach how one's faith can bring about reconciliation and empowerment. A foreign land where a different language and a sense of being in the minority can be a powerful setting for learning what "missional work" in church life really is.But crossing a state line, or even just getting out of your famililar neighborhood, can be a step in the right direction.What is your faith community doing this summer to turn a piece of leisure time into mission experience?
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio. Tell him about your mission trip at disciple@voyager.net.
Notes From My Knapsack 6-19-05
Jeff Gill
Whistling Down the Road to Father’s Day
Other than annoying you all with tales of my forester, craftsman, historian, church elder, all-around-good-guy dad, my other main role model for fatherhood was Sheriff Andy Taylor.
I’m surprised that no one has done a “backstory” treatment of “The Andy Griffith Show” and his main character, such as we’ve had for “Gone With the Wind” or “Batman.” Of course, the modern thinking would go “why would we want to know more about a likeable, friendly, sympathetic character?”
But while my liking and even admiration for Andy (yes, I know he’s fictional, more’s the pity) has continued into middle age and parenthood, the sense I’ve had of his story has developed and grown.
What little discussion you find on the internet or the one book on the show I’ve found tends to home in on the lost wife (deceased, as is obliquely said once) or the strange fortunes of Miss Crump.
But I have to admit that my own curiosity has filled in one blank with the idea that Andy Taylor was a Korean War veteran. He’d be about the right age, and the peculiar fact that he’s a law officer in rural North Carolina actually makes it odder, not more normal that he carries no weapon. Small villages like Mayberry would have taken guns for granted, especially on the hip of a sheriff.
Andy doesn’t carry one, which says to me he’s been there, done that, and doesn’t need to wear the t-shirt. His skillful use of non-violence in that time and place also makes me suspect that he’s seen a fair amount of the after-effects of violence and ammunition, and is willing to go to great lengths to avoid that outcome.
Over and over, you pick up on the fact that the sheriff may sound like a good ol’ boy from down on the farm, but knows more than a thing or two about the big city and even beyond . . . like Tokyo, or Seoul, perhaps?
And his handling of green, inexperienced lower ranks (sorry, Barney) says he’s been there, too.
So this all points me in the direction of Andy Taylor having seen the grey and buff hills of the Korean peninsula, and combat there during the “police action.” While vets of World War II pick up the deserved appellation of “greatest generation,” as we come to new appreciation of the sacrifices made by Vietnam vets, and we better thank those fighting in the Middle East as they serve, let alone after, Korea continues to be “the forgotten war.” Even the high-rated show placed there, “M*A*S*H,” was generally thought to be a Vietnam surrogate, taking even that from them (which would surprise the author of the book that inspired the movie, written by a Korean medical vet himself).
Korean war soldiers saw combat on a scale and with a frequency that would overshadow what many Vietnam vets or earlier conflicts would experience. They have played their own part in silence and reticence, not wanting to speak of their time at the front anymore than most who were at D-Day or Iwo Jima do. Like Andy Taylor? Could be.
And that generation, too, is slipping away from us with their stories too often untold; not as quickly as the 1940’s generation, but too, too fast.
One who told at least major parts of his story who left us recently is Col. David Hackworth, the most decorated living American soldier at the time of his death. “About Face” tells many stories, including his time in combat during Korea (and Vietnam in the latter half of the book), and he wrote columns defending the front line soldier against indifference at home and corruption up top until the day of his death from a cancer suspected to grow from the defoliants used in Vietnam.
I would honor his memory, and that of all Korean War vets in particular this Father’s Day, and I hope they don’t mind if I quietly wedge a fictional character from 60’s TV among their proud number.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; if you have stories to share, send them to disciple@voyager.net.
Jeff Gill
Whistling Down the Road to Father’s Day
Other than annoying you all with tales of my forester, craftsman, historian, church elder, all-around-good-guy dad, my other main role model for fatherhood was Sheriff Andy Taylor.
I’m surprised that no one has done a “backstory” treatment of “The Andy Griffith Show” and his main character, such as we’ve had for “Gone With the Wind” or “Batman.” Of course, the modern thinking would go “why would we want to know more about a likeable, friendly, sympathetic character?”
But while my liking and even admiration for Andy (yes, I know he’s fictional, more’s the pity) has continued into middle age and parenthood, the sense I’ve had of his story has developed and grown.
What little discussion you find on the internet or the one book on the show I’ve found tends to home in on the lost wife (deceased, as is obliquely said once) or the strange fortunes of Miss Crump.
But I have to admit that my own curiosity has filled in one blank with the idea that Andy Taylor was a Korean War veteran. He’d be about the right age, and the peculiar fact that he’s a law officer in rural North Carolina actually makes it odder, not more normal that he carries no weapon. Small villages like Mayberry would have taken guns for granted, especially on the hip of a sheriff.
Andy doesn’t carry one, which says to me he’s been there, done that, and doesn’t need to wear the t-shirt. His skillful use of non-violence in that time and place also makes me suspect that he’s seen a fair amount of the after-effects of violence and ammunition, and is willing to go to great lengths to avoid that outcome.
Over and over, you pick up on the fact that the sheriff may sound like a good ol’ boy from down on the farm, but knows more than a thing or two about the big city and even beyond . . . like Tokyo, or Seoul, perhaps?
And his handling of green, inexperienced lower ranks (sorry, Barney) says he’s been there, too.
So this all points me in the direction of Andy Taylor having seen the grey and buff hills of the Korean peninsula, and combat there during the “police action.” While vets of World War II pick up the deserved appellation of “greatest generation,” as we come to new appreciation of the sacrifices made by Vietnam vets, and we better thank those fighting in the Middle East as they serve, let alone after, Korea continues to be “the forgotten war.” Even the high-rated show placed there, “M*A*S*H,” was generally thought to be a Vietnam surrogate, taking even that from them (which would surprise the author of the book that inspired the movie, written by a Korean medical vet himself).
Korean war soldiers saw combat on a scale and with a frequency that would overshadow what many Vietnam vets or earlier conflicts would experience. They have played their own part in silence and reticence, not wanting to speak of their time at the front anymore than most who were at D-Day or Iwo Jima do. Like Andy Taylor? Could be.
And that generation, too, is slipping away from us with their stories too often untold; not as quickly as the 1940’s generation, but too, too fast.
One who told at least major parts of his story who left us recently is Col. David Hackworth, the most decorated living American soldier at the time of his death. “About Face” tells many stories, including his time in combat during Korea (and Vietnam in the latter half of the book), and he wrote columns defending the front line soldier against indifference at home and corruption up top until the day of his death from a cancer suspected to grow from the defoliants used in Vietnam.
I would honor his memory, and that of all Korean War vets in particular this Father’s Day, and I hope they don’t mind if I quietly wedge a fictional character from 60’s TV among their proud number.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; if you have stories to share, send them to disciple@voyager.net.
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Faith Works 6-11-05
Jeff Gill
My grandmother had some very clear rules for living. Among them was “always use a coaster.”
A higher priority rule was “The Bible isn’t a coaster.”
In my upbringing, you didn’t set anything on the Bible. Not a cup (or a saucer), not even another book. Since there was usually a Bible sitting out somewhere, these issues had immediate relevance. If there were a number of items on a coffee table, the Good Book would get picked up, the new arrival on the tabletop would be placed, and then the Bible placed back on top.
In college, a campus pastor I worked with was intrigued, and maybe a bit amused by the way I would surreptitiously walk around behind a group discussion and quietly move foam cups of coffee or coke off of paperback copies of “The Word.” He’d say to me “Jeff, you don’t even like the Living Bible paraphrase; I appreciate that you don’t give people grief over it, but why do you keep moving stuff off of Bibles?”
The best answer I had was “Because it just bugs me.”
Respect for the Bible and the place it has in Christianity certainly has something to do with it, too. But family and culture and reinforcement over many years is a powerful force.
Some folks are no doubt confused by the flap over handling of the Koran in prisoner camps run by the US military. A kind of reflexive respect for any holy book is not as culturally common here, just as people need some friendly cueing to know when to stand and such when the American flag goes by in a parade (quick summary: you should stand when it comes past you within clear view, and courtesy suggests that you take off your hat and place it over your heart, as you would when singing the national anthem or saying the pledge).
Flag etiquette is still fairly consistent, if not well known. What is “book etiquette” when it comes to sacred scriptures, of one’s own or any other?
For observant Muslims, the rules they ask the guards to follow would sound familiar to my grandmother: keep it off the ground, nothing on top of it, and handle it respectfully, not letting it get splashed or soiled in any way. Many Buddhist holy texts should be kept not only where they would not be stepped on, but where the soles of one’s feet would not end up pointed at them. And Torah scrolls in Orthodox Judaism have a whole set of rules for their care and maintenance, kept primarily in an “ark” or enclosure central to their worship space.
Christians today no longer work with one version (KJV) in one format (black leather with gold tooled lettering) with one to a household. Our NIVs, NRSVs, NLBTs, and Skateboarder Life Application Bibles are often in paperback bindings, available in mass quantities, and made to travel with you to work, lunch, and activities, guaranteeing that they will not only pick up coffee rings on the cover but have repair manuals and the like placed on top of them.
Books that are part of one’s faith practice should probably be kept at the top of most piles. Not just out of some sense of respect, but so we actually remember to read them and reflect on why we have them in the first place. Any other reading matter can come in second place, wherever it is in the pile.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; don’t even get him started about dusty Bibles! Send your own stories of “habits of the heart” to disciple@voyager.net.
Jeff Gill
My grandmother had some very clear rules for living. Among them was “always use a coaster.”
A higher priority rule was “The Bible isn’t a coaster.”
In my upbringing, you didn’t set anything on the Bible. Not a cup (or a saucer), not even another book. Since there was usually a Bible sitting out somewhere, these issues had immediate relevance. If there were a number of items on a coffee table, the Good Book would get picked up, the new arrival on the tabletop would be placed, and then the Bible placed back on top.
In college, a campus pastor I worked with was intrigued, and maybe a bit amused by the way I would surreptitiously walk around behind a group discussion and quietly move foam cups of coffee or coke off of paperback copies of “The Word.” He’d say to me “Jeff, you don’t even like the Living Bible paraphrase; I appreciate that you don’t give people grief over it, but why do you keep moving stuff off of Bibles?”
The best answer I had was “Because it just bugs me.”
Respect for the Bible and the place it has in Christianity certainly has something to do with it, too. But family and culture and reinforcement over many years is a powerful force.
Some folks are no doubt confused by the flap over handling of the Koran in prisoner camps run by the US military. A kind of reflexive respect for any holy book is not as culturally common here, just as people need some friendly cueing to know when to stand and such when the American flag goes by in a parade (quick summary: you should stand when it comes past you within clear view, and courtesy suggests that you take off your hat and place it over your heart, as you would when singing the national anthem or saying the pledge).
Flag etiquette is still fairly consistent, if not well known. What is “book etiquette” when it comes to sacred scriptures, of one’s own or any other?
For observant Muslims, the rules they ask the guards to follow would sound familiar to my grandmother: keep it off the ground, nothing on top of it, and handle it respectfully, not letting it get splashed or soiled in any way. Many Buddhist holy texts should be kept not only where they would not be stepped on, but where the soles of one’s feet would not end up pointed at them. And Torah scrolls in Orthodox Judaism have a whole set of rules for their care and maintenance, kept primarily in an “ark” or enclosure central to their worship space.
Christians today no longer work with one version (KJV) in one format (black leather with gold tooled lettering) with one to a household. Our NIVs, NRSVs, NLBTs, and Skateboarder Life Application Bibles are often in paperback bindings, available in mass quantities, and made to travel with you to work, lunch, and activities, guaranteeing that they will not only pick up coffee rings on the cover but have repair manuals and the like placed on top of them.
Books that are part of one’s faith practice should probably be kept at the top of most piles. Not just out of some sense of respect, but so we actually remember to read them and reflect on why we have them in the first place. Any other reading matter can come in second place, wherever it is in the pile.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; don’t even get him started about dusty Bibles! Send your own stories of “habits of the heart” to disciple@voyager.net.
Notes from my Knapsack 6-12-05Jeff Gill
There was this great idea I had for a column, and I lost it. Got distracted and forgot the whole deal. It’s Tiger Woods’ fault.Your columnist is no golfer, not a’tall. When I was a kid, they built another nine holes onto the municipal course that wrapped around a ravine that began near my backyard. Scrambling up and down the steep slopes and knowing the narrow paths (almost crawlways) through the underbrush, I got into golf by retrieving lost balls. If you sliced off of the ninth tee, you were money in my pocket. Quarter for good ‘uns, and a bread bag full of sliced covers for two bucks, sold at a discreet distance from the ballwasher off the eighth hole.The club pro would very rarely tool along in his cart to chase us (I wasn’t the only agile entrepreneur in that ravine), but since he had a distinctive personal cart he was easy to avoid.One local doctor had balls made up with his name, which he would hand out freely but also obsessively want out of the woods if he put them there, and he’d pay us fifty cents to retrieve them. The scramble if there were three of us hunting that glossy monogrammed sphere through the tree roots and multifloral rose had to have been a sight if you could have seen more than three feet in that thicket.So why did Tiger lose me a column? Well, on a hot Sunday afternoon golf is a good TV option; you don’t have to watch closely, the scenes and music are fairly non-intrusive whether you’re reading, typing, or sleeping, and the Memorial was on.We here in central Ohio, golfer, duffer, or non-golfaholic know that Jack deserves support, and I always say “buy local,” so TV coverage from just up the road sealed the deal.Then Tiger Woods walks into the picture, teeing up at Muirfield. And he has a strip of duct tape down the back of his golf shirt.If you were watching – and apparently many of you did – you know what I’m talking about. He had a piece of glossy, silverish shiny material, remarkably similar to God’s gift to the unhandy in 50 yard rolls, running from collar to beltline.At first I thought “Maybe he has a rip in his shirt, and some helpful steward, probably from Licking County as so many are at the Memorial, got out the duct tape and fixed him right up.”The commentators were mute on the subject, although they also discreetly worked around the fact that the shirts were part of a line of clothing with the “TW” label, like some golden bear logos I’ve seen around these parts.Then it hit me. It actually could be duct tape, an artistic taper trimmed off the sides, stuck onto discount bin polo shirts along with the magical name, “Tiger.” And they would sell, not just for Father’s Day, but all year long. No one would say to Mr. Woods, “Uhhhh, sir, your shirt has duct tape on it.” They would say, “Wow, cool, where can I buy one and enrich you further, Mr. Woods?”Of course, if I wore one, people would walk up all day and try to pull the strip off my shirt. You know, just to be helpful. Who would want to wear duct tape?
