West courtroom re-dedication May 1, 2025

West courtroom re-dedication May 1, 2025

William Stanbery, was born in Essex County, New Jersey, on August 10th in 1788; he died at 84 in Newark, on January 23rd, 1873. Having read for the law in New York City with Judge Nathaniel Pendleton, who was Alexander Hamilton's second in the famous duel with Aaron Burr in 1804, Stanbery came to Ohio in 1809. He served in the state senate in 1824 & 1825 then was elected, in 1827, to the US Congress as a Jacksonian House candidate. He later won reelection as an anti-Jacksonian candidate and served in Congress until 1833.

In 1832 he made accusatory remarks in the House chamber regarding Sam Houston and Jacksonian rations contracts for Native Americans. Houston, a big man himself, both of them something over six feet tall, later met Stanbery on a Washington DC street; shouting turned into a fight and Houston beat our man with his hickory cane. Congressman Stanbery allegedly attempted to shoot Houston but his pistol misfired. In a trial before Congress, Houston was found guilty but thanks to his lawyer, Francis Scott Key, the former Tennessee congressman was lightly reprimanded. For his part in the controversy, the Ohio Congressman was censured by the Speaker of the House for use of "unparliamentary language," effectively ending his electoral career. His half-brother Henry Stanbery was Ohio's first Attorney-General, and after the end of the Civil War became U.S. Attorney General, arguing in the Supreme Court case known today as "Ex parte Milligan" and successfully defending Andrew Johnson in the first presidential impeachment trial before the U.S. Senate.

But William Stanbery focused his skills closer to home. As described in the words of distinguished Licking County jurist & Civil War veteran Judge Charles Kibler, at a 1906 bar association meeting, looking back over half a century earlier:

"When I came here in 1851, the prominent lawyers were [and he lists] William Stanbery, [first, with four other notables of that era] Samuel D. King, George B. Smythe, Henry D. Sprague and Lucius Case.

Wm. Stanbery was a man of large body, large mind, great voice and a very sonorous laugh. He was not a polished man, like his half brother, Henry Stanbery. He was a great admirer of the common law, and particularly opposed to statutory law. He was the finest conversationalist I ever knew. He was argumentative and disputatious. He delighted upon public questions to take the other side. He came to town from Oakwood [his rustic but palatial home on the far east edge of Newark] about twice a week, stopping at the office of Stanbery and Kibler. I recall one morning when he came in, he saw a modest young man, a student in the office. Seeing him, he roared out to him, "Well, sir, what are you doing here?" The young man answered "I am beginning the study of law." The old man in his loudest voice said "Well, sir, why don't you pursue some honest business?" . . . and then came the loud laugh."

He was a lawyer in Newark for sixty-four years.

=+=+=+=

Samuel McFadden Hunter, born in 1838 in Cadiz, Harrison County, Ohio; died Feb. 20th, 1907 (aged 68–69)

Judge Samuel Hunter we know of in large part because of a book by his son & fellow jurist Robbins Hunter, father in turn of Robbins Hunter, Jr. whose museum graces Broadway in Granville. But the family roots are found in Newark, and they go deep into Courthouse Square, or "The Public Square" as it was often called in Newark's first century. Samuel Hunter's son says in "The Judge Rode a Sorrel Horse" many things about the extended Robbins & Hunter families in the east end of Newark, of his father's circuit riding efforts across this county & beyond to establish the rule of law in early Ohio, and about his ties to both this and the previous courthouse, the third located here before the fourth one in which we sit today:

"The old courthouse stood in the center of the public square. This building, erected in 1832, was of Greek Revival design. It was two stories high and had six stone columns at the east and west fronts, and was in much better taste than the present building, erected after the fire in 1875."

The first time I saw that line, I had to re-read it twice. Wait, is he saying . . . "In much better taste"? Well, hold on until page 62, when he starts describing Judge Samuel Hunter's stern but engaging demeanor, and his formal style of dress, beginning with his Prince Albert coat and silk top hat.

"He was extremely erect, and made a very outstanding appearance. He was prominent in the affairs of the town, and when the new courthouse was built in 1876 he made a speech at the laying of the cornerstone. This building is an outstanding example of the hideous architecture of the Seventies. At that time elevators were unheard of, but apparently would not have been desired anyway. The saving of steps was no part of the scheme of things. People were so fond of stairs in those days that they even went out of their way to work them in, and an elevator would have been considered a useless extravagance."

Given that Robbins Hunter, Sr. was born in 1880, I'm guessing his views here were inherited from his father, a strong aesthetic feeling about this now much beloved building in our county's center!

But for an adequate summary of Judge Samuel Hunter and his son, Judge Robbins Hunter, I look to their gravestones at Cedar Hill Cemetery, close together, and in between them and their spouses that of Robbins Hunter, Jr., our honoree's grandson. This third generation Hunter gave us the Robbins Hunter Museum in Granville, and other bequests to the Licking County Historical Society, not least of which is the row of historic houses we have today on Sixth Street. His marker is identical to his father & grandfather's in being simply a name & two dates, but subtly, on the vertical face of this headstone, close to the ground and easy to miss, are added four words: "I loved Licking County." In that inheritance, he speaks for his ancestors, for it is clear: Judge Samuel Hunter loved Licking County.

Faith Works 5-2-2025

Faith Works 5-2-2025
Jeff Gill

The imperatives of funeral customs, then & now
___




Most of what happened around the death and subsequent funeral services for Pope Francis had a traditional ring to them.

Obviously, when the pope dies in Rome, tradition has much to say about how everything is handled (and yes, I've watched "Conclave"). But I'm thinking more of the whole sequence of how Francis died on Monday, had "calling hours" for three days, and a funeral followed by committal within the week.

Increasingly, this is not common anymore. As a parish minister, for many years, there was a sequence you kept in mind the moment you learned of a death, thinking through the days ahead, but the factors were a) where Sunday fell, because no one did funerals on Sundays, and b) plus or minus a couple of days at most. A death on Monday, especially if earlier in the day, could mean a meeting at the funeral home on Tuesday, then calling on Wednesday or Thursday or Friday, and the funeral and graveside on Thursday or Friday, with a Friday calling and Saturday funeral possible, but involving multiple complications (starting with extra charges for weekends, plus some cemeteries not open on Saturday at all).

Behind that decades long pattern was the urgency represented by the corpse. Even with embalming, there were and are practical limits to how long you could stretch out the process. And everyone, from employers to airlines, understood the pressure of time around those imperatives.

Those aren't gone, but they're much less often an issue because of the sea change in cultural acceptance of cremation. I hear different figures but in general what was under 5% of all deaths when I was a seminarian in the 1980s is up to 40% or even past 50% today. In some demographics, it's over 75%.

I've written before about this issue, the resulting increase in "homeless cremains." Urns and more often just the black boxes with heavy vinyl bags of ashes, left on shelves or in closets, and some family member ultimately left to ask "what should I do with these?" It's a topic I'm likely to come back to, as often as I get asked about it.

But more to the point here is the change in schedules, and logistics, and overall assumptions around memorial services when death is rapidly followed by cremation, no "viewing" (a subject on which there are many views, many opposed but some pastoral questions about how that obstructs the grieving process), and a celebration of life "event" at a point to be determined . . . later.

Clergy and morticians alike have noted the steady pressure towards Saturday services, and while a few religious traditions still maintain an absolute bar to Sunday funerals, the expectation that a Sunday afternoon funeral can be accommodated is high. I went thirty years never being asked; the first time it came up, the funeral home was already locked in, and family flight schedules were being made. So I did so, and found myself doing quite a few more in subsequent years.

