Faith Works 7-17-2026

Faith Works 7-17-2026
Jeff Gill


How would you like to be remembered?
___


One of the more unsavory aspects of our current and ongoing social media world is how it responds to the death of significant public figures.

The old Latin tag “De mortuis nil nisi bonum” literally translates “of the dead, nothing but good” and has been elided today into “do not speak ill of the dead.” Anyhow, as I said, that’s old. And Latin. It ain’t the internet. Trust me on that, if you are a print reader here only. Speaking ill of the dead is what it does “best.”

Now, if you are very online, you might be wise enough to check some of the accounts retorting the most harshly to anyone having the nerve to speak well of someone recently deceased. In brief, there are a LOT of bots out there. Accounts that don’t seem to have actual human beings behind them, with thirty followers and following three, but a string of posts and images, mostly of the most paranoid or hostile or both sorts of responses. Robot accounts, or bots.

There are famous figures who when they die are just going to get criticism. Nixon comes to mind, and Kissinger. Sure, it’s part of being in the arena, and both had public decisions worth critically reviewing.

But Nixon died in 1994, when the internet wasn’t even a thing to more than a very few of us. Kissinger carried on into a new century, and passed away in 2023 at the age of 100. And his death brought the bots out in force, not to mention the many a bit younger than him who were old enough to remember some of his foreign policy initiatives. Now, there was a bunch of what was said about him that had me thinking people confused Kissinger and Robert McNamara, who died in 2009 so before the more general social media environment had really gotten going. In any case, if someone said anything even slightly positive about Henry, they got a torrent of angry responses.

Today, it’s pretty ugly. Uglier. Public figures dying just get slagged online, and I think the social media surge influences some of the older school media accounts. Obituaries are more critical in print, on air, and commentary panels more pointed. You may say that’s an improvement, a step towards increasing truthfulness. It’s hard to tell, and I’m open to it.

What I do find instructive in the most recent tidal surges around a sudden death is how they show us what “being your own editor” looks like. Sen. Lindsey Graham is not someone I’ve met, nor is he a politician I’ve been a big fan of, but he’s certainly been a major figure in American political life for some thirty years. His turn against and back towards President Trump galvanized a great many viewers of his career, towards two opposite poles in most cases.

Yet if you know how to sift and sort your feeds, there’s a very interesting person coming across in the many personal stories and accounts following his death. Many state a sort of opposition to start, but then tell a human, compelling, usually amusing story. Somewhere in the middle of the humor and the hubris is a person. I feel like I know Lindsey Graham a bit better now than I did before he died, and I also realize how little I can know even about a very public figure.

In the last few months, I’ve done a few funerals; part of that process is talking to people about the deceased, in preparation for at least some of what you say about them. Occasionally you hear them from the dying person themselves, who knows you will be speaking of them after their passing. There are common threads that arise, and fragments of other aspects you learn not always known to all. Out of it, you assemble a eulogy.

Which can make any of us ask: how will you be remembered? What stories do you want told about you, while you still have life enough left to shape them? You are writing those stories right now by how you live, and leaving your mark on others.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he’s done a few hundred funerals and eulogies. Tell him what stories you’ve been glad to hear at gravesides at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Notes from my Knapsack 7-16-2026

Notes from my Knapsack 7-16-2026
Jeff Gill

We have not yet begun to… something!
___


We are done with America 250, right?

Wrong!

Huzzah, y’all. America 250 has the key date of July 4, 1776 to give us a semi-quincentennial this year, but is that the true birthdate of American exceptionalism? Of our united states working in union, equal justice under law?

You could make a case for Oct. 19, 1781 when we Americans won the battle of Yorktown; purists might look ahead to Sept. 3, 1783 and the signing of Treaty of Paris, which formally acknowledged that these United States are, and of right ought to be, free and independent states.

It took us a while, with the Articles of Confederation and the Confederation Congress, but they didn’t work. We needed to write a proper Constitution of the United States of America, and we did.

U.S. Constitution was signed by delegates on September 17, 1787, and officially went into effect on June 21, 1788; The government began operating under this new framework on March 4, 1789.

So you could argue we have thirteen more years of America 250-ing to go, am I right, Todd Kleismit?

Seriously, the work of recovering our history and passing it along to coming generations is an ongoing work. I’ve found it interesting going into this summer to go back to previous celebrations of American independence, like the centennial year of 1876 which our county courthouse was a part of, shown so dramatically on all four faces. 1926 was our sesquicentennial year, and President Calvin Coolidge gave a speech in Philadelphia on July 5 which you can look up online quite easily. It’s much longer than Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address, but both are eloquent descriptions of what the Declaration of Independence continues to mean.

Coolidge said “It was not because it was proposed to establish a new nation, but because it was proposed to establish a nation on new principles, that July 4, 1776, has come to be regarded as one of the greatest days in history. Great ideas do not burst upon the world unannounced. They are reached by a gradual development over a length of time usually proportionate to their importance. This is especially true of the principles laid down in the Declaration of Independence. Three very definite propositions were set out in its preamble regarding the nature of mankind and therefore of government. These were the doctrine that all men are created equal, that they are endowed with certain inalienable rights, and that therefore the source of the just powers of government must be derived from the consent of the governed.”

As I said, it goes on a bit, but is worth your time to read in full. A presidential address that holds up a hundred years later.