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio who is not getting any golf gear for Father’s Day; if you have suggestions to replace the column he forgot watching Tiger’s duct tape, e-mail disciple@voyager.net.
* * *
Backup (no date as yet)
Notes From My Knapsack - general use
Jeff Gill
Minnesota is next to have a state quarter in circulation; some on-line acquaintances link me to heated debate over the look and symbolism of the design, prominently featuring a loon on a lake and (some would say redundantly) a person in a motorboat with a fishing rod.
The whole state quarter scam – the Mint gets to print money, create some modest variations to get you not to spend it, thereby making a great profit margin – is at least a good example for consumers in demonstrating the fine distinctions that separate good design from bad art.
Dig a bunch of quarters out of your pocket or purse and give ‘em a look. Some are immediately attractive, some require you to look close and squint, and others just look like cheap tourism promos stamped on slugs suitable for a cheesy arcade.
This is where design is both an art and a science. Everyone knew they were creating a picture for the back of a quarter. If they were unclear, they could pull one out and check the size, shape, and general context. The state of my birth, Illinois, has an attractive collage of Lincolnesque images and a theme tying civic boosterism to their history (21st state for the 21st century), all working nicely together. But without magnification and a strong north light, you see . . . not much. Louisiana takes a jeweler’s loupe as well.
California does something very comparable to Illinois (historic person, view of well known location), but keeps it pared down so the picture makes sense to the eye and mind even laying on the counter. It doesn’t do everything that the Golden State could jam in there, because someone realized “it’s a quarter.”
Others have even more of the stench of design by committee. South Carolina should have put whoever designed their long-popular license plate on the job. But instead they wedged a palm tree and an outline and words and . . . almost as messy as Florida’s soup pot of a quarter.
Rhode Island, perhaps in a tribute to native son H.P. Lovecraft’s oeuvre, gives us a simple shot with two icons, the Newport bridge and a sailboat, but arranged in an ominous pose that more resembles the cover of a murder mystery. Lovecraft would also have liked Arkansas’ hovering giant diamond over what looks to me like Cthulu’s swamp; likewise Vermont may be thinking maple sap collector, but I’m seeing “Twin Peaks” under those angular tree trunks. Maine hints of doom as well . . .
Connecticut gives us a very nicely framed Charter Oak, a tree no longer standing, and New Hampshire has “The Old Man of the Mountain” who crumbled off the cliff face he had occupied for eons. I like Kentucky’s shot at an actual scene, just south of Bardstown with a thoroughbred and Foster’s “Old Kentucky Home.”
The usual look is to combine a state outline with a stereotyped image associated with the area, like Massachusetts and the Minute Man, Indiana and the Indy Car, Georgia and the Giant Peach, and Texas with the Lone Star. Michigan decided it was too much work to come up with any icon, and gave us just the outline, with sketched in lakes all around.
Yikes. Were these design teams, or committees, or campaign donors, or whoever, thinking they were creating teaching aids for third graders? (I apologize in advance for any offense to bright third graders I may have given.) I don’t want the quarter to tell me how New York is shaped; I want to see what Virginia wants me to know that I didn’t before, and their colonial ships did that for me. North Carolina is elegantly simple: the Bishop’s boys and their motor kite at Kitty Hawk. Iowa is so Iowan, with an unadorned simple schoolhouse picking Grant Wood’s art without using the standard pitchforked duo. Missouri has a nice idea, but someone needs to tell their engraver about foreshortening.
How do I like Ohio’s quarter? If you’ve read this far, you know my answer already. Maybe in another hundred years they’ll give us a second chance. On the good side, they won’t be putting Bob Taft on it. Hope, maybe.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he usually has too much change in his pocket. Send your thoughts of change to disciple@voyager.net.
There was this great idea I had for a column, and I lost it. Got distracted and forgot the whole deal. It’s Tiger Woods’ fault.Your columnist is no golfer, not a’tall. When I was a kid, they built another nine holes onto the municipal course that wrapped around a ravine that began near my backyard. Scrambling up and down the steep slopes and knowing the narrow paths (almost crawlways) through the underbrush, I got into golf by retrieving lost balls. If you sliced off of the ninth tee, you were money in my pocket. Quarter for good ‘uns, and a bread bag full of sliced covers for two bucks, sold at a discreet distance from the ballwasher off the eighth hole.The club pro would very rarely tool along in his cart to chase us (I wasn’t the only agile entrepreneur in that ravine), but since he had a distinctive personal cart he was easy to avoid.One local doctor had balls made up with his name, which he would hand out freely but also obsessively want out of the woods if he put them there, and he’d pay us fifty cents to retrieve them. The scramble if there were three of us hunting that glossy monogrammed sphere through the tree roots and multifloral rose had to have been a sight if you could have seen more than three feet in that thicket.So why did Tiger lose me a column? Well, on a hot Sunday afternoon golf is a good TV option; you don’t have to watch closely, the scenes and music are fairly non-intrusive whether you’re reading, typing, or sleeping, and the Memorial was on.We here in central Ohio, golfer, duffer, or non-golfaholic know that Jack deserves support, and I always say “buy local,” so TV coverage from just up the road sealed the deal.Then Tiger Woods walks into the picture, teeing up at Muirfield. And he has a strip of duct tape down the back of his golf shirt.If you were watching – and apparently many of you did – you know what I’m talking about. He had a piece of glossy, silverish shiny material, remarkably similar to God’s gift to the unhandy in 50 yard rolls, running from collar to beltline.At first I thought “Maybe he has a rip in his shirt, and some helpful steward, probably from Licking County as so many are at the Memorial, got out the duct tape and fixed him right up.”The commentators were mute on the subject, although they also discreetly worked around the fact that the shirts were part of a line of clothing with the “TW” label, like some golden bear logos I’ve seen around these parts.Then it hit me. It actually could be duct tape, an artistic taper trimmed off the sides, stuck onto discount bin polo shirts along with the magical name, “Tiger.” And they would sell, not just for Father’s Day, but all year long. No one would say to Mr. Woods, “Uhhhh, sir, your shirt has duct tape on it.” They would say, “Wow, cool, where can I buy one and enrich you further, Mr. Woods?”Of course, if I wore one, people would walk up all day and try to pull the strip off my shirt. You know, just to be helpful. Who would want to wear duct tape?
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio who is not getting any golf gear for Father’s Day; if you have suggestions to replace the column he forgot watching Tiger’s duct tape, e-mail disciple@voyager.net.
* * *
Backup (no date as yet)
Notes From My Knapsack - general use
Jeff Gill
Minnesota is next to have a state quarter in circulation; some on-line acquaintances link me to heated debate over the look and symbolism of the design, prominently featuring a loon on a lake and (some would say redundantly) a person in a motorboat with a fishing rod.
The whole state quarter scam – the Mint gets to print money, create some modest variations to get you not to spend it, thereby making a great profit margin – is at least a good example for consumers in demonstrating the fine distinctions that separate good design from bad art.
Dig a bunch of quarters out of your pocket or purse and give ‘em a look. Some are immediately attractive, some require you to look close and squint, and others just look like cheap tourism promos stamped on slugs suitable for a cheesy arcade.
This is where design is both an art and a science. Everyone knew they were creating a picture for the back of a quarter. If they were unclear, they could pull one out and check the size, shape, and general context. The state of my birth, Illinois, has an attractive collage of Lincolnesque images and a theme tying civic boosterism to their history (21st state for the 21st century), all working nicely together. But without magnification and a strong north light, you see . . . not much. Louisiana takes a jeweler’s loupe as well.
California does something very comparable to Illinois (historic person, view of well known location), but keeps it pared down so the picture makes sense to the eye and mind even laying on the counter. It doesn’t do everything that the Golden State could jam in there, because someone realized “it’s a quarter.”
Others have even more of the stench of design by committee. South Carolina should have put whoever designed their long-popular license plate on the job. But instead they wedged a palm tree and an outline and words and . . . almost as messy as Florida’s soup pot of a quarter.
Rhode Island, perhaps in a tribute to native son H.P. Lovecraft’s oeuvre, gives us a simple shot with two icons, the Newport bridge and a sailboat, but arranged in an ominous pose that more resembles the cover of a murder mystery. Lovecraft would also have liked Arkansas’ hovering giant diamond over what looks to me like Cthulu’s swamp; likewise Vermont may be thinking maple sap collector, but I’m seeing “Twin Peaks” under those angular tree trunks. Maine hints of doom as well . . .
Connecticut gives us a very nicely framed Charter Oak, a tree no longer standing, and New Hampshire has “The Old Man of the Mountain” who crumbled off the cliff face he had occupied for eons. I like Kentucky’s shot at an actual scene, just south of Bardstown with a thoroughbred and Foster’s “Old Kentucky Home.”
The usual look is to combine a state outline with a stereotyped image associated with the area, like Massachusetts and the Minute Man, Indiana and the Indy Car, Georgia and the Giant Peach, and Texas with the Lone Star. Michigan decided it was too much work to come up with any icon, and gave us just the outline, with sketched in lakes all around.
Yikes. Were these design teams, or committees, or campaign donors, or whoever, thinking they were creating teaching aids for third graders? (I apologize in advance for any offense to bright third graders I may have given.) I don’t want the quarter to tell me how New York is shaped; I want to see what Virginia wants me to know that I didn’t before, and their colonial ships did that for me. North Carolina is elegantly simple: the Bishop’s boys and their motor kite at Kitty Hawk. Iowa is so Iowan, with an unadorned simple schoolhouse picking Grant Wood’s art without using the standard pitchforked duo. Missouri has a nice idea, but someone needs to tell their engraver about foreshortening.
How do I like Ohio’s quarter? If you’ve read this far, you know my answer already. Maybe in another hundred years they’ll give us a second chance. On the good side, they won’t be putting Bob Taft on it. Hope, maybe.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he usually has too much change in his pocket. Send your thoughts of change to disciple@voyager.net.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Faith Works 06-04-05
Jeff Gill
Ten Reasons To Go To Church This Summer
1. It’s air conditioned. Really, most are anymore, even the little rural ones.
Of course, you may think it’s too cool, but you can wear a sweater; it may be that you are hot blooded, and wish it were more like a meat locker, but modern styles allow shortsleeves in church. You’ll be comfortable.
2. I’m told it may not be air conditioned other places. If you go to church, they can help you avoid those spots, um, in the long term. Just ask.
3. Either way, everyone relaxes the dress code. Formal churches get less so, and more unstructured churches are how they always are, so don’t sweat the shirt selection so much. Put on something clean, and any church in the county will welcome you; dirty shirts really aren’t such a problem, either. No one ever went to the hot place (see #2) over breaking the dress code. For pushing someone out over the dress code, possibly . . .
4. If you don’t go, they’ll talk about you.
Now, I’ve spent an awful lot of time over my years as a parish pastor telling people that other folks actually don’t talk about them as much as they think they are, or that the look they think someone gave them might have been their breakfast, not their attitude.
But you can’t get around the fact that they can’t talk about you as much as when you’re there.
5. Everyone lightens up a bit during the summertime.
Yes, even pastors. Look, we all know folks have twice the temptations to go and do other things in June, July, and August than even the rest of the frantic, frenetic year we have nowadays. So Sunday school teachers, preachers, those who pray or sing in the service are really bringing their “A game” during the summer months. Plus you are more likely to get the youth just back from camp telling amazing stories of spiritual uplift, or fellow worshipers who have been on a mission trip back testifying about the transformative experiences they had in Mexico, the Appalachians, on a Native American reservation, or who knows where overseas.
6. Crafts. Yes, you too. Even we craft-impaired people would benefit from integrating mind and body into our spirituality, and crafts aren’t busy work, they are at their best “soul work” of the most enduring kind. Crafts I no longer have I remember the lessons of better than stuff I’ve got on the shelf in the dining room.
7. Outdoor worship. Many places have at least one outside worship experience through the summer, and it really can change how you look at church the other 51 Sundays. Try it!
8. Ya gotta get out of bed sometime. Stay in bed after sunrise is fun occasionally, but it can leave you feeling really creaky if you do it too much. Go to church already, will ya?
9. It is true that summer attendance is a bit lower in most churches through these months; that means parking spaces and finding a seat in the worship space is much easier.
10. Licking County has over 200 places of worship regularly gathering. One of them is likely to suit you, and be there for you as a community when you need the strength and support that even family can’t always provide, and a faith for an uncertain future. Look around, and visit a few this summer.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio. Contact him at disciple@voyager.net.
Jeff Gill
Ten Reasons To Go To Church This Summer
1. It’s air conditioned. Really, most are anymore, even the little rural ones.
Of course, you may think it’s too cool, but you can wear a sweater; it may be that you are hot blooded, and wish it were more like a meat locker, but modern styles allow shortsleeves in church. You’ll be comfortable.
2. I’m told it may not be air conditioned other places. If you go to church, they can help you avoid those spots, um, in the long term. Just ask.
3. Either way, everyone relaxes the dress code. Formal churches get less so, and more unstructured churches are how they always are, so don’t sweat the shirt selection so much. Put on something clean, and any church in the county will welcome you; dirty shirts really aren’t such a problem, either. No one ever went to the hot place (see #2) over breaking the dress code. For pushing someone out over the dress code, possibly . . .
4. If you don’t go, they’ll talk about you.
Now, I’ve spent an awful lot of time over my years as a parish pastor telling people that other folks actually don’t talk about them as much as they think they are, or that the look they think someone gave them might have been their breakfast, not their attitude.
But you can’t get around the fact that they can’t talk about you as much as when you’re there.
