Notes From My Knapsack 2-19-15

Notes From My Knapsack 2-19-15

Jeff Gill

 

A Body in the Well (pt. 2)

___

 

 

"What is going on with Mister Mirk?" asked William Gavit.

 

Sarah Gavit almost jumped into the fireplace; she had been married to the man for almost thirty years, but was still not used to how quietly he could move through a creaky timber frame house. She put it down to his youth spent at sea, in the waters around Long Island Sound, but it was disconcerting even so.

 

Rising up from the kettle by the hearth, she turned and answered "It's no story I know yet, but will be his to tell when he returns. Someone west of the village had a mishap, and they sent a runner to bring him there."

 

William rubbed his clean-shaven chin, a chin cleaner shaven than it had been since Hezekiah Mirk came to town, as many would say now about his skills as a cutler and barber. "I thought I heard a clamor in the street clambering onto our porch. So he's gone already?"

 

"Yes, with the boy who raised the outcry, all out of breath. Hurried off without me offering him even a bite of cornmeal mush and maple syrup."

 

Gavit smiled at his wife. "That is indeed unlike you."

 

He kissed her cheek as she turned back to her cast-iron kettles, and walked on out onto the porch of his home and tavern, an occasional creak marking his passage, no matter how light-footed the big man might be.

 

This home was not even as old as the village, less than ten years, but William knew it needed work, if not replacing. Brother Case and old Warner were looking to build in brick, but these fresh cut planks and beams were some of the first and proudest work of the original mill for the community, over on Clear Run, and he liked it right down to the creaking. It reminded him of how much what he had here was the work of his hands, unlike back in Massachusetts where so much was borrowed or leased or owed upon.

 

With the sun's light now rising clear of Orchard Hill to the east, the porch was downright warm, not that Gavit had any plan to sit and bask in the glow. His guests had left for the road, his boarder was away on business he'd hear of soon enough, and it was time to sit the children down in the big front room, once Sarah was done with the dishes, and begin lessons. Their older children were already apprenticed around the village, but the youngest three had their tables and telling to master. A schoolhouse was in place, catty-cornered across the public square, but Gavit was of no mind to wait until a new teacher made it to town in the spring.

 

He glanced over to his right, and saw the heavy canvas bundle rolled out at the porch's southern end, Mister Mirk's files and rasps and other tools laid out and gleaming in the sun. Once William had asked his boarder about securing his tools, to which Hezekiah Mirk had answered with a wry smile "And whom would steal these, and to what end? All know they are mine, only I know their use in full, and to sell them no one would have coin or specie to trade."

 

When Gavit nodded slowly at this, Mirk added "As well, each has an H and a K struck into their tang or handles. Only a fool would steal these."

 

"True," Gavit replied, "but there are more fools arriving in the west country every day."

 

Then, Mirk had shrugged and went back to his work of sharpening other men's blades. Now, Gavit thought about rolling up and tying up the bundle of tools, but after these last few weeks, he still didn't feel he knew his boarder well enough to handle his tools without permission, whatever his intention.

 

Leaving them in place, he went back inside and called his children down from the loft. Time enough to take the measure of this still-newcomer to their village.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him what you'd like to learn about Granville history at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 2-14-15

Faith Works 2-14-15

Jeff Gill

 

Why a contemporary service?

___

 

Some of my recent "Why a…?" columns ask questions that often may not have been asked by much of anyone. They've addressed topics folks may have wondered about, but not been voiced aloud.

 

Not so with "Why a contemporary service?" Some still use the term "worship wars" for the last few decades, as many congregations, large and small, have struggled with whether or how to offer this new expression of Christian worship.

 

I'm in either an ideal location or a terrible position to comment on this feature of modern American church life. The congregation where I pastor does not, um, well, we don't, uh…. Well, there's no screen or projector in our sanctuary. If you visit sometime you'll see why. It's just not happening there. Sorry!

 

And to jump ahead a moment, it's been an interesting shift in what a "contemporary service" means that the key element has changed from drums in the chancel, which in the 60's & 70's was the first "contemporary worship" debate for many of us, to whether or not you project the words to the worship songs (don't say hymns!) up in front of the worshipers. Today, a contemporary service may be bluegrass – no drums! – or even jazz combos, but the central feature is that you don't use hymnbooks, and that imagery is present and changing for the message as well as the music in some form of projection screen.