And I’ve been reflecting as many my age have on the summer of 1976, the scenes and settings of the bicentennial. It was a summer on Scout camp staff for me, so no television, but the front page pictures of tall ships in New York harbor stand out in memory, brought up to camp the day after and read over for many days after.

America 250 is the latest version of how we look back, and use that perspective to plan a path forward. The work, and the party, continues…


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he’s ready to start planning the tricentennial! Tell him your bicentennial memories at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Faith Works 7-10-2026

Faith Works 7-10-2026
Jeff Gill

A pilgrim people, wandering in a familiar wilderness
___


In both Hebrews and First Peter you get imagery of the community of faith as a pilgrim people. Our home, our permanent place, is not here, but is being prepared for us, made perfect in Heaven.

None of which keeps us from getting pretty attached to here and now sometimes.

One of the lovely things in this life is how the entire Granville community comes together for the Fourth of July, with Granville Kiwanis in a leadership role for the four day Street Fair and parade on Independence Day itself. I had watched that parade for years, and have been directly involved in it since 2005.

With the calendar falling as it did this year, the Street Fair ended on the Fourth itself. One thing Granville Kiwanis prides itself on is closing down and cleaning up so the next morning, often being Sunday, you can hardly tell it was there. Even much of the pavement gets washed and scrubbed and rinsed, let alone the trash picked up.

After the parade in the morning, and with preaching duties early the next morning, I didn’t help this year with tear down. But I was thinking of them and their work as I drove past downtown on my way north as the sun was rising in the east.

Coming the other way, south from New Burg St., was a flotilla of trucks and trailers from the amusement company; the rides folded up and food vendors road ready. Travel trailers many of the carnival workers live in much of year, pick-up trucks, and the last few ride trailers passed me into the rear view mirror.

We were done, here in our village; they were moving on to the next town. They plan out their season, take the bookings that work out; they love coming to Licking County, and Granville Kiwanis works it out with the school district for them to park before set-up, and the night after tear-down. Six nights with us may be one of their longest stays in any one place all summer, and summer for them starts in May and continues into October.

The carnival is, by definition, a pilgrim people. They do not stay, they move on to where they’re next called to set up their booths and rides and attractions. Repetition makes master; they are quick, quicker even than our veteran Kiwanians at putting up tentage and assembling venues. Even faster tearing down.

We’re told they like it here, that we’re one of their very favorite stops. Maybe they say that to everyone, but I don’t think so. This is a good week in their books, about midway through the season, and they can tell by now how it’s likely to end. They like it here, but they cannot stay.

A pilgrim people we are. I’ve been blessed, in an odd way; my seminary church burned down not halfway through my training, and it’s an amazing experience for a young minister to work through with a congregation. Then my home church, where I intended to be ordained at, was condemned for structural damage and the service was under a giant tent obtained from the local National Guard, next to the church building which would be demolished a few weeks later. Reaffirmation twice over to me: we are a pilgrim people.

This world is not our home. This life is a period of engagement, like carnies in a town, where we come in to it with certain expectations, and leave at a certain time, even if not always known by us in advance.

The quiet dawn parade of the amusement crews headed south, as I drove north, to preach to another pilgrim people. The time frames a bit different, but the basic concept the same. We do our work where we are, and move on when it’s time, looking forward to what’s being prepared for us at the final stop.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he’s been known to clown around, but mostly to shovel at the end of the parade. Tell him how you travel through this world at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Faith Works 7-3-2026

Faith Works 7-3-2026
Jeff Gill

A patriot lost, and found
___


Tomorrow is the day we’ve all been anticipating. July the Fourth, in this semi-quincentennial year, looking back from our America 250 celebrations to the 1776 origin of these United States.

Today, there is an event in Granville, two blocks away from the festive street fair, at the historic Old Colony Burying Ground. It’s called "Meet the Patriots."  The Sons of the American Revolution (SAR) have worked, with Tom Hankinson recruiting eleven members of local SAR chapters to re-enact some of the 23 Revolutionary veterans buried in that place. Five of them will "come to life,” along with their wives who are themselves members of three Daughters of the American Revolution chapters.

If you’re reading this Saturday morning, you have time: the event takes place from 2:00 to 4:30 p.m., with other activities and patriotic trinkets for children. They even have a rain date to Sunday, July 5 if necessary.

As they were planning, a question came up that got passed along to me. It was an inquiry about a Revolutionary War soldier, then a pioneer to Granville shortly after 1805, who died in 1844 and is one of the 23 being honored. His name was Stephen Mead.  As it was said to me: “The pickins are really scant for Stephen Mead!”

The Granville Historical Society could confirm that his wife was Dorothy Sacket, they married in Rutland, Vermont in 1780, and they had eight children, seemingly all there (which would fit the years and age of both). Beyond that, nothing.  His headstone in the Old Colony Burying Ground is of later government issue, with the military's scant details; he would have had a previous marker, but Charles Webster Bryant’s records didn't have any text for him, indicating that his stone must already have been missing by 1885.

Mead is, in a small scale, a big mystery. Bushnell’s history of Granville, rich with detail from the perspective of 1889, notes his widow’s death, but not Stephen’s. In the book, 1849 notes a number of Meads are among the score or more who head to California in search of gold that year, and at the end of the entry Bushnell lists the death of "Mrs. Dorothy S. Mead, June 23d, aged eighty-eight.”

