Faith Works 12-19-15

Faith Works 12-19-15

Jeff Gill

 

Walking Through Downtown

___

 

He got his coffee filled one more time at the counter, then walked out into the night.

 

The Warden Hotel used to be there; his grandmother took the kids to Sunday dinner there after church, the one they went to that was at Five Points, where there's just a parking lot now.

 

Slowly, step by step, he worked his way around the big circular thing they'd built off the courthouse square. A roundabout, they called it. Hmmpphh. He could still recall when the occasional horse and wagon clopped along South Park Place. Back when the Midland showed movies every weekend, and the Soldiers and Sailors Auditorium had the better singers and magicians.

 

They'd kept from tearing the Midland down like all the rest of the theatres around the square, but he remembered them all, each a little different in the lobby, the popcorn, the best seats (especially with a date).

 

It was a different place, no doubt. Fewer bars, no shady ladies waving from porches blocks away from downtown, less sudden violence in the shadows. Anyone who missed the good old days probably hadn't seen many of them first hand.

 

But he did miss Floyd and his boots, Jerry with the fabrics, the old cobbler up Fourth St. fixing shoes – what was his name? – the bowling alley literally down an alley, the smell of Styron Beggs when it was rosewater day. So much gone, so many gone on before. Liberty Pete, Sam the Cop, Bessie at the bakery.

 

That market gal, painted now on a building wall bigger than life: she looked familiar. Probably just a trick of the memory, but she rang a bell. Maybe he'd known her daughter? They were building a new market, frames and walkways going in where there had been wagons and stalls long ago. Market Street, Canal Street: the canal had stopped running even when he'd been a small child, but there were those stretches filled with black water in younger days, iced over in winter, full of frogs in the spring. No more, now all just angled streets and odd dips between buildings.

 

His apartment was by one of those off-kilter streets west of downtown. There were hints of canals and railroads and even, a fellow had said at the library (that bright big new one), even remnants of Indian trails and buffalo traces marked by the lines and passages of modern day roads.

 

His walk home followed that old canal, only a street name now; he didn't like walking along Main St. for reasons that didn't hold up to daylight scrutiny. Even though Criss Brothers had moved out of the old brick building, he thought of his mother's and grandmother's funerals there, hardly anyone in attendance, now names out at Cedar Hill. Didn't like to walk by, all these years – decades! – later.

 

Christmas lights: not the big bulbs he once strung along the porch, when he had a family and a home to himself, oval shapes with paint chipping away, but a warm glow to each of them. With those you had to replace any bulb that burned out or the whole string went dark, and now you could have some dark spots but the rest still worked. Wonder how they do that?

 

So much "used to be." And what was? He wouldn't be, not much longer. But every year, that baby. They had been dolls or statues, then plastic with a bulb inside making the little smile shine, and now you see him projected onto walls with lasers.

 

Every year, he's born again. He's a newborn again and again, like that New Year's baby you used to see so often in ads next to a fellow who looked like…well, like he did now. The year about to exit.

 

And he was ready to exit. But that baby had made him some promises, and he'd tried to keep his to that child. There was a place for him, didn't matter if it was no better than a stable, on beyond, and that hope was good enough for the next world. He'd seen enough changes in this one.

 

But the baby would keep on coming back here, new memories, new generations, built on old enduring hopes. He couldn't have imagined as a kid going to the church he did now (back then they wouldn't have let him in the door, and he wouldn't have gone if they had), but God willing he'd be there tomorrow night for Christmas Eve. They were his family now. And there, the old, old story, about the new, new baby. Who brings us hope, and peace.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him about your "Christmases long, long ago" at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Winter & Lent sermon texts, 2015

Fourth Sunday of Advent – Dec. 20 –

"Prophets of Advent – John the Baptist"

Psalm 61 & Luke 3: 1-6

 

Christmas Eve – Dec. 24 –

"Welcome To Our World"

Luke 2: 1-7

 

First Sunday of Christmastide – Dec. 27 –

"Growing in Wisdom & Strength"