To be blunt, funeral practices will not be rewinding back to "how we used to do it." The whole apparatus of caskets and vaults and plots and markers has moved into a price point where many families that might want to have a "regular funeral" can't afford to do one. Cremation will continue to be a new normal, and there's a case to be made for it on practical as well as financial grounds; some families hold out for a viewing, and cremation after using a "rental casket" for the calling.

What does concern me pastorally is how often deferred memorial services simply never happen. And the opportunity to come together as family, friends, and community is lost. We caught a hint of what that can mean at the funeral of Pope Francis.



Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's made his funeral plans and suggests you do the same. Tell him what you know you don't want at yours at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.

Notes from my Knapsack 5-1-2025

Notes from my Knapsack 5-1-2025
Jeff Gill

Why our courthouses are central, practically & symbolically
___




May 1 is the official dedication day for the restored West Courtroom in the Licking County Courthouse. That day has also been "Law Day" since the 1950s, so it makes sense as a time for judges, lawyers, elected officials, and perhaps a few historians to come together and celebrate this central space in our county's central structure.

In Europe, the central building of a city is usually a palace for nobility, or a chief civic officer's place of operations. They may be castles or towers, usually with a military history attached to them.

Our pattern from early on in the United States, and certainly in the Midwest, is to built our county seats around courthouses. That says something specific about how we saw our governmental organization, of laws and justice at the center, not of a central executive or even legislative location. We can take the commonality of Courthouse Squares as just how it's always been, but there's a particular message here. "Equal Justice Under Law" as the Supreme Court in Washington has carved over the main door; in Newark, we have Lady Justice, blindfolded, with sword in one hand and scales in the other, to say the same thing.

A Cleveland architect, H.E. Meyer, designed our fourth courthouse in 1876, after our 1832 Greek Revival structure burned down in 1875. He laid out a Second Empire style on the exterior, then popular, echoing the transformation of Paris between 1850 and 1870 into the city we know today of broad boulevards and striking public buildings like the Paris Opera. Inside, though, his touch was light.

Our west courtroom for some twenty-five years was similar to the courtrooms on the first floor, steel framing for flat ceilings with pressed tin panels. By 1903, there was growing interest in having a more finished main courtroom, but county finances were tight. Needed repairs on the ceilings on the second floor, however, opened up the possibility of refinement, and Nov. 9, 1903 the county commissioners's journal records "It was further decided by said committee to change 6 panels in ceiling of Court room from steel to plastering." They also contracted with a local firm, "Pratt & Montgomery to furnish wood finishings in Court room as per specifications for $623.25. This was the beginning of what would become the West Courtroom as we know it.

By Mar. 14, 1904, though, "In the matter of remodeling the Court room /
In view of the fact that the Building fund is now overdrawn, be it therefore resolved that no new contract be entered into to complete Court Room repairs, and no outstanding contracts to commence, unless in the judgment of the Commissioners such work is necessary to protect work already done, until funds are available for such work." All three commissioners vote "Yea."

However, since the previous October, they had been purchasing piecemeal, on a square foot basis, round stained glass medallions from Kyle Art Glass of Springfield, Ohio. By July of 1904 they have installed four, and the plastered, coffered ceiling is done, but the vast expanses of walls and ceiling are largely empty. Which is the point at which the Bryant Brothers of Columbus, Ohio are called.

[To be continued!]


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's had fun turning the huge pages of commissioners's journals to trace this story. Tell him what history you're curious about at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.

Faith Works 4-25-2025

Faith Works 4-25-2025
Jeff Gill

Farewells and continuity, with popes and otherwise
___



My first papal funeral was black and white, grainy in a then-amazing overseas satellite hookup. Pope John XXIII died in the summer of 1963, and young as I was, it became blurred in memory with a very different yet quite similar series of honors in November, with the death of President Kennedy.

Still, I recall my mother explaining to me the significance of the ceremony (or ceremonies, as they do indeed blend together over sixty years later), the rituals and processions and the great sense of solemnity around it all.

Not being Catholic myself, I paid less attention to his successor, Pope Paul VI, but when he died in August of 1978, I happened to be in a radio station with an AP ticker, a black box around a teletype machine. It had a bell, which rang for a new story coming in, to tell someone it was time to tear it off. A big story and the bell rang twice, rarely three times, which meant you ran over to the machine immediately to see what was up. (Note to self: explain the world before the internet HERE.)

The bell rang, rang, then rang again, and I followed the news director over (John Bartholomew, WNWI, Wonderful North West Indiana), where he tore off the flimsy paper, and read "Pope dies." It was big news.

As it happens, less than two months later, at the end of September, I was in the newsroom of the student newspaper at Purdue. We were looking over a layout for the next day's paper, blue pencil marks and razor cut graphics pasted onto a mock-up. The AP ticker was across the newsroom, much larger than the radio studio I had been in last month.

It rang on September 28, 1978, and no one took much notice, because it rang all the time. Then quickly a second, then a third, and people all around looked up. And it rang a fourth time. The only time I ever heard that. A senior editor strode over to the device, ripped off the output, and gasped. He turned to the newsroom, and said "Pope John Paul just died." The layout editor next to me slid the mock-up of tomorrow's paper off the light table. It was now trash.

Pope John Paul II, "the Polish pope," would enter his pontificate the next month, and serve over a quarter-century. His passing, after a long struggle with age and debility at the end of his long life, was at age 84 in 2005. The papal funeral for him gathered together four kings, five queens, some 70 presidents and prime ministers, plus a dozen or more presiders over other faiths. Millions pressed into Rome and Vatican City, and at least a quarter million were crowded into St. Peter's Square and the basilica itself. Presiding over the ceremonies was the man who would succeed him, as Pope Benedict XVI.

Benedict would serve less than eight years, then took the relatively unprecedented step of retiring, a possibility that has haunted these last few years of Francis's pontificate. Benedict's funeral just over two years ago, on the last day of December 2022, was a more muted affair. He died at age 95, with the services presided over by Pope Francis, the first time this had happened in over two hundred years.

Now, with Francis's death at age 88, we are back in more familiar territory. He will lay in state at St. Peter's and Vatican officials will organize and preside over his funeral even as the cardinals of the Roman Catholic Church gather to hold a conclave, a special session to elect the new Bishop of Rome, and Pontiff or "Bridge Builder" of the church.

Many of us non-Catholics will be praying for wisdom and discernment in their gathering. The papacy is a symbolic figure who speaks to many, and popes have opportunities few humans have to address the times in which they live.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's moved by ritual even when it's not his own tradition. Tell him about memorial services which moved you at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky. 

Notes from my Knapsack 4-17-2025

Notes from my Knapsack 4-17-2025

Jeff Gill

Children services serve us all
___


It is very hard to believe it has been ten years since Licking County had to approve our primary levy for Children Services, and it's up again for vote May 6th.

Ohio revised code calls on counties to put these sorts of limited levies before the voters on a recurrent basis; ten years is about the longest these go. School districts, boards of developmental disabilities, libraries are all the kinds of public entities which are subject to this kind of electoral review.

Yes, I was involved in this the last time, as campaign treasurer and working with the Citizens for Children Services, a kind of political action committee specifically for asking support of our levy.

Children Services is one part of the larger Licking County Job & Family Services office, which has a variety of funding streams, state and federal, for the work they do, but Children Services is largely funded directly by county property owners.

It's been long discussed in Ohio that when it comes to the amount of state support for local Children Services, on foster care and kinship care, adoption, and assisting with abused and neglected children, we are at or near the very bottom. By most nationwide measures, Ohio is 50th out of 50 states, and if the state were to double the amount they contribute to Children Services, we would . . . still be in 50th place.