The entry for 1844 doesn’t mention him at all. The necrology for that year states "There were twenty-five deaths this year; among them…” then goes on to describe five individuals, a minister and the “President of Granville College” as it was then. The absence of a Stephen Mead isn't problematic given the twenty unnamed, but it hints that his public profile was minimal. But his wife five years later is mentioned on her passing!

As I said to Lyn Boone, “History is such a keyhole into the vast courtyards of the past…” There is a Henry Mead who marries into the Munson family, so central to our founding narratives of 1805, and Augustine Munson married Polly Mead, but to connect them to Stephen is, so far, impossible.

What is intriguing to me is how much of a cipher he is, other than his Revolutionary War service. He comes to Granville early on, and there are other Mead family members who give us hints of connection, but no detail beyond the one key fact: he served as a soldier in the Revolutionary War. Without that service, we might not remember him at all, and he could have been another of the empty plots where we know there is a burial, but nothing more.

That general lack of information actually says something, though. It makes me think he was a farmer; the village tradesmen get most of the mentions in the historical record, since they leave more of a mark as clock makers and grocers and blacksmiths.

We may yet learn more about Stephen Mead. That doesn’t need to stop us from remembering him, and being thankful for the service he gave, that helped get us to where we are today, at America 250.

We salute you, Stephen: rest in peace.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he loves a good historical mystery. Tell him what you’ve learned this July at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Faith Works 6-26-2026

Faith Works 6-26-2026
Jeff Gill

It’s new to you, this country is
___


If I tried to get you to buy a washing machine that was fifty years old, or a car that was a hundred, you’d assume we’re talking about antiques, and you’d be curious about the value.

When I explain my offer was for a working Whirlpool, or a running Duesenberg for everyday use, you would be puzzled. Worse yet, a dress or suit that’s two hundred years old? That should be in a museum, maybe, but not to wear.

Let me offer you the United States of America. It will turn two hundred and fifty years old at the end of next week, and I’d say it’s in running condition. Engine knock? Needs some body work, a little polishing here and there, missing a taillight? Perhaps. But it’s a going proposition.

You would not be the first owner. In truth, Thomas Jefferson or Richard Henry Lee or George Washington could claim that honor; John Hancock,  Samuel Huntington, or Thomas McKean would have had their name on the title (we have a township named for McKean in this county, you know).

As a vehicle of governance, the United States of America is well used, but as the sales folk like to say, “It’s new to you!” The service record is known, and previous mechanics and operators have not always kept up the maintenance as we wish, and in fact it’s coming with some liens on the title, money still owed by previous owners. Encumbered is a word you can use here, I suppose. Getting behind the wheel of the U.S.A. at 250 carries a certain measure of risk, but what’s the alternative? Walk? Ride a bike? There’s no other transportation heading where we’re going.

In my personal faith, I follow a person and example and practices with roots going back 2,000 years; my particular religious tradition looks to 1801 as a key turning point, a kind of birth (there’s 1804 and 1809 which you could call the origin story, I teach a class on this in fact), and we have a 225th birthday celebration down in Kentucky in August. In religion, age is a kind of endorsement, and few think it odd I attend a church that’s got that kind of mileage, or that I preach for a congregation over a century from its origin.

America 250 has evoked some interesting pushback, though. History is a contested thing, and as a historian, I’d first say thus it always has been. Is the battle over who controls our national historical narrative particularly contentious right now? I’m not sure. What I am certain of is that we have good reason to read and reflect and ruminate on our two centuries and a half right now, and I’m happy to be part of all that in this semi-quincentennial year.

We have a particular reason to celebrate this Fourth of July. As I only dimly realized during the Bicentennial summer of 1976, our national experiment in democracy and popular sovereignty is unique among the nations. Other countries have picked up the challenge first laid down by Jefferson and the Second Continental Congress, but nations like Italy or Germany or even France? They are much younger than we are. You could look it up. By 1848 they were still sorting things out; in 1914 and 1939 it was still being tested.

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed…”

56 words we’re behind the wheel of, moving forward in them for 250 years. They are a vessel, a vehicle, for human self-understanding, in which we also reflect on how our Creator is working within us as we roll along.

I’ll take it!


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he’s enjoying this year immensely. Tell him what you’ve gotten out of America 250 at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Faith Works 6-19-2026

Faith Works 6-19-2026
Jeff Gill

Stony the road they trod
___


June 19th has been marked on a national basis for five years now, but Juneteenth has been a significant occasion for the African American community since the first one in 1865.

It’s “Juneteenth” in part because the origins of the celebration come out of Texas, and people enslaved were freed from Galveston on the coast to the inner parts of agricultural Texas all through the latter part of the month, and on into July and even August by the time you get to El Paso. Black citizens of Texas have marked Juneteenth every year since, and as some migrated north, they brought the observance with them.

With the end of the Civil War in April of 1865, there was much concern about what to do for and with freed slaves in the former Confederacy. Lincoln set in motion before his death what had the original title “The Bureau of Refugees, Freedmen, and Abandoned Lands,” which for obvious reasons became known simply as the Freedmen's Bureau.

It was governed out of the Department of War, with General Oliver Otis Howard the commissioner, and various generals given responsibility for states. Texas, the home of Juneteenth (also known as “Jubilee Day”), had less damage from the previous four years than many Southern states, so the work of what would be called Reconstruction was simpler on one level, but made more complex by the arrival of many people, formerly enslaved, who came to Texas precisely because opportunities to work were more available with less destruction holding recovery back.

