Notes From My Knapsack 1-12-17

Notes From My Knapsack 1-12-17

Jeff Gill

 

This village of ours

___

 

 

Winter strips away all the externals of nature, and even of culture to some degree, and leaves us with the bare bones.

 

Those bones may be wrapped in coats and scarves of snow and icicles, but there's a sparseness and openness to the terrain, the neighborhoods, the homes when all the leaves are gone and vantage points are all the more commanding, from above or below.

 

This village of ours sits on a geologic bench of sorts, above the creek and below the ridgetops. Thousands of years ago, the receding glacier edge crept north and west, while floodwaters carried outwashes of gravel and occasional boulders of granite down into the ancient rocky valleys, filling them with debris.

 

The first surge of deposition was followed by a long, chilly season of drainage, with the water pooling and then pouring out, forming Black Hand Gorge to our far east, and bending around into a new draining to our west and south. What we call Raccoon Creek today, once the Raccoon Fork of the Licking River, simply cut a new course through the same valley from west to east, just continuing on to the east a little farther with the Licking River now finding an outflow beyond the gorge and into the Muskingum River, on into the Ohio and the Mississippi all in good time.

 

Those names came later, of course. The first human occupants of this village of ours came just after some 12,000 years ago, as best as science can tell. The classic fluted projectile point, or spear tip (awaiting a hardwood shaft to be hafted upon) of the Paleoindian period has been found within the boundaries of today's Granville, and not far away, south of Heath, a butchering site for a mastodon left marks on bones of flint tools.

 

For many generations, thousands of years, people lived and developed their culture while raising their young (not always in that order) here in what today is this village of ours. Scattered traveling bands became seasonal settlements which turned from simple gathering to sophisticated tending of the landscape. The archaeological record shows signs of early agriculture in this region some two thousand years back, the selection of seeds and the care of their harvest and storage showing that a modest society was becoming a cultural force, with uniform units of measure, the weaving of fabrics, the observation and anticipation of the movements of the heavens.

 

This village of ours has a proud history back to 1802 and 1805, in writing and records, but the landscape shows in softer, subtle symbols how much was recorded and passed down from eras far before the Welsh and New England settlers. As the moon comes to full in this new year, and you see the hilltops and valleys in new contrasts around you, I'd invite you to look more closely at this village of ours, which we have as a gift, a trust from ages past, and which we will need to care for more gently in years to come.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him about what you value about this village at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 1-7-17

Faith Works 1-7-17

Jeff Gill

 

Tangible actions vs. spiritual understandings

___

  

Welcome, 2017; the new year has begun, and the completion of twelve years here with this "Faith Works" column.

 

Aimed as it always has been at people of good will, no matter what their particular belief system, we're looking together at how faith works in the lives of Licking Countians. We're a more diverse group than demographics might lead you to think, but this is a predominately Christian community, and even our atheism tends to be Judeo-Christian in outlook.

 

I try to make no bones about the fact that I am a Christian, indeed even a Protestant pastor, with all the assumptions and expectations that might come with that role; my training and experience and practice are out of that background, and they make for a certain lens through which I focus my interests around faith and religion and spirituality.

 

What I hope I am able to do in this space, and I offer up these sorts of reflections every year or so as a reminder, is to create a forum for mutual understanding and communication between varieties of religious experience, as William James might put it. My first editor at this, Michael Shearer, was interested in how we might create a platform for not just the 25-30% of local residents who are active members of churches, but an opening through which the 70% who don't express their faith in that way might see and be seen as well.

 

If my email and the occasional piece of written mail are any indication, this column frustrates both those certain their is no such thing as a spiritual side to life, and those who are absolutely certain that there is but one way to comprehend and relate in practice to the divine intention, and they have it down pat. It's risky to say if I'm irritating both those camps, I'm doing this right, but it does seem to be a good sign.

 

Truth be told, sometimes I say good things about groups that I don't agree with, and I also feel like I need to poke hard at my own side in debates and discussions. I come out of the mainline/oldline Protestant tradition, which has not had a good century; my formative influences have been evangelical enough for me to speak the language, but my life in ministry has tracked with the rise, fall, and resurgence of a political religious right whose assumptions leave me disgruntled at best, disturbed at worst.

 

And for everyone who says to me — and yes, I hear this again and again — that they don't need to attend worship in a building or join a church to know God, I hope I've been consistent in this space in saying "you're right . . . but do you?" God is "out" there, but a worship service is for me and many a necessary tool to sharpen and refine my spiritual meanderings if left to my own internal devices. Churches are indeed full of hypocrites, of whom I am the foremost (sorry, Paul). But it's that jostling and rubbing of shoulders and opinions and certainties that helps me become more aware of how my personal faith can become a private obsession, drifting farther away from the true good, from God alone.