Luke 2: 40 & 52

2016 Winter sermons - "Growing in Wisdom & Strength"

 

Jan. 3 - Psalm 147: 12-20 & Luke 2: 15-20, "Pondering"

 

Jan. 10 - Psalm 29 & Luke 2: 21, "Given by the Angel"

 

Jan. 17 - Psalm 36: 5-10 & Luke 2: 22-24, "Two Turtledoves"

 

Jan. 24 - Psalm 19 & Luke 2: 25-32, "Simeon the Righteous"

 

Jan. 31 - Psalm 71: 1-6 & Luke 2: 33-35, "A Sword Will Pierce Your Heart"

 

Feb. 7 - Psalm 99 & Luke 2: 36-40, "Anna & Hulda"

 

Feb. 10 - Ash Wednesday

 

[Feb. 14 - First Sunday of Lent; Lenten dinners Feb. 17, 24, Mar. 2, 9, 16]

 

Lenten theme: "Health in mind, body, & spirit"

Feb. 14 - Romans 10:8b-13 & Luke 4:1-13, "What Are You Hungry For?"

Feb. 21 - Philippians 3:17-4:1 & Luke 13:31-35, "Where Are You At Home?"

Feb. 28 - I Corinthians 10:1-6 & 7-13, "Is Your Thirst Quenched?"

Mar. 6 - II Corinthians 5:16-21 & Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32, "Who Are Your Friends?"

Mar. 9 - Lenten lunch at Second Presbyterian - Psalm 32, "Do Not Be Like a Mule"

Mar. 13 - Philippians 3:10-14 & John 12:1-8, "Where Beauty Is Found"

Mar. 20 - Palm Sunday - Psalm 118:1-2, 19-29 & Luke 19:28-40, "How To Stand On Solid Ground"

Mar. 24 - Maundy Thursday - Exodus 12:1-4, 11-14 & Psalm 116:1-2, 12-19 & John 13:1-17, 31b-35, "Another Path Forward"

Mar. 27 - Easter Sunday - Psalm 118:1-2, 14-24 & Luke 24:1-12, "What Are You Amazed By?"

2016 Winter sermons

"Growing in Wisdom & Strength"

2016 Winter sermons

 

Jan. 3 - Psalm 147: 12-20 & Luke 2: 15-20, "Pondering"

 

Jan. 10 - Psalm 29 & Luke 2: 21, "Given by the Angel"

 

Jan. 17 - Psalm 36: 5-10 & Luke 2: 22-24, "Two Turtledoves"

 

Jan. 24 - Psalm 19 & Luke 2: 25-32, "Simeon the Righteous"

 

Jan. 31 - Psalm 71: 1-6 & Luke 2: 33-35, "A Sword Will Pierce Your Heart"

 

Feb. 7 - Psalm 99 & Luke 2: 36-40, "Anna & Hulda"

 

Feb. 10 - Ash Wednesday

 

Feb. 14 - First Sunday of Lent; Feb. 17, first Lenten dinner

 

Lenten theme: Health in mind, body, & spirit

Notes From My Knapsack 12-17-15

Notes From My Knapsack 12-17-15

Jeff Gill

 

Not Feeling It. Just Not Feeling It.

___

 

The crunch, crunch, crunch of leaves and twigs just made the silence all the more evident. And that was good.

 

Noise and racket and even music: leave it all behind. Arguments and decisions and that other kind of silence, that makes a house vibrate with anticipation of the next sound, stay down there.

 

He crunched along what may or may not have been a trail. Probably a deer path, he thought. There's enough of them, they probably pound the dirt down pretty well. Do kids even walk up here anymore? Are they out of their houses other than down to the bus stop? He kept walking, meandering up the wooded slope.

 

His house was not far away; in the opposite direction were more houses, traffic, the lights of business and offices just beyond. But this way was into the woods, up into hills where only the occasional crossing power line or aged sagging strands of barbed wire looked like a human touch.

 

Breathing hard, he turned around a sort of bend that opened up in front of him, and paused, hands on knees, bent at waist, gasping from unaccustomed exertion. Then he straightened up.