Our local connection to all of this is that Perry County’s own Gen. Philip Sheridan was put in charge of the Texas Freedmen’s Bureau, and soon after his right-hand associate was Granville’s Gen. Charles Griffin. Sheridan and Griffin went to work with a will, feeding the hungry at first, building up schools and civic institutions to include African Americans, and leading the push to register them to vote, as well.

The later history of Reconstruction and the Freedmen’s Bureaus is complex and not always a happy story, but Sheridan and Griffin were clearly on the side of inclusion, desegregation, and justice for all; later Griffin was promoted to overall responsibilities as Sheridan moved on, but would soon die young, at the age of 41, from complications of yellow fever during an epidemic outbreak in Texas.

“Lift Every Voice and Sing” is often a part of Juneteenth commemorations. It looks back to the pain inflicted by slavery, “stony the road we trod” to get to the day of jubilee; it also looks ahead “Out from the gloomy past, till now we stand at last…” For many in the Black community, Juneteenth is the necessary prelude to the Fourth of July, in any year, but surely also in our semi-quincentennial anniversary of American independence.

Juneteenth is not a church occasion, but if you read historian Annette Gordon-Reed’s “On Juneteenth” you will catch a sense of how the observance has roots in the institutions which endured through and after slavery, Reconstruction, Jim Crow, the Civil Rights movement and into the present day. The symbolism of drinking red pop and eating red beans and other red foods, the songs and stories lifted high on June 19th, all are part of a story of redemption we need to hear and celebrate as a nation.

In our part of Ohio, we have Sheridan and Griffin’s example to connect us to those memories; in those early days after war’s end, it was ironically only the U.S. Army, and the Christian churches, who had the structure and stature to start the rebuilding process, from feeding the desperate, housing those new to Texas or without their former homes, and bringing the community together.

Juneteenth is our story, as a nation, and as people of faith who believe in redemption and transformation. May every voice be lifted in celebration!


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he would argue the study of history requires a fair measure of faith. Tell him how you find your hope for the future at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Notes from my Knapsack 7-2-2026

Notes from my Knapsack 7-2-2026
Jeff Gill

From Bicentennial to Semiquincentennial
___


When in the course of human events a nation advances from a bicentennial celebration in 1976 to a semiquincentennial in 2026, it becomes necessary for some columnists to admit fifty years have gone by, a period of time I recall quite distinctly.

Seriously, it’s been the bulk of my adult existence, and as I look back to what I thought about the United States of America as a junior in high school, and compare it to what I think now in this America 250 year, it feels worth asking: what has changed?

There are some historical passages which look very different to me now. One is early in our Midwestern history, as the end of the Revolution turns into the era of European settlement in the old Northwest Territory. Over the last three decades, my awareness of the displacement of indigenous people has gotten sharper and clearer, where before it was a misty presence of scattered “Indians” in the forest, brushed aside as the pioneers came to bring agriculture and civilization where it never had been.

Today, I’m much more conscious of how “Indian Removal” was an act of violence, and almost always a betrayal of previously negotiated treaties, right down to the Wyandot forced departure of 1843. And along with that acknowledgement, there’s some insight that’s come as I look at a landscape once dominated by the figure of Tecumseh. That Shawnee leader was and is a giant in the history of this area, but his younger brother Tenskwatawa, known as “The Prophet” is someone I’ve come to know a bit better. His teachings, his understandings of what was happening to his people, and to Native Americans more generally in the Ohio and Wabash River valleys, have something to say to us today, and are worth recovering.

In 1976, I knew Thomas Jefferson was the primary author of the Declaration we celebrate each Fourth of July, and I honored him as a “Founding Father.” His relationship with Sally Hemings was something I had not heard of, and I will admit many years later when I did it was something I was initially skeptical about. That is no longer the case; in fact, I think our understanding of Jefferson is all the more complete and constructive for the fact that there is at Monticello an interpretive exhibit that presents the story of Sally Hemings in some detail, bringing forward the reality of slavery on that Virginia plantation, and forcing visitors to confront the inconsistencies of what Jefferson wrote, and what he did.

In many aspects of U.S. history, I am better informed than I was in the 1970s, and not just because I have more information stuffed into my brain. There are perspectives I now have that make the achievement of national independence more precious to me, for the fragility that I know surrounds it. Liberty is made possible by people, doing the right thing, sometimes after they’ve first done the wrong thing.

And “a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that” we engage in such reflection and consideration of our past, so we can continue to expand the scope of liberty into the future. Rights and responsibilities in “one nation under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all” still call on each of us to choose the good, and to do it.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he’s taught early American history in many settings, academic and otherwise. Tell him how your understanding of our history has changed at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Faith Works 6-12-2026

Faith Works 6-12-2026
Jeff Gill

Our relationships with our new machine overlords
___


My beard-trimmer is some twenty years old, and while I’ve cared for it well, I think, it’s starting to show its age.

Let’s just say I went to a big box store to check out my options (it doesn’t matter which one). I found where such items are stocked, and ran into one of the less cheery signs of our modern era, a large case with locked clear fronts across it.

Inside were more options than I had anticipated, at least forty or more. They were cheap and costly, colorful and monochrome, some multi-purpose and others very precisely meant for specific functions. And the boxes were, as I mentioned, behind some kind of plexiglass and not all square with the front, so I crouched and peered and squinted, my eyes being twenty years older than when I first bought one of these, too.