 

Anyhow, the church I serve doesn't have one. We're pretty traditional, sort of. But during my "sabbatical years" I preached fairly often in contemporary style services, and I have to admit that occasionally I still fondly recall the added step of developing the message that called on me to hunt up images, pictures to go with the words, even the occasional film clip or video take. It's a different process for sermon development, and it has some real strengths.

 

And my wife has been worship team leader for a church from their launch through today, over ten years now, which has never been anything but contemporary in her service, leading from the keyboards and selecting pre-service songs, specials, and the closing sing-out – all sung, when the congregation joins in, from words up on the screen. She's directed choirs and church choirs and handbell choirs in very traditional services in many places through the years, but she will tell you with great emphasis: congregational singing is strong when no one has a hymnbook to hide behind.

 

Think about it: if you have to lift your chin to look at the words, you just increased the singing volume by a factor of two or three right there!

 

But the question is: why do a contemporary service? Is it just to get people to sing out? No.

 

The main, the best reason that I am aware of is that there are significant swaths of the population who aren't going to come into a church service where the songs are slower and more "old timey," who are strongly put off by formality and ritual, yet are interested in the ancient claims of scripture and the teachings of Jesus. Are pipe organs and neckties called for in the Bible? Nope. Dressing up is even a topic lacking (to my eyes) a clear teaching. Come, come and worship, come now…I can find all of that in sacred writings, but "only after you've washed behind the ears and put on a clean shirt" not so much.

 

That's the atmosphere of contemporary, the jeans and t-shirt side of things, and while some churches can pull off a mixed worship space where neckties and dresses are seen right alongside of work boots and worn denim jackets, it's usually something that has to happen at separate times, if not different places. The music, though, that's where the real conflict still happens.

 

As a leader of traditional worship, even so I get very frustrated with most off-hand criticism of Christian contemporary music (CCM), and with most scholarly critiques. "It's un-Biblical" – you just showed me you've actually looked at the lyrics very little, since I've found CCM to be even more Bible-focused than most old school hymns ("In the Garden," anyone?). "It's repetitive" – go check Psalm 136 and get back to me. "It's too loud.." – okay, we need to talk. Sometimes, that's more than a fair point.

 

Next week, part two!

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him about worship music that lifts you up at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 2-7-15

Faith Works 2-7-15

Jeff Gill

 

Why a Sabbath?

___

 

This is going to be one of those unfortunate "do as I say, not as I do" homilies.

 

A sinner redeemed by grace, that's all I can count on, and moving onwards to perfection. Anyhow. Sabbath, Sunday, a day of rest, the Lord's Day. What's up with that?

 

Sunday still has a sort of secular sacredness in TV ads and promotions, which will occasionally point to the one day to sleep in, the one day to read the papers, the day for brunch. For churchgoers, it's a day to (in many cases) get up earlier than even the rest of the week, and a change of clothes or at least a focused attitude more than letting go.

 

(Yes, there are Seventh-Day Adventists & Baptists in the area who, along with our Jewish brothers & sisters would point out we're doing it wrong, and the Sabbath of the Lord's command is Saturday. Most Christians very early on moved it to celebrate the first day of the week, commemorating the resurrection of Jesus Christ, and since that's the most common, back to Sunday…)

 

There are still many of us around who remember when you drove to church on quiet streets past closed stores; they were called "Blue Laws" (another long story) and basically go back to our Puritan and Calvinist early settlers in this country who affirmed that the Sabbath should be a day of rest, or else. So the state and civil authorities enforced a no-work, no-nothing-but-church policy for the day, believing that was the best way to honor God, the right way to "keep the Sabbath" in a holy fashion.

 

Even in those days, there were debates about what you should do on Sunday, after church or between services if you had an evening gathering, too. Some held to a no-work, no-fun, nothing but the Bible and genteel conversation kind of approach.