 

The light was fading fast from the sky. He was no outdoorsman, he'd have to head back to the block, the street, the house. There was no flashlight in his pocket, unless you counted that app on his phone. It seemed darker because that last little twist had taken him into a view where the slope before and the next hill beyond had no lights, no houses in view, no streetlights or security lamps around. Just the path, the trees, the land.

 

Even in the growing dimness, as his eyes adjusted, some human touches could be seen. A log, cut on both ends, lay alongside the trail. He sat down on it.

 

His breath was faintly visible. He felt as if his thoughts should be, too, like a swarm of bees around his head. But as his breathing slowed, so did the buzzing. Looking up, a star swam at him out of the darkening blue. He stood back up, walking a few steps over to see a wider swath above, and enjoyed seeing another, and another twinkle into being, where before had just been sky. Slowly, as he sat back down, rustling returned to the forest behind him and across the path in the trees beyond; birds hopping in the low brush, squirrels or something else small dashing along branches just above his head. Then without a sound two cardinals floated onto the limb in front of him, their redness barely distinct by dusk, but the sharp-edged outline of their tufted heads marking them as clearly as crimson by daylight.

 

This walk had started because he just wasn't feeling it. Early December had been warm, even rain-spattered; the weeks were filled with extra year-end tasks at work and at home; family worries weren't lifting, but intensifying. Christmas lights and holiday parties just deepened his gloom. He wasn't feeling it.

 

It was time to go home. The tree was up, after all, and cookies had been made, his neighbor had nice lights up even if he just had a few strings around the front door. The last thing he wanted to do was make anyone worry about him; as he thought that, he automatically checked his phone.

 

There was a text from a friend at work. "Sorry you missed the party, hope you okay, merry Xmas!" Well, nice. With one thumb as he started back down the path he searched for that smiley face with a Santa hat. Just to say "I'm fine, thanks for asking."

 

And suddenly, he was feeling it. Who knows, it might yet snow. It won't be picture book perfect this year, but it's going in the books one way or another, so let's enjoy what we can, he thought. Like this walk, one step at a time.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him a story at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

 

 

Faith Works 12-12-15

Faith Works 12-12-15

Jeff Gill

 

A performance of sorts

___

 

"Why go to church?" is a question I think worth asking, at this time of year when more visitors pop in than any other point in the calendar.

 

Why do visitors show up when they've not been around the rest of the year, and what should those of us who attend divine services regularly think about their motivations, and our own.

 

And we really should think intentionally about our own intentions if we're to relate to, and sympathetically understand what it is that visitors are looking for when they come through the doors of a church or worship center of any sort.

 

A few weeks back, we talked here about what it means to believe in, and to participate in a sacramental reality: there is a level, a dimension, a place in the cosmos for connections between the everyday and the infinite. If you believe that the acts of a faith tradition make that connection, and you hunger for such a connection yourself, you might reasonably go to a church service. For communion, out of a relationship formed through baptism, or any of the other events that some belief systems call a "sacramental act."

 

Then there's simply the desire to connect with someone else, to belong in a community of people and not just to wander about as an isolated individual. The Christmas season is a time when many of us simultaneously are looking for a community to belong to, and an escape from the crowd at large, the faceless nameless mob clogging the aisles and highways and now even the internet. When you have a sense of belonging in a congregation, paradoxically you can also go there to feel like you are more at home with yourself, as a silent worshiper in the midst of many others.

 

But this last note on "going to church" relates to something I've had a personal chance to spend lots of time on lately: concerts. My son is a senior in high school, he's a proficient musician in a number of contexts, and this is a time of year when the regular concerts and special events come thick and fast for bands and choirs and ensembles. Rehearsals aplenty, and performances left and right, near and far. Let's just say I've gotten to know the relative leg room of most of central Ohio's public spaces in the last few holiday seasons.