Finally, a crew member came over to unlock the case… and stood next to me. Right next to me. Thisclose. I reached out, picked up a box, and the staffer got closer. I set it down, they backed away. A little.

You know how this ends. I stopped looking, thanked the crew member, and left, thinking “I’m going to look online.” Maybe that’s what they want. It’s less ideal, to me, than holding the box and looking directly at the item, but in context, I’d rather go home and open the laptop.

What does this have to do with artificial intelligence, which is where I left you all last week? Pope Leo XIV has some concerns about how AI influences how we relate not to machines, but to people. I think he has some good points in “Magnifica Humanitas.” Our relationships with devices can slop over into how we deal with actual human beings in front of us, and I was thinking about that as I felt uneasy about the person wedged up next to me as I bought, or didn’t buy, an item in a brick-and-mortar store. People make demands on us and have expectations which bots and droids do not. It is easier to review our consumer choices in a human-free zone, but what does that say about the human connections we defer or decline by retreating into them?

My equally uneasy response to these thoughts is as a historian. Reading about Newark, Ohio between about 1904 and 1914 is fascinating, among other reasons, for how the downtown area went in one decade from all horses to no horses. The shift was dramatic, decisive, and absolute. Once World War I is the dominant story, interurban electric streetcars and horseless carriages control transportation. Livery stables and old-fashioned teamsters, which is to say those men who knew how to control teams of horses to pull heavy loads, had to adjust and adapt; private barns behind family homes quickly became garages. In 1922, the use of teams of draft horses to pull loads up the hill to where Swasey Chapel was being constructed was already a bit of an anachronism, never to be seen again on a commercial scale.

And I can imagine people saying in 1911 or 1912: these “auto-mobiles” are a bad idea. People, especially the young, benefit from the relationship with horses they have, the responsibility they bear for caring and combing and feeding these living creatures each night and every morning. A motor vehicle is not the same at all! You can defer care and put off “feeding” it, and you lose the habits and patterns of a living engine for transportation.

They’d be right, wouldn’t they? Something is lost in that transition. Yet looking back, what could have stopped it? We left horses and buggies behind, and moved into the automotive age.

Does that mean we simply welcome our new AI overlords? There are important differences in the two case studies, but some similarities, ones that make me, well, uneasy.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he’s going to stay on this topic for one more week, as you can tell. Tell him what the answer is at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Notes from my Knapsack 6-25-2026

Notes from my Knapsack 6-25-2026
Jeff Gill

Two centuries and a half this June, in Philadelphia
___


Before the Declaration of Independence could be written and amended and approved, there had to be a motion.

Richard Henry Lee of Virginia would make it, friend of Patrick Henry and Sam Adams, on June 7, 1776. Before the Continental Congress he moved "that these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free and independent States, that they are absolved from all allegiance to the British Crown, and that all political connection between them and the State of Great Britain is, and ought to be, totally dissolved.”

Yes, this man’s cousin “Light-horse Harry” Lee would be the father of Robert E. Lee. Irony is a primary element in our history; get used to it.

On June 11, the Continental Congress appointed a "Committee of Five"  consisting of John Adams, Roger Sherman, Benjamin Franklin, Robert Livingston, and Thomas Jefferson, neatly balanced between north and south with Virginia the pivot point in between. Technically, these five men drafted the Declaration of Independence, but as we know Jefferson drafted it, while Adams and Franklin made some changes to it. Our nascent Congress did not reconvene until July 1, 1776.

They approved Lee’s resolution as presented on July 2 (12 votes aye, New York abstaining, long story), which is the source of John Adams’s famous letter of that date to Abigail, his wife, saying “I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated, by succeeding Generations, as the great anniversary Festival. It ought to be commemorated, as the Day of Deliverance by solemn Acts of Devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more.”

Yet Congress, as is their wont, fiddled and diddled and modified odd phrases and moved around punctuation for three days. It was not until the Fourth of July that they officially adopted the Declaration of Independence we know now, and sent it to the printer’s office. The National Archives tell us the final form was “engrossed on parchment” only on July 19, 1776, and signed actually in the first days of August. Ask Nicolas Cage when the map was drawn on the back in lemon juice…

The true point, the serious observation, is this: they spent weeks getting it right. It was not one man, flawed or inspired as you might hope or believe; this was not a quick impulse out of mass emotion at work quickly rushed into print. Years of struggle were distilled into weeks of deliberation and crafting, in words and phrases with centuries of precedent behind them, in part going back to the Magna Carta itself in 1215. References to nature, and nature’s god, to a creator, and to how rights are self-evident, all had the weight of history behind them. It was not just the eruption of passions, but the end result of well-developed considerations, that ended up on that page now enshrined at the National Archives.

We, the people, had representation and deliberation working on our behalf in Philadelphia that long ago summer. We may still be thinking about how those ideas actually work in practice, but what we celebrate this year is the enduring legacy of the intention and action behind those words in 1776, continuing today “with liberty and justice for all.”


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he’s moved by what they did at Independence Hall in Philadelphia, in 1776 and in 1787. Tell him your America 250 thought at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow @Knapsack on X.

Notes from my Knapsack 6-11-2026

Notes from my Knapsack 6-11-2026
Jeff Gill

America Goes Outdoors
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As part of our ongoing programming around America 250-Ohio, and for Granville in particular, I’m going to be greeting people on Wednesday and Saturday, June 17 & 20, at 9:00 am in Opera House Park.

