Faith Works 3-14-09
Jeff Gill
Bernie Madoff Is Set Free
So Bernie Madoff, swindler, Ponzi scheme financier, charity-robbing con man, has gone off to jail. Overdue, I’m sure, and no reason to weep for him, while there are many who grieve the loss of dreams and plans for the future because of his lies. For them, we may shed a tear.
It won't be Sing Sing that Madoff will check into, but I think Martha Stewart can assure you that the image of "country club corrections" is a bit overdone -- non-violent offenders are put in less restrictive environments, with health and recreation options that actually save the taxpayer money over the long run (inmate health care is expensive, and not because it’s so high quality), and those offerings also help maintain order by giving the staff privileges that they can withhold. I'm not bothered by some tennis courts and a few TVs with limited channel selection. Those inmates don't lose track for a moment that they're in jail.
But as for being set free -- If I can read body language at all, Bernie Madoff is utterly, utterly relieved to be done with the game, and I suspect actually relieved, if a bit apprehensive, about going to jail. It’s not a point made in sympathy, just a practical point of psychology: he’s been imagining this day for decades, apparently. He never imagined it would even last this long, and it’s done, and he’s ready to go. The fascinating story, and I look forward to Michael Lewis (I hope, I hope) writing it, will be about how it began. How did the first fateful choice to not invest the investment deposits get made?
When did Madoff first realize the how and in what way he could do this iteration of the Ponzi scheme, and at what point did he realize, probably not long after that, that he could go no way other than forward . . . or throw himself into jail by a full and immediate unprompted confession in media res (which never happens) . . . so he continued, and probably marveled over and over that it kept on going, beyond his wildest fears, let alone hopes, which he probably abandoned years ago.
Bernie Madoff, like anyone trapped in a lie of their own making that keep on growing (read or watch "A Simple Plan"), is really and truly imprisoned in a horrible place -- no matter how reprehensible they are and how deserving we may think they are of our contempt. The fact is -- Bernie Madoff has a chance at freedom now. He will have to figure out how to live his life in that newfound freedom while in jail, to be sure, but I really do think that he has a chance to figure out what freedom is once he's locked up, because he can tell the truth.
The real jail, the real incarceration, is a lie. Lies chain us and bind us and weary our body and soul. And the only freedom is truth, no matter where telling that truth places us physically. So many people try to trade a little of their freedom for the quick convenience of an easy lie, and find that it's almost impossible to give away a little of your freedom.
A closing change of subject: may I suggest to pastors and congregational leaders that there’s a meeting on Monday morning, March 16, that you might want to consider. It will be down at Opportunity Links on East Main (next to Miller’s Essenplatz), hosted by Licking County Job and Family Services, the Community Mental Health & Recovery Board, and the county Board of Mental Retardation & Developmental Disabilities.
At 7:30 am (yep, am) on Monday, a community forum has been assembled to discuss the cuts already impacting social services in this county, and ones that are coming. Some, maybe much of the fallout from where the aforementioned agencies are having to cut staff, cut outlays, and cut grants to other agencies they work with in Licking County, will mean both different stories heard at the doors of our county faith communties, and a different set of requests and needs showing up on those doorsteps as well.
All are invited, and churches in particular I think would do well to participate. I know I’ll be there!
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him a story of freedom at knapsack77@gmail.com.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Monday, March 09, 2009
Notes From My Knapsack 3-12-09
Jeff Gill
Food Matters, and Some Food Matters Quite a Bit
____
Mark Bittman of the New York Times writes a column called “The Minimalist,” about culinary simplicity.
If that makes you think of excruciatingly tiny entrees on handcrafted pottery plates served in a restaurant with tables smaller than most of your dinner plates, think again. Mark Bittman likes to eat, and wants us to enjoy eating as well. Minimalism, Bittman style, is about offering a minimum of excess and an excess of healthy options without an extreme approach that leaves most of us thinking “that may work for some, somewhere, but I can’t live that way.”
Most of what Bittman cooks he does in a tiny kitchen with a, well, minimum of tools and gadgets. We, the readers and erstwhile home cooks, are pushed beyond some of our own minimal repertoire of staples and proteins and veggies, but not to hopelessly pine after ingredients only available two months of the year in street markets by the quays of Marseilles. Try something new, that you can find locally, and cook easily but in a new way – that’s the classic Bittman offering.
He thinks that “Food Matters,” which is the title of his new book which is as much a cookbook with an attitude as it is a polemic with recipes. Michael Pollan has trod this ground already with books like his recent “The Omnivore’s Dilemma,” and the mantra, which Bittman largely adopts, of “Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.”
For that “Mostly plants” part, our author proposes a clever twist that most of us can adopt without vast contortions of adaptation: “Vegan until 6.”
The growing consensus is that Americans eat too much meat, and often in too large a portion at any given time. Our health on so many levels is impacted by the ingestion of so much high fructose corn syrup and juiced up meat (which, in brief, means that the average beef cow by slaughter has consumed through corn feed a barrel of oil).
So Mark Bittman says “try this.” He tells us how to get more whole grains and fruits ‘n vegetables into our meals, and suggests we try avoiding all meat and processed foods . . . until after 6 pm. The trick here, I think, is that if you’ve really filled yourself well with the complex carbs and fiber-rich good stuff, grown as locally as you can manage (he’s got hints on how to do that, too), you won’t be jonesing for a huge hunk of protein on the middle of your plate, shoving the overcooked and unappetizing green stuff over to the edge.
This is from “The Minimalist,” not “The Puritan,” so when life calls for a steak, enjoy! Bittman’s book is filled with little ideas and suggestions that you can act on right now, and not stuff that requires throwing out your entire pantry today and buying a tofu press or high power juicer.
My only regret about buying this book is that it doesn’t have a spiral binding for laying flat next to the stove, but I think I’ll have the spine broken down soon. Watch this column for a few more borrowed points from “Food Matters” as we head into planting and growing season for our local deer ravaged, but still doable gardens.
Speaking of food, kudos to Granville Pack 3 and all those who helped with their food drive – our community supplied the Licking County Food Pantry Network with 8,152 pounds of canned and non-perishable goods, plus a raft of friendly checks and pats on the back for the Cubs who worked so hard. In an effort like that, everybody comes out ahead.
Over 4 tons!
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him a story at knapsack77@gmail.com.
Jeff Gill
Food Matters, and Some Food Matters Quite a Bit
____
Mark Bittman of the New York Times writes a column called “The Minimalist,” about culinary simplicity.
If that makes you think of excruciatingly tiny entrees on handcrafted pottery plates served in a restaurant with tables smaller than most of your dinner plates, think again. Mark Bittman likes to eat, and wants us to enjoy eating as well. Minimalism, Bittman style, is about offering a minimum of excess and an excess of healthy options without an extreme approach that leaves most of us thinking “that may work for some, somewhere, but I can’t live that way.”
Most of what Bittman cooks he does in a tiny kitchen with a, well, minimum of tools and gadgets. We, the readers and erstwhile home cooks, are pushed beyond some of our own minimal repertoire of staples and proteins and veggies, but not to hopelessly pine after ingredients only available two months of the year in street markets by the quays of Marseilles. Try something new, that you can find locally, and cook easily but in a new way – that’s the classic Bittman offering.
He thinks that “Food Matters,” which is the title of his new book which is as much a cookbook with an attitude as it is a polemic with recipes. Michael Pollan has trod this ground already with books like his recent “The Omnivore’s Dilemma,” and the mantra, which Bittman largely adopts, of “Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.”
For that “Mostly plants” part, our author proposes a clever twist that most of us can adopt without vast contortions of adaptation: “Vegan until 6.”
The growing consensus is that Americans eat too much meat, and often in too large a portion at any given time. Our health on so many levels is impacted by the ingestion of so much high fructose corn syrup and juiced up meat (which, in brief, means that the average beef cow by slaughter has consumed through corn feed a barrel of oil).
So Mark Bittman says “try this.” He tells us how to get more whole grains and fruits ‘n vegetables into our meals, and suggests we try avoiding all meat and processed foods . . . until after 6 pm. The trick here, I think, is that if you’ve really filled yourself well with the complex carbs and fiber-rich good stuff, grown as locally as you can manage (he’s got hints on how to do that, too), you won’t be jonesing for a huge hunk of protein on the middle of your plate, shoving the overcooked and unappetizing green stuff over to the edge.
This is from “The Minimalist,” not “The Puritan,” so when life calls for a steak, enjoy! Bittman’s book is filled with little ideas and suggestions that you can act on right now, and not stuff that requires throwing out your entire pantry today and buying a tofu press or high power juicer.
My only regret about buying this book is that it doesn’t have a spiral binding for laying flat next to the stove, but I think I’ll have the spine broken down soon. Watch this column for a few more borrowed points from “Food Matters” as we head into planting and growing season for our local deer ravaged, but still doable gardens.
Speaking of food, kudos to Granville Pack 3 and all those who helped with their food drive – our community supplied the Licking County Food Pantry Network with 8,152 pounds of canned and non-perishable goods, plus a raft of friendly checks and pats on the back for the Cubs who worked so hard. In an effort like that, everybody comes out ahead.
Over 4 tons!
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him a story at knapsack77@gmail.com.
Thursday, March 05, 2009
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Faith Works 3-7-09
Jeff Gill
Worldview, Lifestyle, Habits of the Heart, and Ritual Observances
____
Last Tuesday the pages of this paper offered an intriguing contrast between two families.
In one story, a fellow built up, over time, personal skills, community contacts, and a business that now looks situated to survive the hard times we’re in, while his family often helps others in need, even from distant lands.
The other story was about a fellow who had stumbled and fallen enough in his own choices that even those closest to him saw it was necessary to call the authorities, and report the latest bad choice, which involved more chemistry homework than said citizen had likely done in high school.
On one level, this kind of story tempts me into Andy Rooney mode, wondering what the life situation of fellow number two would be if he had put as much careful note taking and instruction following into legitimate pursuits. Maybe not a Nobel Prize in chemistry, but a good job in a laboratory doesn’t seem an outlandish hope.
(Seriously, people who cook meth are putting an amazing amount of work, mental and physical, into their quick but modest return on their investment. Not to mention creating major league toxic waste along the way, along with fire risk and asphyxiation, which is why you can’t get renters insurance to cover meth labs.)
Succeeding in everyday, business terms takes hard work over long periods without guarantee of excellent or even good outcomes. That’s a fact. Crooks and thieves work hard in short bursts, and generally lay about as much as possible in between what they semi-ironically call “jobs.”
And some aren’t even interested in the occasional effort of thievery.
When ol’ Karl Marx (not to be confused with Groucho) famously called religion “the opiate of the masses,” he meant that a faith-based worldview gave the working folk a sense that effort that was not rewarded in this world still had an enduring meaning in God’s sight, so keep on slogging.
Karl, who lived off of an inheritance (quickly squandered), then wealthy patrons after his wife’s family tired of sending him money (he did briefly write a newspaper column for a New York paper as a “foreign correspondent,” and I’ll bet he was fun to edit), was so smart he knew there was no God. Or god, as some prefer.
God would not reward the laborer for his toil, if the just reward of effort was stolen or withheld by those with capital (i.e., capitalists), so the idea of anything other than an earthly guarantee gets in the way of workers seeing the necessity of revolution.
Or Revolution, as some would prefer.
Karl would argue that some entity should be in a position to guarantee that everyone gets their just due. At its purest, that would be communism.
Except who decides what is the just due to each person? The market, I think many would argue today is, ah, somewhat imperfect at doing that. Readjustments and such are harsh. But the track record of elites and government agencies calculating that over time and applying said justice fairly is pretty weak, too (ask the kulaks).
Which is why most Christians are not quite communist, college dorm conversation to the contrary, but we all tend to lean at least a bit socialist, in believing that a nation chock full o’ believers should guarantee some set of minimums to each, especially for those who really can’t “labor” in the wage and salary sense.
Faithful people of most denominations are wrestling right now with immediate concerns of aiding the less fortunate right down the block, and often within the sanctuary sitting next to them.
But we have to ask ourselves what kind of preaching we need to offer to our society, or which policy recommendations we support, and where our beliefs should lead us to work for the greater good, as major national and even global debates are going on about these questions of labor and value.
Do we believe of our fellow citizens that “they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness”? And to what degree does our faith lead us to propose that we should add things like food, and shelter, and health care to that list?
A believer can make a case that the state (or The State) actually does more harm than good when it goes too far, even in good deeds – maybe especially in good deeds. What no faithful person can do is say that there is no obligation on their part to work “caring for orphans and widows in their distress.”
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; make a policy recommendation to him at knapsack77@gmail.com
Jeff Gill
Worldview, Lifestyle, Habits of the Heart, and Ritual Observances
____
Last Tuesday the pages of this paper offered an intriguing contrast between two families.
In one story, a fellow built up, over time, personal skills, community contacts, and a business that now looks situated to survive the hard times we’re in, while his family often helps others in need, even from distant lands.
The other story was about a fellow who had stumbled and fallen enough in his own choices that even those closest to him saw it was necessary to call the authorities, and report the latest bad choice, which involved more chemistry homework than said citizen had likely done in high school.
On one level, this kind of story tempts me into Andy Rooney mode, wondering what the life situation of fellow number two would be if he had put as much careful note taking and instruction following into legitimate pursuits. Maybe not a Nobel Prize in chemistry, but a good job in a laboratory doesn’t seem an outlandish hope.
(Seriously, people who cook meth are putting an amazing amount of work, mental and physical, into their quick but modest return on their investment. Not to mention creating major league toxic waste along the way, along with fire risk and asphyxiation, which is why you can’t get renters insurance to cover meth labs.)
Succeeding in everyday, business terms takes hard work over long periods without guarantee of excellent or even good outcomes. That’s a fact. Crooks and thieves work hard in short bursts, and generally lay about as much as possible in between what they semi-ironically call “jobs.”
And some aren’t even interested in the occasional effort of thievery.
When ol’ Karl Marx (not to be confused with Groucho) famously called religion “the opiate of the masses,” he meant that a faith-based worldview gave the working folk a sense that effort that was not rewarded in this world still had an enduring meaning in God’s sight, so keep on slogging.