It should really sting that in 49th place? Is Michigan. Yeah, they're at the bottom, too, but above us.

There's a long history as to why this is so. I can't fix long standing systemic problems (though I've tried to be engaged and proactive these last ten years since I first learned these data points), so the reality in Ohio is the state expects county property owners to cover what they won't. And we have to do it again, because the law says these levies are limited.

This time, we're asking for a replacement of the existing levy. The millage stays the same, but we get basically the smallest possible increase by way of allowing the value of the housing to be updated. It's not an increase in the millage, but because of the mysteries of rollback provisions in state law, as housing values are assessed, the levy recipients continue collecting on where we were.

We need a replacement levy passed simply because while we are successfully helping see to it fewer kids are entering the care of the county, the costs have increased beyond the reduction of total cases. Specialized foster care and residential care costs more, and the county staff has their hands full finding placement as it is. We decided well before the last renewal of this levy in 2015 that we were committed to keeping Ohio kids in Ohio, and not using out of state placements, even when those might have cost us less. That's still our program. To implement it, we need the dollars to cover in state placement.

So on May 6, or as you vote early, in Licking County we are asking you to vote "yes" to replace the Children Services levy. I am here to tell you the money is carefully managed, spent wisely, and with an eye to reducing the need to have state care intervene in a child's life in the first place. But when it has to happen, we want to keep kids safe, close to home, and where they can thrive.

I hope you will join me in voting "yes" for Children Services this May 6.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's worked on a few Children Services levies and programs before. Tell him how you want to see children grow and thrive at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.

Faith Works 4-11-2025 & 4-18-2025

Editors: it seemed prudent to get you the next two columns at once here, in advance of Easter week...

Faith Works 4-11-2025
Jeff Gill

Reading the Gospels for Holy Week
___


We are in the home stretch of Lent, going into the final week, also called Holy Week by many Christians.

April 13 this year is Palm Sunday, and April 20 Easter; the historic method of setting Easter for Western Christendom is to put it on the first Sunday following the first full moon following the vernal equinox. This is meant to echo the lunar Hebrew calendar, and the date of Passover which comes up in the Holy Week narrative in many ways, and Passover begins for our Jewish friends tomorrow night, the evening of April 12.

I've been encouraging people to look into the Bible this spring, first outlining the general structure of the 39 books of the Old Testament (as most Protestants count them). That set of categories for the library of texts which make up the Bible as a whole is echoed in the organization of the 27 books of the New Testament.

We saw the Torah, the opening books of the law, in the Hebrew scriptures; in the Christian testament we open with the Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke, John. Four accounts, with varying degrees of overlap and complementarity, of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus.

And these accounts focus on the last week of Jesus's earthly ministry, what's sometimes called "Passion Week," from the triumphal entry into Jerusalem we mark with Palm Sunday, through the Last Supper, the arrest and trial of Jesus before Pilate, and his crucifixion on what Christians call Good Friday.

In terms of total content, the Gospels focus a third of their attention on this one week. Mark's account is 25% about Passion Week; John's is over 40% just about those fateful days. These events are clearly the primary reason for recounting this sacred history by those witnesses and later evangelists. Why did Jesus die, how did this happen, and what does it mean?

Just as the Torah is reflected in the Gospels, in terms of placement and significance, the history books of the Old Testament are summarized in New Testament terms in the book of Acts. A narrative, with an interpretive role for the lives both of the early apostles out into the world, and how their story empowered by the Holy Spirit is a model for our lives in faith, wherever we are.

Following the Hebrew history books, we find what's called wisdom literature, from Job and Psalms and Proverbs through Ecclesiastes and the Song of Songs. The Greek New Testament matches that section with the Epistles, or sometimes called the apostolic writings: Romans, two letters to the Corinthians, Galatians, and so on.

In this collection of letters (which is what an epistle is, a fancy term for a letter), we hear from Paul, James, Peter, John, Jude, and perhaps others, as they share wisdom about the life of faith, for individuals, and for the newly established and often struggling assemblies of believers in Jesus as the Christ.

An amazing 13 of the 27 New Testament books are attributed to Paul, though scholars have their interpretations about just how many of those are directly from him, and what letters are compilations from his students and successors. Paul's books are in general shorter, as befits letters, which in almost every case appear to be actual missives sent to specific recipients, but often with the awareness that many more would ultimately read or more likely hear read the contents.

Given that difference in length, in fact Paul even at maximum attribution writes about 25% of the New Testament, with Luke's gospel and also his book of Acts giving him another 25%. Their contributions are about equal in quantity.

Next week, appropriately, we will end with: the Book of Revelation!


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he reads the Bible often, but most often at this time of year. Tell him your reading habits at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.

====
====

Faith Works 4-18-2025
Jeff Gill

The end of the Bible, and of all things
___


Section by section, we've moved this Lent and into Easter week through the Bible.

I've pointed out the parallels, the echoes between the Hebrew scriptures and the Greek testament, often called the Old & New Testaments.

What I'd left unreferenced last week from the Hebrew language collections is the last seventeen books of the Old Testament's 39, the prophets.

Traditionally there are five major prophets: Isaiah, Jeremiah, Lamentations (attributed to Jeremiah), Ezekiel, and Daniel. They are major not because they're more important, exactly, but because they're longer. Jeremiah is the longest book in the entire Bible however you organize it, if you simply count words (Genesis, Psalms, Ezekiel, and Exodus are the next four, with Isaiah at sixth longest).

The twelve minor prophets are simply shorter, from Hosea through Malachi, some so short you have to check closely as you turn pages lest you miss the delights of books like Obadiah, Jonah, or Micah.

In fact, the original synagogue reading of these would have been from a scroll; each major prophet would have had their own or possibly two scrolls, while the minor prophets all would have fit on one together.

Isaiah and Jeremiah are pre-exilic for the most part, set in Jerusalem, and warning the nation of judgment to come. As they end, death and destruction and defeat do arrive — hence the Lamentations — and the population is taken off into the Babylonian Exile of some 70 years. It's during this period of disruption and renewal we get Ezekiel and Daniel which take place mostly in Babylon, even if with much memory of Jerusalem (to which we get an account of the return in Ezra and Nehemiah at the end of the history books).

The minor prophets Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi are post-exilic, roughly contemporary with Ezra and Nehemiah, in the return and rebuilding of Jerusalem around 450 years before the birth of Jesus. This brings us to the end of the Old Testament.

At the end of the New Testament, both in placement, and also in most scholarship in terms of the last written, is the Book of Revelation.

Let me note, on behalf of Bible teachers everywhere, it's Revelation. There's a natural tendency to slide it into "Revelations" but the book is an apocalypse, an "unveiling" (which is what the word apocalypse means) or in more common, say King James's English, a revelation.

What is revealed to us in Revelation? There have been perhaps as many books written on that question as on anything this side of the Gospels. I don't have a great deal to add, certainly not in this limited space, except to sum up as well as I can: the book of Revelation is there to tell us that God is in control. Period.

I know, I know, lots of people want to find in Revelation details about how God's providential care for us all will work out, year by year or at least dispensation by dispensation, on the way to the last trumpet call of the End of Days, et cetera et cetera. I don't know about that.

What I do know is that Revelation, like the prophets, aren't there so much to predict the future — the meaning we tend to associate with the words prophet and prophecy — but to assure us of the nature of reality, and God's intention for us all. Are you a prophet if you say letting go of a wrench at waist height will result in it hitting the garage floor with a clang? In a sense, yes.