5. Everyone lightens up a bit during the summertime.
Yes, even pastors. Look, we all know folks have twice the temptations to go and do other things in June, July, and August than even the rest of the frantic, frenetic year we have nowadays. So Sunday school teachers, preachers, those who pray or sing in the service are really bringing their “A game” during the summer months. Plus you are more likely to get the youth just back from camp telling amazing stories of spiritual uplift, or fellow worshipers who have been on a mission trip back testifying about the transformative experiences they had in Mexico, the Appalachians, on a Native American reservation, or who knows where overseas.
6. Crafts. Yes, you too. Even we craft-impaired people would benefit from integrating mind and body into our spirituality, and crafts aren’t busy work, they are at their best “soul work” of the most enduring kind. Crafts I no longer have I remember the lessons of better than stuff I’ve got on the shelf in the dining room.
7. Outdoor worship. Many places have at least one outside worship experience through the summer, and it really can change how you look at church the other 51 Sundays. Try it!
8. Ya gotta get out of bed sometime. Stay in bed after sunrise is fun occasionally, but it can leave you feeling really creaky if you do it too much. Go to church already, will ya?
9. It is true that summer attendance is a bit lower in most churches through these months; that means parking spaces and finding a seat in the worship space is much easier.
10. Licking County has over 200 places of worship regularly gathering. One of them is likely to suit you, and be there for you as a community when you need the strength and support that even family can’t always provide, and a faith for an uncertain future. Look around, and visit a few this summer.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio. Contact him at disciple@voyager.net.
Notes From My Knapsack 06-05-05
Jeff Gill
The Lawn and Winding Road
Maintaining a diverse ecosystem is a good thing, right? We’ve all heard about the downside of monoculture, vast swaths of one plant across huge areas, vulnerable to so many ills and threats, any one of which can wreak havoc on the whole.
And no one alive today hasn’t heard that diversity is the modern watchword.
Not when it comes to lawns. The societal expectation is grass, lots of grass, kept even, green, and free of alien intruders . . . like the ones that have been here for thousands of years on prairies and forested river bottoms.
If I fertilize aggressively with broadleaf herbicides mixed in, I’m likely to go from mowing every five days as it is to mowing every other day. On the other hand, with dandelions, plantain, thistle, and the omnipresent clover, the grass may be edged out of the rich variety that is my front yard.
And as the Martian might say, on the other other hand, the Little Guy couldn’t have found a four-leaf clover in front of the house if we had a deep green even lawn.
Actually, I like the exercise of mowing regularly (since it makes me exercise regularly, for one thing) and getting the winter kinks out of my legs and back. A set of sharpened blades and a new air filter brings a happy roar from the red and grey grass chomper, now 13 years old and going strong, and the unmistakable scent of mown grass, nearly undescribable except as itself, says warm weather even when it isn’t so warm.
I call it a mix of onion and banana, smell wise, but your proboscis may differ.
Out away from houses and well maintained frontages, the forests have filled out to their max of foliage. On North Street in Hebron and below Swasey Chapel at Denison the catalpa trees have lit their torches high up, blossoming in stalks up where you have to crane your necks to see them. Likewise the yellow, or tulip poplars have their peach and orange and yellow flowers now, only visible to most of us when they fall to earth like a gift from on high. 70, 90, over a hundred feet above the forest floor, they mostly flower their brightest and widest where only the swifts and hawks can see.
The vertical depth of forest life, when phenomena like tulip poplar blossoms flutter into my awareness from above, always reminds me of the scene in “The Hobbit” when the dwarves and Bilbo are lost in Mirkwood.
The unlucky (he thinks) hobbit is picked to climb a high tree in the dense forest, trying to spy out where they are and which direction they should go, Mirkwood being very like the Ohio Simon Kenton first described where “a squirrel could travel a hundred feet off the ground from the Great River to the Great Lakes without touching ground.”
When Bilbo’s face first peeked out into sunlight climbing into the canopy of his fictional forest, he sees an ocean of treetops and leaves, undulating to the horizon in all directions. And he is heartened, oddly, by a few darkly colorful butterflies, violet-hued, living their lives in the sun while they marched in darkness far below, each mostly unaware of the other.
There is so much richness in everyday life just a few feet, or maybe a few hundred feet at most away from the ruts we tend to follow. Use this summer to climb a tree, or climb out of a rut, and check out the view. You might find a mysterious flower, an unseen butterfly, or make a friend.
Or read “The Hobbit” if you haven’t, or haven’t lately!
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he and the Lovely Wife are telling some stories at Infirmary Mound Park on June 4 at 7 pm. You can tell him a story through disciple@voyager.net.
Jeff Gill
The Lawn and Winding Road
Maintaining a diverse ecosystem is a good thing, right? We’ve all heard about the downside of monoculture, vast swaths of one plant across huge areas, vulnerable to so many ills and threats, any one of which can wreak havoc on the whole.
And no one alive today hasn’t heard that diversity is the modern watchword.
Not when it comes to lawns. The societal expectation is grass, lots of grass, kept even, green, and free of alien intruders . . . like the ones that have been here for thousands of years on prairies and forested river bottoms.
If I fertilize aggressively with broadleaf herbicides mixed in, I’m likely to go from mowing every five days as it is to mowing every other day. On the other hand, with dandelions, plantain, thistle, and the omnipresent clover, the grass may be edged out of the rich variety that is my front yard.
And as the Martian might say, on the other other hand, the Little Guy couldn’t have found a four-leaf clover in front of the house if we had a deep green even lawn.
Actually, I like the exercise of mowing regularly (since it makes me exercise regularly, for one thing) and getting the winter kinks out of my legs and back. A set of sharpened blades and a new air filter brings a happy roar from the red and grey grass chomper, now 13 years old and going strong, and the unmistakable scent of mown grass, nearly undescribable except as itself, says warm weather even when it isn’t so warm.
I call it a mix of onion and banana, smell wise, but your proboscis may differ.
Out away from houses and well maintained frontages, the forests have filled out to their max of foliage. On North Street in Hebron and below Swasey Chapel at Denison the catalpa trees have lit their torches high up, blossoming in stalks up where you have to crane your necks to see them. Likewise the yellow, or tulip poplars have their peach and orange and yellow flowers now, only visible to most of us when they fall to earth like a gift from on high. 70, 90, over a hundred feet above the forest floor, they mostly flower their brightest and widest where only the swifts and hawks can see.
The vertical depth of forest life, when phenomena like tulip poplar blossoms flutter into my awareness from above, always reminds me of the scene in “The Hobbit” when the dwarves and Bilbo are lost in Mirkwood.
The unlucky (he thinks) hobbit is picked to climb a high tree in the dense forest, trying to spy out where they are and which direction they should go, Mirkwood being very like the Ohio Simon Kenton first described where “a squirrel could travel a hundred feet off the ground from the Great River to the Great Lakes without touching ground.”
When Bilbo’s face first peeked out into sunlight climbing into the canopy of his fictional forest, he sees an ocean of treetops and leaves, undulating to the horizon in all directions. And he is heartened, oddly, by a few darkly colorful butterflies, violet-hued, living their lives in the sun while they marched in darkness far below, each mostly unaware of the other.
There is so much richness in everyday life just a few feet, or maybe a few hundred feet at most away from the ruts we tend to follow. Use this summer to climb a tree, or climb out of a rut, and check out the view. You might find a mysterious flower, an unseen butterfly, or make a friend.
Or read “The Hobbit” if you haven’t, or haven’t lately!
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he and the Lovely Wife are telling some stories at Infirmary Mound Park on June 4 at 7 pm. You can tell him a story through disciple@voyager.net.
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Notes From My Knapsack 5-29-05
Jeff Gill
Hebron Crossroads Festival in Canal Park
Striped tents, bright lights, carnival music wafting across the Historic Crossroads of Ohio, and a festival in Hebron’s Canal Park!
Memorial Day weekend brings the second Crossroads Festival, sponsored by the Hebron Elementary School PTO. Albanese Amusements will bring rides, games, and some food booths, while many other community organizations with line the midway on down to the big Gazebo and the picnic shelter with the famous Hebron Lions’ fry wagon.
Friday, May 27, right through May 30 (starting after the Memorial Day parade from the Legion Hall down to the Hebron Cemetery and veterans’ memorial there), you can bring the kids . . . of all ages! . . . and enjoy some local fun in a widespread tradition of Ohio festivalling (if that’s a word).
Right through Labor Day with the Millersport Sweet Corn Festival and Flint Ridge Knap-In, this area has a remarkable assortment of community sponsored events, usually with a fair amount of food and a signature element of the area as the label. Hebron’s motto as a historic crossroads of the Ohio-Erie Canal and the National Road, going back to the 1830’s and passers-by like Henry Clay and Andrew Jackson (leaving his name behind just past Hebron to mark Jacksontown), makes a “Crossroads Festival” a very natural choice.
Music is planned in the Gazebo on Saturday night, and area Methodists are combining for an outdoor worship service on Sunday morning, warming up at 10 am for some singin’ and preachin’. This year, the original Memorial Day date of May 30 is actually the “day off” since our legislative Monday phenomena began with so many observances, and everyone from veterans to Civil War buffs to band members marching can appreciate the combination this year, with the 1868 “General Order” to the Grand Army of the Republic, the original American vets organization, establishing May 30 as “Memorial Day” standing behind all we do.
After the wreath laying and speech making, the rides and fun continue through the afternoon, with our enjoyment accented by the knowledge of what has been sacrificed that we might celebrate today.
I hope that, wherever you live in Licking County, you find your way to a local commemoration. One is taking place very near you, in a quiet cemetery or village square. Come and place your hand over your heart, and find your weekend made complete!
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher who will be telling some tall tales and helping cook s’mores over at Infirmary Mound Park next Saturday, June 4, around 7 pm. Come join him, or e-mail disciple@voyager.net to join the narrative.
Jeff Gill
Hebron Crossroads Festival in Canal Park
Striped tents, bright lights, carnival music wafting across the Historic Crossroads of Ohio, and a festival in Hebron’s Canal Park!
Memorial Day weekend brings the second Crossroads Festival, sponsored by the Hebron Elementary School PTO. Albanese Amusements will bring rides, games, and some food booths, while many other community organizations with line the midway on down to the big Gazebo and the picnic shelter with the famous Hebron Lions’ fry wagon.
Friday, May 27, right through May 30 (starting after the Memorial Day parade from the Legion Hall down to the Hebron Cemetery and veterans’ memorial there), you can bring the kids . . . of all ages! . . . and enjoy some local fun in a widespread tradition of Ohio festivalling (if that’s a word).
Right through Labor Day with the Millersport Sweet Corn Festival and Flint Ridge Knap-In, this area has a remarkable assortment of community sponsored events, usually with a fair amount of food and a signature element of the area as the label. Hebron’s motto as a historic crossroads of the Ohio-Erie Canal and the National Road, going back to the 1830’s and passers-by like Henry Clay and Andrew Jackson (leaving his name behind just past Hebron to mark Jacksontown), makes a “Crossroads Festival” a very natural choice.
Music is planned in the Gazebo on Saturday night, and area Methodists are combining for an outdoor worship service on Sunday morning, warming up at 10 am for some singin’ and preachin’. This year, the original Memorial Day date of May 30 is actually the “day off” since our legislative Monday phenomena began with so many observances, and everyone from veterans to Civil War buffs to band members marching can appreciate the combination this year, with the 1868 “General Order” to the Grand Army of the Republic, the original American vets organization, establishing May 30 as “Memorial Day” standing behind all we do.
After the wreath laying and speech making, the rides and fun continue through the afternoon, with our enjoyment accented by the knowledge of what has been sacrificed that we might celebrate today.
I hope that, wherever you live in Licking County, you find your way to a local commemoration. One is taking place very near you, in a quiet cemetery or village square. Come and place your hand over your heart, and find your weekend made complete!
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher who will be telling some tall tales and helping cook s’mores over at Infirmary Mound Park next Saturday, June 4, around 7 pm. Come join him, or e-mail disciple@voyager.net to join the narrative.
Faith Works 5-28-05
Jeff Gill
A Memorial Day Observation
Robert Ingersoll was possibly the best known public speaker in America between the end of the Civil War and to his death in 1899. He was particularly in demand for his Memorial Day addresses, which he gave at civic gatherings and national cemeteries all over the country.
What made this somewhat unusual is that Ingersoll was to America what Thomas Huxley was to Great Britain, where “Darwin’s Bulldog” created the word “agnostic” to describe his beliefs. Not atheists, either of them, but those who literally “did not know,” the meaning of the Greek root words that make up agnostic.
Ingersoll actually reveled in his contrarian stance against the tides of family values and patriotism which he sailed in quite comfortably, while not flying the flag of any organized or dogmatic religion. He was called “The Great Infidel,” and Ingersoll delighted to call that label his own. He made the nominating speech for many a national candidate of the Republican Party, and might have been the one nominated if he would modify or mute his views on the place of church.
To each such request he calmly answered that he could not be other than who he was, and never held elective office. But as a colonel at Shiloh, and a decorated veteran of the Civil War, his speeches on the valor of the common soldier and of loyalty that extended beyond the battlefield left him in great demand, if not to offer the invocation.
Once, having given a well-received speech in Chicago, he was on his way to Indianapolis to offer much the same message at the dedication of a Soldiers and Sailors Monument at the heart of that city, still to be seen today on the circle near the state capital.
About halfway, at Crawfordsville, a man boarded the train and entered the compartment where Ingersoll sat. He turned out to be a fellow veteran of the Union army, a fellow officer at Shiloh, and they had much to discuss. But the matter quickly turned to personal faith, and the place of such belief.
As he had on public platforms so often, each argument for Christianity and faith was met with a coldly logical counter from “The Great Infidel,” and fairly quickly the old comrades agreed that they would not let this difference of opinion come between them as fellow soldiers.
But as the train entered Union Station, Ingersoll said to his friend something like this: “You hold your faith with great passion, and I respect that. What you must do, then, is make me feel it as well. Our logic can carry us only so far, which is why I am simply an agnostic. Make me feel the source of your faith, and you will have my ear.”
