Notes from my Knapsack 7-9-20

Notes from my Knapsack 7-9-20

Jeff Gill

 

Get your kicks, here in Licking County

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It was a Native American trail, known by the earliest written records as Nemacolin's Path.

 

Across mountain passes from Maryland to the Forks of the Ohio, Christopher Gist followed it west, and introduced a young George Washington to this path through the woods, which took him on a mission to the French at Fort Duquesne in 1753, and in the 1754 campaign to call for its demise. A year later Gen. Edward Braddock widened the Nemacolin Path to allow his army of over 2,000 men, 200 wagons, and artillery to travel west, changing the name of it to the "Braddock Road."

 

Braddock's Defeat left the general's body buried in the roadway, and young Lt. Washington learning lessons about white crossed belts over red coats in the middle of deep forest, lessons he would apply at Trenton and Princeton and around Valley Forge twenty-some years later.

 

In 1802 Washington's recalcitrant officer and Jefferson's Secretary of the Treasury, Albert Gallatin, proposed the use of the "Old Braddock Road" cut by Daniel Morgan and Daniel Boone and others back in 1755 as a path for developing a main route to the west. The National Road was created in 1806 by action of the U.S. Congress, and it began construction in 1811, one of the nation's very first public works projects.

 

While known in turn as the Cumberland Road, only later the National Road, its most common name was the National Pike, traveled by thousands of settlers heading west in Conestoga wagons. Stagecoaches, too, made their circuits across the National Pike and back, which in the Twentieth Century became U.S. Route 40.

 

Now the "National Road," US 40 is the original "Mother Road." Route 66 has exceeded it in fame, the post-war connection from Chicago to Los Angeles through the desert Southwest of 1926, and the Lincoln Highway, US 30, was envisioned in 1912 and spanned the continent from Times Square to San Francisco, but Licking County's US 40 has roots all the way back to well before the 1750s.

 

Bobby Troup might be remembered by those of my age and older on "Emergency!" in the 1970s, but it's a shame that in 1946 all he had in mind was "Get Your Kicks, On Route 66"  -- because Route 40 deserves a song of its own. Wikipedia claims Bobby meant to write a song about 40, but his then-wife said "what about 'Get Your Kicks on Route 66'?" . . . and a song was born.

 

"If you ever plan to motor west, travel my way, take the highway that is best. Get your kicks on Route 66." It does sound better than "let's go party on good ol' Route 40."

 

Some have suggested that there's a correlation between the latitude of 40 degrees north and the numerical designation of US 40, but that appears to be a happy coincidence. Somewhere between Deeds Road and Blacks Road on Rt. 37 is where that invisible designation runs east to west across the globe in our neck of the woods.

 

However you number it, though, The National Road is the beginning of our country's romance with travel, and travel west, and the open road, frontiers both internal and continental. Get your kicks here in Licking County, and take a drive from the Muskingum border to the edge of Etna. It's quite a kick.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he's enjoyed some stretches on Route 66 out west, as well. Tell him about the roads you enjoy traveling at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

 

Faith Works 6-27-20

Faith Works 6-27-20

Jeff Gill

 

Future's so bright, gotta wear shades

___

In the heart of the summer, whether out for a walk or driving down the highway, it's the right time for sunglasses. "The Boys of Summer" sing about brands and sport stars display logos, and all the wiser folk have them on when the sun is out.

 

Not me, though.

 

At least for a very long time, I resisted wearing them. It didn't help that I started wearing prescription glasses in grade school, which in the Sixties meant you'd need either clip on shades or there were these plastic sheet sunglass inserts you dropped behind your regular glasses, hanging on your frame.

 

I hated them.

 

Outdoors, whether hiking and camping as was most of my summer, or later on in life driving, I just disliked the feel of them and thought they obscured my view as much as they helped, and I just wouldn't wear sunglasses. "Don't need 'em" I'd say when a fellow passenger in a vehicle would say as we drove west in the afternoon "can I loan you a pair of sunglasses." "Don't need 'em."