The prophets, major and minor, and the John who speaks for God in the book of Revelation, are telling us about a variety of tools hitting the ground when poorly handled, and how God will give us time to work, but in the end, the project will be completed, and it will be glorious. Accept that promise, or doubt it, but God's purposes will be fulfilled. That's the prophecy in both Old Testament and New. God is in control; rest in that knowledge as the world turns and churns.

A good prophetic word to keep in mind this Easter.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he knows God is in control, but can get impatient. Tell him to calm down & be patient at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.

Faith Works 4-4-2025

Faith Works 4-4-2025 

Jeff Gill

Scripture and the challenges of contact with the divine

___

Previously we had been talking about the order and organization of the Bible, starting with the sections in Hebrew tradition of the 39 books most Christians call the Old Testament.

This general organization of the library of texts which make up "The Holy Bible" is echoed in the Greek texts of our New Testament, some 27 of them in varying lengths. We'll get to those in the next two weeks before Easter, which is April 20 this year.

I'm not attempting a book by book analysis here, even across multiple weeks. There's too much going on in the Bible for that. However, I am hoping to provoke some interest in actually reading the blessed thing, as opposed to setting it on the coffee table or mantlepiece as sacred decor.

There was some interesting feedback the last two weeks about whether or not reading the Bible is useful, or in the technical term, "edifying" for someone who has not yet made a confession of faith. Some argue the Bible can't do you any good UNTIL you've been sanctified; that only after the Holy Spirit has entered your life can scripture study take you where God wants you to go.

While I generally avoid doctrinal debates here, I would just be honest about my own biases. I believe about the Bible very similarly what I teach and preach about communion: that it is, to borrow John Wesley's phrase (and me not even a Methodist!) about communion being a "sanctifying ordinance." You don't have to be saved to take communion; you take communion as a means to moving ever closer to salvation and redemption.

Likewise, my own Restoration Movement tradition believes the Bible is generally able to speak "for itself" to the willing heart. A reasonably good translation and an openness to God can allow any soul to gain benefit from reading what we call, after all, God's word. Preachers and sermons and study groups and curriculum are all well and good, but let the Bible speak, and you will hear.

If someone is walking in faith, fully accountable to a worshiping community, are they likely to get more out of the Bible than someone just reading for themselves? Certainly, and there's texts to support that (II Timothy 3:14-17 for starters, plus I Peter 3:15 and Acts 17:11).

But if you haven't tried reading the Bible for a while, I think Lent, the season leading into Easter, is a good time to take and read (as St. Augustine memorably heard). One place in the Old Testament I think is worth your time: the Book of Job.

Job is a place where the scholarship is revelatory; it's written in a very old Hebrew, just as you could tell if I put a document from the era of the Declaration of Independence and a similarly themed document from 1976 in front of you, which was older. There are quirks of language and typography which give it away. So too with Job: it's OLD.

And in this ancient witness to how God is at work around us, there is a drama outlined in chapters 1 through 5, and then concluded in chapters 37 through 42. If you're getting started, try those eleven chapters alone. You'll find more of it familiar than you might think.

You may then think about making the longer journey through the whole book. But if that seems like too much, let me at least point you to the pivot point of Job: chapter 19, and verse 25. 

Which is a good place for us to pivot next week, to the New Testament.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's a big fan of Job and hopes you read the whole thing. Tell him your favorite neglected book of the Bible at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.

Faith Works 3-28-2025

Faith Works 3-28-2025
Jeff Gill

A Lenten journey through Scripture
___




If you relate to my question last week, of "Why bother reading the Bible?" — then I hope you'll jump in for a four week overview of the sixty-six books in the testaments both older and newer.

Let's begin at the beginning, and look at the origin stories we find in the first five books, so-called then as "the Pentateuch," or the "Five Books of Moses," perhaps best known as the Torah, or the Law.

Lots of names because Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy have a whole history of their own. They are a traditional unit in their own right; Hebrew designations of what Christians call the "Old Testament" are basically in three sections, the Torah or Law, the Writings, and the Prophets.

That's worth noticing because when we get to the "New Testament," there's an intentional echoing in how they're organized. The four Gospels are set together, paralleling the Law; the Writings include the history accounts in Samuel and Kings and Chronicles, which the second testament parallels with Acts, somewhat separated from its partner book, Luke's Gospel… but it makes sense as the stand-in for the Writings's history, then the letters as wisdom. The Prophets of the Hebrew scriptures are then matched in the Greek New Testament with the Book of Revelation.

Back to the first books in the Bible: they tell us where we come from, who made us and claims us. Yes, creation accounts, stories of origins, narratives of simpler outlines which flesh out more complex realities to come, like the story of Joseph and his brothers an accounting of the twelve tribes of what would become the nation of Israel, united, divided, destroyed all but a remnant, then rising and united again for a time . . . all with promises that God's intention is going to expand beyond any prophet's expectations.

So even in a scientific age we need these origin stories, because they are an anchor point to a thin red line, weaving through all of the books, which we will ultimately be able to follow all the way from Genesis to Revelation, from Alpha to Omega (using the Greek alphabet), from A to Z (in what's more familiar to us). The creator of heaven and earth has a plan for us, a hope for us, made known in various ways through history, explained through laws and guidelines, but always expanding in purpose to where ultimately that plan will reclaim us all.

Genesis gets us from the Fertile Crescent to the shores of the Mediterranean, through Canaan and on into Egypt; Exodus takes us back out of Pharaoh's land, and through Leviticus and Numbers and Deuteronomy to the very banks of the Jordan River.

History books in the "Writings" like Joshua, Judges, and Ruth get us across the river and into the land of promise; how God's people can thrive and mess us and find redemption we see in Samuel's two books, likewise paired volumes of Kings and their parallel in Chronicles, telling the same story again from a new perspective. Ezra and Nehemiah and Esther tell us something of the period of exile to come, which we learn more about later in prophets like Daniel and Ezekiel.

Out of those eras arise the poetry of the Psalms, the insights of Proverbs, the ironies of Ecclesiastes, and the Song of Songs's lyrical beauty. And the five major prophets, plus twelve minor (as to length) ones, are dotted through that whole history as witnesses.

What I skipped over as the hinge between history and poetry is a vast book in both length and understanding, with the shortest title: Job.

We'll come back to Job's story next week.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's a big fan of Job. Tell him where the Old Testament inspires you at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.

Notes from my Knapsack 3-27-2025

Notes from my Knapsack 3-27-2025
Jeff Gill

A peculiar word with some specific import
___




With a little over a year to the big celebration of our 250th anniversary of American independence (see America250-Ohio.org for more info!), I asked you to think with me about the specific wording and intentions of that founding document for our lives in the United States today.

Officially speaking, the final version of our Declaration of Independence says: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness."

There's a funny, and even mildly controversial word in there: unalienable. It's not one we use much in everyday speech. You could say "Hey, that hot dog is unalienable from my plate!" but it might not stop someone from swiping it.

As for unalienable, the early drafts of the Declaration as Thomas Jefferson wrote it, called our rights "inalienable." If you visit the Jefferson Memorial in Washington, DC, the letters on the wall inside say "inalienable." In fact, Carl Becker, a legal scholar and historian pointed out in 1922: "The Rough Draft reads "[inherent &] inalienable.""

Jefferson's draft earlier didn't say "self-evident," either: he said "We hold these truths to be sacred & undeniable," and went on to assert "that all men are created equal & independant." In other words, the Continental Congress had a say in the final version.

We don't know when or how that Congress changed "inalienable" to "unalienable"; but it appears in the official Congressional Journal and in the parchment copy. That's how John Adams wrote it in his notes: "unalienable." It might well have been his idea.