Karl, who lived off of an inheritance (quickly squandered), then wealthy patrons after his wife’s family tired of sending him money (he did briefly write a newspaper column for a New York paper as a “foreign correspondent,” and I’ll bet he was fun to edit), was so smart he knew there was no God. Or god, as some prefer.
God would not reward the laborer for his toil, if the just reward of effort was stolen or withheld by those with capital (i.e., capitalists), so the idea of anything other than an earthly guarantee gets in the way of workers seeing the necessity of revolution.
Or Revolution, as some would prefer.
Karl would argue that some entity should be in a position to guarantee that everyone gets their just due. At its purest, that would be communism.
Except who decides what is the just due to each person? The market, I think many would argue today is, ah, somewhat imperfect at doing that. Readjustments and such are harsh. But the track record of elites and government agencies calculating that over time and applying said justice fairly is pretty weak, too (ask the kulaks).
Which is why most Christians are not quite communist, college dorm conversation to the contrary, but we all tend to lean at least a bit socialist, in believing that a nation chock full o’ believers should guarantee some set of minimums to each, especially for those who really can’t “labor” in the wage and salary sense.
Faithful people of most denominations are wrestling right now with immediate concerns of aiding the less fortunate right down the block, and often within the sanctuary sitting next to them.
But we have to ask ourselves what kind of preaching we need to offer to our society, or which policy recommendations we support, and where our beliefs should lead us to work for the greater good, as major national and even global debates are going on about these questions of labor and value.
Do we believe of our fellow citizens that “they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness”? And to what degree does our faith lead us to propose that we should add things like food, and shelter, and health care to that list?
A believer can make a case that the state (or The State) actually does more harm than good when it goes too far, even in good deeds – maybe especially in good deeds. What no faithful person can do is say that there is no obligation on their part to work “caring for orphans and widows in their distress.”
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; make a policy recommendation to him at knapsack77@gmail.com
Friday, February 27, 2009
Faith Works 2-28-09
Jeff Gill
Listening For a Distant Train Rolling Down the Tracks
“Riding on the City of New Orleans,
Illinois Central Monday morning rail;
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.”
Steve Goodman wrote these words in 1972, the beginning of a song that was made famous by Woody Guthrie’s son Arlo, and is now a folk classic in its own right.
We still have Arlo Guthrie on the concert circuit, though Steve was claimed by leukemia in 1984 (not before writing the marvelous "A Dying Cub Fan's Last Request"). “City of New Orleans” has been called the greatest railroad song ever, which sadly, may be quite true.
Towards the end of the song either Arlo or Steve sing “This train's got the disappearing railroad blues.” This train, which for decades had brought the Great Migration of southern African Americans north to Chicago, was now fading into an industrial twilight, where on infrequent runs northern tourists would be the main ticket buyers.
Ironically, it was the popularity of the song that saved the Amtrak version of the “City of New Orleans,” which still leaves Union Station in Chicago most days and heads down through Memphis for the Crescent City. Enough folks kept asking about it that Amtrak knew they needed to keep some kind of rail line that was called “City of New Orleans,” even if many of the distinctive qualities of the historic line were no more.
The mythic quality of the route was rooted in the myriad personal narratives that went from rural delta Mississippi to urban south side Chicago, leaving behind economic collapse and seasonal floods, especially after 1927, to risk finding your way in the new industrial economy.
“And the sons of pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel.”
Railroads are certainly our fathers’, really our grandfathers’ magic carpet. The sound of a train whistle just before the Depression of the 1930s meant change and transformation and hope, hope for economic transformation.
In general, passenger inter-city rail is fading; a certain amount of mass transit is always “on the verge of growth,” and perhaps their day will return with higher oil prices and the need to economize on the part of all workers. But outside of some specific urban commuter niches, railroading is a leisure choice more than an economic engine.
Ironically, once upon a time church groups considered trains and train culture as worrisome as cities and urban life – my older relatives had on their shelves a book unironically passed along to them copyrighted 19-0-something called “The Sins of the City.” In that book, and other early 20th century faith oriented novels like those of Harold Bell Wright, the train was as likely to bring trouble to a town as a pool hall.
Nowadays a train trip is a very homey, throwbacky, appropriate trip for church based senior groups to take, hearkening to what now is considered a simpler, more moral day. Is that hypocritical? No, times have changed, and what was once a troublesome harbinger of amoral progress is now a benchmark for lost certainties.
“Good night, America, how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.”
What will we think of the internet phenomena that trouble us today, when a century has passed? Will we long for the more straightforward days of Twitter? Will the name Facebook make some distant observer smile with nostalgia, hazed over with delight at the simple gift of connection?
If you aren’t Amish, you need to ask of your faith and its worldview – how should technology be seen in the light of your religion? Is it a problem, a possibility, or . . . it might just be a little of both, and yet one more way a heart can find its way to healing.
That, or today’s technology might be something else that might best be given up for Lent, just to make sure that you know you can. Even if it is likely to become a quaint piece of history by the time we’re old(er), replaced by devices we can’t even imagine today, as a jet plane would have been to a freight train.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; pull the train whistle cord as you approach knapsack77@gmail.com.
Jeff Gill
Listening For a Distant Train Rolling Down the Tracks
“Riding on the City of New Orleans,
Illinois Central Monday morning rail;
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders,
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail.”
Steve Goodman wrote these words in 1972, the beginning of a song that was made famous by Woody Guthrie’s son Arlo, and is now a folk classic in its own right.
We still have Arlo Guthrie on the concert circuit, though Steve was claimed by leukemia in 1984 (not before writing the marvelous "A Dying Cub Fan's Last Request"). “City of New Orleans” has been called the greatest railroad song ever, which sadly, may be quite true.
Towards the end of the song either Arlo or Steve sing “This train's got the disappearing railroad blues.” This train, which for decades had brought the Great Migration of southern African Americans north to Chicago, was now fading into an industrial twilight, where on infrequent runs northern tourists would be the main ticket buyers.
Ironically, it was the popularity of the song that saved the Amtrak version of the “City of New Orleans,” which still leaves Union Station in Chicago most days and heads down through Memphis for the Crescent City. Enough folks kept asking about it that Amtrak knew they needed to keep some kind of rail line that was called “City of New Orleans,” even if many of the distinctive qualities of the historic line were no more.
The mythic quality of the route was rooted in the myriad personal narratives that went from rural delta Mississippi to urban south side Chicago, leaving behind economic collapse and seasonal floods, especially after 1927, to risk finding your way in the new industrial economy.
“And the sons of pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father's magic carpets made of steel.”
Railroads are certainly our fathers’, really our grandfathers’ magic carpet. The sound of a train whistle just before the Depression of the 1930s meant change and transformation and hope, hope for economic transformation.
In general, passenger inter-city rail is fading; a certain amount of mass transit is always “on the verge of growth,” and perhaps their day will return with higher oil prices and the need to economize on the part of all workers. But outside of some specific urban commuter niches, railroading is a leisure choice more than an economic engine.
Ironically, once upon a time church groups considered trains and train culture as worrisome as cities and urban life – my older relatives had on their shelves a book unironically passed along to them copyrighted 19-0-something called “The Sins of the City.” In that book, and other early 20th century faith oriented novels like those of Harold Bell Wright, the train was as likely to bring trouble to a town as a pool hall.
Nowadays a train trip is a very homey, throwbacky, appropriate trip for church based senior groups to take, hearkening to what now is considered a simpler, more moral day. Is that hypocritical? No, times have changed, and what was once a troublesome harbinger of amoral progress is now a benchmark for lost certainties.
“Good night, America, how are you?
Don't you know me I'm your native son,
I'm the train they call The City of New Orleans,
I'll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.”
What will we think of the internet phenomena that trouble us today, when a century has passed? Will we long for the more straightforward days of Twitter? Will the name Facebook make some distant observer smile with nostalgia, hazed over with delight at the simple gift of connection?
If you aren’t Amish, you need to ask of your faith and its worldview – how should technology be seen in the light of your religion? Is it a problem, a possibility, or . . . it might just be a little of both, and yet one more way a heart can find its way to healing.
That, or today’s technology might be something else that might best be given up for Lent, just to make sure that you know you can. Even if it is likely to become a quaint piece of history by the time we’re old(er), replaced by devices we can’t even imagine today, as a jet plane would have been to a freight train.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; pull the train whistle cord as you approach knapsack77@gmail.com.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Notes From My Knapsack 2-26-09
Jeff Gill
Food Matters, Now More Than Ever
___
This Saturday, Feb. 28, many of you in the 43023 zip code will find a brown paper grocery bag with a yellow flyer stapled to it, tucked in your front door or under the mat.
Your friends with Granville’s Cub Scout Pack 3, 150 young men from 1st to 5th grades, will be driven about by parents and den leaders to deliver, each den to a particular neighborhood, these bags and the instructions for our annual community food drive for the Licking County Food Pantry Network.
The idea is that you can, if you would, put canned and other non-perishable goods into this bag, put it back out before 9 am on Saturday, March 7, and we will go out again that morning and pick up any bags we see outside on doorsteps with that bright yellow flyer fluttering proudly.
In truth, we will deliver about 3,000 bags wherever we can, but the odds are we won’t get to everyone (sorry about that!). And there’s some chance, albeit small, that we might miss a bag or two on pick-up day, March 7, but we’ll try hard to cruise and re-check where we can.
What is very kind of Greg Ross down at Granville Market is that they will also have on sale that week bags of canned goods, and you can just pay a few bucks and then leave that bag (blue flyer!) down there. On March 7, the truck for the Licking County Food Pantry Network will be in the Granville Market parking lot, where our dens will shuttle back and forth to drop off what you put out. If you want to bring your bag on by, the truck will be there and staffed from about 9 am to 1 pm.
In previous years we’ve had the truck up by Opera House Park, which is great for visibility, but awkward for traffic flow. Scary near-misses had us thinking about a safer, easier plan, and again thanks to the Ross’ and Granville Market for helping make this work out.
Obviously, this is a critical time for food pantries all over, let alone here in Licking County. Suppliers have reduced donated goods and tightened warehouse overstocks, and purchases have gone up even in bulk.
Add in a huge impact to food pantries from the recent peanut product scare and recall, and you have a spring beginning with way too much vacant shelf space in area food pantries.
For those of us fortunate enough to not need the services of a food pantry, the subject of food is a vital one, and I hope we who have a bit to share can pile the bags high this year for those who don’t. My next column is going to come at food from a different angle, as I’ve been working through Mark Bittman’s new book “Food Matters” and thinking about gardening and local food supplies and the lessons of salmonella and energy costs and our only growth area in the US these days being our waistlines.
So watch this space, where I hope to share some good news with the outcomes and totals of our community food drive, and some good suggestions out of “Food Matters,” because it surely does.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; you can get more info on the Pack 3 Food Drive at their blog, http://granvillepack3.blogspot.com.
Jeff Gill
Food Matters, Now More Than Ever
___
This Saturday, Feb. 28, many of you in the 43023 zip code will find a brown paper grocery bag with a yellow flyer stapled to it, tucked in your front door or under the mat.
Your friends with Granville’s Cub Scout Pack 3, 150 young men from 1st to 5th grades, will be driven about by parents and den leaders to deliver, each den to a particular neighborhood, these bags and the instructions for our annual community food drive for the Licking County Food Pantry Network.
The idea is that you can, if you would, put canned and other non-perishable goods into this bag, put it back out before 9 am on Saturday, March 7, and we will go out again that morning and pick up any bags we see outside on doorsteps with that bright yellow flyer fluttering proudly.
In truth, we will deliver about 3,000 bags wherever we can, but the odds are we won’t get to everyone (sorry about that!). And there’s some chance, albeit small, that we might miss a bag or two on pick-up day, March 7, but we’ll try hard to cruise and re-check where we can.
What is very kind of Greg Ross down at Granville Market is that they will also have on sale that week bags of canned goods, and you can just pay a few bucks and then leave that bag (blue flyer!) down there. On March 7, the truck for the Licking County Food Pantry Network will be in the Granville Market parking lot, where our dens will shuttle back and forth to drop off what you put out. If you want to bring your bag on by, the truck will be there and staffed from about 9 am to 1 pm.
In previous years we’ve had the truck up by Opera House Park, which is great for visibility, but awkward for traffic flow. Scary near-misses had us thinking about a safer, easier plan, and again thanks to the Ross’ and Granville Market for helping make this work out.
Obviously, this is a critical time for food pantries all over, let alone here in Licking County. Suppliers have reduced donated goods and tightened warehouse overstocks, and purchases have gone up even in bulk.
Add in a huge impact to food pantries from the recent peanut product scare and recall, and you have a spring beginning with way too much vacant shelf space in area food pantries.
For those of us fortunate enough to not need the services of a food pantry, the subject of food is a vital one, and I hope we who have a bit to share can pile the bags high this year for those who don’t. My next column is going to come at food from a different angle, as I’ve been working through Mark Bittman’s new book “Food Matters” and thinking about gardening and local food supplies and the lessons of salmonella and energy costs and our only growth area in the US these days being our waistlines.
So watch this space, where I hope to share some good news with the outcomes and totals of our community food drive, and some good suggestions out of “Food Matters,” because it surely does.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; you can get more info on the Pack 3 Food Drive at their blog, http://granvillepack3.blogspot.com.
Faith Works 2-21-09
Jeff Gill
Taxing Times For Religious Groups
So, why don’t churches pay property taxes?
Not that long ago, you wouldn’t have heard that question asked, because it would hardly have made sense to anyone. In the last year, even last few weeks, I’ve run into the question in various forms not only on the internet, but face to face.
I’ve even been told “well, if churches paid their fair share, we wouldn’t have [insert favorite funding problem here].”
Uh-huh.
Skipping over my own cynicism on this subject (ok, let me just say this – lotteries were going to go for education? then education got cut, oh, about the same amount from other funding sources, so did the lottery really go to education support? Right.), let me try to answer the question straightforwardly.
Historically, churches, schools, and other non-profits have not paid property or sales taxes because they are voluntary associations made up of local citizens who come together for a common purpose. These members pay property taxes for their homes and real estate, and the sales tax on their own purchased goods, to cover the cost of schools, roads, police and fire service, et cetera.
To have voluntary bodies like churches pay property tax has been seen as a double tax on the very citizens who are already at work in their communities for the common good, running the food pantries and after school programs and tutoring and such, which is utterly counterproductive.
