Knapsack 9-9

Notes from My Knapsack 9-9-10

Jeff Gill

 

Notes From an Unrepentant Optimist

___

 

Glasses that are half full and half empty, spectacles with roseate hues, buttered toast falling to the carpeting – plenty of metaphors out there for the spectrum of optimism to pessimism.

 

What do you call it if you believe, and generally feel that everything will turn out all right, but only after a fair amount of misery? If you assess the nature of most people as lazy, but well intended, while suffering from a surplus of rationalization, still always trying to do the right thing: does that make one a misanthrope? A Timon of Athens?

 

If you watch too much cable news, or its vast extrusions across the internet, you generally hear about fear, terror, crisis, collapse, epidemic, outbreak, disaster, anger, bitterness, resentment, anxiety, and oh yeah, fear.

 

All of which gets you to read down past the jump, click to page two, or stay for the second half hour.

 

That being their main point and purpose.

 

In general, the picture they paint of reality is done in primary colors, mostly blood red and coward yellow and depressive blue. As any of you know who have to work much with computer printers, it's amazing what you can do with those three tints, but it takes some subtle mixing and attention to detail. Lose either of those qualities, and you get ghostly shadowing or muddy outlines that aren't even recognizable.

 

We're up against the tenth anniversary of a horrible act, a crime against this nation and against the very idea of peace and justice. It still beggars my not inconsiderable imagination that anyone, no matter what their motivation, could shoulder their way past families with small children to butcher flight attendants and pilots to fly planes into office towers.

 

There is, afoot in the world, the ability to choose an evil beyond imagining, and I do imagine that this is part of what our presidents have to try to vividly imagine every morning, so that Bush now looks ten years younger and Obama ten years older, only two years after their change of responsibilities.

 

So sure, we have to be able to think the unthinkable from time to time, and it's deeply unsettling to learn that some who wanted to walk in the footsteps of the 9-11 assassins met to plan in an Upper Arlington coffee shop that I've been in myself. It makes you think.

 

What it shouldn't make you think is that this is the norm for humanity, that most people are readily able to turn that corner into darkness. We have it in us, and some do, but for the most part, most bad decisions are no more than the result of looking for a corner to cut, wanting to knock off early, to get a task done faster so as to move on to . . . well, to do what we want to do.

 

There's an old saying "Never attribute to malice or hostility what can more easily be explained by ignorance and laziness." Most so-called conspiracies and crimes, whether of omission or commission, are more a convergence of corner-cutting characters than they are shrouded figures plotting our harm, or their gain, in private.

 

I promise to say a bit more about the Newark Holy Stones next column, but that needed to be said first, for the season we're in, and actually, to help set up what really is at work with those puzzling artifacts found 150 years ago.

 

Meanwhile, be of good cheer: most of the opposition we face in this world means well, but is looking for the easy way out. I remember that every time I look at my greatest enemy, which is most mornings while brushing my teeth.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him what makes you hopeful or fearful at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter. 

Faith Works 9-4

Faith Works 9-4-10

Jeff Gill

 

Willisburg, Kentucky

___

 

 

It had been just a few days past a hundred years since the coffin preceded me into Willisburg, Kentucky.

 

Actually, Carl Etherington's body had probably gone by train to Springfield from Lexington, and then been driven, almost certainly by an undertaker's horsedrawn hearse, up to Willisburg.

 

Today, in 2010, I was driving my car along a road whose curves betrayed its wagon-worn roots, dropping down from the divided highway of the Bluegrass Parkway, ten miles and more into the Kentucky hills.

 

In 1910, the week after July 8, the small town of Willisburg saw a child of their community now returned, never grown to full manhood but having seen more than most men did in twice his years, ending with the horrifying sight of a mob calling for his life, which they claimed and took.

 

We know very little for sure about Carl, but his gravestone clearly shows his age as seventeen. His parents surely got that part correct, and there was no question about the date of death.

 

Many articles were written in the weeks and months after the Newark riots and infamous lynching, and what seems certain is that Carl Etherington lied about his age. It may not have been the first time, since there are mentions of a career at sea, or perhaps with the Marines. He was apparently a tall, strongly built young man, and no one realized at the time, with him or against him, that he was so terribly young – they thought 22, or possibly 20, which was surely young enough.

 

He was hired at a time when jobs were scarce, and to work as what we would call today "private security" or more caustically a "rent a cop." He was part of an effort to "clean up" Newark when the county had voted dry a very damp town. Officials outside of the city's own power structure, including the mayor of Granville, had pressed to have the new liquor laws enforced, by force, and young Mr. Etherington was caught up, in Cleveland or Columbus or Worthington (again, accounts vary), and sent by interurban to another day's wages in downtown Newark, a city he would not leave alive.

 

Those events have long been part of the lore of downtown, perhaps even part of its burden, and the 100^th anniversary has moved a number of us to seek commemoration if not resolution. That story is not done, and some Christian leaders have invited us to join them tomorrow, Sunday afternoon, at the Courthouse Square gazebo for a 4 pm remembrance.

 

On the evening when, just south of the courthouse, Etherington was lynched in 1910, a few of us gathered, walked the path he was dragged from the old jail's north door to the deadly corner, and briefly set a wreath on the spot where he died. We prayed, quietly and solemnly, for peace.

 

Then I told those there July 8 that I was going south in a few days, and would take the wreath away, to place it on Carl Etherington's grave. We agreed that this would be right, and so I did.

 

A week later, I parked at the Willisburg Christian Church, which hosted a century before what is probably still the largest gathering the county had ever seen, some 3 to 4,000 who turned out for Carl's funeral. His marker was easy to spot, near the road, and with a bronze plaque inset with a letter engraved from the Ohio Methodists meeting at Lakeside that summer. Their offering for the family also paid for this gravestone.

 

I set the wreath, offered my own prayers, and went back across the street. Near a basketball hoop in the parking lot were half a dozen youth of Willisburg today. I explained my visit, and asked if they knew the story of the stone with the plaque. Most didn't, one thought she'd heard the story before, her friend nodding.

 

"But I thought he was . . . how old was he?" Seventeen, I replied. They all looked at each other, and their realization was apparent. "Why did you come down here?" she asked. I answered that a few of us thought it was never too late to admit that a wrong had been done, even if we couldn't right it.

 

I was asked much the same thing by e-mail the following week, by a name that startled me when it popped up in my in-box. The last name was "Etherington." I explained as I did in Willisburg, where this man's father had been a cousin of Carl's family in his youth. They now live far away, but had been back to take pictures and wonder at long ago stories. We had seen each other's photos searching online, and I'd left a message. Even so, to see that name in my e-mail . . . I answered right away.

 

His reply to my description of the ceremony, and the wreath, and my visit was "Let me say, on behalf of the family, that we are very grateful for your remembrance and your efforts."

 

Somehow, I believe that statement has an echo that spans centuries.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him about your family stories that bridge centuries at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.

Faith Works 8-28

Faith Works 8-28-10

Jeff Gill

 

Every Conversation Starts With Some Assumptions

___

 

This year, completely aside from the New York City controversy over an Islamic community center in lower Manhattan, the celebration that normally concludes the month of Ramadan for Moslems called "Eid al-Fitr," falls on September 11.