The theme for the month of June all over the state is “America Goes Outdoors,” and I will talk briefly about our local history around parks and outdoor recreation, then lead an expedition to climb to the summit of Sugar Loaf just to our west.

A park in Granville since 1896, with a monument part of the village centennial celebrations in 1905 on the very top, Sugar Loaf is part of a movement to parks and open space preservation which rippled across Ohio  after 1891, and the state’s purchase of Fort Ancient near Lebanon.

Before that we had village commons, meant as much for sheep and geese as for picnics or relaxation, and the rural cemetery movement was a move to having open areas for strolling and reflection on the edge of industrial cities, starting in New England before the Civil War, coming to Granville & Newark shortly afterwards with Maple Grove & Cedar Hill respectively. But a park as a “park” was a new idea in the 1890s. The whole concept of “national parks” didn’t get a structure to it until 1916; in that same year Indiana launched a state park system, which Ohio didn’t do until 1949.

In fact, on August 20th at 7:00 pm I will be offering a talk about the “preservation history” of the Newark Earthworks at the Octagon’s visitor center off 33rd St. in Newark, where I’ll share a bit more about how we in Licking County, and in part Granville, has been ahead of the curve on parks and outdoor recreation. But that night won’t include climbing a hill…

If you want to just come for the brief program at 9:00 am on June 17 & 20 to Opera House Park, you are more than welcome to do only that. I do hope we have a goodly crew to ascend to the summit of Sugar Loaf, though, and offer three cheers to parks and preservation and the out-of-doors, as local residents have enjoyed for many years. Before the 1890s, outdoors was where you went to work, to chop wood, hunt for game, even to make your way to an outhouse.

Since the 1890s, with electricity and automobiles and, yes, flush toilets, our relationship with being outside has changed. Outdoor recreation is a huge part of our state economy, and an aspect of our lives we know we need more of. Exercise, fresh air, and contact with nature isn’t something we get while pumping water at the well or from churning butter in the farmyard: we have to do so intentionally.

But we all need a little more time outdoors; I think we all acknowledge that. This June for America 250-Ohio we’re making a small down-payment on what we owe ourselves, as well as paying a debt of gratitude to our ancestors to saw fit to set aside some places like Sugar Loaf for later generations to enjoy.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he’s hiked the Sangre de Cristos in New Mexico and across the canyons of Zion in Utah, but Sugar Loaf is special. Tell him where you like to hike at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Faith Works 6-5-2026
Jeff Gill

Artificial humanity in actual life and everyday faith
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Pope Leo XIV issued the first encyclical letter of his papacy, entitled “Magnifica Humanitas.” It’s easy to find online; the text is some 40,000 words, and in 12 point type at double space about 150 pages. You could call it a short book, but one with some heavy thinking from the first line:

“Humanity, created by God in all its grandeur, is today facing a pivotal choice: either to construct a new Tower of Babel or to build the city in which God and humanity dwell together.”

If you’re wondering what an encyclical letter is and how it fits into the teaching role of the Catholic Church, the pope covers that ground for you, too. He’s talking about the social doctrine of the faith as he is interpreting it for our present age, and within that condition you see something of what an encyclical is. Such a document is not meant to express enduring truth as much as to apply what the church teaches to the times we find ourselves in.

Right now, that’s AI, artificial intelligence. Computer driven intelligence of a sort which can perform administrative tasks and do analysis in a flash, which threatens to collapse and consolidate entry level work of all sorts, especially in the knowledge space. Pope Leo reminds his readers that esteemed predecessors, like another Leo his choice of papal name was clearly meant to evoke, wrote entire encyclicals about social issues, like “Rerum Novarum” in 1891.

In a sense, “Magnifica Humanitas” is a series of footnotes to “Rerum Novarum,” which is itself the basis for most Catholic social teaching to the present day. Pope Leo XIII in the Nineteenth Century wanted to address the relationship of labor and capital investment, and the duties and responsibilities between governments and their people.

That previous Leo took no little criticism from secular leaders asking who the pope thought he was to comment and command in the world of business and employment, and the current Leo has had much the same response. But this non-Catholic thinks both of them are just doing their job, whether elected officials or the chief executive officers of the world agree or no.

It is interesting: if the Archbishop of Canterbury, or the Ecumenical Patriarch of Orthodoxy, or any other Christian communion’s leader were to issue an authoritative teaching document on matters of technology and justice, I doubt it would roil the waters much. The Bishop of Rome, as the Vicar of Christ, still has enough weight in the wider world to make crowned heads and Resolute desks uneasy, and I think that’s a good thing.

Pope Leo XIV is asking not just his adherents, but people of faith and those of good will in general, to think about how our use of technology influences how we see other human individuals in all their humanity, a quality we share together, which we do not with chatbots or online assistants. Could our patterns of interaction with AI tools start to erode our sense of humanity when dealing with people?

His focus on the core aspects of humanity is appealing to me, no less than when he pushes my nerd button by quoting towards the end, about responsibility on our part, from J.R.R. Tolkien. It’s a passage where Gandalf is speaking about the hopes of humanity in a time of doubt and great challenge:

“It is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succour of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields that we know, so that those who live after may have clean earth to till.”

I might wish the pope had added just one more line to that quote, which went on: “What weather they shall have is not ours to rule.”