 

Worship is not a concert. But it includes many elements of the same. In the same way, church services are not performances, but the overlap is unmistakable. There can be backwash, in fact, and good worship leaders are mindful of that hazard. A soloist in a praise band can forget that Sunday is not American Idolatry or The Holy Voice, but a time for all to worship, and you have a role to play.

 

Kierkegaard helpfully noted that, to him, worship is indeed a performance . . . with an audience of One. The folks up front, clergy and musicians and choir or soloists, we're all more like the stage managers. And the ones giving a performance, in the best sense of offering yourself to the audience by giving your best, are the worshipers.

 

But it's God who is the true audience for worship. And it's to God that we come, when we go to church. God may be anywhere, I'd never doubt that for a minute, but it's also true that I can hear music in many forms, and at many venues, but I know where I want to be to hear that music reach me most directly. It won't be through earbuds, probably not on a screen, and it won't necessarily be in the glossiest of live presentations: it's when I have a stake in the performers, a sense of the time and work they've put in, and then the entire package speaks to me in mind, body, and spirit.

 

I'm sure there are better concerts for particular pieces of music than some I've heard in high school auditoriums or from local stages. But that sense of connection, along with a very real belief that it's in community that a sense of the sacred can open up the doors of my heart, is why the songs and hymns and anthems and tunes played in my presence, by those who care about the same lasting hopes and dreams I have, are where I want to be. It's part of what gets me to church each Sunday, and a variety of other places each week where arts and music and drama reach out beyond mere performance, and become something more.

 

See you in church – maybe even in a church building!

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he's got a song in his heart but knows it's better if someone else sings it out loud for him. Tell him about your love of worship at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 12-5-15

Faith Works 12-5-15

Jeff Gill

 

Belonging is something different

___

 

We were talking recently about the question "why go to church?"

 

This is a time of year faith communities of almost any sort see an uptick in the number of visitors, and long-absent folk coming back to worship.

 

The question has one answer I already tossed out, which is that there is something sacred going on in corporate worship, an avenue to the divine that cannot be accessed just anywhere. Some Christian traditions point to baptism and communion, acts of entrance and sustenance in one's relationship to God, as being "outward and visible signs of an inward, invisible grace."

 

In other churches, there are five and even seven such "sacraments," acts of the church where a connection to Almighty God is uniquely possible. (See your leadership for details!)

 

But as a few wrote in to ask me, what if you don't believe in the sacred? If you are rigorously non-supernatural in outlook, if you don't believe in a "life beyond life" or a world of the spirit in any way, then I've said there's no point in going, haven't I?

 

Well, not really. For one thing, I suspect that there are people who are looking for faith who just haven't found it yet; you could say I believe there are many who are seeking that connection, but as they seek, they don't yet know for sure. Coming to church is a way of testing those impulses out. Is there a heaven? Does God exist? Believe it or not, most churches talk out loud about such questions, even in Advent.

 

And whether you desire faith, or are just not feeling it – maybe you once did, perhaps something happened to drive it out of your heart, sometimes folks walk away for reasons imposed on them more than chose – you may still choose to come to corporate worship because you want a connection to people.

 

There are lots of people in shopping centers and college gymnasiums, but we all tend to be cheering or shopping or looking past each other in the crowd. In church, we can end up looking at each other, and asking (even if silently) "so you, too, are looking for something more in life?"

 

I think pastors and church leaders can miss the fact that this is a powerful reason to come to Sunday services, or other congregational events, and we have to speak as if they are in the room. If we say everything as if we all of us are buttoned-down, set for the journey, confident of the destination, then those who are still trying to figure out where they're getting a ticket to may just slip out of the station before the steam is up.

 

A mere acknowledgment occasionally that seekers and searches are certainly present can be a balm for a hurting soul. I've heard it many times, that a loneliness was eased by my having just tossed off an aside that presumed that not everyone was robust and certain in their faith. It opens doors, or maybe windows, for Emily Dickinson's "Hope" that is "the thing with feathers – That perches in the soul – And sings the tune without the words…"

 

And sometimes, people come to church just to sing. More on that next week!

 

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he knows that not all who seek are lost. Tell him about your special holiday services at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.