Either way, so what? Most dictionaries make it clear it's a question of style; either word means the same thing. Something that's inalienable or unalienable is that which cannot be taken away.

Obviously, there's a tension here in that life or liberty, let alone pursuing happiness, can be taken away. It's been known to happen. Jefferson's argument, and the final form adopted by the Second Continental Congress, is that government cannot casually or justly take away life, restrict liberty, or restrain the pursuit of happiness. These rights pre-exist the government, and do not derive from the state or civic order itself: they are always "deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed."

Which is where I find "unalienable" interesting, and a source of our understanding of civil rights which comes to fuller flower in the Bill of Rights, some fifteen years later.

Because when a "Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it." That's the unalienableness of our rights as Americans. Sure, government can take, or try to take certain rights: people do get pulled over in traffic, stopped for cause, arrested under warrant. Various forms of speech and communication can be limited under a variety of tests and with the strict scrutiny of a court's review.

But the rights come first, not the government, and if the government is abusive or neglectful of protecting our self-evident (even sacred and undeniable) rights, the consent of the governed comes into play. Ideally, through elections, and the electoral activity that takes place in between, up to and including recall, or even impeachment.

Meanwhile, our rights still exist, and are in an existential sense, unalienable.

Or inalienable, if you prefer.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he likes to stop and ask questions about obvious things. That's his right, isn't it? Interrogate his questions at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.

Faith Works 3-21-2025

Faith Works 3-21-2025
Jeff Gill

Taking a look at The Book for Lent
___




"Why bother reading the Bible?"

As someone who is a Christian minister in a public role, forms of that question come up often. They're both highly variable, and all orbiting around the common axis of "it's an old book, so…"

In the modern world, there's a sort of built in assumption, a prevailing headwind, that any old book is generally superseded by new books.

In fact one of the reasons for my interest in the Bible as a durable, useful library of ancient texts is the intense and ongoing effort of sifting and sorting that has resulted in the collection of books that is what we call "the Holy Bible." Under that term, we talk about a library of texts, roughly three fourths (by verses) out of the Hebrew language and a quarter from Greek with fragments of Aramaic, a cousin of Hebrew, scattered within.

The book count in the Protestant Bible is 39 Old Testament books, 27 New Testament writings. Catholic Bibles include seven intertestamental books, plus modest additional sections for Esther and Daniel; the Eastern Orthodox Bible includes a few more deuterocanonical books, plus one more psalm. These are often referred to as "apocrypha," and generally the reason they are not in Protestant Bibles is because Luther in German Bibles and later Calvin in Geneva demoted them in terms of their sacred status.

All of which goes to my basic point: there's been a process of sifting a wide range of writings presented as sacred or inspired across religious history for over four thousand years. We still have hundreds, even thousands of ancient texts, many of which fall into the category of "pseudepigrapha," sometimes called "the lost books of the Bible."

Every year close to Easter, even before the cable era, media of all sorts would run stories about "what they haven't told you" or "books hidden from the general public" which people would latch onto and then ask me about as a parish minister. I get it, this was clickbait before we had clicks, and now it's all over the internet.

My usual response then, when we had three channels on broadcast TV, or now with the torrent of online misinformation, is "if these books are so hidden, why does some schlub in Ohio have paperback copies of most of them on his shelves?" And I'd pull a volume off, hand it over, and say "read it, and tell me if that deserves to be in the Bible along with Job and Luke's Gospel." For those who actually took the book and read a bit, the answer was always "that's a hot mess." Exactly.

For readers who are already believers, I can hear an objection to the tack I'm taking here. "Hey, Jeff, the Bible is the word of God, revealed to us for our salvation: say that!" Gotcha. But this column is, I like to keep mentioning, aimed not just at those already in a church: it's intended to speak to those who have some interest in faith, but may not find themselves drawn to organized religion. They don't start with even an acceptance that there is someone called "God" just to start with.

Inspiration is part of the final mix, I guarantee you. What I'd like to do for a few weeks leading to Easter, though, is invite even those not church affiliated to take a look at the 66 books collected over millennia, and edited by both saints and sinners, to give us a library of spiritual reflection, and yes, inspiration, called The Bible.

So keep reading, and let me know how the Spirit moves you…


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's got a few things to say about the Bible as it is. Tell him what you're curious about at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky. 

Faith Works 3-14-2025

Faith Works 3-14-2025
Jeff Gill

Forgetting is the least of the problems
___


Looking ahead to this week, I had thought I’d be writing about the fifth anniversary of the onset of COVID as a social factor in the United States, and the lasting impacts on church and community life.

That will keep. There’s plenty to say and time to say it later.

What changed my course was a surge of chatter around the recent deaths of Betsy Arakawa and her husband, Gene Hackman, in Santa Fe. Admittedly, the scene in their hilltop mansion was unusual, so there was an autopsy. Many of us thought signs led to carbon monoxide poisoning with a faulty heater, but we were wrong.

The tragic details of the inquest showed the 65 year old wife died first of a respiratory infection, and the 95 year old actor died perhaps a week or more later. Friends said Gene Hackman’s condition, which the autopsy confirmed to have been worsened by Alzheimer’s disease, had gotten visibly worse in just the last few months.

Anyone saying "the story around the Hackman deaths doesn't add up" is telling me they've not dealt directly at length with family members having cognitive decline or Alzheimers. It’s not just about forgetting things. It’s about a global change in perception that has to be lived with to understand.

If I had died at any point in my father-in-law's last two years, certainly if I was upstairs, in the basement, or out of the house, and I didn’t have a wife living elsewhere to check on ME, he would have puttered along with minimal consumption of beverages for another week or two or even three. His demise in that scenario would have been attributed to a mix of dementia, heart disease, and lack of nutrition. Just like Gene Hackman’s death.

When my father died five years ago, let's just say my mother's behavior in the immediate aftermath of finding his body were our first indication that there was something cognitively awry with her. It all made no sense until you realized her executive functions & short-term memory were fried.

The tragedy in New Mexico is that for all their wealth & material security & social status, there wasn't anyone else in the mix enough to notice what had happened until the groundskeeper came by on their maintenance schedule.

Having said that, I have nothing but sympathy for Hackman’s adult children. There but for the grace of God, etc. My wife and I knew her father had challenges beyond the physical as he approached 90, but the resistance, and yes, the skillful evasions even in the teeth of obvious cognitive headwinds: it was hard. He just wanted to be left alone.

And my father: he had all sorts of plans and contingencies… based on dying in Indiana, where they were by his demise spending 5 months out of 12. So of course what happens? He died in Texas. Which he didn’t plan on. I’m sure the 30 year younger wife in Santa Fe thought “Gene will die first, and then…” Except life is funny & ghastly that way. And I know of half a dozen stories like that without even working at it.

We plan, when we do, for the most likely outcomes (and too often not even those). Contingency planning for implausible, but all possible outcomes? We put them in the lockbox of “never gonna happen.” Which turns out to be a container akin to a wet paper bag. Reality rips right through it.

Every time I go to a big box store or grocery shopping, I see people who make me wonder "is anyone checking in on them more than once a month or so?" And I fear I know the answer.

 
Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he knows this is a bleak ending, but sometimes that's where we have to go. Tell him what the solution is at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.

Notes from my Knapsack 3-13-2025

Notes from my Knapsack 3-13-2025
Jeff Gill

When philosophy is self-evident only if you think about it
___


This spring I've had the pleasure of being involved with a series of programs, and an exhibit still up for you to see, at the Denison Museum. One of the co-sponsors of this is the America 250-Ohio Commission, preparing for the 2026 celebration of our nation's founding, in the passage of the Declaration of Independence.