 

Since the ritual observances for Islam are based on a lunar calendar, Ramadan moves "backwards" a bit each year, so this won't happen again for decades. But what to do this year?

 

In some communities, the Islamic organizations sponsor a large street fair or public extravaganza (like Blessed Sacrament is doing today in Newark, check it out!) for their Eid celebration, but that was being rethought even before the Cordoba Center/Park51 flap took off.

 

So in many settings, Moslems are either quietly downplaying their festivities, or rescheduling them. This is both unfortunate, and perfectly reasonable. Can it be both? I'd say yes.

 

Not many years after 9-11, that date fell on a Saturday. A couple met with me to plan a wedding. They were somewhat anxious about the convergence, but that was the only week their families and friends could get together on a Saturday.

 

My counsel to them was that they could make a good decision either way; if they liked the idea of having a happier memory to go with those numbers on the calendar, and didn't mind the other news that would come along with it, there was no reason to avoid the date. If they decided between the two of them that the commemorations and remembrances would be a distraction from celebrating their marriage, let's figure out another day.

 

They went with Sept. 11, and I believe they did the right thing. The point was getting the people they loved together to mark their day, and if others thought it odd, that was their concern.

 

If we were in northern New Jersey, I suspect our conversation would be different. It might or might not be doable.

 

In the same way, I think the fact that you can find folks spouting vile stuff about mosques and Moslems has nothing to do with whether or not it's reasonable for people to ask questions about the New York controversy. The sources of the money alone...

 

The primary possibilities seem to be either Saudi Arabia or Iran for funding this, and I completely sympathize with those who say they'd feel much better about this project the moment one 900 square foot Baptist prayer room is allowed anywhere in the entire country of Saudi Arabia.

 

Tell me a new synagogue gets approval in Iran or they stop jailing and executing Baha'is, and I'm fine with them paying the bills for a study center anywhere in this country.

 

Mind you, I still think Park51 should be built. They got the permits, they're legally moving forward, and that should be that. But don't call it Islamophobia, unless I get to call it Christianophobia every time I hear about a new church project getting triple scrutiny and pressure to sign a document promising not to open a day care or feed the homeless. Which happens just about every day in this country. Churches don't get free passes, they get extra scrutiny, so the Islamic center isn't getting much different treatment than the rest of us religious folks.

 

But then there's Glenn Beck. Yes, I know, today he's doing a very honorable and patriotic thing in Washington, and I wish him and his hundreds of thousands well, and safe travels back home with happy memories.

 

Right now, it's hard for me to find him trustworthy even if he were to announce that the sun was rising today in the east, or that my mother loves me.

 

Last Wednesday, I got a number of calls and e-mails that evening and into the next day. "Did you know Glenn Beck talked about the Newark Earthworks on his show?" Indeed he did. He also argued for Egyptian influences and Hebrew involvement in their construction, pointing at the diameter of the Observatory Circle and the geometry of the attached Octagon, saying it was "exactly, EXACTLY!!!" the same as an Egyptian "stade," 606 feet.

 

The problem being that this dimension is 1054 feet.

 

He went on to talk about the Newark Holy Stones, and how they've been hidden, or erased, or willfully misinterpreted by those who study them. By which he means, those who don't agree with his take on them.

 

Well, Brad Lepper and yours truly are the primary writers and presenters on those unusual and interesting objects, and it's hard to look at our individual and joint speaking schedule over the last ten years and say we've been hiding much – our wives would agree.

 

As for willful misinterpretation? Mr. Beck, if you can't even get the basic measurements right, why would anyone trust your interpretation over anyone else's? I'll let you all check out my interpretation on the Holy Stones more fully next week.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he's had the pleasure of writing, speaking, and publishing on the Newark Holy Stones for years. Tell him about a mystery everyone knows about at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter.

Knapsack 8-26

Notes From My Knapsack 8-26-10

Jeff Gill

"Why don't we know about these stories?" – Glenn Beck

___

This week was going to be a clever essay about how the idea of an
Islamic community center with a prayer room on Broadway might go over
better than a Chinese restaurant. Seriously, I don't know how some
people have so much spare time that they can worry about there being
excessive scents of ginger and soy sauce in the air along Granville's
main drag.

Yes, I've actually heard someone say "I don't know if I want a
Chinese restaurant downtown."

Would you rather smell more Aqua Velva and chicken gravy scent? Is a
Sharper Image store more in keeping with our cultural traditions? (Is
there still a Sharper Image? Nope.)

But then Glenn Beck started picking on me.

OK, not me, but on anyone who studies and interprets the Newark
Earthworks, and particularly the so-called "Holy Stones." Apparently,
according to Mr. Beck, we've been hiding stuff by explaining it all
wrong, which is to say not showing how the mounds in this area are
clearly influenced by Egyptian and Hebrew writing, ideas, and design.

Of course, one of his key "blackboard" points is that a particular
recurring dimension is exactly (EXACTLY!!!) 606 feet, which is the
side of the Giza pyramid, aka an Egyptian "stade," which is a cool
looking word. He used it a great deal.

Mind you, having walked the Octagon and Observatory Circle as much as
many golfers out there, I can tell you foot by foot, as well as from
multiple surveys and as any child with a mapping program from Google
or Bing could show, the dimension he's saying is exactly (EXACTLY!!!)
the same as an Egyptian stade is 1052 feet.

That's not very exact, if you ask me. Which Glenn Beck did not.

Glenn Beck has his own sources, but when he says his purpose is to
reveal history that "the Smithsonian, science, government, and
commerce colluded to erase," I will admit he's striking close to
home. When he's talking about the Newark Holy Stones, Dr. Brad Lepper
of the Ohio Historical Society and yours truly are the main writers
and presenters on the subject. Stephen Williams of Harvard and Ken
Feder of Connecticut State have published books that address the Holy
Stones, but they largely cite . . . well, me and Brad.

So if anyone is erasing history relating to the Holy Stones, that'd
be us.

Beck continues, "The history that has been erased in our nation and,
in particular, with the Native Americans, happened because it didn't
fit the story they created – manifest destiny. It only works if the
Indians were savages. And they had to have savages for commerce and
government to expand. The ancient artifacts prove otherwise. Why
aren't we looking into those?" (Wed., Aug. 18, 2010 broadcast)

We've been looking into them, and we have a story to tell – and have
been telling it to anyone who will listen. OHS's own magazine, Brad
did a talk at the Granville Library a few months ago, we teamed up to
present to the Denison faculty a few years ago, and were both
mentioned in a story in "Der Spiegel" about the same time.

I could go on.

Brad and I are happy to say it all again, and I'll offer an outline
in my next column. For now, I have to say, having been personally in
the vortex of the spin cycle, the grain of salt I'll take with
anything Mr. Beck says now is about the size of one of those blocks
people set out for the deer.

And for what it's worth, I think the mosque absolutely should be
built, just as soon as the Port Authority quits jerking around the
Greek Orthodox church crushed on 9-11, whose land was taken and who's
being "encouraged" to accept a site around the corner and away from
where they'd been the last 91 years.

If the church and the new tower and the memorial were done and
dedicated, I doubt we'd hear much about the Islamic center. That's
the contrast that has plenty of people of good will not feeling good
about this development. It's not the fault of the Moslem group, and
it's a shame they're taking heat more accurately aimed at the public
officials who have so poorly handled the last ten years around the site.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around
central Ohio; tell him about what Glenn Beck has said about you at
knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter.