You see, taxes are paid by people. You and me, we work, we get paid, and a portion of that is taken by the federal, state, and local governmental bodies to pay for the common good, balanced – we hope – by our elected representatives’ oversight, which we as voters monitor and reward with re-election or punish with replacement. But taxes are paid by people.
So the idea that churches “aren’t paying their fair share” is a little suspect at it’s root, but if you see governments and large entities as “having money” that we as voters are shoving around on the civic table like croupiers do the chips at a Vegas roulette table, then this seems to make sense. Who has chips, and how can we move them about “more fairly.”
But people pay taxes. And churches are made up of people. Tax them, and you tax those people twice.
One response to that is the idea that churches have a vast pool of unearned wealth sitting in vaults that should be out on the roulette table of redistribution. The Catholic Church gets this one all the time. I’ve worked with Catholic Social Services and a couple of dioceses enough to say “Ha” to that one; aside from real estate, you’d be surprised to find out how little is actually liquid assets in their holdings.
Never mind that what endowments and funds church bodies have in reserve are usually legacies and bequests that went through probate, got taxed there, and are left by persons for particular purposes, often bound by legal agreements to start with. Anyhow.
Which brings us to the “Special Assessments” we’ve all gotten recently. I’m not a political columnist, but to write about faith communities and belief at work in people’s lives, a little political rain must fall. My own guiding political philosophy is the “Law of Unintended Consequences.” Most times, on the broader social level, stuff we do doesn’t do what we think it will – think welfare, welfare reform, de-institutionalization just for starters (look up “groundnut scheme” online for a global example that will peel your eyelids back).
The Muskingum Watershed Conservation District is staffed by good, decent, hardworking folk, and their public affairs person has been active and responsive with gracious good cheer since I started blogging on this issue a few weeks ago. This situation isn’t their fault, and we all agree that dams and levees and bridges should be maintained.
Having said that, this assessment is a scam and an affront to Ohio citizens, and even those not of a believing or church-going bent should be outraged. School districts are being assessed, as are churches and service groups and other property owners who have never heard boo-to-a-goose from any taxing entity, for thousands of dollars in some cases, hundreds at least to most, that was unanticipated and unplanned for and comes at a time of unprecedented economic challenge for such bodies.
Schools pay? Guess what – you’re paying twice, then. For work that – pardon me! – I thought we’d been paying taxes for to the Great State of Ohio to have done these last thirty years, only to learn it’s been so neglected and unfunded that we have to collect millions, right now, from churches and schools and campgrounds, and it could go up EVERY YEAR (they say “we hope we won’t have to increase it, but it will be reviewed annually,” striking a chill in my tiny little heart).
The main response to my astonishment at that is “it’s legal under provisions of the Ohio Revised Code.” Yep, it is.
But something can be legal and still be wrong.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he’s a little upset on behalf of little country churches right now. Calm him down with a note to knapsack77@gmail.com.
Jeff Gill
Taxing Times For Religious Groups
So, why don’t churches pay property taxes?
Not that long ago, you wouldn’t have heard that question asked, because it would hardly have made sense to anyone. In the last year, even last few weeks, I’ve run into the question in various forms not only on the internet, but face to face.
I’ve even been told “well, if churches paid their fair share, we wouldn’t have [insert favorite funding problem here].”
Uh-huh.
Skipping over my own cynicism on this subject (ok, let me just say this – lotteries were going to go for education? then education got cut, oh, about the same amount from other funding sources, so did the lottery really go to education support? Right.), let me try to answer the question straightforwardly.
Historically, churches, schools, and other non-profits have not paid property or sales taxes because they are voluntary associations made up of local citizens who come together for a common purpose. These members pay property taxes for their homes and real estate, and the sales tax on their own purchased goods, to cover the cost of schools, roads, police and fire service, et cetera.
To have voluntary bodies like churches pay property tax has been seen as a double tax on the very citizens who are already at work in their communities for the common good, running the food pantries and after school programs and tutoring and such, which is utterly counterproductive.
You see, taxes are paid by people. You and me, we work, we get paid, and a portion of that is taken by the federal, state, and local governmental bodies to pay for the common good, balanced – we hope – by our elected representatives’ oversight, which we as voters monitor and reward with re-election or punish with replacement. But taxes are paid by people.
So the idea that churches “aren’t paying their fair share” is a little suspect at it’s root, but if you see governments and large entities as “having money” that we as voters are shoving around on the civic table like croupiers do the chips at a Vegas roulette table, then this seems to make sense. Who has chips, and how can we move them about “more fairly.”
But people pay taxes. And churches are made up of people. Tax them, and you tax those people twice.
One response to that is the idea that churches have a vast pool of unearned wealth sitting in vaults that should be out on the roulette table of redistribution. The Catholic Church gets this one all the time. I’ve worked with Catholic Social Services and a couple of dioceses enough to say “Ha” to that one; aside from real estate, you’d be surprised to find out how little is actually liquid assets in their holdings.
Never mind that what endowments and funds church bodies have in reserve are usually legacies and bequests that went through probate, got taxed there, and are left by persons for particular purposes, often bound by legal agreements to start with. Anyhow.
Which brings us to the “Special Assessments” we’ve all gotten recently. I’m not a political columnist, but to write about faith communities and belief at work in people’s lives, a little political rain must fall. My own guiding political philosophy is the “Law of Unintended Consequences.” Most times, on the broader social level, stuff we do doesn’t do what we think it will – think welfare, welfare reform, de-institutionalization just for starters (look up “groundnut scheme” online for a global example that will peel your eyelids back).
The Muskingum Watershed Conservation District is staffed by good, decent, hardworking folk, and their public affairs person has been active and responsive with gracious good cheer since I started blogging on this issue a few weeks ago. This situation isn’t their fault, and we all agree that dams and levees and bridges should be maintained.
Having said that, this assessment is a scam and an affront to Ohio citizens, and even those not of a believing or church-going bent should be outraged. School districts are being assessed, as are churches and service groups and other property owners who have never heard boo-to-a-goose from any taxing entity, for thousands of dollars in some cases, hundreds at least to most, that was unanticipated and unplanned for and comes at a time of unprecedented economic challenge for such bodies.
Schools pay? Guess what – you’re paying twice, then. For work that – pardon me! – I thought we’d been paying taxes for to the Great State of Ohio to have done these last thirty years, only to learn it’s been so neglected and unfunded that we have to collect millions, right now, from churches and schools and campgrounds, and it could go up EVERY YEAR (they say “we hope we won’t have to increase it, but it will be reviewed annually,” striking a chill in my tiny little heart).
The main response to my astonishment at that is “it’s legal under provisions of the Ohio Revised Code.” Yep, it is.
But something can be legal and still be wrong.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he’s a little upset on behalf of little country churches right now. Calm him down with a note to knapsack77@gmail.com.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
The Housing Plan Isn't (and Isn't Gonna)
http://www.calculatedriskblog.com/2009/02/comments-on-housing-plan.html
Key excerpt --
For homeowners there are two key paragraphs: first the lender is responsible for bringing the mortgage payment (sounds like P&I) down to 38% of the borrowers monthly gross income. Then the lender and the government will share the burden of bringing the payment down to 31% of the monthly income. Also the homeowner will receive a $1,000 principal reduction each year for five years if they make their payments on time.
This is not so good. The Obama administration doesn't understand that there were two types of speculators during the housing bubble: flippers (they are excluded), and buyers who used excessive leverage hoping for further price appreciation. Back in April 2005 I wrote: Housing: Speculation is the Key
[S]omething akin to speculation is more widespread – homeowners using substantial leverage with escalating financing such as ARMs or interest only loans.
This plan rewards those homebuyers who speculated with excessive leverage. I think this is a mistake.
Another problem with Part 2 is that this lowers the interest rate for borrowers far underwater, but other than the $1,000 per year principal reduction and normal amortization, there is no reduction in the principal. This probably leaves the homeowner far underwater (owing more than their home is worth). When these homeowners eventually try to sell, they will probably still face foreclosure - prolonging the housing slump. These are really not homeowners, they are debtowners / renters.
http://www.calculatedriskblog.com/2009/02/comments-on-housing-plan.html
Key excerpt --
For homeowners there are two key paragraphs: first the lender is responsible for bringing the mortgage payment (sounds like P&I) down to 38% of the borrowers monthly gross income. Then the lender and the government will share the burden of bringing the payment down to 31% of the monthly income. Also the homeowner will receive a $1,000 principal reduction each year for five years if they make their payments on time.
This is not so good. The Obama administration doesn't understand that there were two types of speculators during the housing bubble: flippers (they are excluded), and buyers who used excessive leverage hoping for further price appreciation. Back in April 2005 I wrote: Housing: Speculation is the Key
[S]omething akin to speculation is more widespread – homeowners using substantial leverage with escalating financing such as ARMs or interest only loans.
This plan rewards those homebuyers who speculated with excessive leverage. I think this is a mistake.
Another problem with Part 2 is that this lowers the interest rate for borrowers far underwater, but other than the $1,000 per year principal reduction and normal amortization, there is no reduction in the principal. This probably leaves the homeowner far underwater (owing more than their home is worth). When these homeowners eventually try to sell, they will probably still face foreclosure - prolonging the housing slump. These are really not homeowners, they are debtowners / renters.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Giants In Our Land
Thanks to a person in Iowa who loves geneaology, i got this transcript of an obituary from Goshen, New York, reprinted in the Newark Gazette, one of many bygone competitors to the Advocate.
Jonathan Benjamin's son and daughters and sons-in-law were many of the very earliest European settlers in Licking County; his daughter Lilly married a John Jones related to my beloved Chaplain David Jones, who built the first cabin in Granville Township, had the first European descent child in this area, and on October 22, 1802, the first of that era to die a few weeks after her baby's birth.
Nonetheless, Jonathan and Margaret Benjamin came and homesteaded what is now the area around Union Station and Infirmary Mound Park, already married some 43 years, and celebrating their 76th wedding anniversary before her death. But Jonathan's story was not quite over, and it went back into a vast expanse of early American history, before he was buried next to Margaret near Granville's Main Street, just visible over the stone wall of the Old Colony Burying Ground.
I've told that version of their story before, but this is a glimpse of the regard in which he was held at his death at 103 -- i'll simply reprint this as transcribed from the original news story:
OBITUARY- Jonathan Benjamin
The Independent-Republican
Goshen, New York
Vol. 5, No. 17
November 26, 1841
[May have originated with the Newark (Licking Co., OH) Gazette.]
DIED
Revolutionary Soldier, -Died in Union Township,
Locking [actually Licking] Co., Ohio, August 26, 1841, Jonathan Benjamin,
in the 103rd year of his age. Father Benjamin was
born in Goshen, N.Y., October 14, 1738. At the age of
16 he enlisted in the army and served his time as a
soldier true to his country. Was married March 10,
1759 to Margaret Brown; moved to Pennsylvania in 1774
or 75. In May, 1777, the Indians broke in upon his
family and family connections, and killed and took
prisoner three entire families, his only son escaping
to the fort. Among the prisoners taken by the Indians,
was his brother-in-law, Ezekiel Brown, late of
Delaware co., Ohio. After being driven from place to
place by those savage tribes, and enduring extreme
suffering for some 5 months, he removed to Maryland in
the fall of 1779, thence to Pennsylvania in 1782,
thence to Maryland in 1897 [should be 1797], thence to
Western Virginia in 1799, thence to Licking, then to
Fairfield co., Ohio in 1804, where he resided until
his death. [Error- Fairfield Co. first, then moved to Licking Co.] In
1810 he joined the M.E. Church, and
remained an acceptable member ever since. In 1835 he
lost his amiable wife, with whom he had lived through
all the sufferings and privations of a piety [pious?] life, for
the almost unpresedented period of 70 years. He was
the father of ten children, and is known to have 77
grandchildren. He lived to see and embrace a child of
the fifth generation, and that a decendent of his
seventh daughter. For the last 30 years, Father
Benjamin has sustained a good religious character, and
in his last years took much pleasure in telling his
bright prospect of happiness beyond the grave. After
an illness of five days, he departed this life without
a struggle or a groan. - Newark Gazette
Thanks to a person in Iowa who loves geneaology, i got this transcript of an obituary from Goshen, New York, reprinted in the Newark Gazette, one of many bygone competitors to the Advocate.
Jonathan Benjamin's son and daughters and sons-in-law were many of the very earliest European settlers in Licking County; his daughter Lilly married a John Jones related to my beloved Chaplain David Jones, who built the first cabin in Granville Township, had the first European descent child in this area, and on October 22, 1802, the first of that era to die a few weeks after her baby's birth.
Nonetheless, Jonathan and Margaret Benjamin came and homesteaded what is now the area around Union Station and Infirmary Mound Park, already married some 43 years, and celebrating their 76th wedding anniversary before her death. But Jonathan's story was not quite over, and it went back into a vast expanse of early American history, before he was buried next to Margaret near Granville's Main Street, just visible over the stone wall of the Old Colony Burying Ground.
I've told that version of their story before, but this is a glimpse of the regard in which he was held at his death at 103 -- i'll simply reprint this as transcribed from the original news story:
OBITUARY- Jonathan Benjamin
The Independent-Republican
Goshen, New York
Vol. 5, No. 17
November 26, 1841
[May have originated with the Newark (Licking Co., OH) Gazette.]