Todd Kleismit and his merry minions have been hard a work for a while, and rightfully so, getting us to think about what got started in 1776. It all warrants some deeper reflection, this year let alone next.

It all went into motion June 7, 1776, when Richard Henry Lee introduced before the Continental Congress a resolution "that these united colonies are and of right ought to be free and independent states." They appointed a Committee of Five to write an announcement explaining the reasons for declaring independence; John Adams, Benjamin Franklin, Roger Sherman, Robert R. Livingston, and the primary drafter, Thomas Jefferson.

The delegates in Philadelphia had an idea of what they wanted to do, but they needed a clear set of arguments for why they could, in world where monarchs and moguls held tight to the reins of power.

Jefferson's intent in his initial draft was to establish the right of the United States of America to take a place "among the powers of the earth" as a free and independent nation. The Declaration immediately points to "the separate and equal station to which the laws of Nature and of Nature's God entitle them," setting up a case in which it could be said "Nature's God" had established a basis of truth beneath their rationale for independence from Great Britain.

To that end, they affirm: "We hold these truths to be self-evident." Before we get to those truths, let's look at how they are known: by being
"self-evident." Jefferson appeals to the potential reader of this declaration, and how any reasonable person might agree that it's beyond obvious "that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness."

Here's what's interesting. How self-evident is it that all of us are created equal? You could make a case from experience that it's evident some of us start with advantages, and it's been argued that this is the state of nature. But if a reader is tempted to go there, Jefferson has set you up to be tripped by a return to "Nature's God," pointing out that each soul is "endowed by their creator with certain… rights."

In 1776, it was an open question, just as it is to many today: does every human person, even all life, have an essence which is attached to or intrinsic within or endowed with an equal right to just treatment? In 1776, the vote was to affirm this somewhat radical concept, and it turns out the world was ready to affirm it in many locations around the globe (even if it's still up for debate in many quarters).

Those equally endowed rights, under law and in the light of heaven? They would be life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. There is no natural cannon fodder or appropriate victim class. Life is a right. So is liberty, and Jefferson's own vexed and mixed record on slavery is complicated by how he tried to put a criticism of slavery in his declaration, but they were all removed by the time of final passage. A failure of nerve, a lack of consistency, which we also remember, and continue to wrestle with.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's been thinking about the 250th anniversary of 1776 for a while now, and you'll hear more about it. Tell him what you think an unalienable right is at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.

Faith Works 3-7-2025

Faith Works 3-7-2025
Jeff Gill

You can't go home again, at least the same way
___


For everyone involved with this past winter's Emergency Warming Center effort, the level of commitment from volunteers has been inspiring.

Over a hundred people gave at least one shift, some multiple shifts within any one activation, from setting up to closing down and all the midnight hours in between.

There are two kinds of conversations I've had with volunteers that stick with me as the daffodils bloom and warmth increases both day and night. One sort is with people who came to our training last fall (we'll do that again in another eight months or so), or who wanted to participate after the winter season of warming center nights began.

That first kind of conversation is with someone who wants to help but isn't sure how well they can handle the situation. It may be a practical question of their ability to stay up at unusual hours like midnight to 5:00 am or so, or it can be concerns over preparedness for talking to people who are the guests of this operation. In general, I have no trouble being very encouraging, and explain that between coffee and more experienced volunteers, little comes up that anyone couldn't cope with. If you've been a band trip chaperone, it almost seems familiar (shout out to band parents everywhere!).

The tougher one is with people who've done a shift with the warming center, and have encountered what I think may be the hardest part of volunteering with an effort like this.

Going home, yourself.

Many people who have done a first experience with the warming center as a volunteer say they knew homelessness was a problem, was real, and happens to people very much like you or me. But then you help serve meals to people who are dealing with homelessness, assign cots and pass out blankets, pour coffee and hot chocolate for appreciative guests . . . and when your shift ends, go home. But it gets hard, sometimes on the drive home, occasionally once you're back to your own secure, warm, often quiet house in the middle of the night. And it hits you, hard.

I don't have a simple answer to how you handle the strange feelings that wash over you in that moment. Some people, I know, have done a single shift, and didn't come back not because the work of volunteering was so challenging, but the trip home felt almost impossible.

In fact, your own home looks and feels different when you return to it after working closely with a basement full of people whom you know don't have a place to go when our activation is over. The next night it is "only" 22 degrees out, and we stand down. Those who are living unsheltered, even when there's a clear path ahead in a week or two or three to a place they can rent or borrow or be assigned to, they have in the interim no place to go but their car, or some stairwell, or (insert options I'm aware of but don't want to describe lest others move to close off: this has happened before).

For myself, it's often a time of prayer and reflection that late night or early morning after I've done my shift, and I'm back in my own home. I don't want to say I feel less secure, but the contingency of any one person's situation is much more real to me. I see the jagged edges of the cliff now that were fogged and invisible to me before. It's better to know where they are, right? In the fog you can't see the abyss, but it's there. Now that I see some of those hazards, it's also hard not to think about how you could help others avoid a fall.

But home does not look the same. Which is fine, if it leads to thankfulness. That's a good place to be, wherever you find yourself.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he knows there's no place like home. Tell him how you found your way to yours at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.

Faith Works 2-28-2025

Faith Works 2-28-2025
Jeff Gill

A different sort of cosmic experience
___


There's an old riddle about the closest star to Earth.

It's not Sirius, or Alpha Centauri (or Proxima Centauri, either). Our Sun is the closest star, of course. So near it doesn't quite seem like the right answer.

Our star next door lights our days, and indirectly lights our nights by reflection off the Moon (hold that thought). We grow accustomed to the days growing longer in the spring, lengthening which from Old English comes "lencta" the basis for the church year term of Lent.

Next week, Lent begins with Ash Wednesday on March 5, and carries us on into Holy Week after April 13 and Palm Sunday, up to Easter on April 20.

Easter in the western tradition comes on the first Sunday after the first full moon after the vernal equinox. This year, the astronomical date for day and night to be equal comes on March 20; Easter shifts later since the full moon comes March 14, so the canonical date has to wait for the next one, April 13, pushing Easter morning to the next Sunday, the 20th.

My old friend the Venerable Bede (he's like Beyonce, just Bede, really) in the early Eighth Century wrote a book with the marvelous title "The Reckoning of Time." He was, among many other things, a master of a discipline called "computus," which autocorrect really dislikes, since autocorrect isn't into archaic Latin. Computus is the field of study around how we came up with such an odd way of designating Easter, versus Christmas which just sits fat and happy atop December 25th.

Bede in northern England was aware of how complicated mapping the lunar cycle was onto the essentially solar calendar of the year. In 725 A.D. he tracked the moon's peculiar movements as it rose back and forth along the eastern horizon, in a faster cycle from north to south than the Sun's annual track, but with a longer sequence from maximum to minimum northern rise points requiring him to compute a more complex cycle across many years . . . 18.6 of them, to be precise.

I find this British cleric's writing of interest here in today's Licking County because, of course, we have the Newark Earthworks, and the majestic scale and scope of the Octagon which was already tracking these movements centuries before even the Venerable Bede was born. The Native American builders of these earthen enclosures and alignments did not leave us a written account of what they were intending, but the precision and extent of the walls which mark the lunar cycle so closely strongly suggest to us there was some form of record keeping we do not yet have, perhaps on a perishable form (but we continue to hope for discoveries yet to come).

There was a form of computus at work here, tracking the puzzling yet knowable rhythms of the Sun and Moon and seasons, for purposes we do not yet fully understand. To that end, I've been spending more time in the last few years watching daytime moonrises.