Faith Works 8-21

Faith Works 8-21-10

Jeff Gill

 

The Church Is Not a Building (Nor Is a Mosque)

___

 

The Lad and I just got back from Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, where we and our Scout troop got to hike all over, and I do mean all over, the historic battlefield.

 

This was my sixth or seventh time to Gettysburg, the first time in 1973 on a family vacation, in the back of a Country Squire wagon with the flip seats in the rear and my grandmother among the seven of us in that car. It was that kind of trip. We stayed in two motel rooms, and walked down the street to the old brick visitor center, centrally located, where I pushed Grandma Gill around in a helpfully provided wheelchair.

 

Now, the visitor center has moved to a new facility, set back away from the Copse of Trees and The Angle, the heart of Union lines where the vast Confederate charge on the third day of the battle surged and broke, leaving only the memory of Pickett's Charge as a high water mark for Lee's rebel army. The wide mile those Virginians and North Carolinians marched across under steady fire are still very much as they looked in July of 1863, with only a few marble and granite monuments to signal where certain units stood and fought and died.

 

And just to one side, a brightly colored sign for Pickett's Buffet, where they serve all you can eat style meals of an evening.

 

For years, people have bemoaned the presence, right up on the edge of the NPS managed battlefield, of this more than mildly tacky attraction, and the three fast food chain outlets that march in their own way back into town. "That shouldn't be here" is often said.

 

There's a solution to this, of course, and that's for someone to buy it and tear it down. The story around Gettysburg is that the owner would sell in a heartbeat, but for a price far beyond what the federal government or the historic foundation wants to pay. He's making good money serving up fried chicken, ham, and prime rib on Fridays, alongside pans full of mashed potatoes and overcooked carrots, so there it sits, right next to the site of its namesake event.

 

Eminent domain would apply, but no governmental entity has wanted to take that step, which would require a calculation of what all those meals and tips are worth along with the land, and compensation be paid to the landowner, while the tax revenue for those wings and legs and make your own sundaes would go away as well.

 

Is it really "an offense," as I've heard a number of folks say, to have this restaurant, or a set of golden arches, or any other frivolity, food-wise, that close to the center of the battlefield? If it were in the path of Pickett's Charge, surely; if directly adjoining, perhaps; nearby…? Well, what is that, anyhow?  And another block along is a shop where you can get a Confederate flag tattooed on your arm, or elsewhere. I'm mildly put off by that, myself.

 

So of course I'm thinking about the "mosque" debate in Manhattan. Within the now "official" two block radius of Ground Zero for recalling 9-11, there are peep shows and strip clubs. And a Sufi Moslem group wants to build a community center and prayer room there, which meets the general description of mosque.

 

Should they be able to? Of course they should. Should Saint Nicholas Greek Orthodox Church, the only place of worship destroyed on 9-11 in the collapse of Tower 2, be allowed to rebuild near their original site, and should the city and Port Authority quit trying to nudge them off Manhattan and onto an obscure location rather than facilitate their restoration next to the site? Absolutely.

 

Are politicians and fundraisers for polemical ground demagoguing this issue shamelessly, with little attention to the facts? Beyond a doubt. Do most Americans think it's the right of a religious group to build any worship facility wherever they want?

 

Now THIS is the point where the debate won't go away. Anyone who's tried to build a church in a zoned municipality knows that neither Christian nor Moslem or anything else isn't getting you a short cut, and in fact may create roadblocks as neighbors ask "are there bells? Will you feed the homeless? There won't be a daycare in the building, will there?"

 

What has gotten folks worked up is the idea that a) this Islamic group may have gotten special consideration to fast-track their project, and b) the mosque or whatever it is will be finished before the WTC memorial will be done, let alone the new tower that will stand in its place. It feels wrong, and that's not racism or hate or unconstitutional concern.

 

If the Orthodox church had been cleared for construction and the Freedom Tower was done and the dedication for a memorial was scheduled for 9-11-2010, we'd not hardly hear a peep about these plans for 2011. I hope the mosque gets built, but those who wish it were somewhere else have my sympathy and understanding.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him about your travels at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter.

Faith Works 8-14

Faith Works 8-14-10

Jeff Gill

 

Summer's End and New Year Beginnings

___

  

This isn't always popular news, but school does in fact begin for some this week, most the week following.

 

From a parent and family – and church! – point of view, this is New Year's, with a resetting of all kinds of interior and exterior clocks whether you have kids in school or not.

 

And while summer has heat and calendar aplenty for us through September, for most of us, this makes for a technical end to vacation season and most summer activities, with so many amusement parks and pools closing down with Labor Day.

 

In the life of most faith communities, this also marks the end to the "summer slump." Sure, some folks will quickly say "if there was a summer slump, why am I so tired!" VBS and church camp to say the very least can call for extra bursts of energy that punctuate most churches' summers.

 

What the slump really refers to is a characteristic drop in attendance and offering income. That's extremely common, and in itself not a bad sign or indicator of poor congregational health.

 

This is a good time, though, for church leadership to reflect back on the summer and ask how schedules and programs and approaches worked, didn't work, and might change for next summer. I know I've been through more than a few discussions of this subject during the spring, when recollections of the previous summer blur into previous summers (and decades), and then there's a hurried scramble through minutes and reports from years past to figure out "what was the case last July?"

 

So I heartily commend to anyone who can in their church life: look at the summer of 2010 right now, and ask yourself "what served the mission and ministry of this fellowship best, and what could do with some adjustment?"

 

When attendance drops and offering doesn't, that tends to say a pretty good thing: folks are tending to their church commitment, even as their travels and vacations went on. If attendance doesn't budge much, or within historic norms, but offering drops significantly, that's a whole 'nother creature.

 

In my work with congregations of multiple denominations around the eastern and southern US, I can attest that the latter situation is all too common this year. There's some reassurance with the stable attendance, but declines in giving are probably the result of continued anxiety about the economy, about household employment and the future, and in too many cases, outright unemployment or income decreases that simply must rebound into the offering plate.

 

For many churches, the state of the budget as to income vs. expenses at August's end is going to be determinative for the 2011 budget. That can push program choices for next year's planning in its own way.

 

When you have the double whammy of declining attendance and offering, that should be plenty of reason for considering some changes. If you have the kind of worship space where you can adapt the seating, reconfiguring so folks don't look at empty seating during worship actually helps; even in traditional sanctuaries, roping off back pews or shifting to one side will work. A sense that no one's coming to worship makes people . . . well, not want to come to worship! Pulling people together when you know the numbers will be a bit smaller regardless maintains community and the kinds of connections that reaffirm worship attendance as a summer value.

 

Changing worship times is something that the summer can offer as a unique and uniquely safe opportunity. For those without air conditioning, an earlier service while the sun is already up early often is a help, and even when A/C is on tap, earlier means a cooler trip to and from the service, less energy use to keep the worship space cool, and an earlier service means more of the day – which may be the only day for some families to get out and around – for leisure activities. Promoting activity and exercise is not antithetical to faith, but can be a healthy partner.