DIED
Revolutionary Soldier, -Died in Union Township,
Locking [actually Licking] Co., Ohio, August 26, 1841, Jonathan Benjamin,
in the 103rd year of his age. Father Benjamin was
born in Goshen, N.Y., October 14, 1738. At the age of
16 he enlisted in the army and served his time as a
soldier true to his country. Was married March 10,
1759 to Margaret Brown; moved to Pennsylvania in 1774
or 75. In May, 1777, the Indians broke in upon his
family and family connections, and killed and took
prisoner three entire families, his only son escaping
to the fort. Among the prisoners taken by the Indians,
was his brother-in-law, Ezekiel Brown, late of
Delaware co., Ohio. After being driven from place to
place by those savage tribes, and enduring extreme
suffering for some 5 months, he removed to Maryland in
the fall of 1779, thence to Pennsylvania in 1782,
thence to Maryland in 1897 [should be 1797], thence to
Western Virginia in 1799, thence to Licking, then to
Fairfield co., Ohio in 1804, where he resided until
his death. [Error- Fairfield Co. first, then moved to Licking Co.] In
1810 he joined the M.E. Church, and
remained an acceptable member ever since. In 1835 he
lost his amiable wife, with whom he had lived through
all the sufferings and privations of a piety [pious?] life, for
the almost unpresedented period of 70 years. He was
the father of ten children, and is known to have 77
grandchildren. He lived to see and embrace a child of
the fifth generation, and that a decendent of his
seventh daughter. For the last 30 years, Father
Benjamin has sustained a good religious character, and
in his last years took much pleasure in telling his
bright prospect of happiness beyond the grave. After
an illness of five days, he departed this life without
a struggle or a groan. - Newark Gazette
Friday, February 13, 2009
Faith Works 2-14-09
Jeff Gill
Faith and Finance Aren’t Cashing In, But Show a Profit
In theory, I should be talking today about Valentinus of Rome and love and the Roman Lupercalia, but a) I’ve done it before, b) others are doing it, and c) I can do it all from a new angle with a unique twist next year.
Right now, people are talking about money.
How much Washington will give Ohio to spend (Gov. Ted sez: Not Enough), how much our companies and businesses have (ditto), how much we have in the bank right now (savings rate for the US was negative before this all hit the fan, so do the math), and how much in taxes our kids will pay in twenty years (too much).
So I’m looking at some of my money, where it says “This note is legal tender for all debts, public and private.” It’s a small inscription, right above the signature of the Treasurer of the United States, who puts “the full faith and credit of the United States Government” behind what that piece of paper represents.
Thinking back to the opening salvos of this devastating barrage of bad economic bombshells, I remembered Bernie Madoff, whose customers are still absorbing the news that not only their gains were illusory, but their original deposits are lost, possibly forever.
Year after year, people got statements, long detailed breakdowns of what stock was bought or sold when, how the profit was rolled over into additional purchases, and the shining, glittering news of how much more your “investment” was worth now than when you initially put it in.
It was, we now find, all lies. It was a “Ponzi scheme,” which is a label for a rolling scam where everyone is told they’re making out like bandits (yes, the victims must have at least a touch of avarice in their souls), but new depositors were being used to pay off withdrawn funds, which Madoff’s crew apparently worked overtime to keep from happening.
Once more is pulled out than you can bring in, or even modest requests for funds intersect with a vanishing demand, and the whole frilly illusion shreds and blows away in a moment.
Faith. “Full faith and credit.” The fact is, the economic system would not work without faith. Any economic system beyond village barter requires the use of symbols to make trades and move goods (“This note is legal tender for all debts, public and private”), and the growing size of a process that operates beyond the next range of hills, let alone across oceans, requires that a certain amount of buying and selling and investing be done in pure symbols . . . like those account statements Madoff’s customers got and smiled over every quarter for years and years.
When faith, any faith is betrayed, the very idea of trust and belief is called into question. Aside from challenges for giving and supporting and tithing for faith communities, there is a very real, practical challenge facing congregations in this financial crisis. We are going through a time when people are going to be very unwilling to take anything on faith, whether of a spiritual or a practical nature.
Before any hard core rationalists get all happy and pleased, here’s the problem – we have to get faith back. We will never achieve full transparency or complete assured confirmation for every economic transaction (unless we all go back to trading my hen’s eggs for your son the cobbler’s new shoes). Faith is, in fact, a vital and necessary part of everyday life.
As the Wall Street traders and Washington insiders seem bizarrely intent on teaching us, we really should require more specifics and more verification in public life (no, seriously, what do you get paid, and why is it mostly called a “bonus” if it’s your base pay?). Church leaders should expect, and even welcome the fact that people will want a bit more explanation than “that’s the way it’s always been,” or “I really don’t know why, it’s just what we’ve always believed.”
Folks are in a mood to say, “Tell me more.” There’s nothing wrong with that.
But we also have to recover a healthy sense of everyday faith, the trust and “credit” in a “giving credit” sense, which is the lubrication system if not the very fuel of our economy. In large part the movers and shakers of society and business need to earn some faith, while we out here figure out where we can bestow it without risking the last of our hope, if not our faith.
And through all of these shocks to our assumptions, the trials and tribulations of job hunting and budget making and priority arranging, one thing becomes abundantly clear: we never should have put our full faith and credit in stuff, in a lifestyle, in our jobs. They never can quite live up to those kind of deeper beliefs.
Which turns us to asking, where should we put our faith? Maybe not in a blind trust, and a mutual fund can’t manage our futures for us, let alone our eternal hopes.
Maybe faith in a God who is present and active among us looks like a pretty solid investment these days.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he’s heavily invested in Kingdom securities and credits to be redeemed by the bearer. Give him your investment counsel at knapsack77@gmail.com.
Jeff Gill
Faith and Finance Aren’t Cashing In, But Show a Profit
In theory, I should be talking today about Valentinus of Rome and love and the Roman Lupercalia, but a) I’ve done it before, b) others are doing it, and c) I can do it all from a new angle with a unique twist next year.
Right now, people are talking about money.
How much Washington will give Ohio to spend (Gov. Ted sez: Not Enough), how much our companies and businesses have (ditto), how much we have in the bank right now (savings rate for the US was negative before this all hit the fan, so do the math), and how much in taxes our kids will pay in twenty years (too much).
So I’m looking at some of my money, where it says “This note is legal tender for all debts, public and private.” It’s a small inscription, right above the signature of the Treasurer of the United States, who puts “the full faith and credit of the United States Government” behind what that piece of paper represents.
Thinking back to the opening salvos of this devastating barrage of bad economic bombshells, I remembered Bernie Madoff, whose customers are still absorbing the news that not only their gains were illusory, but their original deposits are lost, possibly forever.
Year after year, people got statements, long detailed breakdowns of what stock was bought or sold when, how the profit was rolled over into additional purchases, and the shining, glittering news of how much more your “investment” was worth now than when you initially put it in.
It was, we now find, all lies. It was a “Ponzi scheme,” which is a label for a rolling scam where everyone is told they’re making out like bandits (yes, the victims must have at least a touch of avarice in their souls), but new depositors were being used to pay off withdrawn funds, which Madoff’s crew apparently worked overtime to keep from happening.
Once more is pulled out than you can bring in, or even modest requests for funds intersect with a vanishing demand, and the whole frilly illusion shreds and blows away in a moment.
Faith. “Full faith and credit.” The fact is, the economic system would not work without faith. Any economic system beyond village barter requires the use of symbols to make trades and move goods (“This note is legal tender for all debts, public and private”), and the growing size of a process that operates beyond the next range of hills, let alone across oceans, requires that a certain amount of buying and selling and investing be done in pure symbols . . . like those account statements Madoff’s customers got and smiled over every quarter for years and years.
When faith, any faith is betrayed, the very idea of trust and belief is called into question. Aside from challenges for giving and supporting and tithing for faith communities, there is a very real, practical challenge facing congregations in this financial crisis. We are going through a time when people are going to be very unwilling to take anything on faith, whether of a spiritual or a practical nature.
Before any hard core rationalists get all happy and pleased, here’s the problem – we have to get faith back. We will never achieve full transparency or complete assured confirmation for every economic transaction (unless we all go back to trading my hen’s eggs for your son the cobbler’s new shoes). Faith is, in fact, a vital and necessary part of everyday life.
As the Wall Street traders and Washington insiders seem bizarrely intent on teaching us, we really should require more specifics and more verification in public life (no, seriously, what do you get paid, and why is it mostly called a “bonus” if it’s your base pay?). Church leaders should expect, and even welcome the fact that people will want a bit more explanation than “that’s the way it’s always been,” or “I really don’t know why, it’s just what we’ve always believed.”
Folks are in a mood to say, “Tell me more.” There’s nothing wrong with that.
But we also have to recover a healthy sense of everyday faith, the trust and “credit” in a “giving credit” sense, which is the lubrication system if not the very fuel of our economy. In large part the movers and shakers of society and business need to earn some faith, while we out here figure out where we can bestow it without risking the last of our hope, if not our faith.
And through all of these shocks to our assumptions, the trials and tribulations of job hunting and budget making and priority arranging, one thing becomes abundantly clear: we never should have put our full faith and credit in stuff, in a lifestyle, in our jobs. They never can quite live up to those kind of deeper beliefs.
Which turns us to asking, where should we put our faith? Maybe not in a blind trust, and a mutual fund can’t manage our futures for us, let alone our eternal hopes.
Maybe faith in a God who is present and active among us looks like a pretty solid investment these days.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he’s heavily invested in Kingdom securities and credits to be redeemed by the bearer. Give him your investment counsel at knapsack77@gmail.com.
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Notes From My Knapsack 2-12-09
Jeff Gill
On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection (sugg. Title)
Too little known about Charles Darwin’s seminal work, published 150 years ago this coming November, is that it is a fascinating and even enjoyable read.
“On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection,” or later republished as simply “The Origin of Species,” was written in the 1840s and 50s, and is in many ways a High Victorian literary masterpiece.
But I’m uncomfortably aware that describing the book that way sends many of you running in the opposite direction, as if I’d said “Brussels sprouts” (which, if you roast them first, are actually quite tasty as well, but that’s a different column).
“David Copperfield” and “A Christmas Carol” were written by Charles Dickens just a few miles away at about the same time; the other literary Charles was finishing “A Tale of Two Cities” just as “On the Origin” was hitting the bookstalls in London. No one finds it too odd to hear that reading any of those Dickens novels is an enjoyable read for pleasure today, but if you said you were reading (or re-reading) Darwin’s “On the Origin” most would assume you had an assignment for school, and a pretty nasty one at that.
The truth is that Darwin’s book is fun to read, and offers discussions of scientific things in language anyone can follow, whether to agree or disagree – and the author clearly welcomes disagreement and debate, an approach that brings out fine writing and reasoning, I think, from those who engage him thoroughly.
A few weeks ago I recommended “Pilgrim on the Great Bird Continent” by Lyanda Haupt for those trying to understand just what motivated and inspired Darwin as a young scholar, and I’m delighted by how many have e-mailed me to say what a pleasure and marvel this book has been. She delves deep into Darwin’s own letters and handwritten notebooks, and follows his growth in observational sensitivity, and passionate interest in the vital processes of creation.
Haupt touches lightly, but distinctly, on Darwin’s spiritual journey, a seminarian headed for ministry who becomes condemned as “a great infidel.” Her chapter “God and the Nightingales” is a great corrective to this misunderstanding.
“Annie’s Box” by Darwin’s great-great-grandson Randal Keynes (and father of the Narnia movie’s Edmund) tells the story of the life and death of Darwin’s ten year old daughter, and traces an outline of Darwin’s struggles with a faith community around him, more interested in social status than comforting the afflicted.
Yet reading Darwin’s own letters, which you can do for yourself at www.darwinproject.ac.uk, you find that while he tussles with official clergy (type “Ffinden” into the search box), he writes with warmth and welcome to invite evangelists like James Fegan to come use his property for a revival, greets Lady Hope with Bible quotations (if not a “deathbed conversion” as has been mythologized out of her later “reminiscences”), and reminds Asa Gray, Harvard geologist and committed Christian, that a theistic faith can be held close while digging deeply into natural selection and deep time.
Darwin avoided using the term “deist” in his letters, which intrigues me greatly. Deism was a very respectable stance, even within the Church of England, arguing that God created “in the beginning,” then stepped back, letting processes and plans wind out without any direct involvement. He argued strongly that his theory of evolution did not, itself, prove or disprove the existence of God, or a faith in Jesus Christ, nor did it intend to undermine or support such beliefs.
The question of what about faith could be explained or proven by scientific means intrigued Darwin, and he often talked about this; sometimes folks use these quotes to say that Darwin thought religion was purely a product of evolution.
To them I would say, read the man’s work for yourself, not selective quotations.
And I’d add the words of an Orthodox saint of the Fourth Century, Ephrem the Syrian, whose hymns are still sung in the Christian churches Eastern and Western, and whose thought inspired John Wesley – “In every place, if you look his symbol is there,” Ephrem sang,
“Nature and the Scriptures
together carry
the symbols of his humanity
and of his divinity.”
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he promises to stop talking about Darwin and Lincoln for at least a while after Feb. 12! Tell him a story at knapsack77@gmail.com, or to “Knapsack” on Twitter.
Jeff Gill
On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection (sugg. Title)
Too little known about Charles Darwin’s seminal work, published 150 years ago this coming November, is that it is a fascinating and even enjoyable read.
“On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection,” or later republished as simply “The Origin of Species,” was written in the 1840s and 50s, and is in many ways a High Victorian literary masterpiece.
But I’m uncomfortably aware that describing the book that way sends many of you running in the opposite direction, as if I’d said “Brussels sprouts” (which, if you roast them first, are actually quite tasty as well, but that’s a different column).
“David Copperfield” and “A Christmas Carol” were written by Charles Dickens just a few miles away at about the same time; the other literary Charles was finishing “A Tale of Two Cities” just as “On the Origin” was hitting the bookstalls in London. No one finds it too odd to hear that reading any of those Dickens novels is an enjoyable read for pleasure today, but if you said you were reading (or re-reading) Darwin’s “On the Origin” most would assume you had an assignment for school, and a pretty nasty one at that.
The truth is that Darwin’s book is fun to read, and offers discussions of scientific things in language anyone can follow, whether to agree or disagree – and the author clearly welcomes disagreement and debate, an approach that brings out fine writing and reasoning, I think, from those who engage him thoroughly.
A few weeks ago I recommended “Pilgrim on the Great Bird Continent” by Lyanda Haupt for those trying to understand just what motivated and inspired Darwin as a young scholar, and I’m delighted by how many have e-mailed me to say what a pleasure and marvel this book has been. She delves deep into Darwin’s own letters and handwritten notebooks, and follows his growth in observational sensitivity, and passionate interest in the vital processes of creation.
Haupt touches lightly, but distinctly, on Darwin’s spiritual journey, a seminarian headed for ministry who becomes condemned as “a great infidel.” Her chapter “God and the Nightingales” is a great corrective to this misunderstanding.