 

Other Puritan divines suggested that play and fun and leisure were a part of God's intention for the renewal built into the pattern of creation; John Piper speaks of what he calls "Christian hedonism," where we are called by God to find joy and pleasure and satisfaction within the bounds God has set, but within them to actively seek celebration and enjoyment.

 

Orthodox Jews (who, again, mark the Sabbath observance from sunset Friday through Saturday) smile and tell you that a married couple making love on the Sabbath is a "Double Mitzvah," a special blessing right along with good food on Shabbat honoring the joy God intended for the day.

 

So honoring the Sabbath is, at its heart, meant to be a blessing, not a burden. And Jesus famously says "the Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the Sabbath," which generally is seen as pushing off the table, at least for most Christians, the idea that we need a big heaping pile of rules to make Sunday special.

 

And through the last few decades, Sunday rules as to liquor sales, car lots, and Little League playoff games have fallen away, and Sunday has become just another day, or at least the back half of the weekend.

 

What some are trying to renew in the church and in society is the reminder of what's at the heart of Sabbathkeeping: you can't do it all, you can't control everything, and you are a finite created being who needs rest. Just as a day calls for sleep at the end, a week cries out for a time set apart in some way.

 

We set it apart, alright, and jam it full of leisure activities that wear us out to where we're many of us looking forward to the simple grind of Monday at work.

 

As a pastor, Sunday has to be a day of work, so to speak. I get up early, have the biggest set responsibilities of my vocation to fulfill, and often a hatful of unexpected responsibilities to shove in around those.

 

Which is why, for years, I take Tuesday as my day off from pastoral work. (Cue laughter of the multitudes.) Right, because I'm terrible at taking a day off, plus meetings keep having to be on that day, or surgeries, or funerals. But God has a way of dealing with such as me.

 

If you visit Newark Central this Sunday, you won't find me in the pulpit. I'm having surgery, and getting my Sabbath for a few days whether I'm ready or not!

 

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

Notes From My Knapsack 2-5-15

Notes From My Knapsack 2-5-15

Jeff Gill

 

A Body in the Well: Feb. 1816

___

"Call for Hezekiah Mirk! Call for Hezekiah Mirk!"

 

The boy's shouts echoed off the slope of Sugar Loaf to the east, caroming faintly from Prospect Hill to the north and back west from Orchard Hill, blocking the already risen sun from the main intersection of Granville.

 

To the south, the valley of the Pataskala River opened out, down the slope past the Burying Ground. Hezekiah Mirk sat looking out over the valley, on the end of Mr. Gavit's tavern porch, sliding a blade across his sharpening stone with a steady whishh, whishh, whishh.

 

"Mister Mirk, I believe someone is calling for you," said Sarah Gavit from inside the door, over near the fireplace where she'd been walking an armload of wood in from the other end of the porch. She came back and began to close the heavy timbered door, leaning out enough to stare quizzically at his back. Whishh, whishh, whishh.

 

As if he saw her clearly and knew her thoughts as well, without looking up from his task Hezekiah said "He will get here soon enough at that rate."

 

She leaned back and began to close the door, then realized the patter of booted feet down Broad Street was what he referred to; the day's chill was not quite enough to keep her from not quite pulling the door shut, and listening at the opening.

 

"Mister Mirk, Mister Mirk, there's a body in the well!" So shouted a young lad, tall and lank, out of breath but with enough energy to leap onto the porch without taking the two steps, nearly falling across the pile of wood the Honorable Mister Gavit had piled at the street end the night before.

 

"Sit yourself down, take a breath while you still have one," said Hezekiah, standing and turning in one easy motion from his seat on the other end of the alarmingly creaking porch. "Whose well?"

 

"Mister Avery's well, beyond Sugar Loaf," the boy replied, gasping his way to more regular breath with admirable rapidity. "His wife found it this morning when she went to draw water." Sarah Gavit snorted just inside the front door, making the lad jump, turn, bow, and then go on. "He and his hired man pulled the body out, and it's no one they know from here."

 

"And newly arrived in Granville, they expect me to know him?" asked Hezekiah beneath bristling eyebrows. His already dark and ruddy face beneath a cap of thick black curls furrowed in a not-unusual frown, not unfriendly, either, but the worried look that people in the village were already learning meant thinking more than disliking.