With those words in his head, Lew Wallace stepped off the train. Nearly ten years later, he finished the book “Ben-Hur.” The first great Biblical epic was not only a best seller by the standards of the 1880’s or even today, but it was made into a movie at the dawn of motion pictures, for the fourth time with Charlton Heston, while the book has never gone out of print.
You’ve surely heard of Ben-Hur, and his book subtitled “A Tale of The Christ,” if not his creator Lew Wallace. Robert Ingersoll has largely been forgotten. Let’s remember them both this Memorial Day weekend.
Jeff Gill is a storyteller and supply preacher around central Ohio, and he’s telling some stories next Saturday at Infirmary Mound Park around 7 pm, with s’mores to follow. Tell him your story of faith at work at disciple@voyager.net.
Jeff Gill
A Memorial Day Observation
Robert Ingersoll was possibly the best known public speaker in America between the end of the Civil War and to his death in 1899. He was particularly in demand for his Memorial Day addresses, which he gave at civic gatherings and national cemeteries all over the country.
What made this somewhat unusual is that Ingersoll was to America what Thomas Huxley was to Great Britain, where “Darwin’s Bulldog” created the word “agnostic” to describe his beliefs. Not atheists, either of them, but those who literally “did not know,” the meaning of the Greek root words that make up agnostic.
Ingersoll actually reveled in his contrarian stance against the tides of family values and patriotism which he sailed in quite comfortably, while not flying the flag of any organized or dogmatic religion. He was called “The Great Infidel,” and Ingersoll delighted to call that label his own. He made the nominating speech for many a national candidate of the Republican Party, and might have been the one nominated if he would modify or mute his views on the place of church.
To each such request he calmly answered that he could not be other than who he was, and never held elective office. But as a colonel at Shiloh, and a decorated veteran of the Civil War, his speeches on the valor of the common soldier and of loyalty that extended beyond the battlefield left him in great demand, if not to offer the invocation.
Once, having given a well-received speech in Chicago, he was on his way to Indianapolis to offer much the same message at the dedication of a Soldiers and Sailors Monument at the heart of that city, still to be seen today on the circle near the state capital.
About halfway, at Crawfordsville, a man boarded the train and entered the compartment where Ingersoll sat. He turned out to be a fellow veteran of the Union army, a fellow officer at Shiloh, and they had much to discuss. But the matter quickly turned to personal faith, and the place of such belief.
As he had on public platforms so often, each argument for Christianity and faith was met with a coldly logical counter from “The Great Infidel,” and fairly quickly the old comrades agreed that they would not let this difference of opinion come between them as fellow soldiers.
But as the train entered Union Station, Ingersoll said to his friend something like this: “You hold your faith with great passion, and I respect that. What you must do, then, is make me feel it as well. Our logic can carry us only so far, which is why I am simply an agnostic. Make me feel the source of your faith, and you will have my ear.”
With those words in his head, Lew Wallace stepped off the train. Nearly ten years later, he finished the book “Ben-Hur.” The first great Biblical epic was not only a best seller by the standards of the 1880’s or even today, but it was made into a movie at the dawn of motion pictures, for the fourth time with Charlton Heston, while the book has never gone out of print.
You’ve surely heard of Ben-Hur, and his book subtitled “A Tale of The Christ,” if not his creator Lew Wallace. Robert Ingersoll has largely been forgotten. Let’s remember them both this Memorial Day weekend.
Jeff Gill is a storyteller and supply preacher around central Ohio, and he’s telling some stories next Saturday at Infirmary Mound Park around 7 pm, with s’mores to follow. Tell him your story of faith at work at disciple@voyager.net.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
Faith Works 5-21-05
Jeff Gill
A New Hope Rewarded
Wait, wait, before you turn the page: yes, I’m going to talk about “Star Wars” a bit, but did you know that people regularly write in “Jedi” on faith surveys? That Lutheran pastors (Missouri Synod, at that) are preaching in Wookie suits? Is Ben Kenobi the spiritual director you’ve always wished you could find?
I was at the local theater the day before my sixteenth birthday to see the original “Star Wars,” which we now more clearly understand is “Episode IV,” the first words scrolling up across the screen. Going to see “The Empire Strikes Back” open was what we groomsmen did the night before one of my best friends got married, and my Lovely Wife and I went to see “Return of the Jedi” on a date not long before our wedding, twenty years ago.
So this movie series has woven through my life, as it has many GenX’ers; and today’s kids have inherited bins full of semi-dismembered action figures and AT-AT pieces, along with the busy, buzzing, overfrenetic Episodes I and II.
Woven for many of us has also been (can you tell I’ve been listening to Yoda lately?) “The Force.” What it is began with a vague set of references to cosmic forces believed in by some and mocked by pragmatists like Han Solo. Those who had disciplined themselves to choose the right and turn from the dark side, we learned on Degoba, could move mountains, or at least X-wings, and even resist the whispers of destiny that family and friends might use to divert us from our true path.
George Lucas does not have a coherent faith perspective, as far as all the interviews I’ve read over the years; I do read between the lines that the search for fathers and guidance is a powerful shaping force, or Force for him. The fact that he took a huge block of time off to raise his children makes me want to think well of his basic intentions.
So clergy of any faith community have an interesting challenge with “Revenge of the Sith.” The stark contrast of choosing light over darkness, muddled by those urging that great future goods can be accomplished by a little wrongness now, makes a place to stand in popular culture for traditional religion. Which way we turn, and how we speak to the “Star Wars” universe without neglecting the reality of our own cosmos, should be filtered with integrity through our own beliefs.
If we filter our beliefs through Lucas’ cosmos, we could end up with Jar-Jar Binks.
What really intrigues me is how the story now ties back to the original movie the teenager I was viewed with such rapture. We see that 1977 story anew, “A New Hope.” But the most powerful moment in memory (for me) is still that simple scene of a young man, standing near home but facing away toward the horizon, watching the setting sun as John Williams’ score swells to a haunting trajectory out, and beyond, and into possibility.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio. As Harry Potter, the Narnia Chronicles, and other stories touch our faith on screen, share your thoughts with him at disciple@voyager.net.
Jeff Gill
A New Hope Rewarded
Wait, wait, before you turn the page: yes, I’m going to talk about “Star Wars” a bit, but did you know that people regularly write in “Jedi” on faith surveys? That Lutheran pastors (Missouri Synod, at that) are preaching in Wookie suits? Is Ben Kenobi the spiritual director you’ve always wished you could find?
I was at the local theater the day before my sixteenth birthday to see the original “Star Wars,” which we now more clearly understand is “Episode IV,” the first words scrolling up across the screen. Going to see “The Empire Strikes Back” open was what we groomsmen did the night before one of my best friends got married, and my Lovely Wife and I went to see “Return of the Jedi” on a date not long before our wedding, twenty years ago.
So this movie series has woven through my life, as it has many GenX’ers; and today’s kids have inherited bins full of semi-dismembered action figures and AT-AT pieces, along with the busy, buzzing, overfrenetic Episodes I and II.
Woven for many of us has also been (can you tell I’ve been listening to Yoda lately?) “The Force.” What it is began with a vague set of references to cosmic forces believed in by some and mocked by pragmatists like Han Solo. Those who had disciplined themselves to choose the right and turn from the dark side, we learned on Degoba, could move mountains, or at least X-wings, and even resist the whispers of destiny that family and friends might use to divert us from our true path.
George Lucas does not have a coherent faith perspective, as far as all the interviews I’ve read over the years; I do read between the lines that the search for fathers and guidance is a powerful shaping force, or Force for him. The fact that he took a huge block of time off to raise his children makes me want to think well of his basic intentions.
So clergy of any faith community have an interesting challenge with “Revenge of the Sith.” The stark contrast of choosing light over darkness, muddled by those urging that great future goods can be accomplished by a little wrongness now, makes a place to stand in popular culture for traditional religion. Which way we turn, and how we speak to the “Star Wars” universe without neglecting the reality of our own cosmos, should be filtered with integrity through our own beliefs.
If we filter our beliefs through Lucas’ cosmos, we could end up with Jar-Jar Binks.
What really intrigues me is how the story now ties back to the original movie the teenager I was viewed with such rapture. We see that 1977 story anew, “A New Hope.” But the most powerful moment in memory (for me) is still that simple scene of a young man, standing near home but facing away toward the horizon, watching the setting sun as John Williams’ score swells to a haunting trajectory out, and beyond, and into possibility.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio. As Harry Potter, the Narnia Chronicles, and other stories touch our faith on screen, share your thoughts with him at disciple@voyager.net.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Notes From My Knapsack 05-15-05 (ran 5-22-05; NHRA inserts bump everybody!)
Jeff Gill
Next weekend, on Sunday afternoon May 22, the Midland Theatre on Newark’s Courthouse Square, you will hear that “The Melody Lingers On.”
What melody? Well, voices of barbershop quartets and choruses in four-part harmony make melody, as does the hard work over many months of the Land of Legend Barbershop Chorus. The melody of co-ordination, co-operation, and communication is what these men in red vests would love to hear growing out of their work on stage, among those who come to listen and enjoy.
Fans of barbershop music have always had an almost spiritual sense of what listening to and singing in barbershop groups does . . . think “The Music Man” and the village council Prof. Hill made friends of and you’ll know what I mean.
John Tegtmeyer was long an evangelist for the impact of barbershopping, and his death last October was in one way just another occasion for the men of not only this chorus but neighbor barbershoppers from Franklin, Muskingum, and other counties to come and sing their gospel for a big crowd needing a little harmony in their lives.
So the Land of Legend gang has dedicated their annual concert, at the Midland 3 pm next Sunday, to John’s memory. Along with some fond reminiscences of their late director, you will also hear their friends “Park Avenue,” winners of the quartet competition at the last district contest. You can find tickets from any fellow you see in a red striped vest, at the Village Barbershop in Granville, or at the door for $10.
You’ll get two hours of good entertainment, and a little melody in your soul that will linger on.
What else is going on these days? Right, an anniversary celebration: St. Dunstan’s Day is this year the twentieth anniversary of the Lovely Wife joining me in marriage (what day? Look it up: St. Dunstan, patron saint of brewing and rational reform, once abbot of Glastonbury and archbishop of Canterbury).
May is a good month in our household, bringing us both a nuptial commemoration and the Little Guy’s birthdate as well.
Someone pointed out that events overran a half-finished thought some weeks back: how does one stay happily married for 20 years? It still seems to me that it really isn’t that long (it isn’t), but with the “divorces granted” column in the Advocate out-lengthening the “marriage licenses issued” most weeks, there must be something to however we’ve gone about wedded bliss.
As to most canned wisdom, I can snort at most lines thrown to floundering newlyweds. “We’ve never argued.” I still have trouble believing anyone who says that, no matter how cute the 89 year old couple on TV is in their matching rocking chairs. Somebody must be repressing a bit there, at best. “Never go to bed angry.” Um, we like sleep too much to follow that one to the letter. “Separate checking accounts.” I see the attraction, but we’ve never had enough money to make that worth even considering, and we’re both balance-each-month-to-the-penny kind of people, anyhow.
My best shot at wisdom of the homegrown variety, at least of a sort that might be of use to anyone not married to either of us, is in two sides of a single coin.
Forgiveness, paired with being intentional. Forgiveness, because no marriage is going anywhere good if you don’t come to grips with what Rex Harrison grappled with in “My Fair Lady.” Why can’t she/he be more like me? News flash: they can’t, they won’t, and you gotta let it go. Forgiveness, on both the little and the big things, is the necessary element of all marriage.
And being intentional? Huh? Well, too many occasions talking with too many half couples have told me that most of us go through our own lives, let alone living with others, woefully unaware of what we’re doing and why we do it. Intentional living, which can truly be painful at first, is the only route to happiness I know, and that goes more than double for two living as one. Marriage does not just happen, and happy marriages are worked on, maintained, cherished, and even tinkered with a bit.
Some of you reading this might suspect that what I mean by “intentional living” sounds almost “purpose driven,” and you would be right! My purpose this week is to go celebrate an anniversary, so have a great weekend, and I’ll answer e-mail to disciple@voyager.net much later, like Memorial Day.
* * *
Faith Works 05-14-05
Jeff Gill
Church camp is a summer phenomenon, but now is the time to sign up, get ready, or if you direct a camp for your congregation or denomination, to recruit counselors!
Quite a few groups (the United Church of Christ, for whom I direct) have significant price reductions if you register by May, rather than a few weeks before the camp opens. Frankly, groups that don’t put a significant cost incentive on registering early are missing the boat in two ways: families already are setting up their summer schedule with reservations and other sport or activity camps, so you are just helping them get arranged anyhow – and those who run camps can’t know how many will come in time to prepare without a decent pre-reg number.
But it is true that church camps, unlike soccer or baseball or cheerleading week-long sessions, are notoriously willing to forgive late comers, and that only stands to reason.
Camp is a faith formation opportunity like no other. A child who attends a one-hour Sunday school every week of the year gets maybe 50 hours of education and fellowship in their tradition in the best of circumstances. A young person who goes to a typical Sunday afternoon to Saturday morning week at camp, even adjusting for sleep, gets 70 to 90 hours of experience shaped by song, prayer, worship, and community that builds a foundation for the entire year back at home.
The best church camp programs present themselves as exactly that: a tool to empower the youth program of the fellowship group back home the other 51 weeks. No six days at any facility can be the basis for faith and growth the entire year, but the memories and lessons learned there can weave through dozens of group meetings and youth-led worship services.
How do you determine what camp is right for your child? Ideally, you can talk to your pastor or fellowship leader for guidance about what your church offers and how it is run. Most clergy can also put you in contact with the directors of the particular week you are considering, so you can talk to them about your child and what they would experience.
As a director for many years in a variety of settings, I have always been willing to talk to parents and kids who are wanting to know more about what our camp is and does. Frankly, if you can’t do that, I’m not sure I’d want to send my child to that camp. Ask your questions now, and know that most camp staffers love to do that because if you wait until Sunday afternoon registration, I guarantee that you will get a desperate, pleading look of “sir/ma’am, I’m checking in 89 kids, and you want to know about the quality of our toilet paper?”