“Annie’s Box” by Darwin’s great-great-grandson Randal Keynes (and father of the Narnia movie’s Edmund) tells the story of the life and death of Darwin’s ten year old daughter, and traces an outline of Darwin’s struggles with a faith community around him, more interested in social status than comforting the afflicted.
Yet reading Darwin’s own letters, which you can do for yourself at www.darwinproject.ac.uk, you find that while he tussles with official clergy (type “Ffinden” into the search box), he writes with warmth and welcome to invite evangelists like James Fegan to come use his property for a revival, greets Lady Hope with Bible quotations (if not a “deathbed conversion” as has been mythologized out of her later “reminiscences”), and reminds Asa Gray, Harvard geologist and committed Christian, that a theistic faith can be held close while digging deeply into natural selection and deep time.
Darwin avoided using the term “deist” in his letters, which intrigues me greatly. Deism was a very respectable stance, even within the Church of England, arguing that God created “in the beginning,” then stepped back, letting processes and plans wind out without any direct involvement. He argued strongly that his theory of evolution did not, itself, prove or disprove the existence of God, or a faith in Jesus Christ, nor did it intend to undermine or support such beliefs.
The question of what about faith could be explained or proven by scientific means intrigued Darwin, and he often talked about this; sometimes folks use these quotes to say that Darwin thought religion was purely a product of evolution.
To them I would say, read the man’s work for yourself, not selective quotations.
And I’d add the words of an Orthodox saint of the Fourth Century, Ephrem the Syrian, whose hymns are still sung in the Christian churches Eastern and Western, and whose thought inspired John Wesley – “In every place, if you look his symbol is there,” Ephrem sang,
“Nature and the Scriptures
together carry
the symbols of his humanity
and of his divinity.”
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he promises to stop talking about Darwin and Lincoln for at least a while after Feb. 12! Tell him a story at knapsack77@gmail.com, or to “Knapsack” on Twitter.
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Faith Works 2-7-09
Jeff Gill
Death, Life, Creation, and the Cosmos
To be perfectly candid, if I were to design a world, it seems to me that it wouldn’t have 50 year old fathers die, leaving behind a couple of small children and a grieving wife. Earlier this week, just that happened among my wider circle of internet acquaintance, but was no less awful to hear for not having met them in person. It’s the kind of thing you think (especially at 47) “that just shouldn’t happen.”
Which most wouldn’t disagree with, until you started actually thinking it through: so who would die? If not this one, that one?
So then you say “ok, I wouldn’t design in death at all.” Which means that all organisms go on and on, or just humans? Yeah, I hear you in the back, “dogs, too!” To which I reply “well, and cats.”
Parakeets?
Anyhow, it’s one thing to say that it seems as if “even in the midst of life, we are in death,” and call that a flaw, a brokenness, even a “sin” running through the heart of creation. It’s quite another to say “so why not take out this sorrow, or this tragedy?” When you start to tinker with the cosmos, let alone (say) global climate change, everything seems to be linked to everything, and you can’t take out the bad without hopelessly compromising the good.
If you stand back from life and say “then it may be just as well that we never lived at all rather than die, or experience the death of others,” you’ve captured the nihilism that is the empty heart of much modern philosophy. I’d recommend you go watch “It’s a Wonderful Life” and not try to argue with you, since it would just depress us both.
The harder challenge is finding what to say to someone who sees death and tragedy as a clear and distinct argument that there is no cause, no God, no design at all, no ultimate meaning hidden in eternity or revealed in glimpses through the narrow door of Scripture.
My own answer as a Christian starts with Jesus Christ himself, “and him crucified.” The One on the cross is a sign and a revelation that God is aware of this brokenness at the heart of life, and rather than erasing the board and starting over, has entered history to show the way.
So I grieve with my friend who lost her husband, a woman I’ve never met and many hundreds of miles away, and trust in her faith (and his) that the cross has bridged the gap for him already, and we to him in the fullness of time.
And I think it right that I grieve for a father who lost a ten year old daughter, albeit in 1851; or one who lost sons at four and eleven, in 1850 and 1862. Those fathers were told to find comfort that their children died because “it was their time,” “they were called home,” that “God needed them in heaven.”
I wish there had been more who had said to those fathers that Jesus Christ came to heal the brokenness of all of creation (for God so loved the “cosmos” is what John 3:16 says in Greek, “all of creation”). I wish there had been pastoral voices to tell them that God wept with them, and shared their sorrow. Instead, they were condemned in their day for questioning the Divine Order of every death, every species, and even the necessity of slavery. To question the social order was questioning the authority of the Church and the Bible, and so Darwin and Lincoln
A Biblical worldview can and must understand that the world has a crack in it, and yet it is through that crack that Jesus entered. God could make the world so that nothing bad ever happened and no evil was in it, but that would put most of us down the memory hole.
I can’t call Charles Darwin or Abraham Lincoln Christians, any more than a fair reading of their own writings could call either an atheist. Did God’s mercy extend to them, on their passing to join their lost children? That would be up to God, but what is up to us is to learn from their experience as we try to comfort the grieving today.
Death is part of creation, but not an ultimate part of it; the passing of death is the final victory promised to the community of faith. We can and must grieve with each other, not forcing sense out of senselessness, but from a promised hope that sense and meaning and God will prevail in the end.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he promises to stop talking about Darwin and Lincoln for at least a while after Feb. 12! Tell him your ideas of something else to talk about at knapsack77@gmail.com.
Jeff Gill
Death, Life, Creation, and the Cosmos
To be perfectly candid, if I were to design a world, it seems to me that it wouldn’t have 50 year old fathers die, leaving behind a couple of small children and a grieving wife. Earlier this week, just that happened among my wider circle of internet acquaintance, but was no less awful to hear for not having met them in person. It’s the kind of thing you think (especially at 47) “that just shouldn’t happen.”
Which most wouldn’t disagree with, until you started actually thinking it through: so who would die? If not this one, that one?
So then you say “ok, I wouldn’t design in death at all.” Which means that all organisms go on and on, or just humans? Yeah, I hear you in the back, “dogs, too!” To which I reply “well, and cats.”
Parakeets?
Anyhow, it’s one thing to say that it seems as if “even in the midst of life, we are in death,” and call that a flaw, a brokenness, even a “sin” running through the heart of creation. It’s quite another to say “so why not take out this sorrow, or this tragedy?” When you start to tinker with the cosmos, let alone (say) global climate change, everything seems to be linked to everything, and you can’t take out the bad without hopelessly compromising the good.
If you stand back from life and say “then it may be just as well that we never lived at all rather than die, or experience the death of others,” you’ve captured the nihilism that is the empty heart of much modern philosophy. I’d recommend you go watch “It’s a Wonderful Life” and not try to argue with you, since it would just depress us both.
The harder challenge is finding what to say to someone who sees death and tragedy as a clear and distinct argument that there is no cause, no God, no design at all, no ultimate meaning hidden in eternity or revealed in glimpses through the narrow door of Scripture.
My own answer as a Christian starts with Jesus Christ himself, “and him crucified.” The One on the cross is a sign and a revelation that God is aware of this brokenness at the heart of life, and rather than erasing the board and starting over, has entered history to show the way.
So I grieve with my friend who lost her husband, a woman I’ve never met and many hundreds of miles away, and trust in her faith (and his) that the cross has bridged the gap for him already, and we to him in the fullness of time.
And I think it right that I grieve for a father who lost a ten year old daughter, albeit in 1851; or one who lost sons at four and eleven, in 1850 and 1862. Those fathers were told to find comfort that their children died because “it was their time,” “they were called home,” that “God needed them in heaven.”
I wish there had been more who had said to those fathers that Jesus Christ came to heal the brokenness of all of creation (for God so loved the “cosmos” is what John 3:16 says in Greek, “all of creation”). I wish there had been pastoral voices to tell them that God wept with them, and shared their sorrow. Instead, they were condemned in their day for questioning the Divine Order of every death, every species, and even the necessity of slavery. To question the social order was questioning the authority of the Church and the Bible, and so Darwin and Lincoln
A Biblical worldview can and must understand that the world has a crack in it, and yet it is through that crack that Jesus entered. God could make the world so that nothing bad ever happened and no evil was in it, but that would put most of us down the memory hole.
I can’t call Charles Darwin or Abraham Lincoln Christians, any more than a fair reading of their own writings could call either an atheist. Did God’s mercy extend to them, on their passing to join their lost children? That would be up to God, but what is up to us is to learn from their experience as we try to comfort the grieving today.
Death is part of creation, but not an ultimate part of it; the passing of death is the final victory promised to the community of faith. We can and must grieve with each other, not forcing sense out of senselessness, but from a promised hope that sense and meaning and God will prevail in the end.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he promises to stop talking about Darwin and Lincoln for at least a while after Feb. 12! Tell him your ideas of something else to talk about at knapsack77@gmail.com.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Faith Works 1-31-09
Jeff Gill
From Soup to Nuts (and I’m the one that’s nuts)
So much going on in the world that impacts and influences the life of faith – where to start?
Most folks are ending this weekend with the Super Bowl, and the youth groups of many area churches are taking this chance to lift up the “Souper Bowl of Caring” with a special offering for local food pantries.
When you’re picking up your game day munchies, buy a can of soup for every snack package, and take those cans to church Sunday morning; some congregations also take up a monetary offering for food pantry efforts as well.
Presbyterians in the south got this tradition going, but you can read about the nownational and ecumenical reach of their work at www.souperbowl.org.
If you haven’t read about the marvelous personal story of Kurt and Brenda Warner, you can check the blog page at www.newarkadvocate.com (look for me under Knapsack), or Google their names. I’m a Steelers fan from youth, and admire the Rooney family, but the Warners can make me cheer a bit for the Cardinals.
(Still, is the curse of the Pottsville Maroons still reaching down from 1925, through their Pennsylvania brethren, to blight the storied Cardinals in 2009? More to the point, should a religious person believe in sports curses in the first place?)
Tuesday is the anniversary of the heroic sacrifice of the Four Chaplains aboard the USAT Dorchester, in 1943. Jewish rabbi, Catholic priest, two Protestant clergymen, all standing together in prayer as the torpedoed ship sank into the North Atlantic night, having handed out all the lifebelts including the ones they wore – Alexander Goode, the rabbi, gave a soldier his gloves as the young man clambered onto a lifeboat.
There were not enough lifeboats, rafts, or flotation devices to go around, and just over 200 of the 900 aboard survived, but all remembered the calm and collective effort of the Four in the twenty-five minutes they had from midnight shock to the final plunge. Together, forever.
And I don’t have Jim Whitaker to call me every year to remind me anymore, but I won’t forget.
Three of the Four Chaplains were Scout leaders, and Feb. 8 begins a momentous year for the Boy Scouts of America – it was on Feb. 8, 1910 that Scouting crossed the pond, after two and a half years of growth under founder Robert Baden-Powell in England. So Dorchester Day often comes right up against Scout Sunday or Sabbath, when Scouting units often attend worship in a group, especially if their “chartering organization” is a church.
For some churches, holding the charter just means they provide a meeting space, and among others, being a chartering organization means that their Cub Scout, Boy Scout, and Venturing crew units are a key part of their own youth programming. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, also known as Mormons, have adopted Scouting nationally as their young men’s youth group structure. Many other churches acknowledge a tie to “their” Scout troop while having a separate youth group.
Finally, I’ve gotten a number of questions about Ted Haggard, all around “what do you think?” All I can think of to say is that Ted Haggard and Rod Blagojevich both need to ask themselves “what purposes do your strenuous efforts to stay in the public eye serve?” (If you feel the need to add Bill Clinton to that list, be my guest.)
And to close this particularly bloggy column out, for a counter-example to Haggard and Blagojevich, click on Wikipedia and enter “John Profumo.” There’s a different way, but as Someone once said, it is often a harder way, a narrower way, a way that leads away from the bright lights, but can take you towards a brighter dawn.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him a story at knapsack77@gmail.com, or to “Knapsack” on Twitter.
Jeff Gill
From Soup to Nuts (and I’m the one that’s nuts)
So much going on in the world that impacts and influences the life of faith – where to start?
Most folks are ending this weekend with the Super Bowl, and the youth groups of many area churches are taking this chance to lift up the “Souper Bowl of Caring” with a special offering for local food pantries.
When you’re picking up your game day munchies, buy a can of soup for every snack package, and take those cans to church Sunday morning; some congregations also take up a monetary offering for food pantry efforts as well.
Presbyterians in the south got this tradition going, but you can read about the nownational and ecumenical reach of their work at www.souperbowl.org.
If you haven’t read about the marvelous personal story of Kurt and Brenda Warner, you can check the blog page at www.newarkadvocate.com (look for me under Knapsack), or Google their names. I’m a Steelers fan from youth, and admire the Rooney family, but the Warners can make me cheer a bit for the Cardinals.
(Still, is the curse of the Pottsville Maroons still reaching down from 1925, through their Pennsylvania brethren, to blight the storied Cardinals in 2009? More to the point, should a religious person believe in sports curses in the first place?)
Tuesday is the anniversary of the heroic sacrifice of the Four Chaplains aboard the USAT Dorchester, in 1943. Jewish rabbi, Catholic priest, two Protestant clergymen, all standing together in prayer as the torpedoed ship sank into the North Atlantic night, having handed out all the lifebelts including the ones they wore – Alexander Goode, the rabbi, gave a soldier his gloves as the young man clambered onto a lifeboat.
There were not enough lifeboats, rafts, or flotation devices to go around, and just over 200 of the 900 aboard survived, but all remembered the calm and collective effort of the Four in the twenty-five minutes they had from midnight shock to the final plunge. Together, forever.
And I don’t have Jim Whitaker to call me every year to remind me anymore, but I won’t forget.
Three of the Four Chaplains were Scout leaders, and Feb. 8 begins a momentous year for the Boy Scouts of America – it was on Feb. 8, 1910 that Scouting crossed the pond, after two and a half years of growth under founder Robert Baden-Powell in England. So Dorchester Day often comes right up against Scout Sunday or Sabbath, when Scouting units often attend worship in a group, especially if their “chartering organization” is a church.
For some churches, holding the charter just means they provide a meeting space, and among others, being a chartering organization means that their Cub Scout, Boy Scout, and Venturing crew units are a key part of their own youth programming. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, also known as Mormons, have adopted Scouting nationally as their young men’s youth group structure. Many other churches acknowledge a tie to “their” Scout troop while having a separate youth group.