 

And summertime can be a chance to experiment with a smaller, earlier, or different day worship time. Summer schedules are flipped about for everyone, and folks are used to having to check times and schedules for the fair and parks and venues, so a special service fits into the spirit of the season very well. Have you ever thought about adding a Wednesday evening or Saturday evening service? A summer "experiment" is a great chance to try it, and if it takes off, keep it up; if not, it was just another crazy summer experiment.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him what your church did differently this summer at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter.

Knapsack 8-12

Notes From My Knapsack 8-12-10

Jeff Gill

 

When a Clique Is Just a Clique

___

 

High above, the tent caterpillars and webworms are hard at work, with the bagworms sprouting their little fake pine cones on the spruces a little closer to the earth.

 

In the ditches and medians, ironweed has unfurled its full six foot and more frame, already sprouting blazing, vibrant purple flowerheads at the top, well before the usual Feast of the Assumption outbreak alongside yet unseen goldenrod.

 

Goldfinches, though, are out among the cardinals and blue jays, and the August wilt of foliage means they're all a little easier to spot on a walk or hike than they were a month ago.

 

High summer is giving us a big clammy hug, whether to settle in or to leave we're not quite sure. Last weekend was the Hall of Fame Game up in Canton, and football practice is rolling through the last of two-a-days and other brutal rituals of summer's end.

 

We've got the Great Granville Picnic coming up this weekend, a relatively new tradition that feels already as if it goes back to 1805. Since the village is eating outdoors in the same general location as those first settlers, that's not too much of a stretch, but it's only since the 2005 bicentennial that we've been doing this every other year.

 

It's a wonderful scene out of a movie's happy ending, the sun setting beyond Sugar Loaf at the end of Broadway, and the tables marching back past Denison's Fine Arts Quad towards the Main St. intersection at the Four Corners.

 

Folks have already reserved their tables, and gathered friends around them, and while there's much milling about and mixing on the sidewalks, swapping of bread and salad dressings, for the most part, people will sit with and talk to those they already know.

 

It's part of the genius of Granville that we can use our public spaces so regularly for truly public purposes, going back to the Latin "populus," the people gathered. Farmers' Markets, Bluesfests, street fairs at the Fourth, and the Candlelight Tour are just part of where the population comes and mixes, somewhat, on a common platform.

 

There's always a strain of worry, particularly in the beginning of a new school year, about cliquishness, the tendency for folks to clump and stick together, and not just because of the humidity.

 

What's often said is that Granville is particularly cliquish, standoffish, not-terribly-welcoming. After having lived here since 2004 and around the county since 1989, I'd opine that such descriptions are both true and not-true.

 

It's true in that relative to other nearby communities, it's definitely a challenge to walk into many gatherings around Granville and find a relaxed and friendly outstretched hand. I'm not saying it doesn't happen, but it's a bit slower, and not unusual to have not happen around town.

 

But I think it fair to say it's not quite true in this: Granville has more residents (my impression, hard to prove, but I'd assert) not from here, not from Ohio, than almost anywhere else in the county. And there's a certain amount of ongoing turnover, to boot, not just with the college, though that's part of it.

 

What you get in our idyllic burg is a tendency for all of us who don't have parents and cousins and families nearby to look for a "new family" of sorts. The groups that get negatively called cliques are often simply self-created kinship groups, sisters or brothers or family by other means, replacing that which we've, so many of us, left behind in another city or state or even country.

 

It does create certain challenges for community building, but I think we're better off for calling it an expression of a positive need, not a negative thing altogether.

 

Consider that and tell me what you think, as you walk this Saturday among the many ad hoc families around their temporary tables on Broadway.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him about your kinship groups at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.

Faith Works 8-7

Faith Works 8-7-10

Jeff Gill

 

What We Do With Our Selves On Vacation

___

 

After some time away, whether in hotel rooms or on a cot under canvas, there's a question of adjustment.

 

You've got objects and items that have to work their way from your bags to the bureau, rearrangement to put things back in their familiar order.

 

At the same time, you have a chance to create, or rather continue some new patterns from the chance to experiment when you were out of your groove, away from your rut.

 

Morning rituals, whether of physical or spiritual health, may have started afresh (church camp is very good for that kind of opportunity), and tedious habits that may not even be all that bad, just old, can get swept aside as you continue what the vacation time began.

 

What is extremely instructive is the experience of feeling how powerful the pull can be to return to the familiar, the comfortable, the usual. You recall distinctly in the car on the way home thinking, or even saying out loud "I'm going to eat more fiber in my breakfast," and not one day later you're reflexively reaching for the microwave sausages. No fiber.

 

Tomorrow, though, will be different.

 

And a week later, your routines are again identical to what they were before the time away.

 

Count me among the myriad pundits who say, often from a stance of "do as I say, not as I do," that we Americans are far too inattentive to our essential need for time away. This isn't about some progressive social policy: from a migratory hunter-gatherer past to dozens of lengthy festivals in the medieval era puncturing the dawn to dusk slog, it's never been normal or natural for us to do the same thing, five or six days a week, fifty-two weeks a year. Cutting that down to fifty weeks almost but doesn't quite cut it.

 

Even farmers shift from planting activity to harvest activity.

 

I've written here before about the practical and interior benefits to worshiping "on the road," in an unfamiliar setting, and this summer I've had the chance to help lead worship on the shores of mountain lakes, in rec rooms of community centers, and attend services with long-missed friends and alongside newly made ones. It is good for my heart and I am certain for my soul, as well.

 

What is also an excellent opportunity during vacation or travel time is to consider our heart and soul in these unfamiliar settings. You get a chance to find out what you really, really can't live without; it starts with a certain pillow or brand of cough drop, but it can turn into an encounter with your own family in a strange place that makes you realize why your home is where those people are, and not where your stuff is.

 

For so many, it becomes a chance to watch our hearts grow. Coming back from Scout camp with my son and some other passengers, we made the usual stop at West Virginia's Tamarack Plaza (they've got both Starbucks and ice cream, plus pizza – everyone wins).

 

It's a busy place even at midnight in the dead of winter, but I was struck this recent Saturday afternoon. The large parking lot was filled with . . . church vans. Catholic, Presbyterian, Methodist, lots of varieties of Baptist, some Apostolic and Pentecostal. Truly, it seemed as if around a quarter of the many, many vehicles stopping there in the heart of the Appalachian Mountains were church vehicles, and that was nearly doubled as to persons inside, wearing their t-shirts with various congregational or programmatic logos. Half of those were clean and pristine, and half were grimy, sweat-stained, and usually also signed in permanent marker.

 

These were mission trip folk, going to or coming from, showing plates from North Carolina and Indiana and Kentucky and New York and Ohio (that's merely a partial list). People of faith who took some of their leisure time and devoted a solid week of living and working  in a place where their hands and indeed hearts were needed.

 

Sleeping on a church basement floor, sweating through a day of carpentry or carpeting, painting and playing in the cool of the evening – this is what a still growing large percentage of your friends and neighbors are doing with their time off, tending their heart's growth by ministering to the actual everyday needs of those who just ask for a helping hand.

 

In whatever way, I hope some Sabbath time blessed you this summer. And football practice aside, it's not over yet!

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him about your time away at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.

Faith Works 7-31

Faith Works 7-31-10

Jeff Gill

 

A Helping Hand, Or Shutter Finger

___

 

 

What is it that communicates these things?

 

Our family is just back from a vacation that meandered through our nation's capitol, among other things, and we experienced something that always amuses and pleases me.