Convenience, more than a little pride, and a certain amount of denial. Sunglasses were fine, but for someone else. Not me. Years going by, and seeing older folks after eye surgeries and procedures wearing the giant wrap-around blocky ugly sunglasses. Nope. Didn't want to wear them.

My eyeglasses became bifocals, and the optometrist notes some faint yellowing starting to hint at procedures to come, and on a long drive I realized my eyes got tired faster than they used to, and an offer of sunglasses was made, and . . . well.

 

Yes, the world, from clouds overhead to the road angling into the distance, looks different. Not as "real," perhaps as seeing with the naked eye, but hey, what can a guy say about seeing reality straight-on through bifocals and a windshield to start with? And I realized "my eyes are not getting tired now."

 

Wearing sunglasses suddenly began to feel like a relief, a self-protection, and frankly it made my driving safer for others, too. For my vision down the road, and for my overall alertness and awareness, sunglasses turn out to be a pretty good deal all around. Yes, one more thing to keep track of (wallet, phone, glasses, handkerchief, coffee travel mug, sunglasses) but a part of what keeps me going, not just today but further down the road.

 

For the time being, as with sunglasses, so with masks. I get the resistance. They are one more dang thing. They can be inconvenient, like sunglasses in different settings, when to take off, when to put back on. And sometimes you feel the pressure differently than other times, as with sunglasses, if you've had them on for a long time, masks or shades. And you want to take them off.

 

The worst reason, though, to avoid masks is to say "they're no guarantee of anything!" No one said they were. They reduce risk. Seat belts don't prevent all accidents, nor help you in one avoid any injuries. But they do keep you from becoming a projectile, protecting others in your vehicle at the very least. (I do wonder: is mask wearing in public an index of seat belt use? Ah well.)

 

Reducing risk is a good thing. And the risk reduction is fairly significant, even if it isn't 100%. If we all did something that mutually reduces risk 85%, that's better than half of us doing something that's 100% guaranteed and the other half saying "I'm taking my chances."

 

And the reality is that face coverings just aren't that bad. In fact, I could suggest that there's a certain kind of spiritual discipline at work here. Like fasting, like intercessory prayer, like service or mission projects, when we do something largely for the sake of others, that is inconvenient or not immediately helpful to ourselves, working through our own resentment and resistance is a good thing. Learning how to set ourselves aside, our own preferences, and accepting the blessing of doing for others.

 

If you're painting a house for someone else, and think the whole time "I'd rather not be doing this" I don't believe the spiritual value settles in the same way. If you focus on wishing you didn't have a mask on, you'll just irritate yourself.

But if you let yourself rest in the awareness that this is a small sacrifice you're making for others, you're likely to stop noticing the darn thing altogether, and be at peace.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he still has to work at not fiddling with his face covering. Tell him what your mask wearing makes possible at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 6-13-20 & 6-20-20

Faith Works 6-13-20

Jeff Gill

 

Communion is togetherness

___

Among Christian churches, communion is an act with deep and vast meaning.

 

Deep in time, going back to the upper room in Jerusalem where Jesus had a last meal with his disciples, and deeper still as they were sharing a Passover meal together, which has roots in the bread of haste and the cup of God's blessing shared by the Israelites as they prepared to leave Egypt.

 

Had you ever thought about that? A communion observance takes us on one level back to one place, but it goes across more boundaries to get to that meal eaten in homes and under cover of darkness, behind closed doors, waiting on the Angel of Death to Passover, not to mention the Egyptian oppressors.

 

And how might even that meal trace to Joseph and his brothers, those whose names gave the tribes of Israel their labels, coming into Pharaoh's realm and finding eat and drink in that unexpected place.

 

Or even earlier, in Genesis 14, when Abraham (well, Abram then) and Melchizedek, ruler of Salem, sit down together with bread and wine blessed by this mysterious priest and king.

 

Communion is important. Some call it a symbol, and I'll just let you look up what Flannery O'Connor said about that, but she had strong feelings about the meaning and reality of communion.

 

That importance is guarded, in many churches, by restricting the preparation and blessing and giving of communion to a certain group of people, often those we call "ordained." To have a sacramental, a truly sacred act of communion, some hold, you need to have a presider who is duly ordained and has the standing to do so.