Not all church camps follow American Camping Association guidelines, but those that do have an outside inspection of program and management issues. Every camp in Ohio is, I can assure you, inspected to within an inch of their lives, by the county health department wherever they are located, as to food service and hygiene facilities. That you can rest easy about.
What you want the week at church camp to accomplish is a family decision that starts at home, and continues after your child returns home. Think about your hopes for learning and doing, communicate those to your child as well as the camp you attend, and take an interest in what they bring home besides the crafts and insects rolled up in their dirty clothes. You will find camp can bring spiritual dividends all year long as you do.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; if you have camp questions or stories to tell, e-mail disciple@voyager.net.
Jeff Gill
Next weekend, on Sunday afternoon May 22, the Midland Theatre on Newark’s Courthouse Square, you will hear that “The Melody Lingers On.”
What melody? Well, voices of barbershop quartets and choruses in four-part harmony make melody, as does the hard work over many months of the Land of Legend Barbershop Chorus. The melody of co-ordination, co-operation, and communication is what these men in red vests would love to hear growing out of their work on stage, among those who come to listen and enjoy.
Fans of barbershop music have always had an almost spiritual sense of what listening to and singing in barbershop groups does . . . think “The Music Man” and the village council Prof. Hill made friends of and you’ll know what I mean.
John Tegtmeyer was long an evangelist for the impact of barbershopping, and his death last October was in one way just another occasion for the men of not only this chorus but neighbor barbershoppers from Franklin, Muskingum, and other counties to come and sing their gospel for a big crowd needing a little harmony in their lives.
So the Land of Legend gang has dedicated their annual concert, at the Midland 3 pm next Sunday, to John’s memory. Along with some fond reminiscences of their late director, you will also hear their friends “Park Avenue,” winners of the quartet competition at the last district contest. You can find tickets from any fellow you see in a red striped vest, at the Village Barbershop in Granville, or at the door for $10.
You’ll get two hours of good entertainment, and a little melody in your soul that will linger on.
What else is going on these days? Right, an anniversary celebration: St. Dunstan’s Day is this year the twentieth anniversary of the Lovely Wife joining me in marriage (what day? Look it up: St. Dunstan, patron saint of brewing and rational reform, once abbot of Glastonbury and archbishop of Canterbury).
May is a good month in our household, bringing us both a nuptial commemoration and the Little Guy’s birthdate as well.
Someone pointed out that events overran a half-finished thought some weeks back: how does one stay happily married for 20 years? It still seems to me that it really isn’t that long (it isn’t), but with the “divorces granted” column in the Advocate out-lengthening the “marriage licenses issued” most weeks, there must be something to however we’ve gone about wedded bliss.
As to most canned wisdom, I can snort at most lines thrown to floundering newlyweds. “We’ve never argued.” I still have trouble believing anyone who says that, no matter how cute the 89 year old couple on TV is in their matching rocking chairs. Somebody must be repressing a bit there, at best. “Never go to bed angry.” Um, we like sleep too much to follow that one to the letter. “Separate checking accounts.” I see the attraction, but we’ve never had enough money to make that worth even considering, and we’re both balance-each-month-to-the-penny kind of people, anyhow.
My best shot at wisdom of the homegrown variety, at least of a sort that might be of use to anyone not married to either of us, is in two sides of a single coin.
Forgiveness, paired with being intentional. Forgiveness, because no marriage is going anywhere good if you don’t come to grips with what Rex Harrison grappled with in “My Fair Lady.” Why can’t she/he be more like me? News flash: they can’t, they won’t, and you gotta let it go. Forgiveness, on both the little and the big things, is the necessary element of all marriage.
And being intentional? Huh? Well, too many occasions talking with too many half couples have told me that most of us go through our own lives, let alone living with others, woefully unaware of what we’re doing and why we do it. Intentional living, which can truly be painful at first, is the only route to happiness I know, and that goes more than double for two living as one. Marriage does not just happen, and happy marriages are worked on, maintained, cherished, and even tinkered with a bit.
Some of you reading this might suspect that what I mean by “intentional living” sounds almost “purpose driven,” and you would be right! My purpose this week is to go celebrate an anniversary, so have a great weekend, and I’ll answer e-mail to disciple@voyager.net much later, like Memorial Day.
* * *
Faith Works 05-14-05
Jeff Gill
Church camp is a summer phenomenon, but now is the time to sign up, get ready, or if you direct a camp for your congregation or denomination, to recruit counselors!
Quite a few groups (the United Church of Christ, for whom I direct) have significant price reductions if you register by May, rather than a few weeks before the camp opens. Frankly, groups that don’t put a significant cost incentive on registering early are missing the boat in two ways: families already are setting up their summer schedule with reservations and other sport or activity camps, so you are just helping them get arranged anyhow – and those who run camps can’t know how many will come in time to prepare without a decent pre-reg number.
But it is true that church camps, unlike soccer or baseball or cheerleading week-long sessions, are notoriously willing to forgive late comers, and that only stands to reason.
Camp is a faith formation opportunity like no other. A child who attends a one-hour Sunday school every week of the year gets maybe 50 hours of education and fellowship in their tradition in the best of circumstances. A young person who goes to a typical Sunday afternoon to Saturday morning week at camp, even adjusting for sleep, gets 70 to 90 hours of experience shaped by song, prayer, worship, and community that builds a foundation for the entire year back at home.
The best church camp programs present themselves as exactly that: a tool to empower the youth program of the fellowship group back home the other 51 weeks. No six days at any facility can be the basis for faith and growth the entire year, but the memories and lessons learned there can weave through dozens of group meetings and youth-led worship services.
How do you determine what camp is right for your child? Ideally, you can talk to your pastor or fellowship leader for guidance about what your church offers and how it is run. Most clergy can also put you in contact with the directors of the particular week you are considering, so you can talk to them about your child and what they would experience.
As a director for many years in a variety of settings, I have always been willing to talk to parents and kids who are wanting to know more about what our camp is and does. Frankly, if you can’t do that, I’m not sure I’d want to send my child to that camp. Ask your questions now, and know that most camp staffers love to do that because if you wait until Sunday afternoon registration, I guarantee that you will get a desperate, pleading look of “sir/ma’am, I’m checking in 89 kids, and you want to know about the quality of our toilet paper?”
Not all church camps follow American Camping Association guidelines, but those that do have an outside inspection of program and management issues. Every camp in Ohio is, I can assure you, inspected to within an inch of their lives, by the county health department wherever they are located, as to food service and hygiene facilities. That you can rest easy about.
What you want the week at church camp to accomplish is a family decision that starts at home, and continues after your child returns home. Think about your hopes for learning and doing, communicate those to your child as well as the camp you attend, and take an interest in what they bring home besides the crafts and insects rolled up in their dirty clothes. You will find camp can bring spiritual dividends all year long as you do.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; if you have camp questions or stories to tell, e-mail disciple@voyager.net.
Monday, May 02, 2005
Notes From My Knapsack 05-08-05
Jeff Gill
Free Flowers For Mother’s Day!
When the layered vistas of Spring give way to the glossy green sheen across the landscape of Summer, part of me starts looking forward to Fall.
We have an absolutely beautiful season all around us, and I’ll take the occasional chill and regular splat of rain showers for having the riot of life a’blossoming right now. Those who are urging, whether through spoken hopes, silent prayers, or the stray vulgar imprecation that summer get here sooner may have their hopes dashed if I get my way.
Now we have a rainbow of tulips shooting across the leading edges of house landscaping, flowering pear and crabapples in a wide range of bright colors, magnolias blossoming pink-fringed and reaching, while the carpet of dandelions is rolling out where welcomed or not.
Out in the woods, you can still see the upper canopy through the young, small leaves, and some of the songbirds now passing through from the tropics to the tundra, or at least heading that way. (Did you hear about the ivory billed woodpecker in Arkansas, back from the invisible edge of extinction? We won’t have ‘em here, but the pileated woodpecker is a local, and nearly the same size and markings: awesome.)
Along the forest floor, the May apples are pushing up their green single-leaf umbrellas, but no fruit below as yet. Don’t try eating one ‘til August, when they’re yellow.
Day lilies are starting to show some stage presence as well, along with next week’s annuals at the garden centers.
Here in Licking County most woodlots are hard to wander through, since the effect of historic overtimbering, combined with a general lack of management as the forests mature, means that the understory of your local woods is filled with undergrowth, spicebush and raspberry and multifloral rose, woven with grapevine.
I used to wonder as a Boy Scout at Camp To-pe-nee-bee, whenever I got off trail, how the Indians managed to move through the forests at all, let alone silently. It wasn’t until I got quite a bit older that I learned how occasional natural fires, and even regular intentional burns, were used by Native Americans all across the continent to keep undesirable plants from growing, especially to maintain prairies.
In fact, some of the archaeological work at the Newark Earthworks in recent years has shown that the area around the Great Circle and Octagon (see octagonmoonrise.org) was artificially maintained even 2000 years ago, with oak-hickory forests all about, but prairie soil still the context for the four square miles of mounds and enclosures. That’s how they had the space to build and the sightlines to view the moonrises over the eastern horizon.
All of this is fairly normal subject matter for this column, as long time readers know. But today it’s worth noting that my tendency to not just look at, but to “see” the natural landscape, and even the history and prehistory just beneath that landscape, was given to me by my mother’s mother, and by my mother. Grandma Walton is at rest under Illinois prairie, with Spring flowers all around Grandview Cemetery.
Rose Gill is sitting with her well-worn Peterson Guide to North American Birds, a pair of binoculars, and a back porch full of birdfeeders, on a ridge just off the southern tip of Lake Michigan. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom, and I can warn you that the chickadees and warblers are coming your way!
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; if you have rare (or extinct!) bird sightings to share, e-mail disciple@voyager.net.
Jeff Gill
Free Flowers For Mother’s Day!
When the layered vistas of Spring give way to the glossy green sheen across the landscape of Summer, part of me starts looking forward to Fall.
We have an absolutely beautiful season all around us, and I’ll take the occasional chill and regular splat of rain showers for having the riot of life a’blossoming right now. Those who are urging, whether through spoken hopes, silent prayers, or the stray vulgar imprecation that summer get here sooner may have their hopes dashed if I get my way.
Now we have a rainbow of tulips shooting across the leading edges of house landscaping, flowering pear and crabapples in a wide range of bright colors, magnolias blossoming pink-fringed and reaching, while the carpet of dandelions is rolling out where welcomed or not.
Out in the woods, you can still see the upper canopy through the young, small leaves, and some of the songbirds now passing through from the tropics to the tundra, or at least heading that way. (Did you hear about the ivory billed woodpecker in Arkansas, back from the invisible edge of extinction? We won’t have ‘em here, but the pileated woodpecker is a local, and nearly the same size and markings: awesome.)
Along the forest floor, the May apples are pushing up their green single-leaf umbrellas, but no fruit below as yet. Don’t try eating one ‘til August, when they’re yellow.
Day lilies are starting to show some stage presence as well, along with next week’s annuals at the garden centers.
Here in Licking County most woodlots are hard to wander through, since the effect of historic overtimbering, combined with a general lack of management as the forests mature, means that the understory of your local woods is filled with undergrowth, spicebush and raspberry and multifloral rose, woven with grapevine.
I used to wonder as a Boy Scout at Camp To-pe-nee-bee, whenever I got off trail, how the Indians managed to move through the forests at all, let alone silently. It wasn’t until I got quite a bit older that I learned how occasional natural fires, and even regular intentional burns, were used by Native Americans all across the continent to keep undesirable plants from growing, especially to maintain prairies.
In fact, some of the archaeological work at the Newark Earthworks in recent years has shown that the area around the Great Circle and Octagon (see octagonmoonrise.org) was artificially maintained even 2000 years ago, with oak-hickory forests all about, but prairie soil still the context for the four square miles of mounds and enclosures. That’s how they had the space to build and the sightlines to view the moonrises over the eastern horizon.
All of this is fairly normal subject matter for this column, as long time readers know. But today it’s worth noting that my tendency to not just look at, but to “see” the natural landscape, and even the history and prehistory just beneath that landscape, was given to me by my mother’s mother, and by my mother. Grandma Walton is at rest under Illinois prairie, with Spring flowers all around Grandview Cemetery.
Rose Gill is sitting with her well-worn Peterson Guide to North American Birds, a pair of binoculars, and a back porch full of birdfeeders, on a ridge just off the southern tip of Lake Michigan. Happy Mother’s Day, Mom, and I can warn you that the chickadees and warblers are coming your way!
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; if you have rare (or extinct!) bird sightings to share, e-mail disciple@voyager.net.
Faith Works 5-07-05
Jeff Gill
Why Can’t I Do That In Church?
Fourteen bridesmaids? With another fourteen groomsmen to match, bride and groom and let’s not even think about how many flower girls and ringbearers, you’ve got over 30 people in the front of the church.
Runaway bride? I’d think about being a runaway pastor just facing the rehearsal.
While we’re all (fiancé included) still trying to figure out what happened between Duluth, Georgia and Albuquerque, New Mexico last week, many of us know we’re heading for a wedding in the family. June actually hasn’t been the “main” month for weddings for some time: October used to fill up on my calendar, with May and August close behind, and then September and December, while June sat there with open Saturdays. But as spring loosens up enough to allow outdoor receptions, and with planning starting to look important now for a service next fall, this is still a good time to talk about weddings and church life.
Jokes about “Bridezilla” aside, in twenty years of pulpit ministry, I can tell you that just a few meetings between pastor and couple, even when they aren’t terribly well acquainted beforehand, can resolve most all complications well before the Big Day. What I learned to dread was not even the mother of the bride (though I’ve heard stories, and had my moments), but the big complication in many rehearsals and final service set-up was . . .
The Friend of the Bride’s Mother. There was the source of my most frequent conflicts as a minister preparing to help a couple celebrate a church wedding.
“Why can’t you move that table thing . . . ok, communion table . . . out of sight? Shouldn’t there be another soloist? My daughter sings that Streisand thing really well . . . and can you wear a stole that matches the bridesmaids’ colors?”