 

All of my adult life, I can be in a strange city or on familiar terrain, all alone on a dark night or in the middle of a huge heterogenous crowd, and a person will walk up to me and ask for directions.

 

The corollary of this is that the same thing is true for "will you take a picture of me and my family?"

 

Is it that I'm tall? Is it the big round clueless face that perches up there so high? Do I have a particular expression or appearance that says "he won't mind if you're asking him a silly question," and if so, what is it?

 

Being in Washington, DC this past week means that the interchange has often been with a minimum of English involved, which makes it even more interesting and/or puzzling. Hindu, Chinese, Brazilian, British, Swedish, Mexican, and Korean families just begin to scratch the surface of our international interactions this week.

 

To give the Lovely Wife credit, she got approached by a group of four French college students, took their picture, and then as I wandered over from where I was taking pictures myself, they insisted on taking a picture of our family as well (which turned out very nicely).

 

On a couple of the digital cameras I handled last week, it's quite a sight to see the screen fill with incomprehensibility after you push the button, but when on handing it back, they glance at it (Mandarin? Sinhalese?) and beamingly nod vigorously up and down, and you know all is well.

 

Doubly fascinatingly, the most dense pack of international interactions was next to the Zero Milestone on the Ellipse, where you traditionally take your or your families' picture against the White House fence with the fountain and South Portico in the background, flag flying high to show that the President is in residence. It seemed like all the world was there in that cluster of humanity . . . and once you start taking people's pictures, you get shyly or bluntly "asked" to take others.

 

But of a dozen, there wasn't an English speaker in the bunch.

 

How do you present yourself as someone willing to be approached? And I will quickly add that there is a downside to this quality, which is that you also can get approached by scam artists and street hustlers with increased frequency, too; this is where being five foot seventeen inches tall comes in handy, and at least the semblance of a steely gaze.

 

Many churches and faith communities struggle with this, and I wish I had a quick, directive payoff from my vacation observation to offer them. Some congregations just exude a vibe of "don't even think about getting close to us," and others have a sense of "ask me anything, and I'll try to help" that starts out in the parking lot. There is no magic cookbook for this atmosphere.

 

I've known churches with warm, loving hearts after you get to know them (or perhaps more to the point, when they get to know you), but they have this very icy exterior. Is it architecture? Is it local culture and congregational history? And yes, you can have a welcoming exterior but really be deeply cliquish and stand-offish . . . but not often.

 

How do you intentionally put off that feeling of welcoming, of acceptance, of simple friendliness? Smiles and an internal sense of confidence have much to do with it, I'm sure, but there's a bit more you have to experiment with.

 

Excuse me, I have to stop typing this in a hotel lobby and take a snapshot of a group of Taiwanese businessmen . . . and I wasn't even looking up and smiling at them! Who knows what it is, but it's worth consideration. How do we project our values and our selves to the world around us?

 

And which button do I push on this one?

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he has mastered many varieties of digital camera this past week. Forward him a picture at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter.

Faith Works 7-24

Faith Works 7-24-10

Jeff Gill

 

Virtual Tries To Get Real, Even Spiritual

___

 

Lincoln Steffens, the noted early 20^th century muckraking journalist, visited the Soviet Union in 1921, and on returning to the United States said to the industrialist and diplomat: "I have been over into the future, and it works."

 

You probably know how the Soviet Union turned out, if you're old enough to remember them (it's called Russia now).

 

Anyhow, the point is that such predictions have a way of making the predictor look foolish in fairly short order. I do feel as if a few days ago I took a trip into the future, except a) it's already here, and b) there is plenty of room for humility in looking a year from now, let alone further.

 

What I saw was how a mainline Christian denomination's seminary, in this case Lexington Theological Seminary in Kentucky (LTS), is about to go from a three-/four-year residential model of seminary education to an almost entirely on-line, "virtual" program for the Masters' of Divinity, or "M.Div." as it's usually called.

 

For most religious traditions, to be a credentialed or certified leader, usually called "ordained," there's an educational component. Since World War II, that's gone from being a bachelor's degree (a B.D.) to a master-level program, another 60 to 90 credit hours and often a theses beyond an undergraduate diploma. Some, but not all get religious studies or philosophy degrees, but mine was anthropology & political science, and when I was in seminary my classmates had engineering, pharmacy, and law degrees.

 

But to get ordained, you needed to earn a master's degree, usually at an accredited seminary and the M.Div. program. Other Christian bodies can range from two years past high school to a six year semi-monastic formation program before final ordination.

 

What's driving some of the online trends are certainly economic factors: small churches which once hired seminary students can't even afford the health care, let alone a pay rate that allows living expenses plus the cost of seminary tuition, and some of those sort of churches where new seminary graduates once started their work in ordained ministry can't offer a package that allows them to pay their student loan debt . . . which for many seminary students is on top of existing debt from their undergrad education.

 

Add in the staff costs of a full scale residential program going up, while endowments are losing value and not getting much new giving, and you have a sort of "perfect storm."

 

LTS just three years ago published their fall newsletter with the headline "Solid Financial Picture & Great Faculty Summarize 2006-7 Report," and the president then was telling the truth, as he could see it. Today, they are effectively broke, and have let go of much of their faculty. Whatever LTS does next, it has to pay for itself – there is no magic pot of money to cover their bets.

 

What they're doing is something that the Association of Theological Schools (ATS), the accreditation body for US seminaries, is actually encouraging, because LTS is, in their view, not an outlier, but the leading edge of a wave that's cresting right now. Residential seminary education has not been economically or, quite candidly, culturally sustainable for years, and endowment draws have covered this fact until the arrival of the stock market downturn two years ago.

 

So ATS is encouraging non-residential models of seminary education, where a candidate for the M.Div. has to be admitted and started into the process much as the churches always have done, but then they take their coursework largely on-line, listening to lectures, viewing interactive content (videos and visual files), answering questions and engaging in discussions through chat and message boards, and right now the plan is for something like two times a year to come together for eight very long days face-to-face.

 

If you do around 9 credit hours per semester, you'll graduate in four years, and it will cost you about $18,000. That's for Disciples of Christ and UCC students; others would pay exactly twice that, since it's $240 a credit hour times 75 for the M.Div, $480 per hour for others.

 

Will we lose something in this kind of seminary education? Without a doubt. Is it something that the denominational structures and local congregations can help create in a different way, while seminaries, quite frankly, do what they have to do?

 

In the next year or two, we will see. But the implications of what we're doing will have lasting, even eternal resonance. If these changes have done nothing else, they've reminded all the right people of the need for prayer with our ordination candidates.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he works with the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) on their licensed and commissioned ministry training programs. Tell him how you get equipped for ministry at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.

Faith Works 7-17

Faith Works 7-17-10

Jeff Gill

 

Virtual Environments Are Everywhere

___

 

Last week I recommended what some called "surrender" to cell phones in church services.

 

That description doesn't strike me as quite fair, but actually, I'll admit to it for simplicity's sake. In brief, for those just joining this conversation, I suggest that worship leaders and churches that try too hard to enforce a "turn it off" standard run the risk of creating a bigger distraction with their announcements and interventions than do the ringtones themselves, which more and more of us are used to just letting roll on by.

 

Funerals, weddings, solemn gatherings – most offenders are accidental, and a simple reminder is only kind, but if the interruption happens, it's time to let it pass and move on.