Daytime moonrises? Yep. Like the Sun being our closest star, we can miss the obvious, that the Moon rises all around the clock over a month. Late evening full moon moonrises are impressive, but some of the key earthwork moonrises come just around noon, the Sun already high in the sky. A silvery Moon swims out of the blue sky slowly, a revelation no less than the bright orange spark of moonrise at nighttime.

On Friday, March 7, at 11:00 am, I'm part of a tour at the Octagon Earthworks at the end of 33rd St. off West Main in Newark. We will walk into the vast enclosures, and around 12:15 pm or so see the Moon by day, while thinking about the meanings of celestial movements, spiritual events, Native American accomplishments. I'll be thinking about good old Bede, and how he might help us understand the reckoning of time right here.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he likes the schedule for noontime moonrises more than midnights. Tell him how the skies make you wonder at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.

Notes from my Knapsack 2-27-2025

Notes from my Knapsack 2-27-2025
Jeff Gill

A few recurring thoughts about education
___


Regarding education, public and otherwise, there is a small set of observations I have made in this space before, even more than once, but in hunting through back numbers it appears I haven't made these points here for more years than I'd have thought.

Seeing and hearing some of the comments online and in television punditry around this subject leads me to want to put three baseline realities out in front of y'all.

Point one: how much time does the average child spend in school, from birth to age 18? I'll save you some math and make my point in a single digit. 9 percent. Children spend 9% of their childhood in school.

Yes, I know, folks will say "wait, you're cheating here." Right, I'm counting it all. Before starting school, sleeping, vacations. Can you see why? If a child comes to school utterly unprepared in kindergarten or first grade, or if a high schooler comes to the morning bell without rest, if any kid is walking in the schoolhouse door hungry and fearful . . . see my point?

Teachers have access to less than ten percent of their students' lives. If the other 90+% is chaos, then you will have challenges in making good use of your 9%.

Point two: Ohio's current graduation rate is 84%; Granville's is 98.7%. What people don't understand is that grad rates have steadily climbed since the 1950s. Yes, increased. But many are certain our grad rates are in free fall. They are incorrect.

My grandfather was a school district superintendent. He retired in 1969, honored for successfully graduating . . . 50% of all the students who began first grade with his district for his last decade.

My mother had the blessing and misfortune to have him as her algebra teacher, her high school principal, and knew of his challenges in a rural Illinois setting, but she reacted strongly ten years ago hearing me make this point. "Oh no, all my classmates graduated."

Well, he kept yearbooks most of his years as principal and superintendent, and we went to them. In the early 1950s, there were about 75 kids per grade level in elementary; after eighth grade (which held a graduation ceremony; my grandmother sent me a card and gift when I finished eighth grade in the mid-1970s and I was at the time, baffled) the class head count went to about 45, and the graduating classes ran 22 to 25 in all her years of high school.

Mom was still certain the graduation rate in her days was closer to 100% than 50%. The yearbooks show it was more like 30%; her father deserved credit for bringing that up to 50% once he was in charge.

Point three: we haven't always educated everyone. This is related to the second point. In fact, Licking County (thanks to Eleanor Weiant) has a proud, long tradition of educating all children, even those with disabilities. That only became the law nationwide in the 1970s, and in many places wasn't fully deployed until the 1980s. I'm not even getting into legal discrimination by race nationwide.

The reality is since the mid-1980s we are educating many, many kids our schools didn't even formerly try to teach, or have in their buildings. Some of those situations incur costs which would stun you, but are now legal mandates (for the entity which only has them 9% of their lives).

Please consider these three points as we debate how education should operate in the challenging years ahead.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he was also the attendance officer for Granville Schools for sixteen years (long story). Tell him how you remember education at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.

Faith Works 2-21-2025

Faith Works 2-21-2025
Jeff Gill

Looking for the presence of God
___


One more time, we can hope one last time, our local "emergency warming center" operation swung into action this past week.

We will, by dawn Friday morning, have been in operation 18 nights this winter, which is two or three nights more than any winter since Jan. 2019 when this community volunteer-based operation got going. 18 times four shifts is 72 shifts (not counting the post-activation "shift" of laundering 50 or 60 heavy wool blankets & folding and returning them to our location, so technically 77 shifts this winter).

In general we need four volunteers per shift, not counting the food delivery & transport assistance from the hospital & county transit board, so volunteer-wise we've needed 288 "volunteer shifts" in total, 298 counting five laundry run duos. Obviously some people work multiple shifts, but it comes to at least 150 people "showing up" at some point over the winter. Bless them all.

It has been a rough winter, to be sure. Practically speaking, and spiritually. But in the Old & New Testaments I'm most familiar with, there are some guideposts as to where we should look for God's presence. For starters:

Deuteronomy 15:7-8 (Moses here): "If there is among you anyone in need, a member of your community in any of your towns within the land that the Lord your God is giving you, do not be hard-hearted or tight-fisted toward your needy neighbor. You should rather open your hand, willingly lending enough to meet the need, whatever it may be."

I Samuel 2:8 (Hannah speaking): "He raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts the needy from the ash heap to make them sit with princes and inherit a seat of honor. For the pillars of the earth are the Lord's, and on them he has set the world."

Psalm 9:18: "For the needy shall not always be forgotten, nor the hope of the poor perish forever."

Proverbs 14:31: "Those who oppress the poor insult their Maker, but those who are kind to the needy honor him."

Proverbs 16:19: "It is better to be of a lowly spirit among the poor than to divide the spoil with the proud."

Proverbs 19:17: "Whoever is kind to the poor lends to the Lord and will be repaid in full."

Luke 4:18 (Jesus citing Isaiah 61 in Nazareth): "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor…"

Luke 6:20-21 (Jesus preaching again): "Then he looked up at his disciples and said: "Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are you who are hungry now, for you will be filled. Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh."

II Corinthians 8:9 (Paul here): "For you know the generous act of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that by his poverty you might become rich."

Galatians 2:10 (at the Jerusalem conference with Peter, James, & John, where Paul & Barnabas were being instructed): "They asked only one thing, that we remember the poor, which was actually what I was eager to do."

James 1:27: "Religion that is pure and undefiled before God the Father is this: to care for orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself unstained by the world."

Remember the poor, look for God's blessings at work in the midst of those who are without, and always be mindful of Matthew 19:30 (not the only place he says this), where Jesus notes "But many who are first will be last, and the last will be first."

Sit with those who are distressed and cast aside, and you will encounter God. There are few clearer promises in Scripture.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; tell him where you meet the Living God at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads & Bluesky.

Faith Works 2-14-2025

Faith Works 2-14-2025

Jeff Gill

Is faith a romance?

___


Valentine's Day falls on the publication date of this column, and it's a hard conjunction to ignore, so of course I will not.

As a faith and religion columnist, I'd be remiss if I didn't mention it began as Saint Valentine's Day, a saint's feast day transmogrified by time and the seasons into an occasion for selling cards and candy and dinner reservations and other (ahem) romantic accoutrements.

Good St. Valentine was associated with Rome, but the bad old Roman empire Rome of martyrs and evil emperors. Tradition tells us he was a bishop, committed to evangelism and executed on this date for refusing to renounce his faith in Jesus as Lord. This all happened in the third century, with later tradition adding in miracles associated with courting couples and other reasons to see the poor man tied to red velvet hearts and cable network films where the lucky duo kiss finally in the last minute before the credits.

Give credit to St. Valentine, whose love for God led him to the ultimate sacrifice, before you move on to choosing between milk and dark chocolate. Where I did find myself stuck, though, was in that word "romance." Does it relate to St. Valentine's death in Rome?