Tell the couple, their parents, and give them handouts with 24-pt. type saying “no tape on the pews or doors” and you face a bride’s mother’s friend on the morning of, busily taping away and brushing you off with a free hand like an annoying fly saying “oh, this doesn’t leave a mark, see, I can just . . . whoops.”
What makes the challenge here is that church weddings are just that: an act of the church, a service of worship first and foremost, with the marriage of two people an element (a very significant element, but still) of that special service. And I’ve found that brides and grooms and even mothers of the bride, when you get a chance to explain what a wedding means in a house of worship, even to those fairly loosely “churched,” they get on board pretty enthusiastically. Taking the pressure off of the two, and making this a celebration in which we all take a part in the sight of God, actually helps make the wedding-gy parts go better.
But around us is a consumer culture, where “have it your way” and “special order” are the rule of the day. So those who haven’t been part of the meetings with the pastor and church musicians chime in: “Why can’t that Van Halen song you love be in the service? Are they serious about this no rice rule?”
There is no simple way around the fact that pastors, church trustees or others who help around the building on the day of a wedding have to remember that they are in a teaching role. We have to learn to say “why” along with saying “no” to some of the culture’s more intrusive attempts to control the Big Day, even when we have to do it on the fly. We need to teach the couple how to teach their friends and family about what we’re doing in the church building that day.
As for the quaint tradition of cake mashing, that’s a whole ‘nother column. Short answer: you will never, ever look back and regret not doing it.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; if you have wedding tales to share, e-mail disciple@voyager.net.
Jeff Gill
Why Can’t I Do That In Church?
Fourteen bridesmaids? With another fourteen groomsmen to match, bride and groom and let’s not even think about how many flower girls and ringbearers, you’ve got over 30 people in the front of the church.
Runaway bride? I’d think about being a runaway pastor just facing the rehearsal.
While we’re all (fiancé included) still trying to figure out what happened between Duluth, Georgia and Albuquerque, New Mexico last week, many of us know we’re heading for a wedding in the family. June actually hasn’t been the “main” month for weddings for some time: October used to fill up on my calendar, with May and August close behind, and then September and December, while June sat there with open Saturdays. But as spring loosens up enough to allow outdoor receptions, and with planning starting to look important now for a service next fall, this is still a good time to talk about weddings and church life.
Jokes about “Bridezilla” aside, in twenty years of pulpit ministry, I can tell you that just a few meetings between pastor and couple, even when they aren’t terribly well acquainted beforehand, can resolve most all complications well before the Big Day. What I learned to dread was not even the mother of the bride (though I’ve heard stories, and had my moments), but the big complication in many rehearsals and final service set-up was . . .
The Friend of the Bride’s Mother. There was the source of my most frequent conflicts as a minister preparing to help a couple celebrate a church wedding.
“Why can’t you move that table thing . . . ok, communion table . . . out of sight? Shouldn’t there be another soloist? My daughter sings that Streisand thing really well . . . and can you wear a stole that matches the bridesmaids’ colors?”
Tell the couple, their parents, and give them handouts with 24-pt. type saying “no tape on the pews or doors” and you face a bride’s mother’s friend on the morning of, busily taping away and brushing you off with a free hand like an annoying fly saying “oh, this doesn’t leave a mark, see, I can just . . . whoops.”
What makes the challenge here is that church weddings are just that: an act of the church, a service of worship first and foremost, with the marriage of two people an element (a very significant element, but still) of that special service. And I’ve found that brides and grooms and even mothers of the bride, when you get a chance to explain what a wedding means in a house of worship, even to those fairly loosely “churched,” they get on board pretty enthusiastically. Taking the pressure off of the two, and making this a celebration in which we all take a part in the sight of God, actually helps make the wedding-gy parts go better.
But around us is a consumer culture, where “have it your way” and “special order” are the rule of the day. So those who haven’t been part of the meetings with the pastor and church musicians chime in: “Why can’t that Van Halen song you love be in the service? Are they serious about this no rice rule?”
There is no simple way around the fact that pastors, church trustees or others who help around the building on the day of a wedding have to remember that they are in a teaching role. We have to learn to say “why” along with saying “no” to some of the culture’s more intrusive attempts to control the Big Day, even when we have to do it on the fly. We need to teach the couple how to teach their friends and family about what we’re doing in the church building that day.
As for the quaint tradition of cake mashing, that’s a whole ‘nother column. Short answer: you will never, ever look back and regret not doing it.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; if you have wedding tales to share, e-mail disciple@voyager.net.
Tuesday, April 26, 2005
Notes From My Knapsack 05-01-05
Jeff Gill
Hillsides so long sodden with grey and brown alone are now alive.
Rumblings of yellow green ripple across ridgelines, with sparks of dogwood white and redbud pink scattering down into the valleys.
Lilacs and forsythia are drawing attention up from the now fading daffodils and hyacinth along the streets and driveways, in glowing magentas and shocking yellow. As for how many snows that yellow must wear, two or three, I'd say heavy snow on Shakespeare's Birthday is enough to fulfill any atmospheric prophecy.
Foliage, so long absent, is making itself known by obscuring views and outlines under the filling canopy of leaves. The weight of this biomass, each leaf so light and insubstantial, will in hundreds and thousands likely add enough pull to fell a last few limbs cracked by the December ice storm.
But the ground cover has a few more pleasant surprises, with the bright splash of trillium on north slopes, still shady and cool even on the warmer days, pointing the path to morels among the mulch.
This is the time of year that I do miss West Virginia; we only lived there six years, but Aaron Copeland knew what he was talking about when he wrote "Appalachian Spring" and immortalized "'Tis a Gift To Be Simple" in his orchestral setting of that Shaker tune. What can be wearying and confining about steep mountain slopes all around is exhilarating when the green fuse of springtime is lit, and all the flowering trees lift up elevated and elevating blossoms.
Last weekend was Earth Day, which the Licking Park District celebrated with their Nature Fest out at the William C. Kraner Nature Center. Rich Niccum, LPD Program Coordinator (although we all just call him Ranger Rich), had an Earth Day poster contest open to K through 6 students all over the county.
Despite the truly atrocious weather that morning, a good steady stream of visitors came through out on Fairview Road, looking at a variety of dispalys by area nature organizations, and many but not enough got to see and hear the winning poster makers.
First place for 4 to 6 grades was Matthew Bustillo, a sixth grader with Mr. Stevenson's class at Utica Elementary. First place among K to 3 grades went to Chloe Tyznik, at Granville Elementary in Ms. Jones' third grade class. Entries and other winners came from Kirkersville, Searfoss, Summit, and Oregon Elementaries, and from homeschoolers.
Great work to all the winners, and thanks to Rich and all the LPD staff for judging a big, big stack of entries. Stop by some day between Noon and 4 pm (closed Mondays) out at the Nature Center and see their view of springtime hillsides out towards Flint Ridge.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; if you have views of spring to share, send 'em to disciple@voyager.net.
Jeff Gill
Hillsides so long sodden with grey and brown alone are now alive.
Rumblings of yellow green ripple across ridgelines, with sparks of dogwood white and redbud pink scattering down into the valleys.
Lilacs and forsythia are drawing attention up from the now fading daffodils and hyacinth along the streets and driveways, in glowing magentas and shocking yellow. As for how many snows that yellow must wear, two or three, I'd say heavy snow on Shakespeare's Birthday is enough to fulfill any atmospheric prophecy.
Foliage, so long absent, is making itself known by obscuring views and outlines under the filling canopy of leaves. The weight of this biomass, each leaf so light and insubstantial, will in hundreds and thousands likely add enough pull to fell a last few limbs cracked by the December ice storm.
But the ground cover has a few more pleasant surprises, with the bright splash of trillium on north slopes, still shady and cool even on the warmer days, pointing the path to morels among the mulch.
This is the time of year that I do miss West Virginia; we only lived there six years, but Aaron Copeland knew what he was talking about when he wrote "Appalachian Spring" and immortalized "'Tis a Gift To Be Simple" in his orchestral setting of that Shaker tune. What can be wearying and confining about steep mountain slopes all around is exhilarating when the green fuse of springtime is lit, and all the flowering trees lift up elevated and elevating blossoms.
Last weekend was Earth Day, which the Licking Park District celebrated with their Nature Fest out at the William C. Kraner Nature Center. Rich Niccum, LPD Program Coordinator (although we all just call him Ranger Rich), had an Earth Day poster contest open to K through 6 students all over the county.
Despite the truly atrocious weather that morning, a good steady stream of visitors came through out on Fairview Road, looking at a variety of dispalys by area nature organizations, and many but not enough got to see and hear the winning poster makers.
First place for 4 to 6 grades was Matthew Bustillo, a sixth grader with Mr. Stevenson's class at Utica Elementary. First place among K to 3 grades went to Chloe Tyznik, at Granville Elementary in Ms. Jones' third grade class. Entries and other winners came from Kirkersville, Searfoss, Summit, and Oregon Elementaries, and from homeschoolers.
Great work to all the winners, and thanks to Rich and all the LPD staff for judging a big, big stack of entries. Stop by some day between Noon and 4 pm (closed Mondays) out at the Nature Center and see their view of springtime hillsides out towards Flint Ridge.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; if you have views of spring to share, send 'em to disciple@voyager.net.
Monday, April 25, 2005
Greetings, visitors from Kendall Harmon's blog. This is less a blog than where i park my pieces for print (because i'm too lazy to e-mail copies to people to ask for them, and because i lose track of what i did with them), with some other occasional stuff. The start of this little rondelay over professionalism in journalism and parish ministry is at:
http://journalism.nyu.edu/pubzone/weblogs/pressthink/2005/04/17/ltr_rgm.html#more
with this as my part of the column/piece:
Yesterday I received a letter from Jeff Gill, a pastor (Disciples of Christ) in Granville, OH. It's about how all newspapers--and all churches--are founded on opinion; when opinion shifts the foundations will rock. Those who have built their professional house on it may forget what the foundation is made of. They start to see themselves as the solid thing.
Gill is also a "Faith Works" columnist for the local daily, The Newark Advocate. He says, "As a pastor I have a very real sense of the importance of local dailies and even crappy ol' free weeklies to build community, or foment division if that's what clarity brings. Some regular platform for cueing the 20 percent of any town, village, or city that actually get things done as to what needs doing, or stopping, is incredibly important. I can't figure out what that would look like in Midwestern communities without a newspaper, but I'm afraid that folks who are concerned about big-C Community had better start imagining, fast."
Here's his letter:
"There is no loyalty to the mechanism, not because loyalties changed, but because they were never loyal to the mechanism in the first place."
OK, so i'm late to this party, but as a columnist in two papers and a 20+ year pastor, i couldn't not share this thought with you after reading this quote from Matt Welch in your post, "laying the newspaper down" gently or not...
In case you didn't notice, Shaw thinks he and his colleagues are "accurate and fair".... This, I believe, is the nut of his real objection -- that the weird, ahistorical 1960-2000 period of newspaper consolidation, and the "professionalization" that came with it, produced a monochromatic culture of trying-to-be-fair newsgathering that Shaw believes is basically the only legitimate form of journalism. It's an incredibly conservative and arrogant view.
That, sir, is exactly what Mainline/Oldline Protestant Churches did in the post-WWII period; the huge influx of thankful vets and Boom Babies masked systemic problems that went back before even WWI, and as downtown churches and regional/national structures consolidated and calcified, they pushed aggressively a model of clergy "professionalism" that left them utterly unable to respond to the entreprenurial surge of untrained, personally motivated new start-ups of the Assemblies of God, COGIG, Vineyard, WillowCreek, and Saddleback approaches. The world they built was based on a "weird, ahistorical 1960-2000 period" and many national and regional structures still can't comprehend what's going on.
Add to that a recent uptick in bequests from dying WWII era folk that mask the final drawdowns on endowments, etc., and a new found appreciation for stewardship and tithing preaching from even liberal pastors, which has pushed per capita giving up enough to cover the decline in total numbers, and you have. . .
Well, it looks a lot like the newsprint and ink world to me. The core function of communicating to and between people is still vital and necessary, but when the mechanism for doing it breaks down, folk will find one that works, no matter what it looks like. There is no loyalty to the mechanism, not because loyalties changed, but because they were never loyal to the mechanism in the first place. Their connection is to the community that's created, and the sentiments about the delivery mechanism were no deeper than, well, sentiment.
This ties both newspapers and oldstyle programmatic, board/committee driven churches together, with Masters of Divinity/seminary trained pastors and J-school journalists in the same leaky boat. It's not that they don't "like" us or stopped "liking" us: they never "liked" us, they liked and even love the community we helped to deliver and maintain. Stop doing that, and they move to the light and warmth of company and community somewhere else.
And if you've read this far: what happens when advertisers stop believing that advertising works? When they realize that everyone else dumps the inserts and the bagpacks and the fliers in the trash first, just like they do? And when enough old hardbitten used car and appliance traders finally go to the internet and classifieds go entirely digital, won't the Emperor catch a breeze in his hinder parts? Peace,Jeff GillGranville, OH
* * *
What fascinated me was this comment from a Presby pastor who is pretty plugged-in, as sister of Jeff Jarvis of Buzzmachine fame:
"The boat may be leaking, but I prefer it to a cruise with Kathy Lee." Jeff Jarvis's sister, Cindy Jarvis, is a Presbyterian minister (here.) She had this reaction to Gill's letter:
Utilitarian religion that "works" (meaning numbers--headcount plus bucks) has always had sex appeal... well, you know what I mean. The mainline churches have looked to the mega-churches for technique, forgetting "the substance of things hoped for and the conviction of things not seen" that have, over the centuries, given people both a ground on which to stand (a perspective both complex and comforting) and lent to daily life a meaning that does not rise and fall with the NYTimes best seller list.
Given that people engage their minds in every other aspect of human existence, the guess that glitz and manufactured emotions will do for those matters of ultimate importance is a trend that will last about as long as children's sugared cereal in the stomach of a seriously hungry adult.