 

I continue to be fascinated by ways some congregations and pastors are actually working digital media of various sorts directly into their preaching and teaching, whether encouraging parishoners to "tweet" comments on the sermon in real time (by the way, they already are, you can just provide a hashtag so you and others can see it), or taking polls for feedback and reaction while the message is taking place.

 

Like dialogue sermons or multimedia, some of these contributions to preaching are just trends, of little impact, and may not even be around in a few years and are certainly not appropriate for every setting or situation. But when you have a two-way immediate connection in real time to people, it's going to get used. Add in the "durability" of texting and such, where unlike a classic "phone call" which is there and gone, a text lasts on your screen and in the device's memory, you have a way to stretch the preaching experience out over the week, refine your feedback beyond watching from the pulpit to see who and how many go to sleep, and expand your discussions pre- and post-sermon beyond the usual five people in a Sunday morning adult Bible study, and you have something worth considering. At least a bit.

 

Should your church or faith community have a Facebook page? Well, what makes you think you don't already have one? (I'll wait while you go over to the browser to run a search.) See, someone already set one up. What, you aren't sure the right board committee has approved the creation of a page for your church? Ahh . . .

 

This is the part of digital media and church life that, like any opportunity is fraught with both peril and possibility.  Back when creating a three-fold flyer or print brochure in color cost money and much time, this was a major investment and hence required more involvement of church leadership to make a decision on the final expenditure. What the designer thought was best might get overruled by the finance committee because those added full color pictures meant major dollars.

 

Now, creating a Facebook page or even a relatively robust web page is virtually (ha!) ten minutes work . . . or less.  So you could have four or five different people create on their own in an afternoon what, not very long ago, was a full board/committee/pastoral leadership discussion to get one of, and maybe only 500 copies of that single model.

 

You can't have five different websites out there for your church, though – right?  Well, here's the question today is asking you: why not? As some of us (yes, including a tinny little voice in the back of my head) sputter and say "you can't have multiple websites that aren't co-ordinated for content and approach and style all claiming to represent our faith community!" the reality is: why not?

 

You could go around and tell your youth or committees or ministry teams "hey, no claiming to speak for the church without running it by the leadership team," but most people today are quite accustomed to a more fluid model of accountability and representation. If they aren't making promises that spend dollars or obligate assets of the faith community, why not? It might not work for everyone, but in many ways, a more distributed presence on the web and across the internet has more advantages than hazards, creates more connection than dissention, and can generate creativity by the very lack of consistency and conformity we once (reasonably) had to enforce through board & administrative process.

 

If every task force, team, or committee of your church had its own web or Facebook page, what exactly is the downside? Who do you chase away by trying to prevent that sort of flourishing from taking place?

 

For those who find the circumstances I'm describing to be confusing and disorienting, wait until next Saturday when I tell you about what's happening to seminary education . . .

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; yes, he uses e-mail and Facebook and Twitter, a bit. Message him at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter. 

Knapsack 7-15

Notes From My Knapsack 7-15-10

Jeff Gill

 

The Hills, the Skies, the Stars

___

 

In 1840, according to Bushnell's 1889 "History of Granville," the electioneering of that year brought a special fervor to the Fourth of July celebrations, and no little Yankee ingenuity: "A liberty pole, jointed like a ship mast, and again with bands of iron, and again and again, and topping out with a fishing rod and a long streamer, towered 270 feet on the village square."

 

Now, just for context, it's about 150 feet of elevation from Broadway and Main to the top of College Hill, and another 150 to the tip of Swasey Chapel. So imagine a crew of young men, with logs and poles and staves, hammering out their cooper's rejects and scrap iron strips, binding a cluster of beams around a longer timber, and another, and another . . . all for fun, all for frolic, and done without a bit of power equipment. Their end "product" is hoisted to the vertical with ropes and likely a block and tackle and (I hope) a secure anchorage, finally towering from the middle of the village as high as the pinnacle of the tallest building we have today, "topping out with a fishing rod and a long streamer."

 

Some modest research shows that neighboring communities would compete in standing up the tallest "liberty pole" for their Fourth of July celebrations, and the record is silent on the obvious occasional outcome of a snapped timber, a misanchored line, and 200 feet or more of mast and beam and pole coming down to crush chimneys, topple fences, and break an arm or leg for the unwary.

 

Or they may have just been pretty good at what they were doing!

 

I can almost see that sight rising up in the middle of town, as I drive through in the wake of the street fair. In the same way, I was envisioning Alligator Mound east of the village, a thousand years old, while we waited for the fireworks on July 1^st and Scorpius rose in the south. The legends of the Underwater Panther, the Piasaw with horns and biting teeth and a long curling tail that does not let go, seen painted on a Mississippi cliff by Father Marquette, told to pioneers by the Native peoples of the Ohio Valley, very likely tie back to our own one of only two effigy mounds found in this state.

 

The constellation of a horned or clawed figure appearing in the summer sky, with a bright red heart glowing out of the darkness as the sun sets, has long been associated with this mythic figure, a lower world counterpoint to the more heavenly thunderbird flying above.

 

Dr. Brad Lepper, curator of archaeology for the Ohio Historical Society, local resident and skilled historian in his own right, will be down at that other effigy a couple hours south of us by car, Serpent Mound. On Saturday, July 31, at 1 pm, he will give a talk about "The Alligator and the Serpent" before leading a tour of the site. If you want to know more about Granville's "Alligator," you couldn't do much better than to make the trip down to visit the Serpent that day.

 

For only a carload parking fee of $7 (and they'd like RSVPs, which you can do at highlandssanctuary.org), you'll learn about our local history in a way that will help you see the past, written on our landscape, visible clearly in your mind's eye.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him about a favorite legend you've heard at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter.

Faith Works 7-10

Faith Works 7-10-10

Jeff Gill

 

What To Do, What To Do (Nothing)

___

 

 

Cell phones.

 

They are everywhere, and everywhere people are trying to "deal with" the ubiquity of these modern day . . . necessities? Well, whatever.

 

The fact is that as men once would not leave the house without a hat, nor women without gloves, now people won't make a move without groping to check their cell phone's presence, and probably checking to see if any texts or calls have come through in the last four minutes.

 

A major difference being: your hat or your gloves didn't make noise (unless you were a magician with a poorly fed rabbit in there). Cell phones are likely to ring . . . or play a tune . . . or shout out a catch phrase like "That's what she said!" or "Twenty-three skid-doo, kiddo!"

 

OK, not the last one. That I know of.

 

It is kind of interesting to watch faces as the "Sex and the City" theme music suddenly starts to play in the middle of a worship service. Personally, I'd say that kind of error in technology management carries its own punishment, that is sufficient unto the day thereof.

 

Many churches, though, are trying to find creative ways to prevent mid-event disruptions. Places with large projection screens include in their opening roll of announcements a "Please turn off your cell phones" and those who use print bulletins have a number of locations and ways they note "Respect your neighbors and silence all electronic devices."

 

I've been to a few weddings and funerals in the last couple years where clergy try to find wording to slide into the opening statements along the lines of "c'mon, people, shut 'em off." Some folks can say that more adroitly than others.