 

So there will, as long as this column runs, be a bias towards what is sometimes dismissively called "organized religion." Those of us who practice it always chuckle at that phrase, since we know just how organized we are. (Sigh.) And I am acutely aware that more and more, the words "religion" and even "church" provoke some strong reactions. One of the areas I hope to explore in 2017, with those of you both inside and outside of those terms, is why this reaction continues to gather strength.

 

Because in my own experience, the church as an intentionally gathered body of believers has worked pretty hard in the last generation to be more accountable, less hierarchical, and truly faithful to the teachings of Jesus. But I hear from those who are at work in congregational life who claim a faithfulness to Buddha, or Muhammad, or simply to HaShem, Adonai . . . that there's an anti-institutional urge in today's culture that pushes against us all.

 

That's one of the reasons that, though my faith in Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior is firm, I am more than willing to be open in dialogue and discussion and the occasional debate with those whose experience is different than my own. I think we all might learn from such conversations in 2017!

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; tell him what conversations have been fruitful in your faith life at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 12-31-16

Faith Works 12-31-16

Jeff Gill



Resolution and repetition

___



Jacob Little is a stern and striking character in Licking County
history, and one of our sources for it.



He wrote a history of Granville for publication in the 1840s when
there wasn't much yet to tell, you'd think from the perspective of
2017, yet his detail and engagement as a pastor with the events of his
village and county make the forty years he covers come alive.



He was also famous for his New Year's sermon, which every January
First was preached to, we're told, a packed house. Keeping in mind
there were no bowl games on television back then (or televisions), he
didn't have much competition, but the story goes that folk who weren't
even members wanted in on the spoken narrative because Rev. Little
named names.



That's right, he looked back over the previous twelve months, tallied
up the sins of the people and the community, and then talked about
them as the new year began. With specifics. Like referring to leading
citizens (by name, mind you) in saying that they "did not draw a sober
breath in twelve years."



The tale is softened a bit by hearing that this announcement led to
said citizen's sobriety, but a modern preacher can't read that and
think "wow, lawsuits."



Parson Jacob stood and delivered from 1827 to 1865, but truth be told
he was somewhat unceremoniously hustled out the door at the end of his
tenure. Perhaps some of those less favorably impacted by his preaching
were in favor of his departure.



It does make me think. As a pastor, as much as a preacher. What hard
words need to be preached? When is a stern and stark statement the
most loving sermon to speak?



I can also reflect as a historian over Little's legacy: he tallied up
dances held, parties with liquor attended, distilleries established,
and admonished those who broke the Sabbath by firing up their smithies
and applying adzes to lumber. Yet other than some celebrations of
membership rolls increasing for temperance societies, the tally tends
to grow in a direction opposite Little's desires. Some categories he
appears to just give up on. Perhaps he helped lay some groundwork for
Prohibition, but we all know how that turned out.



And in our more information-driven age, we have a confused but higher
standard of proof expected. Rev. Little would add up offenses using
pre-teen informants he'd gather up for a few pennies and send to add
up evidence. Not that phone surveys seems to work much better going by
the last election cycle, but that's some shaky ground to stand on to
condemn persons, let alone parishioners by name.



If I were to "go Little" in a New Year's sermon, I'd be tempted to
draw together some information that's well confirmed, and talk about
what I might infer from it; or what people of faith in particular and
people of good will in general might do in response.



Licking County currently has right around 350 children under 18 "in
care." That's not a record, but it's up. Opiates and heroin are
considered to be a big reason as to why, as employment and wages are
improving, families might be going through more stresses to the point
where the authorities have to step in and take custody. How can
Christians work to make a difference in this area on addiction and
recovery? How can churches and other groups in the county work
together more effectively to help keep families from reaching that
drastic event?



Recently, we had a man in the county arrested on the road for his
ninth "operating a vehicle under the influence" or OVI offense. I've
heard a great deal of conversation and condemnation of the fact that
this could happen. According to the Sheriff's jail census earlier this
week, we had 272 of our family, friends, and neighbors in the Licking
County Justice Center across Christmas weekend; but of those, only 8
appear to be OVI offenses. Meanwhile, of all the offenses that did get
folks in there over the holidays, I'm told by folks in a position to
know, were violent and abusive and criminal acts triggered by
intoxication, whether by drinking or through drugs. What might
intervene in a life to help them make choices better than the ones
listed under "Charges"?



Numbers can only tell us so much; the souls behind each statistic have
a story. It may be a story that needs to change, but it needs to be
heard to help write that new chapter, perhaps in a new year.



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

Notes From My Knapsack 12-29-16

Notes From My Knapsack 12-29-16

Jeff Gill

 

Year's end, sound the alarm…

___

 

Each time we come to a New Year's Day in Granville, I think about Jacob Little, the feisty and persistent pastor of what's today First Presbyterian Church – he's honored with a window in the sanctuary there, the longest serving minister in that congregation's history.