 

This is why the whole period we're going through is so difficult in many faith traditions. If your faith and practice say that communion calls for a presider with certain qualifications, it's not really proper to do "online communion" as some are doing.

Now, I speak from an interesting crease in reality. I am ordained, and a proper presider I have been in many traditions; I have learned over the years what the rules are for communion and how to follow or work with those guidelines in many traditions, as I've done guest preaching in a variety of places. "When in Rome, etc."

 

But my own tradition holds to what's sometimes called "lay presidency," which is a fancy term for saying a lay person can preside at our communion table, for formal worship or in any circumstance. And let me note: some very formal traditions have interesting exceptions under certain circumstances, so you'd be surprised who "can" do communion in certain traditions. But that's a very long essay for elsewhere.

 

In lay presidency at the table, a youth can preside for a special Sunday, any elder can stand at the table of Jesus and share his words of institution from Scripture, deacons can lead a Last Supper on a mission trip or in a home. And we can invite people to watch us as clergy leading worship online to have communion at home, saying that any believer can preside at their own table, and we are (often on tape) guiding them through the act of remembrance.

I want to be very clear: for those who hold to a high view of communion and the sacraments, that's not a path that's open to them in those traditions. And I respect the intention and the implementation of their restrictions. What it does create, though, is confusion among some everyday worshipers, who wonder why their neighbor can "do communion" at home along with the video on their tablet on the kitchen table, and they have to wait.

 

And even in those more liturgical traditions, many are limiting or restricting how they "do communion" such as with bread only, or other ways to manage the contacts and exposure to potential infection . . . which most churches have done in the past, as well, when bad flu seasons ripple across the country, or even in a particular building when a rotavirus hits the congregation. We've all been here before, even if it's not often, and there are many work arounds.

 

My prayer is that we all use this time to reflect on what it is about communion that ties us to each other, and to God; how we are used to participating, and how changes can help us appreciate and reflect on the act of remembrance and relationship and being truly "in communion."

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he's presided over many communion services in some pretty interesting places. Tell him where communion has been important to you at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

 

 

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Faith Works 6-20-20

Jeff Gill

 

Or, you could read your Bible
___

So many of us miss worship and fellowship and friendship and being physically and personally present to each other. That's a very real loss, and it's a pain which we will be doing physical therapy to recover from for some time to come!

 

I really mean that. This period of restriction and limitation is a wound, and while there are many opinions out there about how necessary or how long it should have been, or even will yet be in some churches, it has been a wound, a nearly physical injury. If it has been a necessary cut, like a surgeon's incision, I'd point out that I don't think recovery times are that different for a sixteen stich injury whether it was done for an operation, after an accident, or done by an attack. It still needs healing.

 

We will need healing from this period, long after it ends. Whenever it ends. However long it has to go for some of us. We will need healing. It has hurt to be apart, and we will not just be able to put a small butterfly dressing on the injury and blow on it. We will need healing.

 

So whether your church is "back in the building" or driving up to it outside or just watching those wonderful if not entirely satisfying video services, can I tell you how we people of faith can start working on our healing and helping and physical therapy it will take to get the body back into shape?

Read your Bible.

 

Yeah, big shock from a Christian preacher, ain't it? But I'm talking about really reading it, for one thing, not glancing at a couple of key verses and freelancing from there in your own head; I'm also talking about reading some extended passages that are relevant to our current experience, from the historical record, yes, but also under the guidance of the Holy Spirit that gave us this Word.

 

So read your Bible back in Genesis, from chapter 37 through 50. Read how Joseph was torn from his homeland, found a new home, and ended up making a safe place not only for his beloved brother and father, but for the brothers who intended to hurt him. He was apart, and then the Spirit of God made reunion and healing possible.

 

Read your Bible in Exodus. Oh yeah, you know where I'm at now, right? From chapter 3 to . . . oh my. How far should you go? All the way through Deuteronomy? How Moses leads the people after God commissions him at the burning bush on Sinai out of Egypt and into the wilderness; how the people Israel long for where they had been, but are tested and tried and sifted with the desert sands until they are ready for a new home, a new way to be together in the land of promise.