I took enough Latin in school to know about the Romance languages, which are the various tongues descended from Latin, and I must suppose, out of Rome. Spanish and Italian, French and Portuguese, Catalan (around Barcelona) and Romanian the lesser known two along with a few smaller dialects around southern Europe. These are in contrast to northern Europe's Germanic languages, obviously related to German, and also Danish, Swedish, Norwegian, Dutch, Icelandic, as well as English.

English has a huge amount of Romance content, though, thanks to William the Conquerer (1066 and all that); enough that if you had a paragraph of Spanish or French in front of you, versus a few lines in Dutch or Swedish, you'd have more luck puzzling out a few words from the Romantic than the Germanic.

None of which explains the core of romance, the romantic atmosphere, around love but with a word referring to a city in Italy. Granted, there's a "La Dolce Vita" vibe of supposed romance around Rome, but in our culture that's stronger for Paris. What does romance point back to Rome?

The closest thing to a trail I could find is the idea of romance as a genre, like a novel but further back, more poetic, and "in the Roman style." There's something about love, even platonic love (let's not get started on Plato), and two star-crossed lovers, that seems to trace back to a Roman ideal of some sort about hearts coming together.

For Western Christianity, there's a trail leading back to Rome that's not simply a Catholic narrative. It comes from Jerusalem with Paul and Simon Peter, whose stories ultimately come to rest in Rome, from which the Christian message expands. There's an Eastern Orthodox story which wends through Constantinople, now Istanbul, but in the West, Catholic or Protestant, our stories of faith tend to come down through Rome.

In the Roman style, where tales of devotion and sacrifice arrive at a consummation whether happy or (at least for a moment) sad, there's a kind of story which is rooted in faith, even if it has a more emotionally romantic expression today in those seasonal cable movies (you know which channel I mean). A belief in something better, something greater, something love and endurance can achieve.

So may we nod at least to St. Valentine, and the church he witnessed for in love as a leader, even as we put his name to more mundane romance on his festal day. May love abound!

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's not always good at remembering Valentines since he stopped decorating shoe boxes in school. Tell him how you mark the day at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.

Faith Works 2-7-2025

Faith Works 2-7-2025
Jeff Gill

What is a moment of silence
___


In a variety of settings, asking for "a moment of silence" is a frequent response to a recent tragedy, or an occasion of loss.

These can be quite meaningful, especially in a public forum like a football stadium or hockey arena, or even a press conference briefing room, when the usual background noise and turmoil all pause, and in the stillness, a time for reflection.

Obviously one big reason for the popularity of "a moment of silence" is that it crosses ecumenical and even interfaith boundaries very easily. To say simply "let us pray" infers a level of personal belief not always shared in a room, let alone an auditorium, and the elements of bowed heads or uplifting hands, eyes open or closed, all are variations which can leave some out while including others in.

Just a personal observation: there's a "civil religion" set of norms I see at work in how people generally respond to "let us have a moment of silence." Heads bend, but rarely bow; eyes may or may not close while hands are usually folded or at least kept still.

The challenge for any person in charge of leading "a moment of silence" is . . . how long. What's the proper duration of a moment, when silent? I've heard them where the pause barely was an intake of breath before a concluding "thank you" (the more common ending than "Amen," in keeping with the nonsectarian aim). Seconds long seems too short; you can have a moment of silence go too long as well, or so I'd suggest. Thirty seconds is fairly lengthy, actually, and anyone asking for a minute of silence might well be surprised by how long a minute feels in a room full of people trying to stay still and not make noise by rustling paper or creaking their chair.

You could say it's a bit of an empty gesture, but honestly I think moments of silence can be quite effective, especially if the stage is set — you don't just spring it on people without warning — and the duration is long enough for emphasis. They allow those who believe in prayer to compose themselves, their thoughts, even the words silently shared in prayer to God, however understood. For those who claim no religious orientation, they are an offering of respect without forcing a particular means of showing it.

In a world with so much motion, so much activity, and the dear Lord knows so much meaningless sound and fury signifying nothing, to stop the background music loop, to ask people to stand still just a moment, and to allow the silence to last long enough to become real: that is a form of respect which we can all recognize.

My Catholic friends might say a "Hail Mary" during a moment of silence; the Lord's Prayer isn't short enough to fit into most silent tributes, but the Jesus Prayer is. "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me a sinner." Other faiths have short prayers of their own which fill the space. Some might offer up a silent visualization of the person or people lost, or of the situation in question.

Where I've heard concerns about moments of silence has been when people express their own personal frustration that they can't or don't keep focused on the reason why there's a silence. As a pastor, I like to find ways to work some periods of silence into worship, but I've learned that this isn't always popular (or exciting — see last week's column).

Blaise Pascal some centuries ago said "All of humanity's problems stem from man's inability to sit quietly in a room alone." Our ability to stay focused through a moment of silence might be a corollary to that observation.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he likes going on a silent retreat every year. Tell him you don't believe it at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.

Notes from my Knapsack 2-6-25

Notes from my Knapsack 2-6-25
Jeff Gill

Arcades from Paris to Ohio, a pedestrian tour
___


When the Newark Arcade has a grand re-opening on Feb. 7, it is perhaps ironic that this forerunner of shopping malls is finding new life even as those downtown destroying behemoths are themselves going onto life support.

A covered passage between buildings, opening up a variety of shopping outlets and business offerings to a short stroll, the Newark Arcade was built in 1909, becoming one of the earliest such "shopping arcades" in Ohio. Eugene Barney had built a grand one in Dayton just a few years before; you'll find his family name on a Denison campus building. The Cleveland Arcade was first in the state, and has already had a couple of renovations and repurposing over the years.

Providence, Rhode Island and Watertown, New York caught the arcade fever from Europe, and especially France; while this country's first two were built by 1850, in that year Paris had over a hundred. Usually glass covered to allow plenty of light to street level, you could stroll along in all weathers to see shop windows within the arcade's corridors. The construction of these interior block arcades, taking mercantile activity off of the busy streets, arose along with increasing freedom and mobility for women in the middle classes of French society.

You can easily connect the implied dots between arcades of the late 1800s and early 1900s to pedestrian shopping malls that began to spring up after World War II, with the mothers of the Baby Boom wanting a shopping experience where with their baby carriages they could safely and comfortably go out and shop for their household. Open shopping centers on town edges soon became enclosed shopping malls out in the suburbs, and as the downtowns changed in function and purpose, the arcades often were the first to decline, and often end up demolished.

The arcades of Paris have dwindled down to just a couple dozen, and are more of an upscale retail experience. They have an antique charm all their own; during COVID, I spent some time at home on my computer using a common map and street view program to "walk" most of the remaining 25 arcades in Paris.

My interest in arcades came from our own local landmark, and the work of Walter Benjamin, a cultural critic and philosopher who died in the opening days of World War II, having spent over a decade and a half on his magnum opus "The Arcades Project," which came out in English translation in 1999.

Benjamin is best known for his essay "The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction" which invites the reader into a meditation on authenticity, between a real original and copies. If you work with museum exhibits and cultural resource interpretation, it's an interesting subject.

"The Arcades Project," which I'm not suggesting everyone run out and read (it's over 1000 pages with footnotes) anticipates both the coming of shopping malls, and their demise, as we seek authenticity in objects, and do not find it. How we shop, what material culture means to us, and what is real: you can find your first steps into this sort of reflection by visiting our own original Arcade in Newark. Maybe even dip into the book if you want to go farther.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's walked through the Arcade many times before and since the renovation. Tell him about how you find meaning in objects at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.