 

"No, sir," answered the lad, "but since you've come from the wars and all, sir, they hoped you would know a bit more about how he . . . why it is that . . . "

 

"How he died? They take me as an expert on that subject, do they?"

 

The lad nodded glumly. Peters' boy, he suddenly remembered.

 

"Well, I expect I am. Not the only man in this place familiar with life's end, but with more knowledge of it than I might wish. Let me get my coat."

 

Sarah Gavit stepped back, holding open the door for him, to which he offered a courteous and sardonic bow, and then swiftly walked into the long room in the front of the tavern, plucked his well-worn Army coat off a peg near the fire, and made a slighter bow to the house's mistress as he went back out onto the porch. She closed the door behind him, and went back to her chores, questions set aside like a task whose time has not yet arrived.

 

Outside, fastening up his brass buttons, the boy asked Hezekiah "Do y'think he was murdered, Mister Mirk?"

 

With a short laugh that was more of a bark, he replied "That, or he was uncommonly clumsy. Come, show me the way."

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him what you'd like to learn about Granville history at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 1-31-15

Faith Works 1-31-15

Jeff Gill

 

Why a preaching robe?

___

 

 

Cue the "disrobed" jokes.

 

You can call them preaching gowns, Geneva gowns, academic gowns, and any more you don't see them all that often, but a special robe or gown for preaching has been a standard over the last generation.

 

In my own tradition, which has had its splits over the years, a hundred years ago a morning coat and striped trousers were more the norm, at least in Ohio; it "casualed" to a dark suit somewhere around World War I, and that was traditional in most Disciples of Christ, Church of Christ, and a fair number of Baptist congregations for many years.

 

Preaching robes, the cousin to more formal liturgical vestments still called for in communions like the Anglican and Episcopal, Lutheran, and of course Roman Catholic Christian traditions, are a practical solution to a problem many of us wrestle with again today.

 

If you are a presider or preacher in the liturgical traditions above mentioned, you don't get up Sunday and wonder "what should I wear?" It really doesn't matter much (although many traditions have guidelines for presiders on their subfusc wear, as it's referred to), since in a truly liturgical tradition, you might have your personal garb, a cassock over that, an alb atop that, and possibly a stole and cope and . . . well, it gets complicated.

 

Most Christian traditions common in Ohio, if not liturgically emphatic, either expected preachers to wear a somber suit (we're talking almost entirely men back in the day, too), or a simple black gown. A preaching stole began to be standard, where both the Christian calendar and some personal emphasis could be expressed. The stole, a narrow sort-of-scarf that hangs down in front going around the back of your neck, would display the color of the church season (purple in Advent and Lent, white for Christmas and Easter, red at Pentecost and ordinations, green for nearly everything else), and symbols of the Gospel on the ends, embroidered or woven.

 

At my ordination, I received a number of stoles, one from my congregation with the Disciples' chalice on it, one from my family woven in many colors, and one from my wife she'd picked up at a Benedictine monastery we'd been visiting earlier that she saw me handle with admiration. They symbolize both the towel Jesus took on an a servant at the Last Supper for the footwashing, and the yoke we share with Christ in leadership.

 

But today robes and gowns and such are considered a wee bit formal, and contemporary worship usually is led by folks in their nicer street clothes (clean, tidy, but ordinary), and that says something important to visitors as well.

 

At our congregation, I split the difference (yes, I know, you're shocked). The choir has robes, as they have a set-apart role in worship just like the preacher, and truth be told they don't love them, so our mutual deal is that in Advent through Christmas, and as we get further into Lent and for Easter, we robe up. And when I'm doing a formal church wedding, I both robe and have a stole my sister made with a cross and linked wedding rings, from the same material as her dress (she's talented that way). Sometimes for funerals in the church I will "go robed" and other times not. It depends.

 

And that's the challenge today. It's not, for most of us, a simple "check the book" decision on what to wear. Many of us in preaching and pastoring know that too much formality can push away a seeker, but some in search of a faith to hold want a little more structure than their lives have right now. It's a fine balance, when to lead in everyday clothes, when to don all the special garments I can find and keep the personal statements to a minimum. I go back and forth, and suspect that's the new normal.