 

For myself, I have come to a conclusion, whether as a worshiper or worship leader. They're here, and they're going to be turned off or silenced by those who do, and those who don't aren't likely to make an effort because you said so. A quick reminder doesn't hurt, and it helps those who really intend to shut down their tech during services, but there is no magic combination of phrases that will shame, abash, or convert the unrepentant text checker in their persistence.

 

We have to just get used to it.

 

Some of my indifference comes from having served churches where a number of emergency responders sit in the pews, and they do, in fact, need to be ready to answer whenever, wherever. OK. And the rest of my "whatever" comes from having listened to clergy come perilously close to sound foolish themselves trying to force the issue, and then have to figure out what to do when twenty minutes later someone does the "OMG" dance in mid-sanctuary, digging and writhing to reach a phone that is loudly declaiming "Pants on the ground, lookin' like a fool."

 

Indeed.

 

What do you do at that point? There are a number of well-used rejoinders you can hurl from the pulpit, like "If that's not Jesus, don't answer it," or "Just hand it up to me, I'll talk to them." But I have to admit that in general, like crying children, passing train whistles, and the occasional howling of dogs on the front steps, you either studiously ignore the interruption, or work it as an observational point into your announcements, prayers, or sermon. "And Lord, we hope that every call we make unto you might be answered without hearing the silence of a dropped connection."

 

Cell phones are here to stay, and they won't go away anytime soon. They're getting smaller, tucked into ears and side pockets, and connecting us in ways that are both helpful and less so.  I think they create a marvelous opportunity to talk about what it really means to make a connection, or why we need to make some times and spaces where we turn them all off and stick with what's immediately present, but I'm just not going to worry any more about how to get people to turn them off when I want them to.

 

Because as sure as I'm typing this on a computer, the moment I decide to get all indignant and self-righteous about them, I'll be the one who feels his back pocket being strangely moved, and will realize that it's me that's playing the Liberty Bell March.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; you can "call him up" through knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter.

Faith Works 7-3

Faith Works 7-3-10

Jeff Gill

 

A Bell To Call Them Together

___

 

E-flat is the note it rings, but it hasn't rung out since Washington's birthday in 1846. A large bell, but not remarkably so, three feet tall in metal, closer to five foot with the wooden carriage it once swung on.

 

And it has a crack. You know it as the Liberty Bell, a name given almost a century after it first arrived on these shores from London, England.

 

"Proclaim Liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof," commands Leviticus 25:10, or "Lev. XXV v. X" as you would see that verse cited, in perhaps its most famous appearance outside of the Bible itself, an inscription across the side of that bell in Philadelphia.

 

It was the democratically elected Pennsylvania Assembly that ordered a bell in 1751, to commemorate the 50-year anniversary of William Penn's 1701 "Charter of Privileges," Pennsylvania's original Constitution. They wanted to honor Penn's ideas on religious freedom, for Native American rights, and his desire to involve all the populace in enacting laws.

 

Ordered from the historic Whitechapel Foundry in London (and still working, as any handbell choir member can tell you), with a request for the Leviticus quote coming straight from the vote of the Assembly itself, the three foot tall bell arrived in 1752. Hung on a temporary carriage for test ringing, it immediately cracked – and so was re-cast by two Philadelphia foundrymen named John Pass and John Stow, who tried to melt it down, added copper to the mix, and found the new bell didn't sound right – so they melted it down and re-cast it one more time in 1753, hence "Pass and Stow / Philada / MDCCLIII" with the bell now back to weighing its original 2080 pounds.

 

By tradition and common sense reasoning, it is known to have sung out upon the public reading, on July 8, 1776, of the approved Declaration of Independence, since it was the "State House Bell."  Then, of course, it was the "Independence Bell" after it was safely spirited out of Philadelphia before British occupiers could melt it down for munitions during the Revolution. But this bell achieved its uniquely iconic status after it had been re-hung at what was now "Independence Hall," when early 19^th century abolitionists adopted the "The Old Yankee's Bell" as a symbol for their movement.  An engraving of it was first used in this context as a frontispiece to an 1837 edition of their magazine "Liberty," from the New York Anti-Slavery Society. Those abolitionists called it first the "Liberty Bell," in reference to its Biblical inscription.

 

In retrospect, it was a painfully apt metaphor for a nation literally cracked, with freedom divided for its enslaved inhabitants. The line following "proclaim liberty" in the Leviticus passage is, "It shall be a jubilee unto you; and ye shall return every man unto his possession, and ye shall return every man unto his family." The Abolitionist Movement understood this passage as saying that the Bible called for all slaves and prisoners to be freed every 50 years.

William Lloyd Garrison's anti-slavery publication "The Liberator" reprinted a Boston abolitionist pamphlet containing a poem about the Bell, entitled, "The Liberty Bell," which represents the first documented use of the name, "Liberty Bell."

 

After 1846 the crack, running from the three inch thick lip almost all the way to the crown's thinner one inch depth, made it too dangerous to ring even ceremonially. It became an icon, an image, a bell which spoke in symbol and through that inscription from Leviticus more than by ringing, and farther in print than sound could ever travel.

 

Yet its voice had one more service to perform.

 

As World War II began, an exact replica was made of the now Liberty Bell, except for the crack – E flat, of course. This bell toured the country helping sell . . . Liberty Bonds. And on June 6, 1944, when Allied forces landed on the beaches of Normandy in France, the sound of this bell was broadcast all across the country, and all around the world, as a signal, an omen, a note of hope and  a ringing promise of freedom.

 

You can hear this bell, and its faithful echo of the 1751 original, at

http://www.ushistory.org/libertybell/images/normandybellsound.swf

You might hear a whisper of the voice of Moses, and a wider echo behind even him, in those resonant tones as they toll.

 

"Proclaim Liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof . . ."

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; tell him what rings your chimes at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter.

Knapsack 7-1

Notes From My Knapsack 7-1-10

Jeff Gill

 

Everyone Loves a Parade, Some More Than Others

___

 

Never having been a grand marshal for a parade before, I'm not sure what the job entails.

 

Many thanks to Granville Kiwanis, who not only do "just another Granville Fourth of July" every year, but in their organizing of the annual Mile Long Parade, which falls on Monday morning, July 5 this year, they decided to honor the Scouting Movement, which has a centennial in 2010.

 

Since they've asked anyone in the area who has earned the Eagle Scout rank in the Boy Scouts of America, or the Gold Award for the Girl Scouts, to serve jointly as grand marshals, I am delighted to have the opportunity to serve in this capacity . . . along with what I suspect and hope will be dozens of others.

 

There are lots of us around, and some of us tie knots and organize service projects in public enough that our Eagle or Gold status is well known, but there may be a few surprises on that float. I know a few mild-mannered, soft-spoken Eagles around town who are likely to evoke a reaction of "I didn't know Blank was an Eagle Scout," but you can read that either way. ("Him???")

 

My knowledge of the details of the Girl Scouting Gold Award is limited to my little sister earning it; to be fair to her, she has a husband and son and is a professor at [koff] Indiana University, but she's still my little sister, and I told her that this year she *really,* really needs to come visit for Fourth of July weekend.