Um, that attitude is awfully descriptive of what i'm trying to say is the problem. I've tried to say so in an e-mail to Pastor Jarvis, but haven't heard back.
Anyhow, new columns will be posted for next weekend soon, when i stop answering e-mail about the spots where this e-mail of mine to Jay Rosen has poked at people and made 'em holler at me.
http://journalism.nyu.edu/pubzone/weblogs/pressthink/2005/04/17/ltr_rgm.html#more
with this as my part of the column/piece:
Yesterday I received a letter from Jeff Gill, a pastor (Disciples of Christ) in Granville, OH. It's about how all newspapers--and all churches--are founded on opinion; when opinion shifts the foundations will rock. Those who have built their professional house on it may forget what the foundation is made of. They start to see themselves as the solid thing.
Gill is also a "Faith Works" columnist for the local daily, The Newark Advocate. He says, "As a pastor I have a very real sense of the importance of local dailies and even crappy ol' free weeklies to build community, or foment division if that's what clarity brings. Some regular platform for cueing the 20 percent of any town, village, or city that actually get things done as to what needs doing, or stopping, is incredibly important. I can't figure out what that would look like in Midwestern communities without a newspaper, but I'm afraid that folks who are concerned about big-C Community had better start imagining, fast."
Here's his letter:
"There is no loyalty to the mechanism, not because loyalties changed, but because they were never loyal to the mechanism in the first place."
OK, so i'm late to this party, but as a columnist in two papers and a 20+ year pastor, i couldn't not share this thought with you after reading this quote from Matt Welch in your post, "laying the newspaper down" gently or not...
In case you didn't notice, Shaw thinks he and his colleagues are "accurate and fair".... This, I believe, is the nut of his real objection -- that the weird, ahistorical 1960-2000 period of newspaper consolidation, and the "professionalization" that came with it, produced a monochromatic culture of trying-to-be-fair newsgathering that Shaw believes is basically the only legitimate form of journalism. It's an incredibly conservative and arrogant view.
That, sir, is exactly what Mainline/Oldline Protestant Churches did in the post-WWII period; the huge influx of thankful vets and Boom Babies masked systemic problems that went back before even WWI, and as downtown churches and regional/national structures consolidated and calcified, they pushed aggressively a model of clergy "professionalism" that left them utterly unable to respond to the entreprenurial surge of untrained, personally motivated new start-ups of the Assemblies of God, COGIG, Vineyard, WillowCreek, and Saddleback approaches. The world they built was based on a "weird, ahistorical 1960-2000 period" and many national and regional structures still can't comprehend what's going on.
Add to that a recent uptick in bequests from dying WWII era folk that mask the final drawdowns on endowments, etc., and a new found appreciation for stewardship and tithing preaching from even liberal pastors, which has pushed per capita giving up enough to cover the decline in total numbers, and you have. . .
Well, it looks a lot like the newsprint and ink world to me. The core function of communicating to and between people is still vital and necessary, but when the mechanism for doing it breaks down, folk will find one that works, no matter what it looks like. There is no loyalty to the mechanism, not because loyalties changed, but because they were never loyal to the mechanism in the first place. Their connection is to the community that's created, and the sentiments about the delivery mechanism were no deeper than, well, sentiment.
This ties both newspapers and oldstyle programmatic, board/committee driven churches together, with Masters of Divinity/seminary trained pastors and J-school journalists in the same leaky boat. It's not that they don't "like" us or stopped "liking" us: they never "liked" us, they liked and even love the community we helped to deliver and maintain. Stop doing that, and they move to the light and warmth of company and community somewhere else.
And if you've read this far: what happens when advertisers stop believing that advertising works? When they realize that everyone else dumps the inserts and the bagpacks and the fliers in the trash first, just like they do? And when enough old hardbitten used car and appliance traders finally go to the internet and classifieds go entirely digital, won't the Emperor catch a breeze in his hinder parts? Peace,Jeff GillGranville, OH
* * *
What fascinated me was this comment from a Presby pastor who is pretty plugged-in, as sister of Jeff Jarvis of Buzzmachine fame:
"The boat may be leaking, but I prefer it to a cruise with Kathy Lee." Jeff Jarvis's sister, Cindy Jarvis, is a Presbyterian minister (here.) She had this reaction to Gill's letter:
Utilitarian religion that "works" (meaning numbers--headcount plus bucks) has always had sex appeal... well, you know what I mean. The mainline churches have looked to the mega-churches for technique, forgetting "the substance of things hoped for and the conviction of things not seen" that have, over the centuries, given people both a ground on which to stand (a perspective both complex and comforting) and lent to daily life a meaning that does not rise and fall with the NYTimes best seller list.
Given that people engage their minds in every other aspect of human existence, the guess that glitz and manufactured emotions will do for those matters of ultimate importance is a trend that will last about as long as children's sugared cereal in the stomach of a seriously hungry adult.
Um, that attitude is awfully descriptive of what i'm trying to say is the problem. I've tried to say so in an e-mail to Pastor Jarvis, but haven't heard back.
Anyhow, new columns will be posted for next weekend soon, when i stop answering e-mail about the spots where this e-mail of mine to Jay Rosen has poked at people and made 'em holler at me.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
Faith Works 04-30-05
Why do we pray in Licking County?
Jeff Gill
Christians pray. The Lord’s Prayer, morning prayers, bedtime prayers; we pray in worship services and we pray in private. We speak to God, addressing ourselves to the Creator of the Universe, with a sense of trust in the belief that God listens, and a sense of wonder that God might answer.
Moslems pray, offering their submission, or “Islam” (the literal meaning of that awkward transliteration from the Arabic) to Allah, five times a day at minimum, whether alone or in association with other believers.
Jews pray, both in corporate worship that calls for a “minyan,” the ten men needed for official services, or alone before the Lord Who is One, Adonai.
Hindus pray, to a variety of divine figures who embody manifestations of the Divine Nature, but prayers both “set” and spontaneous are part of their tradition as well, no matter how different their worship spaces look to Western eyes.
Native Americans, or members of the First Nations as the Canadians say, pray; they speak most often of what they do devotionally as “listening,” with much less emphasis on asking or requesting than what they hear Anglo-Europeans do in prayer. Those who happily accept the label “Pagan” or Wiccam say much the same about their prayers.
Buddhists . . . well, they are more comfortable, for the most part, with the word “meditate,” but there are many traditional petitions and praises to the embodiments of Buddha-nature that sound like nothing other than prayer.
And the profane speak the name of God in a variety of forms, most of which are rude and disrespectful . . . but often with a frustrated or helpless tone that almost makes you think they could even be . . . naaaahhh. But Jesus really doesn’t have a middle name as far as anyone can tell from the Bible, in case you wondered.
So what are we all doing when we pray? Of course, there are those who would say that if you are not praying to the real, actual God, you are moving your lips and wasting oxygen; there are also those militantly atheistic enough to say we’re all doing that.
Others, a fair number around these parts I would guess, believe that prayers not intended and aimed and shaped by the right or true or orthodox position are getting much less communion and communication out of their prayers than they might. There is more of an economy of efficiency than an assertion of accuracy among Licking County believers of all faiths. Even very conservative Christians around here would agree that prayers of the monotheistic faiths, Jewish, Christian, and Moslem are spoken to the same one God, but with less efficacy depending on one’s spiritual disciplines and personal faithfulness. Most would even say God hears the misuse of divine labels by the profane; they just would not want to be in their shoes when the answer comes back.
Do those who pray think they talk to God? Almost without exception, yes. Do they think they change God? Generally, no. Serious pray-ers mostly see their prayers as having effects on those who offer the prayers, opening a channel for God’s grace and peace to work in them through a powerful non-verbal communication in response; they also understand their prayers as having an effect on others by being the vehicle for allowing that grace-filled power to flow more freely in a world often intent on blocking God’s intention. While free will, in this post-Calvinistic world, is widely understood by believers as the autonomy God respects in human persons, those who freely choose prayer can give an appropriate and effective nudge to events in the world by opening doors for God to work. And such openness allows our will to be aligned with the will of God, a source of power for those who believe.
Prayer is . . . how would you answer that?
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio. Share your story of prayer at work with him at disciple@voyager.net.
Why do we pray in Licking County?
Jeff Gill
Christians pray. The Lord’s Prayer, morning prayers, bedtime prayers; we pray in worship services and we pray in private. We speak to God, addressing ourselves to the Creator of the Universe, with a sense of trust in the belief that God listens, and a sense of wonder that God might answer.
Moslems pray, offering their submission, or “Islam” (the literal meaning of that awkward transliteration from the Arabic) to Allah, five times a day at minimum, whether alone or in association with other believers.
Jews pray, both in corporate worship that calls for a “minyan,” the ten men needed for official services, or alone before the Lord Who is One, Adonai.
Hindus pray, to a variety of divine figures who embody manifestations of the Divine Nature, but prayers both “set” and spontaneous are part of their tradition as well, no matter how different their worship spaces look to Western eyes.
Native Americans, or members of the First Nations as the Canadians say, pray; they speak most often of what they do devotionally as “listening,” with much less emphasis on asking or requesting than what they hear Anglo-Europeans do in prayer. Those who happily accept the label “Pagan” or Wiccam say much the same about their prayers.
Buddhists . . . well, they are more comfortable, for the most part, with the word “meditate,” but there are many traditional petitions and praises to the embodiments of Buddha-nature that sound like nothing other than prayer.
And the profane speak the name of God in a variety of forms, most of which are rude and disrespectful . . . but often with a frustrated or helpless tone that almost makes you think they could even be . . . naaaahhh. But Jesus really doesn’t have a middle name as far as anyone can tell from the Bible, in case you wondered.
So what are we all doing when we pray? Of course, there are those who would say that if you are not praying to the real, actual God, you are moving your lips and wasting oxygen; there are also those militantly atheistic enough to say we’re all doing that.
Others, a fair number around these parts I would guess, believe that prayers not intended and aimed and shaped by the right or true or orthodox position are getting much less communion and communication out of their prayers than they might. There is more of an economy of efficiency than an assertion of accuracy among Licking County believers of all faiths. Even very conservative Christians around here would agree that prayers of the monotheistic faiths, Jewish, Christian, and Moslem are spoken to the same one God, but with less efficacy depending on one’s spiritual disciplines and personal faithfulness. Most would even say God hears the misuse of divine labels by the profane; they just would not want to be in their shoes when the answer comes back.
Do those who pray think they talk to God? Almost without exception, yes. Do they think they change God? Generally, no. Serious pray-ers mostly see their prayers as having effects on those who offer the prayers, opening a channel for God’s grace and peace to work in them through a powerful non-verbal communication in response; they also understand their prayers as having an effect on others by being the vehicle for allowing that grace-filled power to flow more freely in a world often intent on blocking God’s intention. While free will, in this post-Calvinistic world, is widely understood by believers as the autonomy God respects in human persons, those who freely choose prayer can give an appropriate and effective nudge to events in the world by opening doors for God to work. And such openness allows our will to be aligned with the will of God, a source of power for those who believe.
Prayer is . . . how would you answer that?
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio. Share your story of prayer at work with him at disciple@voyager.net.
Booster cover article 04-24-05
Jeff Gill
Moonrise Over Newark
Two noted scientists came to Newark over twenty years ago to disprove a theory. What they discovered instead was an achievement of Native Americans that still amazes them, and may yet awe modern inhabitants of the Licking and Raccoon River valleys.
Ray Hively, an astronomer, and Robert Horn, a philosopher, professors at Earlham College in Richmond, Indiana, came across Ohio to examine the world-famous Newark Earthworks, 2000 year old geometric forms on the landscape whose alignments and purposes are still dimly understood. They will return to the area to speak on Wednesday, May 4th, at 7:00 PM, in Founders Hall on the campus of the Ohio State University in Newark. They will share what they have learned, and what they are learning, about the remarkable relationship between what they call “these amazing earthworks” and the moon.
Hively and Horn originally wanted to use the Octagon to test a theory they had about the field of “archaeoastronomy,” the study of ancient structures and their alignments with astronomical events such as sunrises at the equinoxes (twice a year when the day and night are “equal”) and solstices (twice a year when the sun stops moving north or south and returns in the opposite direction). They thought that there might be as much wishful thinking as reality in finds of astronomical alignments at places like Stonehenge in England, Pueblo Bonito in New Mexico, or Serpent Mound in southern Ohio.
The Octagon of the Newark Earthworks, just one part of a once four square mile complex of connected earthern architecture, seemed to offer a good test. With eight sides, seven openings and the eighth opening along a short “neck” of parallel walls to one of the two vast circles in the area, there had to be enough possibilities to show how almost any arrangement would result in some astronomical point on the horizon being highlighted.
[box item: Website www.OctagonMoonrise.org]
The results of their initial survey was a bit startling. For all the chances, there were no sunrise related major events of the solar year pointed to at all. That already seemed to show that their theory was incorrect, but to be thorough, Hively and Horn checked the rise points of the moon.
That was a bit of a leap, because few ancient astronomers anywhere in the world had built any structures aligned with moonrises. The sun follows a very regular, annual pattern with essentially no changes from year to year (and a good thing, too, or winter and summer might swap from era to era). Moonrises are a different thing entirely.
In fact, the European scientist Sir Isaac Newton, the inventor of calculus in the 1600’s, remarked that the only mathematical problem “that ever gave me a headache” was calculating the movements of the moon, rising in a varying pattern of northern and southern rises across an 18.6 year cycle. This complexity meant that few pre-modern societies anywhere in the world had marked and measured this moonrise pattern.
When Hively and Horn applied moonrise data to their survey of the Octagon, the results were immediate and striking. The central axis of the connected Circle and Octagon structure pointed directly to the maximum northern moonrise of the 18.6 year cycle, and other walls and gateways of the architecture encoded most of the other key lunar alignments.
After publishing their find to great excitement in the archaeological community, they realized to their chagrin that the most recent maximum north moonrise had passed by. For the last nearly twenty years, they have continued to study and analyse the data “encoded in the design of this internationally recognized wonder of the ancient world” in the words of the Newark Earthworks Initiative, sponsors of Hively and Horn’s return to the Newark area in preparation for the upcoming maximum northern moonrise.