 

Or you could jump ahead and read the book of Ruth. Don't be shy, she only asks four chapters of you. Four! You can do this. She is not from around here, but she comes in out of love and faithfulness, and in our familiar place she makes for her self a home. She is a stranger and sojourner, out of Moab, into a Hebrew land, and she becomes a part of the family, an ancestor of the Most High, of Jesus himself.

 

You could, you know, read the Book of Hebrews. Where the unnamed author or authors in the Pauline tradition talk to the Jewish Christians of their own family, now exiled again from Israel, and walks them through a form of healing and reunion that allows them to carry much that is of value, but not more than they can bear, so they can anticipate a house not made with human hands.

Or just read the end of the book or books, as many do before going back and reading the whole mystery or adventure or whatever volume they've picked up: jump to Revelation, chapters 21 & 22. I'd hope you could at least go back to chapter 19, attend the wedding supper of Christ and the church, and see how the plan is for all to be a celebration, marked with healing and hope and eternal joy. If you read ALL 22 chapters, you'll note it's not all joy all the way through. But we'll get there.

Or you could just read John 16:33. Jesus says "In this world, you will have troubles." Truer words there may not be in the Bible. But the next words Jesus says:

"But take heart; I have overcome the world."

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in central Ohio; he's impatient, too, about a great many things! Tell him how you are working on your own healing and recovery from separation at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

 

Notes From My Knapsack 6-11-20

Notes From My Knapsack 6-11-20

Jeff Gill

 

Opening up, holding back

___

 

With the ever-loosening state "stay-at-home" orders and business restrictions for health reasons, it's easy to see the debate sorting into two polar opposites: hunker down longer, or open it up completely, now! And you can certainly find adherents of either extreme in both everyday discourse and official perspectives.

 

But on coronavirus restrictions I think a person can, and do myself have three thoughts at the same time. I don't own and operate a business, but I do have responsibilities for a faith community, and the question of "opening up" has gnawed at people like me almost every day since mid-March, for congregations as much as commercial establishments.

 

What I've never felt was the either/or angle on this. It just hasn't seemed like all or nothing, even if that's what social media and cable news can make you think.

 

There's what the state restrictions officially are, and yes, churches are exempted from most of them, but even there we have strongly urged recommendations from the officials, along with what are mandated guidelines for comparable buildings and events. So I keep that in mind.

 

Then there's what I personally think. That's complicated, and changes over time, but I have my own developing sense of what's absolutely necessary, what's helpful, and what's probably not needed . . . in my opinion. There are websites and databases I trust, and information sent me by well-meaning friends and associates which I reserve the right to view skeptically. But it's all, on a certain level, just Jeff's opinion. Which is just that, opinions and not facts, and they're part of how I adapt my own behavior, but not an iron rule for all.

 

The third is how I handle the previous two categories in light of my immediate official setting, which has its own demographics and physical limitations. What I'd do if I were in a different building layout, or with a different audience in terms of age and other factors, is beside the point. We are a particular faith community in a specific structure, and the layout is what it is.

 

Given those three intertwined lines of thinking, I can perfectly well celebrate and encourage some churches doing things quite differently than I am recommending or practicing in my own situation. Just because one faith community is open and operating and another isn't doesn't mean one has to think the other is wrong, and vice versa. I've seen and heard some recklessness that worries me, but mostly people are being cautious, and careful, and we'll all watch the data over the next few weeks and see what rises or falls.

 

And I may think later I was too cautious in this season. That's perfectly possible. But that prospect is far less worrying to me than later wishing I'd been more careful, and realizing after it was too late I'd helped harm others by my haste. It's a larger, slower moving version of the internal debate I have every time I push hard on my accelerator in the car. Rarely do I think later "drat, should have floored it." That's where I'm at right now.

 

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and pastor in Licking County; he tends to drive pretty close to the speed limit. Tell him where you are drawing lines and taking precautions at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.