Finally, I’ve gotten a number of questions about Ted Haggard, all around “what do you think?” All I can think of to say is that Ted Haggard and Rod Blagojevich both need to ask themselves “what purposes do your strenuous efforts to stay in the public eye serve?” (If you feel the need to add Bill Clinton to that list, be my guest.)
And to close this particularly bloggy column out, for a counter-example to Haggard and Blagojevich, click on Wikipedia and enter “John Profumo.” There’s a different way, but as Someone once said, it is often a harder way, a narrower way, a way that leads away from the bright lights, but can take you towards a brighter dawn.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him a story at knapsack77@gmail.com, or to “Knapsack” on Twitter.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Forty years, two cars, one trophy -- for more photos, see Jeff's Facebook or the Pack blog at http://granvillepack3.blogspot.com
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Notes From My Knapsack 1-29-09
Jeff Gill
Threads and Holes and Wholenesses, Always Needing Darning
We haven’t had a “real winter” for some time, in my opinion. A real winter is one where the snow stays atop the lawn if not the rooftops for more than a day or two at a time, when you actually put your coat on before going into the garage, let alone outdoors.
A real winter is one where you actually wax your shovel because it’s getting enough use to get the maintenance it deserves – even a sharpening pass over the leading edge with a file.
I have three pairs of gloves, lucky fellow that I am. A nice pair for wearing at official events (funerals, mainly), a set with leather palms double layered where you grab the rope tow, woefully underused in recent years, and a couple of wool, fingerless glove-ish things.
Every year I buy a new pair of jersey glove liners that go inside, about $1.98, but I don’t remember what I paid for the wool outers because they’re something like 25 years old. They’re what I wear most of the time, in the car or out shoveling snow.
Starting last year, the palm of one woolie began to show a hole. This winter, that hole has steadily grown. It’s with the arrival of the hole that you start to look clearly at the warp and woof, the horizontal and vertical weave of the fabric, and you realize that this glove is in trouble.
In a not so long ago world, I’d know someone who would darn together the broken strands of yarn and repair the fabric of my glove – as it is, I’m thinking “where can I find a new pair of woolen fingerless gloves?” But not yet. Meanwhile, I keep looking at those broken, unraveling ends around the gap in my left hand palm when I pull on these gloves.
There’s not so much a subtext as a supertext to these gloves for me as I think about the double bicentennial coming up on Feb. 12, 2009. 200 years earlier, both Charles Darwin and Abraham Lincoln were born on that very date.
Lincoln is likely to get his due in the general media. One of the reasons the Illinois legislature found their gumption in getting Blagojevich impeached as Governor was learning that, if he’s still in office Feb. 12, there’s a whole bunch of plaques and new memorials for Lincoln that would have Capt. Clueless’ name on them if they don’t get him officially out of the job. Lincoln will be big news next month.
But Charles Darwin is, well, controversial, and I think that’s too bad, for a number of reasons. His biggest detractors are among my friends and most frequent co-workers in the traditional faith community, and there’s an assumption that Darwin’s whole life and career was about undermining and disputing the central beliefs of religion.
In fact, Darwin very much wanted to hold onto his childhood faith, and his life was an ongoing struggle to find ground on which he could stand to believe in God, a sense of eternity, and the place of those he loved in that enduring reality. Some of the threads of his childhood belief had snapped during his voyage on the HMS Beagle, traveling to the Galapagos and beyond, and throwing those beliefs out onto the scrap heap was the last thing on his mind.
He was, to put not to fine a point on it, not well served by his parish clergy and the religious leadership of his day. Darwin saw class and status concerns more than Biblical beliefs driving the positions held by the church of his day.
To do even a little research into the religious views of Charles Darwin is to realize that his supporters, let alone detractors, tend to promote a caricature, a stick figure propped up by polemic and disputed claims.
In brief, Darwin’s struggle to find and hold onto a faith beyond his immediate circumstances has inspired me as a pastor; and when you look at Lincoln’s personal history, you see much the same. Two men, both asked to forget their ethics and scruples, and to adopt certain beliefs more for social than theological purposes. Bravely, each chose to stand apart from the church of their day and place; personally, neither denied God’s place or plan, just their ability to know it with certainty.
They were agnostics, not atheists (though Lincoln didn’t live to see that word, created by Thomas Huxley in the late 1860’s). They did not know, by the standards of their day, but what they believed and expressed went far beyond the flabby and unthoughtful beliefs of many who call themselves believers today.
If they came to your church, how would you invite them into further dialogue and understanding? Because there are Darwins and Lincolns walking through our doors every day . . .
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him a story to share at knapsack77@gmail.com.
Jeff Gill
Threads and Holes and Wholenesses, Always Needing Darning
We haven’t had a “real winter” for some time, in my opinion. A real winter is one where the snow stays atop the lawn if not the rooftops for more than a day or two at a time, when you actually put your coat on before going into the garage, let alone outdoors.
A real winter is one where you actually wax your shovel because it’s getting enough use to get the maintenance it deserves – even a sharpening pass over the leading edge with a file.
I have three pairs of gloves, lucky fellow that I am. A nice pair for wearing at official events (funerals, mainly), a set with leather palms double layered where you grab the rope tow, woefully underused in recent years, and a couple of wool, fingerless glove-ish things.
Every year I buy a new pair of jersey glove liners that go inside, about $1.98, but I don’t remember what I paid for the wool outers because they’re something like 25 years old. They’re what I wear most of the time, in the car or out shoveling snow.
Starting last year, the palm of one woolie began to show a hole. This winter, that hole has steadily grown. It’s with the arrival of the hole that you start to look clearly at the warp and woof, the horizontal and vertical weave of the fabric, and you realize that this glove is in trouble.
In a not so long ago world, I’d know someone who would darn together the broken strands of yarn and repair the fabric of my glove – as it is, I’m thinking “where can I find a new pair of woolen fingerless gloves?” But not yet. Meanwhile, I keep looking at those broken, unraveling ends around the gap in my left hand palm when I pull on these gloves.
There’s not so much a subtext as a supertext to these gloves for me as I think about the double bicentennial coming up on Feb. 12, 2009. 200 years earlier, both Charles Darwin and Abraham Lincoln were born on that very date.
Lincoln is likely to get his due in the general media. One of the reasons the Illinois legislature found their gumption in getting Blagojevich impeached as Governor was learning that, if he’s still in office Feb. 12, there’s a whole bunch of plaques and new memorials for Lincoln that would have Capt. Clueless’ name on them if they don’t get him officially out of the job. Lincoln will be big news next month.
But Charles Darwin is, well, controversial, and I think that’s too bad, for a number of reasons. His biggest detractors are among my friends and most frequent co-workers in the traditional faith community, and there’s an assumption that Darwin’s whole life and career was about undermining and disputing the central beliefs of religion.
In fact, Darwin very much wanted to hold onto his childhood faith, and his life was an ongoing struggle to find ground on which he could stand to believe in God, a sense of eternity, and the place of those he loved in that enduring reality. Some of the threads of his childhood belief had snapped during his voyage on the HMS Beagle, traveling to the Galapagos and beyond, and throwing those beliefs out onto the scrap heap was the last thing on his mind.
He was, to put not to fine a point on it, not well served by his parish clergy and the religious leadership of his day. Darwin saw class and status concerns more than Biblical beliefs driving the positions held by the church of his day.
To do even a little research into the religious views of Charles Darwin is to realize that his supporters, let alone detractors, tend to promote a caricature, a stick figure propped up by polemic and disputed claims.
In brief, Darwin’s struggle to find and hold onto a faith beyond his immediate circumstances has inspired me as a pastor; and when you look at Lincoln’s personal history, you see much the same. Two men, both asked to forget their ethics and scruples, and to adopt certain beliefs more for social than theological purposes. Bravely, each chose to stand apart from the church of their day and place; personally, neither denied God’s place or plan, just their ability to know it with certainty.
They were agnostics, not atheists (though Lincoln didn’t live to see that word, created by Thomas Huxley in the late 1860’s). They did not know, by the standards of their day, but what they believed and expressed went far beyond the flabby and unthoughtful beliefs of many who call themselves believers today.
If they came to your church, how would you invite them into further dialogue and understanding? Because there are Darwins and Lincolns walking through our doors every day . . .
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him a story to share at knapsack77@gmail.com.
Faith Works 1-24-09
Jeff Gill
Two Visitors At the Church Door
If you’re looking forward to Feb. 12, 2009, just because I’ll quit talking about it on the 13th, I guess that’s fair.
The combined 200th anniversary of the birth of both Abraham Lincoln and Charles Darwin is worth some extra reflection and contemplation for myriad reasons, first and foremost because they are people whom any educated person ought to know about.
As with the deaths of John Adams and Thomas Jefferson in 1826, both on July 4th (and precisely on the fiftieth anniversary of the Declaration of Independence they both brought into being), some coincidences make us marvel, and wonder, and consider . . .
People of faith particularly note with a smile the usual ironic comment that as John Adams was dying, his last words were “incorrect,” saying on his deathbed “Thomas Jefferson still lives,” when hundreds of miles away at Monticello his friend had passed on some hours earlier.
Or was Adams ironically wrong? Did the dying man somehow see, or know, that the questioning, seeking, challenging Jefferson was, in fact, at that moment “alive”?
Granted, Thomas Jefferson is no evangelical’s idea of an ideal founding father, clipping Bibles during late nights in the White House, pasting together an “improved” version without the miracles and commentary. He loved Jesus, but on his own terms . . . well, that’s a common problem many of us have.
But then we have Abe and Chuck, born on the same day in two different hemispheres, going on to change the world in ways that are still debated to this day. Now, I’m acutely aware that I may yet manage to annoy or upset every friend I still have who reads this column through, but make no mistake about it – I think Charles Darwin is one of the most fascinating, idealistic, and faith-full people I’ve ever read umpteen biographies about.
Oddly, to say you admire Lincoln won’t get many rocks thrown at you by the most conservative of Christian believers, but a compliment for Darwin and his work are likely to get you peculiar stares even on a good day – for some, “them’s fighting words.”
What they both have in common, though, was a sincere desire to find their place in the faith communities of their day, and a reaction to being told “fit in THIS way and you’ll be fine.”
Quite frankly, their scruples and hesitations are very, well, modern – this is the worst of historic heresies, but they’re recent enough that I think this comment is fair.
Lincoln watched his father and step-mother get caught in the frontier warfare not between settlers and Native Americans, but between denominations competing for adherents. The “heresy” trials of southern Indiana and Illinois of their day had less to do with Calvinism and Arminianism (note for future column!) and more to do with earthly competitiveness between pastors and organizations.
Lincoln actively supported the organization and building of churches in Springfield for the Catholic faith, for the Campbellite heresy that his parents were accused and acquitted of, and the Presbyterians – everyone but the Methodists, whose leader, Peter Cartwright, ran against him for Congress and hence would have nothing to do with him, nor would he let him aid fellow Arminians.
Which is too bad, because Lincoln’s writing showed him to be much more Arminian than Calvinist in his understanding of God’s will and the human capacity to respond. But those doors were closed to Lincoln for social more than theological reasons.
So Lincoln died never having been a member of any church, though his wife was a staunch Presbyterian. Sound familiar to anyone today?
Likewise Darwin had a very religious wife, who raised their children in the church that anchored their small village south of London. A member of the vestry, or church board, Darwin wrestled with his doubts and questions more openly than most, and had a parish pastor who was sympathetic while affirming the creeds and teaching of the historic Christian confessions.
Then a new pastor came in who was upset that Darwin’s wife led a program, funded by Charles’ inherited income, that did what we would call “adult education” and a sort of “GED” program in the church hall. This fellow, whose name I use as an expletive (Ffinden, if you need something to shout when you hit your thumb with a cleaver), worked hard to get all of the poor relief and underprivileged education programming out of church buildings altogether, and Darwin ultimately removed himself from any connection with the church after losing that conflict with the parson.
What would have happened if Rev. Innes had stayed, or if Ffinden had a clue about what faithfulness to the Gospel really meant? We’ll never know, but the state of Darwin’s heart and soul may not be quite what you think.
And yes, I’ll return to this subject for one more week! Next Saturday, the faith of Charles Darwin. It might surprise you. At any rate, do you start to see in Lincoln and Darwin the kind of challenge that the churches of today still struggle with? Men who want to know if it’s alright to ask questions, who are weary of denominational politics and competition . . . what would your church say to Abe or Chuck if they were married to women active in your congregation?
Because they very well might be.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him a story at knapsack77@gmail.com.
Jeff Gill
Two Visitors At the Church Door
If you’re looking forward to Feb. 12, 2009, just because I’ll quit talking about it on the 13th, I guess that’s fair.
The combined 200th anniversary of the birth of both Abraham Lincoln and Charles Darwin is worth some extra reflection and contemplation for myriad reasons, first and foremost because they are people whom any educated person ought to know about.
As with the deaths of John Adams and Thomas Jefferson in 1826, both on July 4th (and precisely on the fiftieth anniversary of the Declaration of Independence they both brought into being), some coincidences make us marvel, and wonder, and consider . . .
People of faith particularly note with a smile the usual ironic comment that as John Adams was dying, his last words were “incorrect,” saying on his deathbed “Thomas Jefferson still lives,” when hundreds of miles away at Monticello his friend had passed on some hours earlier.
Or was Adams ironically wrong? Did the dying man somehow see, or know, that the questioning, seeking, challenging Jefferson was, in fact, at that moment “alive”?
Granted, Thomas Jefferson is no evangelical’s idea of an ideal founding father, clipping Bibles during late nights in the White House, pasting together an “improved” version without the miracles and commentary. He loved Jesus, but on his own terms . . . well, that’s a common problem many of us have.
But then we have Abe and Chuck, born on the same day in two different hemispheres, going on to change the world in ways that are still debated to this day. Now, I’m acutely aware that I may yet manage to annoy or upset every friend I still have who reads this column through, but make no mistake about it – I think Charles Darwin is one of the most fascinating, idealistic, and faith-full people I’ve ever read umpteen biographies about.