Their talk, entitled “Lunar Observation and Hopewell Architecture at Newark,” refers to the term used to refer to Native Americans in the Ohio area around 2000 years ago. One exciting aspect of the upcoming moonrise cycle, with visibilities beginning next fall, is that since the culture known as Hopewell faded from view around 500 AD, this may be the first occasion people have watched the moonrise over the Newark Earthworks aware of the alignment it’s built around -- for over a millennium and a half, 1,500 years. When cathedrals were built in Europe and cliff dwellings in the American southwest, these structures were already a thousand years old. When Vikings first set foot on North America, they had been abandoned for 500 years; when Columbus fatefully arrived, they had waited silently for a thousand.
Hively and Horn believe that they have discovered even more traces of the original intention of the ancient architects, geometers, and astronomers. The Newark Earthworks Initiative of the OSU-Newark campus and a group of local historians, archaeologists, and interested parties have created a website for those interested in the earthworks and the upcoming moonrise: www.OctagonMoonrise.org.
The Ohio Historical Society, owners of the site known as Octagon State Memorial, have negotiated dates of open public access with the leaseholders of the grounds, Moundbuilders Country Club, on June 6, August 8, and October 23, with access for the general public starting on the 22nd at sunset (which is around 6:30 pm), one of the early visibilities for the maximum northern moonrise.
After the city of Newark and Licking County had voted to preserve the remaining earthworks in the 1890’s, preservation options were limited: once the state militia had finished using the area for summer maneuvers as originally planned, the area was used for a golf course as early as 1901. The current lease with the country club begins in 1910, and part of the preservation history of the site is the use for golf. While not an ideal plan in modern terms, the original intent of both community and club members was to find a way of managing a large, open site before the idea of national or state parks had even come about.
In fact, the club itself is part of Ohio history, being not only one of the ten oldest golf courses in the state, but the “back nine” or original nine holes of golf laid out by Thomas Bendelow in 1911 are likely the oldest continuously played links in the state.
The Newark Earthworks have a fascinating history, prehistory, and ongoing story of discovery. You are invited to come join the still unfolding story on Wed., May 4 at 7:00 pm on the OSU-N campus in Founders Hall auditorium.
Caption -- This computer generated image represents the view of one of the moonrises over the main axis of the Octagon of the Newark Earthworks. One of the "Seventy Wonders of the Ancient World" according to England's Cambridge University, the largest geometric earthworks in the world contain secrets of astronomy still being revealed. (Courtesy CERHAS - Univ. of Cincinnati)
Jeff Gill
Moonrise Over Newark
Two noted scientists came to Newark over twenty years ago to disprove a theory. What they discovered instead was an achievement of Native Americans that still amazes them, and may yet awe modern inhabitants of the Licking and Raccoon River valleys.
Ray Hively, an astronomer, and Robert Horn, a philosopher, professors at Earlham College in Richmond, Indiana, came across Ohio to examine the world-famous Newark Earthworks, 2000 year old geometric forms on the landscape whose alignments and purposes are still dimly understood. They will return to the area to speak on Wednesday, May 4th, at 7:00 PM, in Founders Hall on the campus of the Ohio State University in Newark. They will share what they have learned, and what they are learning, about the remarkable relationship between what they call “these amazing earthworks” and the moon.
Hively and Horn originally wanted to use the Octagon to test a theory they had about the field of “archaeoastronomy,” the study of ancient structures and their alignments with astronomical events such as sunrises at the equinoxes (twice a year when the day and night are “equal”) and solstices (twice a year when the sun stops moving north or south and returns in the opposite direction). They thought that there might be as much wishful thinking as reality in finds of astronomical alignments at places like Stonehenge in England, Pueblo Bonito in New Mexico, or Serpent Mound in southern Ohio.
The Octagon of the Newark Earthworks, just one part of a once four square mile complex of connected earthern architecture, seemed to offer a good test. With eight sides, seven openings and the eighth opening along a short “neck” of parallel walls to one of the two vast circles in the area, there had to be enough possibilities to show how almost any arrangement would result in some astronomical point on the horizon being highlighted.
[box item: Website www.OctagonMoonrise.org]
The results of their initial survey was a bit startling. For all the chances, there were no sunrise related major events of the solar year pointed to at all. That already seemed to show that their theory was incorrect, but to be thorough, Hively and Horn checked the rise points of the moon.
That was a bit of a leap, because few ancient astronomers anywhere in the world had built any structures aligned with moonrises. The sun follows a very regular, annual pattern with essentially no changes from year to year (and a good thing, too, or winter and summer might swap from era to era). Moonrises are a different thing entirely.
In fact, the European scientist Sir Isaac Newton, the inventor of calculus in the 1600’s, remarked that the only mathematical problem “that ever gave me a headache” was calculating the movements of the moon, rising in a varying pattern of northern and southern rises across an 18.6 year cycle. This complexity meant that few pre-modern societies anywhere in the world had marked and measured this moonrise pattern.
When Hively and Horn applied moonrise data to their survey of the Octagon, the results were immediate and striking. The central axis of the connected Circle and Octagon structure pointed directly to the maximum northern moonrise of the 18.6 year cycle, and other walls and gateways of the architecture encoded most of the other key lunar alignments.
After publishing their find to great excitement in the archaeological community, they realized to their chagrin that the most recent maximum north moonrise had passed by. For the last nearly twenty years, they have continued to study and analyse the data “encoded in the design of this internationally recognized wonder of the ancient world” in the words of the Newark Earthworks Initiative, sponsors of Hively and Horn’s return to the Newark area in preparation for the upcoming maximum northern moonrise.
Their talk, entitled “Lunar Observation and Hopewell Architecture at Newark,” refers to the term used to refer to Native Americans in the Ohio area around 2000 years ago. One exciting aspect of the upcoming moonrise cycle, with visibilities beginning next fall, is that since the culture known as Hopewell faded from view around 500 AD, this may be the first occasion people have watched the moonrise over the Newark Earthworks aware of the alignment it’s built around -- for over a millennium and a half, 1,500 years. When cathedrals were built in Europe and cliff dwellings in the American southwest, these structures were already a thousand years old. When Vikings first set foot on North America, they had been abandoned for 500 years; when Columbus fatefully arrived, they had waited silently for a thousand.
Hively and Horn believe that they have discovered even more traces of the original intention of the ancient architects, geometers, and astronomers. The Newark Earthworks Initiative of the OSU-Newark campus and a group of local historians, archaeologists, and interested parties have created a website for those interested in the earthworks and the upcoming moonrise: www.OctagonMoonrise.org.
The Ohio Historical Society, owners of the site known as Octagon State Memorial, have negotiated dates of open public access with the leaseholders of the grounds, Moundbuilders Country Club, on June 6, August 8, and October 23, with access for the general public starting on the 22nd at sunset (which is around 6:30 pm), one of the early visibilities for the maximum northern moonrise.
After the city of Newark and Licking County had voted to preserve the remaining earthworks in the 1890’s, preservation options were limited: once the state militia had finished using the area for summer maneuvers as originally planned, the area was used for a golf course as early as 1901. The current lease with the country club begins in 1910, and part of the preservation history of the site is the use for golf. While not an ideal plan in modern terms, the original intent of both community and club members was to find a way of managing a large, open site before the idea of national or state parks had even come about.
In fact, the club itself is part of Ohio history, being not only one of the ten oldest golf courses in the state, but the “back nine” or original nine holes of golf laid out by Thomas Bendelow in 1911 are likely the oldest continuously played links in the state.
The Newark Earthworks have a fascinating history, prehistory, and ongoing story of discovery. You are invited to come join the still unfolding story on Wed., May 4 at 7:00 pm on the OSU-N campus in Founders Hall auditorium.
Caption -- This computer generated image represents the view of one of the moonrises over the main axis of the Octagon of the Newark Earthworks. One of the "Seventy Wonders of the Ancient World" according to England's Cambridge University, the largest geometric earthworks in the world contain secrets of astronomy still being revealed. (Courtesy CERHAS - Univ. of Cincinnati)
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
Faith Works 4-23-05
Jeff Gill
An Anniversary Season With Much to Remember
In a series of 60th anniversaries around these April weeks marking the end of World War II, last week included the commemoration of Bergen-Belsen’s liberation, and this next week marks when American troop reached Dachau. Both were concentration camps.
Something still striking to me is the difference between those weeks. German SS troops were lined up as if in review, waiting for the GI’s at Belsen, where Anne Frank had died just days before. The cosmos of evil they had created for not only the Jewish and other groups to be “concentrated” there for a “final solution” was a world they had made for themselves, as well. It had become so normal for them that they didn’t see how the liberators would view them, and so they waited and stood proudly to hand over their responsibilities.
What they were responsible for was starvation, disease, and executions on a whim. No one took that responsibility from them, but they were held to account, immediately arrested and held, at least to start, in the bunkhouses where they had jammed the thousands they herded day by day to death.
At Dachau, days later, the reality of what they had created penetrated even Nazi rationalizations. The camp guards fled long before the Army rolled in the gates.
But I think about those men standing at attention, waiting on parade at Bergen-Belsen. If it was out of a sense of true acceptance of responsibility, it might be a sign of hopefulness about human nature. The truth is that we are not so much the rational animals we like to think ourselves as, but we are at root rationalizing creatures, skilled at trying to defend the indefensible.
People of faith still look back on the events around and within the Axis powers, countries where many of our own American ancestors came from, and struggle with how to come to terms with what was seen as justifiable from pulpits let alone people’s living rooms. Some European priests and nuns, and a few bishops did the work of truth and courage, saving Jews from deportation and death. Not a few turned a blind eye.
The German church embraced National Socialism, Hitler’s party and platform, without hardly blinking an eye. Two weeks ago saw 60 years since Dietrich Bonhoeffer was executed just as Allied troops neared his prison, part of Nazism’s last convulsion of vengeance and cruelty. Bonhoeffer was one of tragically too few pastors of the state church who said “No” to “Hitler is Lord,” and paid the price willingly with his life.
Elie Wiesel, caught up as a youth in the death camps, asked the question in his book “Night,” in the starkest of terms when watching a young friend dangle from a prolonged execution: “Where is God?” He felt as if the first whisper of an answer came to him as “He is right there, in front of us.” Wiesel and humanity still struggle with a fuller answer to this question of existence, more of the meaning of our own than of God’s.
Any of us who attend many funerals, let alone we who conduct them, knows that the generation which witnessed these events, and have some of the closest insights into what it means to carry the burden of faith through the valley of shadow, are passing through that vale in large numbers. Not so very long from now, there will be no living witnesses to those soul shaking and heart stirring events. The responsibility must be handed on, to children and grandchildren and churches and communities – not just museums! – to remember what they did. To remember Bonhoeffer and Roncalli, Wiesel and the GI’s who freed the camps, is the responsibility of us all.
Jeff Gill is a writer and supply preacher who writes this in memory of the many liberators of Europe and Asia that he has helped honor in death at their funerals, and hopes to commemorate in life. If you have stories from 60 years ago or about events in six weeks, send them to disciple@voyager.net.
Jeff Gill
An Anniversary Season With Much to Remember
In a series of 60th anniversaries around these April weeks marking the end of World War II, last week included the commemoration of Bergen-Belsen’s liberation, and this next week marks when American troop reached Dachau. Both were concentration camps.
Something still striking to me is the difference between those weeks. German SS troops were lined up as if in review, waiting for the GI’s at Belsen, where Anne Frank had died just days before. The cosmos of evil they had created for not only the Jewish and other groups to be “concentrated” there for a “final solution” was a world they had made for themselves, as well. It had become so normal for them that they didn’t see how the liberators would view them, and so they waited and stood proudly to hand over their responsibilities.
What they were responsible for was starvation, disease, and executions on a whim. No one took that responsibility from them, but they were held to account, immediately arrested and held, at least to start, in the bunkhouses where they had jammed the thousands they herded day by day to death.
At Dachau, days later, the reality of what they had created penetrated even Nazi rationalizations. The camp guards fled long before the Army rolled in the gates.
But I think about those men standing at attention, waiting on parade at Bergen-Belsen. If it was out of a sense of true acceptance of responsibility, it might be a sign of hopefulness about human nature. The truth is that we are not so much the rational animals we like to think ourselves as, but we are at root rationalizing creatures, skilled at trying to defend the indefensible.
People of faith still look back on the events around and within the Axis powers, countries where many of our own American ancestors came from, and struggle with how to come to terms with what was seen as justifiable from pulpits let alone people’s living rooms. Some European priests and nuns, and a few bishops did the work of truth and courage, saving Jews from deportation and death. Not a few turned a blind eye.
The German church embraced National Socialism, Hitler’s party and platform, without hardly blinking an eye. Two weeks ago saw 60 years since Dietrich Bonhoeffer was executed just as Allied troops neared his prison, part of Nazism’s last convulsion of vengeance and cruelty. Bonhoeffer was one of tragically too few pastors of the state church who said “No” to “Hitler is Lord,” and paid the price willingly with his life.
Elie Wiesel, caught up as a youth in the death camps, asked the question in his book “Night,” in the starkest of terms when watching a young friend dangle from a prolonged execution: “Where is God?” He felt as if the first whisper of an answer came to him as “He is right there, in front of us.” Wiesel and humanity still struggle with a fuller answer to this question of existence, more of the meaning of our own than of God’s.
Any of us who attend many funerals, let alone we who conduct them, knows that the generation which witnessed these events, and have some of the closest insights into what it means to carry the burden of faith through the valley of shadow, are passing through that vale in large numbers. Not so very long from now, there will be no living witnesses to those soul shaking and heart stirring events. The responsibility must be handed on, to children and grandchildren and churches and communities – not just museums! – to remember what they did. To remember Bonhoeffer and Roncalli, Wiesel and the GI’s who freed the camps, is the responsibility of us all.
Jeff Gill is a writer and supply preacher who writes this in memory of the many liberators of Europe and Asia that he has helped honor in death at their funerals, and hopes to commemorate in life. If you have stories from 60 years ago or about events in six weeks, send them to disciple@voyager.net.
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