 

It does mean that on Sunday morning you have to think, if you're preaching, about what to wear, something my honored predecessors mostly didn't, unless it was because they had a lunch program after church. There's something to the steady simplicity of Martin Luther's choice of a basic black academic gown, signaling "I've done my studies, and have prepared this word to you" without any ostentation or attitude.

 

That, and a bright woven stole on the dark background, is my favorite preaching uniform. What's yours?

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County. Tell him what you think best clothes a preacher or worship leader at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 1-24-15

Faith Works 1-24-15

Jeff Gill

 

Why a choir?

___

 

My little series for 2015 on "why?' about various aspects of church life needed to shift a bit this week from my original, semi-methodical plan.

 

(Stop laughing. I can be methodical, if not Methodist. Sometimes!)

 

Today, at Second Presbyterian Church, we will have a celebration of the life of Ann Glaser. Ann was a musician herself, and a music teacher in public schools (most notably in heath), but I knew her as a church choir director. She had been retired for many years, in very poor health these last few, but she never stopped singing.

 

Ann was a member at Second, and I thank Rev. Charlie Smith and their organist Rick Black for letting me be a part of Ann's homegoing; she directed both vocal and handbell choirs at Second, then when they hired a full-time music director she shifted to St. John's UCC, then came to Central Christian where I met her in my previous time at the church I now pastor, then as the associate.

 

She loved handbells, and her daughter Kris and I believe she was the first to bring handbell choirs to Licking County, a form of group performance that is now in many congregations around our area. She and Kris also put on the first handbell festival for the area in the early 90s, affirming and celebrating the unique qualities of these musical devices; the sound of eight handbell choirs playing together is something I hope never to forget.

 

But why do churches, most of them, have choirs in the first place? Well, like so many of these "why" questions, it goes back to monks. The monastic enclosures and customs that shape everything from school commencement ceremonies to Harry Potter iconography.

 

You catch a hint of this history in the names of the standard choir sections. A monastic choir would have been all male (convents are a completely different story, parallel history, for a later telling). The tenor voice "holds" the melody – think "tenacity" or "tenant" and you get the linguistic hook – so then lower voices form a "bass" from the Latin and Italian for "low". Higher voices were, of course, "alto" and those higher, supra- to the musical line, make up sopranos.

 

Most musical terms come from Italian, because the more Latinate history is also more one of chant, the sung form of religious service and worship that would carry through a vast stone church in the time before electronic amplification. Singing in a monotone can have its charms, but harmonies and polyphonies steadily developed through the centuries, and the parts we associate with a "standard" Western choir.

 

Even in the Protestant era – think Bach in Lutheran Germany – the idea that the music for a worship service is best delivered by a trained choir held steady, monks and nuns aside. The profession of choral singing developed, there and in Anglican churches of the English-speaking world.

 

In the resistance to state churches that gave birth to Congregational and Baptist forms, there was some reaction against choirs. A paid, set-apart group leading worship was displaced in favor of congregational singing, hence the rise of hymnody and hymns for all to join.

 

Early America in this, as most things, saw all sorts; the last century has seen a general leveling, with fewer churches having paid soloists let alone choirs, but more congregations of all types emphasizing everyone singing (contemporary worship we'll also leave to another day). But we've also all seen that, left entirely on their own, congregations don't always sing out, let alone get an enjoyment of parts and harmonies. A few trained, even if voluntary singers in a choir, can bring out the best in the whole gathering, and a special worship offering or two can add even more at the same time.

 

Ann Glaser gave over a big part of her life to being that key trained professional, a choir director, who could lead the chorus but was always mindful of the congregation. I'm blessed today to have Patty Comisford and Susie Morris in those roles with our choirs at Central, and a strong chancel choir (that also has a great fellowship spirit together). Most pastors know that good choir directors are, as Proverbs 31 almost says, more precious than rubies.

 

I should know; when I found a good choir director, I married her!

 

For my wife Joyce, for Patty and Susie, for Kris and her mother Ann whose passing we mark today, for your choir director wherever you worship: let us all give thanks.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him about your use of music in worship at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.