Oddly, to say you admire Lincoln won’t get many rocks thrown at you by the most conservative of Christian believers, but a compliment for Darwin and his work are likely to get you peculiar stares even on a good day – for some, “them’s fighting words.”
What they both have in common, though, was a sincere desire to find their place in the faith communities of their day, and a reaction to being told “fit in THIS way and you’ll be fine.”
Quite frankly, their scruples and hesitations are very, well, modern – this is the worst of historic heresies, but they’re recent enough that I think this comment is fair.
Lincoln watched his father and step-mother get caught in the frontier warfare not between settlers and Native Americans, but between denominations competing for adherents. The “heresy” trials of southern Indiana and Illinois of their day had less to do with Calvinism and Arminianism (note for future column!) and more to do with earthly competitiveness between pastors and organizations.
Lincoln actively supported the organization and building of churches in Springfield for the Catholic faith, for the Campbellite heresy that his parents were accused and acquitted of, and the Presbyterians – everyone but the Methodists, whose leader, Peter Cartwright, ran against him for Congress and hence would have nothing to do with him, nor would he let him aid fellow Arminians.
Which is too bad, because Lincoln’s writing showed him to be much more Arminian than Calvinist in his understanding of God’s will and the human capacity to respond. But those doors were closed to Lincoln for social more than theological reasons.
So Lincoln died never having been a member of any church, though his wife was a staunch Presbyterian. Sound familiar to anyone today?
Likewise Darwin had a very religious wife, who raised their children in the church that anchored their small village south of London. A member of the vestry, or church board, Darwin wrestled with his doubts and questions more openly than most, and had a parish pastor who was sympathetic while affirming the creeds and teaching of the historic Christian confessions.
Then a new pastor came in who was upset that Darwin’s wife led a program, funded by Charles’ inherited income, that did what we would call “adult education” and a sort of “GED” program in the church hall. This fellow, whose name I use as an expletive (Ffinden, if you need something to shout when you hit your thumb with a cleaver), worked hard to get all of the poor relief and underprivileged education programming out of church buildings altogether, and Darwin ultimately removed himself from any connection with the church after losing that conflict with the parson.
What would have happened if Rev. Innes had stayed, or if Ffinden had a clue about what faithfulness to the Gospel really meant? We’ll never know, but the state of Darwin’s heart and soul may not be quite what you think.
And yes, I’ll return to this subject for one more week! Next Saturday, the faith of Charles Darwin. It might surprise you. At any rate, do you start to see in Lincoln and Darwin the kind of challenge that the churches of today still struggle with? Men who want to know if it’s alright to ask questions, who are weary of denominational politics and competition . . . what would your church say to Abe or Chuck if they were married to women active in your congregation?
Because they very well might be.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him a story at knapsack77@gmail.com.
Friday, January 16, 2009
Faith Works 1-17-09
Jeff Gill
Naturally Religious or Theologically Un-natural
So, apparently, US Airways just ruthlessly killed two innocent Canada Geese.
That would be one way of putting things, anyhow.
Most of you probably heard that an amazing pilot and a well trained crew saved all 155 lives in New York’s Hudson River by putting their jet airliner down ever so gently on the water, and meeting just about every ferryboat and tour ship in Manhattan.
As advanced as our flight technology becomes, and on the ground, where cars continue to become more reliable, more safe, and more sophisticated, the fact is that when your car calls 911 for you, it’s likely to be because you ran into an animal.
It’s like the world is full of animals, or something.
Paving and building and landscaping may extend our sense of control pretty far out into nature, but the fact is that we humans still live in ecosystems and as part of nature ourselves. We work to create some of this distance, indoor couch potato-y folk that we can be, but even those seeking to protect nature can be part of the problem.
When we talk about the harm people do to the environment, when the debates focus on how humanity is a burden threatening to break global climate systems, there are often subtle, persistent cues to make people think that this all means there is “Nature” and there is “Us.”
Such as the “Voluntary Human Extinction Movement,” whose interesting proposition can be seen in detail at www.vhemt.org. I read carefully to see if anyone was making reference to Jonathan Swift, but apparently this group has a serious irony deficiency.
This is the kind of thing I mean; they seem sincere if humorless, wanting to speak up for nature and the living world. But their position reaffirms the false idea that humans are something separate from or different from their environment. The fact is, when we dump toxic chemicals into a waterway, we are impacting the environment, we are participating in it – and we, as living creatures will be impacted ourselves by what we did.
For people of faith, the question of how our beliefs relate to the natural world is a tricky one. For much of early Judeo-Christian theology, discussion of “the land” and “the people” was common, but so closely connected to a particular piece of land and place that today we read most of those passages politically.
Many of those scriptural statements can be productively re-read from an environmental perspective, but the real complication comes from the question of what it means, Biblically, to be human. The Psalm says we are created “a little lower than the angels,” and goes on to talk in Proverbs about how we don’t want “to be like the dumb beasts,” but from that hierarchy (angels, men, animals) a sort of sloppy biology came out that said we are “the Crown of Creation.”
Then came Charles Darwin. “On the Origin of Species” was published in 1859, hinting that we puny humans might not only be a little lower than the angels, but we might rub shoulders with our cousins the ape and gorilla. Is this a problem? For the established church of his day, it was, and once belief in human separateness from the animal kingdom was made a part of official faith, that reaction spurred Thomas Huxley, Darwin’s chief advocate of the late 19th century, to also create a new word – “agnostic.”
In a few weeks, both Charles Darwin and Abraham Lincoln celebrate the 200th anniversary of their birth, on February 12, 1809. I think both men’s stories have much to say to people of faith, and you’ll be reading more about them over the next few weeks here. I hope the discussion will be supportive of faith, and also open to looking at what belief guides us to see about our place in creation.
Could I also add this reading suggestion for anyone interested in advance of Feb. 12 about Darwin and what he was and wasn’t trying to do? There are some recent, magisterial biographies that are very illuminative about the faith that moved and motivated Darwin right through to the end of his earthly days, but there is also an amazing book, that is not in print but easy to find on-line used, that pulls together science, beliefs, culture, and the man.
“Pilgrim on the Great Bird Continent” by Lyanda Lynn Haupt – if you can find a copy, grab it, because I think it’s one of the best books of any sort I’ve read in the last ten years.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him a story at knapsack77@gmail.com.
Jeff Gill
Naturally Religious or Theologically Un-natural
So, apparently, US Airways just ruthlessly killed two innocent Canada Geese.
That would be one way of putting things, anyhow.
Most of you probably heard that an amazing pilot and a well trained crew saved all 155 lives in New York’s Hudson River by putting their jet airliner down ever so gently on the water, and meeting just about every ferryboat and tour ship in Manhattan.
As advanced as our flight technology becomes, and on the ground, where cars continue to become more reliable, more safe, and more sophisticated, the fact is that when your car calls 911 for you, it’s likely to be because you ran into an animal.
It’s like the world is full of animals, or something.
Paving and building and landscaping may extend our sense of control pretty far out into nature, but the fact is that we humans still live in ecosystems and as part of nature ourselves. We work to create some of this distance, indoor couch potato-y folk that we can be, but even those seeking to protect nature can be part of the problem.
When we talk about the harm people do to the environment, when the debates focus on how humanity is a burden threatening to break global climate systems, there are often subtle, persistent cues to make people think that this all means there is “Nature” and there is “Us.”
Such as the “Voluntary Human Extinction Movement,” whose interesting proposition can be seen in detail at www.vhemt.org. I read carefully to see if anyone was making reference to Jonathan Swift, but apparently this group has a serious irony deficiency.
This is the kind of thing I mean; they seem sincere if humorless, wanting to speak up for nature and the living world. But their position reaffirms the false idea that humans are something separate from or different from their environment. The fact is, when we dump toxic chemicals into a waterway, we are impacting the environment, we are participating in it – and we, as living creatures will be impacted ourselves by what we did.
For people of faith, the question of how our beliefs relate to the natural world is a tricky one. For much of early Judeo-Christian theology, discussion of “the land” and “the people” was common, but so closely connected to a particular piece of land and place that today we read most of those passages politically.
Many of those scriptural statements can be productively re-read from an environmental perspective, but the real complication comes from the question of what it means, Biblically, to be human. The Psalm says we are created “a little lower than the angels,” and goes on to talk in Proverbs about how we don’t want “to be like the dumb beasts,” but from that hierarchy (angels, men, animals) a sort of sloppy biology came out that said we are “the Crown of Creation.”
Then came Charles Darwin. “On the Origin of Species” was published in 1859, hinting that we puny humans might not only be a little lower than the angels, but we might rub shoulders with our cousins the ape and gorilla. Is this a problem? For the established church of his day, it was, and once belief in human separateness from the animal kingdom was made a part of official faith, that reaction spurred Thomas Huxley, Darwin’s chief advocate of the late 19th century, to also create a new word – “agnostic.”
In a few weeks, both Charles Darwin and Abraham Lincoln celebrate the 200th anniversary of their birth, on February 12, 1809. I think both men’s stories have much to say to people of faith, and you’ll be reading more about them over the next few weeks here. I hope the discussion will be supportive of faith, and also open to looking at what belief guides us to see about our place in creation.
Could I also add this reading suggestion for anyone interested in advance of Feb. 12 about Darwin and what he was and wasn’t trying to do? There are some recent, magisterial biographies that are very illuminative about the faith that moved and motivated Darwin right through to the end of his earthly days, but there is also an amazing book, that is not in print but easy to find on-line used, that pulls together science, beliefs, culture, and the man.
“Pilgrim on the Great Bird Continent” by Lyanda Lynn Haupt – if you can find a copy, grab it, because I think it’s one of the best books of any sort I’ve read in the last ten years.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him a story at knapsack77@gmail.com.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Notes From My Knapsack 1-15-09 Granville Sentinel
Jeff Gill
Twin Sons of Different Mothers
Less than a month from now a significant event in world history reaches its 200th anniversary.
This singular event has two particular people tied to the same birthdate, Feb. 12, 1809. On that day, Charles Darwin was born in England, and Abraham Lincoln was born in Kentucky.
Arguably these two men stood at the intersection of dramatic times, but in two different places, never meeting. Even so they both shaped the world we live in today, and their roles continue to inspire and provoke passionate debate.
And, they generate books by the truckload (and articles, and dissertations, and essays, and, um, columns).
If you’re wanting to be up to speed on these two epoch-makers by their joint bicentennial, what should you read? First, read some of their own words. Books about them are piled high, but each is a prose stylist with much to commend about their writing, even though they are as different a pair of authors as the circumstances of their births.
The Library of America series is always stellar in quality of binding and organization, and their two volume “Lincoln: Speeches & Writings” is divided between 1832-1858 and 1859-1865. They can be a bit pricey, and if you need to just get one, you’ll go for volume two.
The presidential proclamations, the speeches you’ve never heard of, and the “fragments,” particularly “Meditation on the Divine Will,” are something you’d want to have on your shelves.
The Second Inaugural Address is almost the paragon of brevity and eloquence that the Gettysburg Address is known for, and along with the letters and drafts leading up to both that the Library of America volume provides, I’d recommend Ronald White’s “Lincoln’s Greatest Speech,” available in paperback. Gettysburg has overshadowed the Second Inaugural, but I hope someone has slid a copy of that majestic speech onto President-elect Obama’s desk before Jan. 20. Garry Wills’ “Lincoln at Gettysburg” takes the story back to the Revolution and down to the present day, but White’s book immerses you in the perilous days of 1865 that led to Lincoln’s last and I think greatest speech.
Not to break the hearts of my good bookseller friends, but for the massive and extensive writings of Charles Darwin, your best source is http://darwin-online.org.uk, where literally every printed word of Darwin’s can be read for free, and much of it is also available as audiobook downloads that you can simply listen two.
I will admit that the Victorianism of Darwin’s prose is an acquired taste, but my favorite of all his books (well, behind his notebookss on the voyage of the Beagle) is also the most accessible: “The formation of vegetable mould, through the action of worms.” The quiet scientist of Downe Cottage had endless patience and curiosity for all of life, and his last book looked at the absolutely crucial role of the lowly earthworm. Gardeners, you will love this one.
The revolutionary work, whether Darwin intended it or not, of “On the origin of species by means of natural selection,” which is usually just called “On the Origin of Species,” is found here in all six editions, the ones that Darwin painstakingly refined and rewrote himself.
But for the non-scholarly reader, may I recommend a book I will speak of more later – “Pilgrim on the Great Bird Continent” by Lyanda Lynn Haupt. This is, quite candidly, one of the best books of any sort, for any reason, that I’ve read in the last ten years. It came out in 2006, and not enough readers have found it yet.
Love Darwin or hate him, but read this book and you will understand him ever so much better, and what it was he was trying to do. You may even find you come to a greater appreciation for the work that is left to us to keep pursuing on our pilgrim way, 200 years later.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him a story at knapsack77@gmail.com.
Jeff Gill
Twin Sons of Different Mothers
Less than a month from now a significant event in world history reaches its 200th anniversary.
This singular event has two particular people tied to the same birthdate, Feb. 12, 1809. On that day, Charles Darwin was born in England, and Abraham Lincoln was born in Kentucky.
Arguably these two men stood at the intersection of dramatic times, but in two different places, never meeting. Even so they both shaped the world we live in today, and their roles continue to inspire and provoke passionate debate.
And, they generate books by the truckload (and articles, and dissertations, and essays, and, um, columns).
If you’re wanting to be up to speed on these two epoch-makers by their joint bicentennial, what should you read? First, read some of their own words. Books about them are piled high, but each is a prose stylist with much to commend about their writing, even though they are as different a pair of authors as the circumstances of their births.
The Library of America series is always stellar in quality of binding and organization, and their two volume “Lincoln: Speeches & Writings” is divided between 1832-1858 and 1859-1865. They can be a bit pricey, and if you need to just get one, you’ll go for volume two.
The presidential proclamations, the speeches you’ve never heard of, and the “fragments,” particularly “Meditation on the Divine Will,” are something you’d want to have on your shelves.
