Notes from my Knapsack 1-1-2026

Notes from my Knapsack 1-1-2026
Jeff Gill

Welcome to a new year, he said grimly
___


My, my, my.

The first time I submit copy with the new year on it, things get real. It's usually a ways before the New Year's Eve celebrations, deadlines being what they are and all.

But 1-1-2026. Yikes.

Here's to a new year, and I say that knowing that like many of us, I really don't have that much to complain about, but like Joe Walsh famously said, "Sometime I still do." (You can look it up.)

My home is warm, my vehicle runs, my family is doing fine, all things considered. There are too many who have inadequate shelter or worse (hey, any are too many, but a few dozen at minimum in our area alone), and there are all sorts of ways life could be non-ideal, let alone worse. Worse is a relative thing, right?

I could get into details; I have friends and associates of long-standing who have lost loved ones in the 2025, had dire diagnoses and/or surgery from which they're still recovering, seen workplace issues snowball for some. None of that is my lot, and I'm at a point where I just don't feel superstitious about saying so.

Yet I admit to not looking forward to 2026 as much as I know I should. Not hunting for sympathy here; again, there are plenty who deserve it and need your direct and practical support.

2026 is the year of our nation's 250th anniversary of independence, and there's much to celebrate, no matter what your political orientation. I get to do some fun things as part of this year-long celebration. Wednesday, Jan. 21st, I will talk at the Granville Historical Society about our county in 1776, which is more interesting a time than you might realize, even if the evidence is scattered and piecemeal. In June, on the 17th and 20th, we celebrate our national history around parks and preserves, starting at Opera House Park in our historic center of Granville, and for those willing and able, a bit of mountain climbing. (Okay, a hike to Sugar Loaf…)

We have a full slate of events shaping up at the Octagon Earthworks just west of our village limits, and plans for more at the Munson Springs Preserve just inside of them. History, heritage, community, and I'm already looking forward to a return of the mile-long picnic at summer's end, let alone the usual Fourth of July that won't be too usual given the 250th.

I plan, God willing, to write more columns in 2026 about John Locke. Yeah, John Locke. Because Locke is there in the notes and edits and final draft of what Franklin and Adams and that Jefferson fellow wrote, which has become marked with July 4, 1776. Don't worry, I'll make it interesting, and there's no test. There's a whole range of history over our 250 years of independence to date that I plan to share with you, and I enjoy that.

So plenty to look forward to. Which is good, because there's a few things I worry about looking ahead. None of us are getting any younger, and some situations are just gonna get worse before they get better. Sound familiar? Yeah, I know.

Balance. That's the key. I'll keep looking for it in 2026, and I hope you'll join me in the search. Onwards!


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's not saying he's unbalanced, not exactly anyhow. Tell him how you keep your equilibrium at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.

Faith Works 12-26-2025

Faith Works 12-26-2025
Jeff Gill

Summing up, looking ahead, holding to hope
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One of the stock themes a columnist has to consider every December is the year-in-review piece.

It's a classic. You mull over what's been, recycle a few thoughts you've already expressed (hey, it's the end of the year, take a break), and voila, there's a column.

More risky is the predictions schtick for 2026. You can offer your most profound, or trivial ideas, or both, for what the new year has to bring. You can stick with evergreens ("Ohio State will make a strong run at the national championship…") or try for some revelatory insight ("…their sixth in pistol shooting!"); there's the global angle, which may not play well in central Ohio if you talk too much about geopolitical trends, or stick with local forecasts on getting a Culver's in Heath, that kind of thing.

Or you could wax profound about Intel, which no one really knows about for sure.

But this is "Faith Works," a column which is supposed to engage the eyes and minds of those interested in religion, whether of an organized sort or not. And too many of us rise up to say about our own religious heritage "organized religion it ain't!"

Ryan Burge, the noted scholar and analyst about religious trends, has a new book coming out in January titled "The Vanishing Church." I don't have a review copy, but I subscribe to his Substack, and can tell not only that I'm sure to read it, but it's basically about a subject near to my heart as a fellow pastor: Ryan expresses some concern about the erosion if not outright disappearance in many places of small to medium sized churches with moderate views on faith, life, and politics.