 

But he saw himself as parson of a parish that included the whole village, and the surrounding area. His pastoral care, in a stern Puritan early 1800s fashion, was to watch and monitor and list the problems he saw in town.

 

For that austere Calvinist, this meant naming names and announcing his tallies of dances and who danced, of distilleries and who imbibed, or crimes and criminals known or unknown. Sabbath-breaking, of course, being a crime that to him was of great import.

 

Sabbath-keeping, of course, is the grand exception today. I have just enough of that spirit in me to feel uncomfortable mowing my lawn on a Sunday afternoon, even though demands of my own pastorate have kept me from it through the week, and the forecast ahead is rain. Jacob's reach (and my grandmother's influence) has kept me from such temptation on all but a mere handful of occasions.

 

The human frame does seem to be made with a need for Sabbaths of some sort. We have to sleep, a greater natural imperative than even food and drink; our routines work best if given a regular interruption. Scholars not of a religious bent have studied behavior, economic and otherwise, and found that we actually get more done in six days of work and a day of rest than if we try to work seven days a week without pause.

 

So I want to give Rev. Little his due. And this year ending has reminded me in some new ways what deserves tallying, no matter how hard to quantify, and to suggest some needed changes. This has been a year now for me with a fully functional smartphone, one with all the "bells and whistles." And the old steamboat term "bells and whistles" has a completely different meaning with a cell phone that is packed full of beeps and buzzes and alerts and tones, visual and aural alike.

 

As I've learned how to manage and mute these "helpful" tools on something that now accompanies me in and around my life 24/7, it has also made me more aware of how our world has become so filled with pings and chimes . . . and how we respond to them, with a jolt of alertness and presumably a parallel surge in adrenaline.

 

Other people's phones, microwave ovens, landlines in various office spaces where I have responsibilities that have an array of their own "rings" plus more lights and such; smoke detectors wanting new batteries on a distant staircase, computers with a vast panoply of audible cues. My oh my.

 

Jacob Little's parishioners had a bell. In the church. That the sexton rang if the bucket brigade was needed, or if a funeral was to start through the week, or of course church on Sunday. One bell, a few different ways to ring it. The pioneers before that had a trumpet kept over somebody's fireplace, and the ancient alert of coyotes howling or their own dogs barking. That was it.

 

Perhaps in this "age of anxiety" as Auden tagged it since 1947, what we need to keep growing anxiety at bay is to find some regular time away from alerts, chimes, pings and bongs. What must the regularly irregular tension of "checking" be doing to our endocrine system, our nerves, our souls? A Sabbath from sounds other than of nature, at regular intervals, might bless us all.

 

Even stern ol' Jacob would approve, I believe.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he keeps his phone on vibrate pretty much all the time. Tell him how you cope with constant alertness at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Christmas Eve 2016

Christmas Eve 2016

 

The shepherd sat upon his rock,

the fire burning low.

A night so cold cried out for flame,

for warmth and not for show.

He was not hidden, a lonely guard,

attending to his flock.

This hillside spread beneath the stars 

where grazing was his stock.

 

Open above, slope bending east,

Bethlehem to the west,

He and his fellows long had paced

these fields for forage and rest.

Some said a youthful David did

watch over Jesse's beasts

In these same fields where today

they had their humble feasts.

 

Now gnawing bread and chewing slow

this shepherd to his fire

Huddled closer, seeking warmth while

recalling heav'nly choirs.

They all had seen and heard the hail

from angels bending low.

Each shepherd wanted to respond

but one was not to go.

 

So this lone task the shepherd's drawn

to watch out o'er the sheep.

The rest all ran to Bethlehem,

the vision's promise keep.

What would he miss, the guardian thought,

of God's own Word made known;

A babe whose place in some great plan

In some time yet be shown.

 

Alone, but for the sheep his care,

the shepherd thought, and prayed.

Then suddenly above appeared

one wing'ed youthful maid.

A single member of the host

again was present there;

Returned this one - to sing for him,

To honor faithful prayer.

 

She sang to warm his heart, her song

rang out from up to down;

Her music's flow described what was

revealed to those in town.

The birth of Jesus set before 

him though the distance long

Between him and his shepherd friends

meant that he'd not belong.

 

But this lone angel sent by God

to reassure the one

That on his watch, to faithful hope,

a heavenly answer'd come.

His place was with the flock, and there

The presence of the Lord

would also be made known, to those

obedient to his Word.

 

While shepherds were the Savior shown,

a guardian kept his faith;

And God was present to each & all

Just as the promise sayeth.

The angel then withdrew, but he

no longer felt alone.

He felt his place in God's great plan

while sitting on his stone.

 

At times we each may find that we're

left outside in the cold,

And wonder if we are within

the story God has told.

Let angels sing, and listen we

to their music soft and clear,

Whose harmonies should tell us all

Our Lord is with us here.