The Second Inaugural Address is almost the paragon of brevity and eloquence that the Gettysburg Address is known for, and along with the letters and drafts leading up to both that the Library of America volume provides, I’d recommend Ronald White’s “Lincoln’s Greatest Speech,” available in paperback. Gettysburg has overshadowed the Second Inaugural, but I hope someone has slid a copy of that majestic speech onto President-elect Obama’s desk before Jan. 20. Garry Wills’ “Lincoln at Gettysburg” takes the story back to the Revolution and down to the present day, but White’s book immerses you in the perilous days of 1865 that led to Lincoln’s last and I think greatest speech.
Not to break the hearts of my good bookseller friends, but for the massive and extensive writings of Charles Darwin, your best source is http://darwin-online.org.uk, where literally every printed word of Darwin’s can be read for free, and much of it is also available as audiobook downloads that you can simply listen two.
I will admit that the Victorianism of Darwin’s prose is an acquired taste, but my favorite of all his books (well, behind his notebookss on the voyage of the Beagle) is also the most accessible: “The formation of vegetable mould, through the action of worms.” The quiet scientist of Downe Cottage had endless patience and curiosity for all of life, and his last book looked at the absolutely crucial role of the lowly earthworm. Gardeners, you will love this one.
The revolutionary work, whether Darwin intended it or not, of “On the origin of species by means of natural selection,” which is usually just called “On the Origin of Species,” is found here in all six editions, the ones that Darwin painstakingly refined and rewrote himself.
But for the non-scholarly reader, may I recommend a book I will speak of more later – “Pilgrim on the Great Bird Continent” by Lyanda Lynn Haupt. This is, quite candidly, one of the best books of any sort, for any reason, that I’ve read in the last ten years. It came out in 2006, and not enough readers have found it yet.
Love Darwin or hate him, but read this book and you will understand him ever so much better, and what it was he was trying to do. You may even find you come to a greater appreciation for the work that is left to us to keep pursuing on our pilgrim way, 200 years later.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him a story at knapsack77@gmail.com.
Friday, January 09, 2009
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Faith Works 1-10-09
Jeff Gill
A Preacher By Any Other Name
Garrison Keillor is coming to Newark in a week and a half, appearing at the Midland Theatre on Wednesday, Jan. 21. You may not have heard his name in the same way that Ben Vereen or Kathy Mattea are well known, but if you’ve not heard of “Prairie Home Companion,” then you may not know about Garrison and his distinctive style on public radio.
He’s written quite a few books and even starred in a movie loosely based on his long running Saturday night radio program, but it’s “PHC” that’s been around some 30 years and created a new style by reaching back to old ways of doing “a show.”
Call it an urbane, upscale “Hee Haw” and I suspect he wouldn’t be offended; if you’re old enough to remember radio shows like “National Barn Dance” on Chicago’s WLS or their heirs at the “Grand Ole Opry” on Nashville’s WSM, you have a better sense of where “PHC” is coming from, with organic bran muffins instead of the cornpone.
I’ve been suggesting for years at my old seminary that they should give an honorary degree to Garrison Keillor, because I suspect there are few people who have had a stronger influence on mainline/oldline Protestant preaching than what so many pastors in those churches listen to Saturday night as they (koff) polish their sermons (koff).
You see, one of the things Garrison does each week, in a show with a format that borders perilously on the liturgical in its regularity and structure, is at the point where a church service might have a sermon, he does The Monologue.
Now, even if you think you’ve never heard of Garrison Keillor, I guarantee you know something of The Monologue, which always starts out with the opening invocation “It’s been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon, my hometown.” Lake Wobegon is a fictional town in an imaginary county in Minnesota, somewhere north of Minneapolis-St. Paul (where the show usually broadcasts from, in the Fitzgerald Theatre). Garrison will tell us about the events and the doings of the population there, and sometimes going abroad to follow her citizens in their travels or the always somewhat wistful exiles who grew up there and left. Church life is as central as the fortunes of the local baseball team, the Lake Wobegon Whippets. Our Lady of Perpetual Responsibility Catholic Church, or Lake Wobegon Lutheran Church, led by Father Emil and Pastor Ingqvist, are often at the heart of what’s going on, even as we venture into the Sidetrack Tap, the Chatterbox Café, or over to Bunsen Motors.
What I’m sure you’ve heard is the closing, which you don’t always see coming, and can sneak up on you (and no doubt the engineer up in the booth working the broadcast), but is clearly marked by the words “That’s the news from Lake Wobegon, where all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average.”
The thing about the monologue for a preacher is that you can tell – you just can tell, if you get up in front of big groups of people and talk for a living – that he’s put effort into thinking through and planning the rough outline of what he’s going to say, but then he’s laid it aside and is just talking to you, the listener. Which means sometimes the narrative goes in a direction that your spoken reflections and the subtle cues you pick up from your audience steers far out of sight of the security of your prepared text.
There are not infrequently a kind of highwire act moment, when you can just tell that Keillor, struck by what he’s just heard himself describe, and catching a glimpse of where this tale might go next, will windmill a bit into the microphone: “And then . . . and then . . . and then . . . (and the audience in the theatre starts to laugh a bit) . . . and then they saw this bird, with a long, curling tail, fly off into the trees!” There’s just a hint of triumph in his voice, and satisfaction among the audience that they saw him swing and sway a little out over the crowd, but he found his footing, and then the story hurtles forward.
My suspicion is that aside from vocal style, which is unique to the man, Garrison Keillor has emboldened many a pastor to lay aside their manuscript pages, and take a chance that they may actually grope for a word in public, and the congregation won’t mind at all. You may even go in a totally unexpected direction, feeling the gentle nudge of . . . a glance from the choir? A nodding head in the back? A brush of angel’s wings? But you go there, and the listeners go with you.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he waited too long to figure out if he could go to the now sold-out Keillor show, so tell him what you thought about it at knapsack77@gmail.com.
Listen to a Keillor narration with National Geographic photos of places that could/may be Lake Wobegon at the following link (text is there, click sidebar for narrated slideshow):
http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/ngm/0012/feature5/index.html
Jeff Gill
A Preacher By Any Other Name
Garrison Keillor is coming to Newark in a week and a half, appearing at the Midland Theatre on Wednesday, Jan. 21. You may not have heard his name in the same way that Ben Vereen or Kathy Mattea are well known, but if you’ve not heard of “Prairie Home Companion,” then you may not know about Garrison and his distinctive style on public radio.
He’s written quite a few books and even starred in a movie loosely based on his long running Saturday night radio program, but it’s “PHC” that’s been around some 30 years and created a new style by reaching back to old ways of doing “a show.”
Call it an urbane, upscale “Hee Haw” and I suspect he wouldn’t be offended; if you’re old enough to remember radio shows like “National Barn Dance” on Chicago’s WLS or their heirs at the “Grand Ole Opry” on Nashville’s WSM, you have a better sense of where “PHC” is coming from, with organic bran muffins instead of the cornpone.
I’ve been suggesting for years at my old seminary that they should give an honorary degree to Garrison Keillor, because I suspect there are few people who have had a stronger influence on mainline/oldline Protestant preaching than what so many pastors in those churches listen to Saturday night as they (koff) polish their sermons (koff).
You see, one of the things Garrison does each week, in a show with a format that borders perilously on the liturgical in its regularity and structure, is at the point where a church service might have a sermon, he does The Monologue.
Now, even if you think you’ve never heard of Garrison Keillor, I guarantee you know something of The Monologue, which always starts out with the opening invocation “It’s been a quiet week in Lake Wobegon, my hometown.” Lake Wobegon is a fictional town in an imaginary county in Minnesota, somewhere north of Minneapolis-St. Paul (where the show usually broadcasts from, in the Fitzgerald Theatre). Garrison will tell us about the events and the doings of the population there, and sometimes going abroad to follow her citizens in their travels or the always somewhat wistful exiles who grew up there and left. Church life is as central as the fortunes of the local baseball team, the Lake Wobegon Whippets. Our Lady of Perpetual Responsibility Catholic Church, or Lake Wobegon Lutheran Church, led by Father Emil and Pastor Ingqvist, are often at the heart of what’s going on, even as we venture into the Sidetrack Tap, the Chatterbox Café, or over to Bunsen Motors.
What I’m sure you’ve heard is the closing, which you don’t always see coming, and can sneak up on you (and no doubt the engineer up in the booth working the broadcast), but is clearly marked by the words “That’s the news from Lake Wobegon, where all the women are strong, all the men are good looking, and all the children are above average.”
The thing about the monologue for a preacher is that you can tell – you just can tell, if you get up in front of big groups of people and talk for a living – that he’s put effort into thinking through and planning the rough outline of what he’s going to say, but then he’s laid it aside and is just talking to you, the listener. Which means sometimes the narrative goes in a direction that your spoken reflections and the subtle cues you pick up from your audience steers far out of sight of the security of your prepared text.
There are not infrequently a kind of highwire act moment, when you can just tell that Keillor, struck by what he’s just heard himself describe, and catching a glimpse of where this tale might go next, will windmill a bit into the microphone: “And then . . . and then . . . and then . . . (and the audience in the theatre starts to laugh a bit) . . . and then they saw this bird, with a long, curling tail, fly off into the trees!” There’s just a hint of triumph in his voice, and satisfaction among the audience that they saw him swing and sway a little out over the crowd, but he found his footing, and then the story hurtles forward.
My suspicion is that aside from vocal style, which is unique to the man, Garrison Keillor has emboldened many a pastor to lay aside their manuscript pages, and take a chance that they may actually grope for a word in public, and the congregation won’t mind at all. You may even go in a totally unexpected direction, feeling the gentle nudge of . . . a glance from the choir? A nodding head in the back? A brush of angel’s wings? But you go there, and the listeners go with you.
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he waited too long to figure out if he could go to the now sold-out Keillor show, so tell him what you thought about it at knapsack77@gmail.com.
Listen to a Keillor narration with National Geographic photos of places that could/may be Lake Wobegon at the following link (text is there, click sidebar for narrated slideshow):
http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/ngm/0012/feature5/index.html
One of the most interesting interviews i've ever done -- http://www.denison.edu/offices/publicaffairs/mlk_2009_bernice_johnson_reagon.html
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Who was Cap Streeter?
Try the wikipedia entry -- http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Streeter
-- and make sure to click the word "Reutan" for a great website on the story behind Maria and George "Cap" Streeter.
Monday, January 05, 2009
My Kind Of Town, Chicago Is!
If you go across the street from the Tribune Tower, towards the Wrigley Building just a block north of the Chicago River on Michigan Avenue, and . . . descend. Below street level, down to the edge of Lower Wacker Drive, and then through a bright red door shining out of the murk, onto another flight of steps. You drop into a warm place where a man in a greasy apron waving a spatula at you starts to shout, and then tells the man with his back to you at the grill, no matter what you just said, "Cheezborger, double."
You've reached the Billy Goat Tavern, the heart of more Chicago lore than the Historical Society could hold, and twice as tasty. (Yes, we went some other places if you scroll on down.)
We took a look at the Walnut Room and the Great Tree in what i still call Marshall Field's on State Street, but the new Macy's overlords saw fit to put Uncle Mistletoe and Aunt Holly in a glass case off to one side, and not atop the tree itself.
Hmmmpphhh.
Anyhow, up in Streeterville, you can see the view from our room down a side street towards Michigan Avenue, with the Hancock Center astride the center of our window.
The Lovely Wife was a bit disconcerted by the echoing wail of sirens on and off through the night, and the sporadic, ominous, resounding booms that may have been dumpster lids swinging shut, or could have been giant footsteps pounding slowly down the alleys. I slept like an innocent babe through the long-forgotten, still familiar sounds, but to be fair, it does all seem a bit peculiar from certain vantage points.
As you can see above.
Ah, i did love it all. A wonderful weekend, and i think everyone got some pleasure if not relaxation out of it. And i got to tell a story in the wedding homily about Maria & George Wellington Streeter, twelve stories above the spot where the Reutan ran aground in 1882. What joy!
"My kind of town, Chicago is
My kind of people too
People who, smile at you
And each time I roam, Chicago is
Calling me home, Chicago is
One town that won't let you down
It's my kind of town"
("My Kind of Town" Cahn/VanHeusen, 1964)
This picture is of George & Maria's second houseboat/grounded steamer; they refloated the Reutan to ferry passengers to the World's Columbian Exposition in 1893, and lived in this one for the next few years, right where the Ritz-Carlton Four Seasons hotel sits today atop Water Tower Place.
If you go across the street from the Tribune Tower, towards the Wrigley Building just a block north of the Chicago River on Michigan Avenue, and . . . descend. Below street level, down to the edge of Lower Wacker Drive, and then through a bright red door shining out of the murk, onto another flight of steps. You drop into a warm place where a man in a greasy apron waving a spatula at you starts to shout, and then tells the man with his back to you at the grill, no matter what you just said, "Cheezborger, double."
You've reached the Billy Goat Tavern, the heart of more Chicago lore than the Historical Society could hold, and twice as tasty. (Yes, we went some other places if you scroll on down.)
We took a look at the Walnut Room and the Great Tree in what i still call Marshall Field's on State Street, but the new Macy's overlords saw fit to put Uncle Mistletoe and Aunt Holly in a glass case off to one side, and not atop the tree itself.
Hmmmpphhh.
Anyhow, up in Streeterville, you can see the view from our room down a side street towards Michigan Avenue, with the Hancock Center astride the center of our window.
The Lovely Wife was a bit disconcerted by the echoing wail of sirens on and off through the night, and the sporadic, ominous, resounding booms that may have been dumpster lids swinging shut, or could have been giant footsteps pounding slowly down the alleys. I slept like an innocent babe through the long-forgotten, still familiar sounds, but to be fair, it does all seem a bit peculiar from certain vantage points.
As you can see above.
Ah, i did love it all. A wonderful weekend, and i think everyone got some pleasure if not relaxation out of it. And i got to tell a story in the wedding homily about Maria & George Wellington Streeter, twelve stories above the spot where the Reutan ran aground in 1882. What joy!
"My kind of town, Chicago is
My kind of people too
People who, smile at you
And each time I roam, Chicago is
Calling me home, Chicago is
One town that won't let you down
It's my kind of town"
("My Kind of Town" Cahn/VanHeusen, 1964)
This picture is of George & Maria's second houseboat/grounded steamer; they refloated the Reutan to ferry passengers to the World's Columbian Exposition in 1893, and lived in this one for the next few years, right where the Ritz-Carlton Four Seasons hotel sits today atop Water Tower Place.
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