Pope Leo is asking us at least to think about the weather forecast before we make too many plans. I have a few more thoughts about this encyclical before I’m ready to move on with July’s celebrations.



Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he’s happy to read an encyclical from time to time. Tell him how you feel about AI at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Faith Works 5-29-2026

Faith Works 5-29-2026
Jeff Gill

Pluralism versus hegemony in a semi-quincentennial year
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You may well be tired of America 250 observances, but I most assuredly am not.

This is in part because your humble scribe is a history geek, first class. It’s just how I roll. If you find this 250th year of American independence to have far too much history content in it, consider it like soluble fiber in your diet. You almost certainly can use more, even if you think you don’t like it. Me, I consume history for breakfast, lunch, and dinner with a second breakfast just for good measure (ask Merry and Pippin to explain).

Church history is catnip for me, but the pastor in me is quick to say: you don’t have to have a passion for history to have a deep and meaningful faith. Your religious beliefs are not dependent on knowing the whole history of how the wider community of faith has developed some of the words and practices we associate with the practice of a personal faith.

I think it might help develop deeper roots to that growing faith, but again, it’s not necessary. Luther and Zwingli and Calvin and Aquinas all have something to tell us, in agreement or opposition, about how faith writ large works itself out across time, but your faith in divine providence and future hopes doesn’t require you be able to write a short biography of all four.

Where this gets sticky is in good citizenship, especially in a pluralist democracy like these United States.

If you believe your faith in where we came from, and where we are going, is correct and worth basing your own life choices on today, you might well believe that we’d all be better off if everyone were instructed to believe in much the same way. If there are lots of people whose faith works very differently in our civil discourse, that might make our coming together to make decisions for the common good more difficult. Why not have a state church, an official faith, a standard of belief which all elected officials and responsible authorities must agree to? It’s not too odd at all to think so.

John Locke, though, saw in the 1600s that the idea of a state church and civil religion that had total authority over public life, a sort of hegemony around church and state, did not actually work out in practice the way you might hope. The persistence of what that era called “non-conformists,” or people not part of the established church, in asking admittance to the norms and forms of public life (going to college, holding civic offices, even being a commissioned officer in the military), gave rise to a great deal of turmoil and kept tensions high between, in Locke’s day, Protestant Anglicans and Catholics in particular, and in opposition to other Protestants in general.

So Locke looked to a core set of values in good government that did not presume a hegemony for any one religious tradition, but to something like the basic human rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness as what binds a community together… and within that agreement, the freedom to assemble and worship as we choose. That’s pluralism as Locke envisioned it, living under the authority of a state church which was showing some strain even in the late 1600s.

A century later, Jefferson and Madison and Hamilton among others could try to work out pluralism in actual practice. It opens up the possibility of tensions, no doubt, but Locke’s experience can remind us today that the cure of uniformity might be worse than the supposed disease of plural points of view.

Me, I’d love for everyone to agree with me. But it wouldn’t actually work unless you had the chance to make that decision for yourself. Evangelism is up to church communities themselves to make the case for their beliefs, not the government.

And history does show us that’s the better way.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he’s got a bit more to say yet about America 250 as it relates to faith and church life. Tell him how you’re marking the occasion at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Notes from my Knapsack 5-28-2026

Notes from my Knapsack 5-28-2026
Jeff Gill

Taking a tour around Granville’s architecture
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There’s a tour I’d love to offer around Granville, just as I do walking and driving tours of the Newark Earthworks and the surrounding landscape. It goes something like this:

It would start with what’s called the “Nash cabin,” named for a family which actually was the second occupant of the cabin John Jones built for his wife and three children of blue ash logs in 1801. Abandoned after Lillie Jones died there in 1802 having their fourth child, it was again empty when the Granville Land Company settlers arrived in November of 1805, just before the final push into the platted area where their settlement would become our village the next day. Some slept inside, more in their wagons circled up in a meadow now half Erinwood and half the Munson Springs parcel, all opposite the Cherry Valley Road intersection.

It’s where Newark-Granville Road sees Cherry Valley Road coming up from the south where the 1810 House would be my next stop, opposite today’s Fackler’s Garden Center, one of the early products of the Munson sawmill on Raccoon Creek, a solid timber frame structure around a mighty single chimney in the center with five fireplaces. A home and a tavern and later an antique store, a notable location in both county and village history.

That original plat was centered off a stake atop the high conical mound at the center of the intersection of Broadway and Main Street, from which the original village street grid was laid out. Around the central traffic circle were the four corners of the “commons” which now hold church buildings, still owned in common by the village, though. Which is why from that twelve to fourteen foot high mound, I’d point you southeast, to the Opera House.

Built in 1849, this Greek Revival structure was the original First Baptist Church on the southwest corner, echoing in its architecture the 1837 Episcopal Church of St. Luke’s to the east. In 1881, as they did much more casually in those muscular days, the whole building was jacked up and moved across the street, so today’s United Church of Granville could be built in 1883. As a multi-use public building, the Opera House served many civic and commercial purposes.

Before anyone points out it actually burned down in 1982, I’m going to take our tour back to the east, and up Granger Street, to the Frank Packard designed and award winning 1924 Granville High School. This noted central Ohio architect had already done work up on the Denison campus, and was designing the Granville Inn and Public Library as he completed this comprehensive school building. The village saw it completed for some $200,000 with a 500 seat auditorium, a chemistry laboratory, and room for everything from kindergarten through twelfth grade, and it became a model for Ohio school boards to visit as an ideal facility.