 

What I do know is that the effort and achievement is comparable to the Eagle Scout rank, and I've had the chance to work with a few young Eagles recently, so I can assure you that the bar is still high and the quality of the newly minted award earners is quite impressive. Will Blount in Newark's Troop 11 honored me with an "Eagle Mentor" pin at his Court of Honor a few weeks ago, where he became the 25^th young man to earn the rank since a few of us founded that unit back in 1991, and Granville's Troop 65 has some forty to their credit, with a number working on their final requirements this summer (get busy, Ben!).

 

Less than 4 out of every 100 who start out in Scouting go on to make Eagle, with the required and elective merit badges, the demonstrated leadership service, and the Eagle Scout service project . . . which cannot be done to serve Scouting itself, or the Scout troop, but your wider community.

 

What's so unusual and wonderful about the Scouting advancement program, though, is that in theory, there's no bar to every Scout earning Eagle. You don't compete against other Scouts, or on a curve, and there's no maximum quota for the award. If you meet the requirements, and fulfill the expectations, you earn it.

 

The chief competition for a Scout in rising through the ranks is – themselves. And that can be the hardest challenge of all.

 

Gold Award and Eagle Scout, female and male, old and young, riding or walking, we Grand Marshals promise to keep on setting a good example for our community and to do our jobs well, whatever that is. If it involves the shovels at the parade's end, we'll be happy to do that, too!

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he's an Eagle Scout and proud to serve as an assistant Scoutmaster for Granville Troop 65. Send him a semaphore signal at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter.

Faith Works 6-26

Faith Works 6-26-10

Jeff Gill

 

Like a Spider, Dangling By a Thread Over a Furnace

___

 

Some 65 years before the Granville, Massachusetts settlers crossed into Licking County in 1805, a mentor of their hometown pastor preached a famous sermon, titled "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God."

 

Jonathan Edwards preached a sermon in 1739 that some credit with launching the first Great Awakening, a season of revival that swept through the early American colonies, and shaped the worldview and concepts of personhood and identity in the nascent United States. He asked his hearers to contemplate their place, their situation, from the position of a holy and almighty God, and to acknowledge their utter . . . well, contingency would be the five dollar word for it.

 

As finite, limited, created creatures, participating in eternity but ultimately destined to die and be forgotten, Edwards suggested that our plight is directly comparable to that of an unwanted, noxious insect held, for a moment, over a vast burning pit.

 

It was through consideration of that image that Edwards, in Northampton, MA and Timothy Mather Cooley after him, in Granville, MA, hoped to bring souls into an awareness of their need to find a path for their feet and an orientation for their hearts to follow God's guidance. Only God could keep them from the fire of oblivion, and it would be simple justice in the cosmic sense if an orderly and consistent Creator would sweep them into the chute of doom.

 

Now, you may read that and think this is an archaic and ancient understanding of Divine Providence that might have come into Licking County with Jacob Little in 1827, but surely is not to be found in our more brightly lit and compassionate world of today.

 

But through my tears, I found myself wondering if Jonathan Edwards, Puritan preacher of the early American frontier, would enjoy "Toy Story 3." And if I turned to him after the searing but ultimately joyful conclusion (no spoilers here, sorry, that's all I'll tell you), and said "Sir, you had a hand in the imaginative landscape and the narrative line of that movie," would he gravely agree?

 

Trust me: if you have any general, working knowledge of "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" (you can find the text at edwards.yale.edu and elsewhere online), and its place in American intellectual history, I think you'd be forced to agree that Dr. Edwards deserved a small credit somewhere in Pixar's closing along with Cheryl Burke for choreography.

 

Where do you find ultimate meaning, and what is the meaning of your life, when you are facing obliteration? Yes, it's a sequel to a sequel of an animated kids movie, but the question couldn't be asked more clearly than "Toy Story 3" does, even to a Puritan Christian viewpoint.

 

And the answer? Well, being a Disney/Pixar production, you can probably guess what the answer is, which leaves lots of marginal space for you to write your own details into the general proposal. It'll preach, up to a point.

 

The core question remains, and the form of the asking, on the silver screen this past week, traces back to a lonely preacher wondering if his message would be heard, out from the deep wilderness and distant frontier where he served over 250 years ago.

 

You can almost feel his hand reaching out for yours over the centuries, seeking the comfort and reassurance of knowing he is not alone. Is there a connection that can pull us out of the pit, or will it inexorably swallow us all?

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he and his family enjoyed "Toy Story 3" very much, and parents need to take tissues if they're going to see it. Lots of tissues. E-mail him at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow Knapsack @Twitter.

Faith Works 6-19

Faith Works 6-19-10

Jeff Gill

The Dog That Barked In the Nighttime

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John Wooden clearly had many fans among Advocate readers, and I'm pleased that so many of you appreciated hearing a bit more about what made this legendary basketball coach the man and role model that he became.

There was one other element of Wooden's story that I wanted to get to (as long as last week's column was, for which I thank the forebearance of my editors). It had to do with his father, appropriately enough for this Father's Day weekend.

His father lost the farm during the Depression, but he taught John Wooden a set of life principles which Coach carried on a piece of paper in his wallet the rest of his life. Wooden was never shy about sharing copies of this list with players, friends, and in speaking engagements, so it was very well known – you may have seen it before yourself.

 

It was so much of the John Wooden legend that the Los Angeles Times included the list in their front page obituary: "Be true to yourself. Make each day a masterpiece. Help others. Drink deeply from good books. Make friendship a fine art. Build a shelter against a rainy day."

 

That's how they ran it, anyhow. Without a word to let the reader know they, um, edited it a little. The problem being that so many of us out here almost knew the original text by heart (a useful skill to develop for many reasons) . . .

 

"Be true to yourself. Make each day a masterpiece. Help others. Drink deeply from good books, especially the Bible. Make friendship a fine art. Build a shelter against a rainy day. Pray for guidance, count and give thanks for your blessings every day."

Fascinating edits, no? I certainly understand that sometimes an article or even, perish forbid, a column might have to be cut down a bit, but this was a remarkably surgical excision of three key words from the end of the fourth point, which makes the dropping of the seventh item somewhat suspect beyond the limits of the daily news hole on page one.

Why drop those notes of religious faith? Isn't that what is key to understanding the phenomenon that was and is John Wooden? Would so very many readers of the Los Angeles Times be offended by the very sight of an acknowledgement of belief?

Apparently, someone thought so.  Obviously those who are of a religious persuasion find such sentiments not only inoffensive but encouraging and uplifting, and those whose orientation is more atheistic or agnostic react with a weary sigh. Thus it long has been, and no doubt always shall be.

What's new here is the pre-editing of content based on an assumption of offense by some; to treat religious observations like a hostile act of language akin to a racist name or shocking incident that needs to be elided and adjusted for general audiences.

Other than keeping a wary eye out for such alterations of reality to fit certain narrow assumptions, I don't know what can be said beyond quoting John Wooden a few more times in full, such as:

"Talent is God-given; be humble. Fame is man-given; be thankful. Conceit is self-given; be careful."

And at the risk of giving offense to anyone who doesn't agree with him . . . about basketball . . .

"Basketball is not the ultimate. It is of small importance in comparison to the total life we live. There is only one kind of life that truly wins, and that is the one that places faith in the hands of the Savior. Until that is done, we are on an aimless course that runs in circles and goes nowhere." 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and supply preacher around central Ohio; he has a truly dreadful top of the key jump shot, and occasionally misses wide open layups. Give him some tips at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow Knapsack @Twitter.