If you've been reading me a while, you know I come back to this subject often. My own experience is that of a moderate, and I've pastored small and medium sized churches. Mega I ain't. (Okay, I'm tall, but like Dick Van Dyke, I'm not as tall as I once was.)

I may focus too much on that space, but I think it's still the heart of American religious experience, and Ryan Burge looks to be saying much the same. As I keep trying to point out, the logic of "big contemporary churches are growing and smaller traditional ones are dying" being a causal relationship has some holes in it. We are adding big box type non-denominational worship centers, but the net percentage almost anywhere, including our corner in the center of Ohio, attending worship any given weekend is down, drastically.

In this new year, I will be talking about this subject, and not just to review Ryan's new book. Traditional worship is definitely declining in absolute numbers, even if there are individual bright spots; contemporary services are growing, but they are not only catching fewer in sum than faith communities are losing, they are tending to shuffle the sheep. I grant that approach gets more unchurched people in the doors than hymnals and choirs, but they aren't getting many of them. The Nones are continuing to grow.

My atheist friends say "this is a healthy sign, Jeff, of rationality and free choices." I will continue to look closely at that answer, I pray with a fair and open mind, but looking around me, I wouldn't say our culture is getting healthier. So it's complicated, you know?

But I pray I have something to say in 2026 that's worth your time to read, and consider. Happy new year, one and all!


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's never been good at forecasting. Tell him what you expect in 2026 at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.

Faith Works 12-19-2025

Faith Works 12-19-2025
Jeff Gill

Hearing the hope of heaven in certain sounds
___


Christmas joys are a taste of our hope of heaven.

That's an experience many of us see and even smell in these holiday weeks, with lights on the snow, mace and cardamom in certain recipes, scents in the air unique to the season.

There are also sounds which carry us far above and beyond our immediate circumstances. Handbells in church, steeple bells heard from a distance; choirs singing in majestic harmonies, even the sudden shock of silence ringing after a hard cutoff from a closing note, before the applause begins.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow nearly lost his son in the fierce battles that followed the better known Gettysburg campaign, as Meade's Army of the Potomac pursued the Confederate troops south over the Potomac, and to their stand along the Rapidan River. Lieutenant Charles Longfellow was shot trying to cross Mine Run with his troops in November, but December brought word to Boston that he would survive his wounds. The poet sat down and wrote these words:

"I heard the bells on Christmas day, their old familiar carols play; and wild and sweet the words repeat, of peace of earth, good will to men."

He continued to speak of war, of sorrow, of fear and doubt. Then he admitted in verse "And in despair I bowed my head; 'There is no peace on earth, I said; 'For hate is strong, and mocks the song, of peace on earth, good-will to men!'"

But a sound he knew well from the streets of 1863 Boston turned the page, as it were. The poet went on: "Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: 'God is not dead, nor doth He sleep; the Wrong shall fail, the Right prevail, with peace on earth, good-will to men.'"

I've invited readers to consider a different, but more ancient pattern for Advent devotions, to reflect each week in turn on what the historic church called "the four last things: death, judgment, hell, and heaven." Heaven is our goal, our destination, in that outline, as it is for us.

Modern times have asked, sometimes harshly, if Heaven is just a cop-out, an excuse, to not worry or work on injustice or troubles in our own time. The usual phrase is "pie in the sky in the sweet by-and-by." If Heaven is justice deferred, it would be much less than it is; the hope of Heaven can be used in that way, but that's far from all it is.

In First Peter's opening, the apostle greets readers with "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you."

A living hope, an inheritance, a promise for a final reckoning which can help us in current struggles: that's what is "kept in heaven for you" according to the scriptures. Some we know have experienced it in full already, we call them saints. The reality of a place, a circumstance, an experience we call Heaven is something we catch glimpses of like a peaceful valley through fog far below, as we descend a dangerous mountain path. The lights are on, we are expected, but we aren't there yet.

The destination leads us on, though. We look forward to being at home there, even if only seeing it from a distance. Or tasting it, scenting the place, its smoke in the air from far off.

Or hearing the bells ring on ahead, a joyful celebration we look forward to joining.

May you hear those bells this Christmas, and may they give you hope.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he has heard those bells from far off. Tell him how you catch a sense of what is yet to come at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack77 on Threads or Bluesky.