Time may not allow us to get up to the nearby Denison campus to see the 1878 Doane Library, a gothic brick four-bay cruciform structure of a vast single multi-level room, with cast iron spiral staircases in the corners, an evocative space at any time of day.

So. You’ve likely figured this out by now. All six structures described here are no more. The cabin, the mound, the former occupant of the park named after it, and so on: they’re gone. Fires, demolition, replacement, time. Each shaped our village in ways you can still trace today, but are entirely vanished from sight.

Perhaps leading us to appreciate what we still have…


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he’s actually leading a Granville tour of sorts in June, so stay tuned! Write him at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow @Knapsack on X.

Faith Works 5-22-2026

Faith Works 5-22-2026
Jeff Gill

Ground level for the Overview Effect
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Astronauts know about “the overview effect.” Sometimes called the “orbital perspective,” it’s what happens to a person after being “up there.”

William Shatner struggled to communicate in 2021 the overwhelming experience of seeing the planet, our Earth, even in partial perspective from far above, with the horizons curving away all around from his viewpoint on a suborbital flight. As a man in his nineties, with a storied career depicting humanity in space and among the stars, he felt a powerful emotional impact from literally seeing our world from above.

The recent Artemis 3 crew had their own version of “the overview effect” as they circled the Moon, and saw the Earth both vanish behind another heavenly body, and then appear again, blue and while and green against the stark blacks and crystalline stars of outer space.

To “see the Earth as one thing” is an experience astronaut Victor Glover wishes we could all have. His April opportunity was something while in orbit he shared back with us, saying “I think maybe the distance we are from you makes you think what we’re doing is special, but we’re the same distance from you. And I’m trying to tell you, just trust me, you are special.”

He was saying that to you, to me, to all of us. And he went on:

“In all of this emptiness — this is a whole bunch of nothing, this thing we call the universe — you have this oasis, this beautiful place that we get to exist (in) together.”

That’s the overview effect at work. And the common experience of John Glenn and William Shatner and Victor Glover is to want to communicate it to us in some form or another, so that we know as Glover concluded: "And that we got to get through this together.”

We have got to get through this together. I was thinking about that hope, that wish, that desire, as I watched Sister Monica Joan’s funeral. A fictional story, true, set in 1971 just after we’d first been to the Moon.

It was the series finale for “Call the Midwife,” which is a PBS show out of England that ran for fifteen years, itself set from the 1950s to 1971. Nonnatus House was not a spaceship, but a maternity facility run by nuns, which did often seem like a place very different from the lives most of us know. There’s a perspective to it, which is as alien to most of us in 2026 as circling the dark side of the Moon. Yet it intends to communicate to the viewer something of our common human experience.

I will never go into space. Nor will I travel in time (Einstein seems clear on this). What I get to do, every so often, is take a group of people around the Newark Earthworks to think about this same landscape, shaped and occupied by human beings, two thousand years ago, whose marks on the terrain in mounds and moats and faint hints of elevation hint at meaning and purpose for the indigenous people of the continent who built them.

Why go for a three mile walk on a Saturday to wander along streets and down alleyways searching for remnants of ancient wonders? Because of the connections we can feel across time, between viewpoints, and to know we all are just trying to get through this together. Those Native American builders were people like us, trying to get by, while seeking to understand.

Finding connections in that way can open up a perspective that is suborbital, but makes contact with the cosmos.

Yes, you’re invited: I’m leading one such tour on Saturday, May 23, at 9:00 am from the Great Circle Museum. Wear a sun hat, bring water which we all need in order to get by. It will take us to about 12:30 before splashdown.

I mean, until we get back to where we started. And see it, perhaps, anew?


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he’s looking forward to a lovely walking tour on the 23rd. Tell him how you make connections at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Faith Works 5-15-2026

Faith Works 5-15-2026
Jeff Gill

When sacred space is somewhere nearby
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Sacred space is usually thought of as a church, a place for gathering with intentions beyond the purely personal.

Sacred spaces can be very different in appearance, some with stained glass and ornamentation, others very simple in architecture, with a minimum of ornamentation. You may have pointed window frames calling back to the Gothic era, or just plain double-hung windows and plain glass looking out into nature.

We have our local elements of the Hopewell Ceremonial Earthworks, the Octagon and Great Circle units of the Newark Earthworks, places for gathering some two thousand years ago. No ceilings for the most part, but enclosures with designated entrances, and room for many to come inside.

St. Francis de Sales Catholic Church has high ceilings and expansive seating with a history back into the 1840s; More Life Church east of Newark is in a much adapted school building, revised to house a worship space and educational rooms. Small frame buildings dotted across the Licking County landscape, Methodist and Baptist and Presbyterian and more, give shelter to a Sunday service, no matter how small; large non-denominational structures have been built in the last few decades, without windows to support audio-visual resources once rare in worship life, now much more common.

Sacred spaces can be very different; we all know this on some level or another. And for some, church buildings carry some anxiety, even some anger, from past experiences with established communities, and even a congregation different from the one you had issues with can push some buttons for you. That’s why a few point to natural spots, groves of trees, and yes, golf courses, and say “that’s my sacred space.” And I think it true that any place where you can find God’s presence made more immediate in your life can be a sacred space. Black Hand Gorge comes up often in this guide, and places like the Japanese Garden at The Dawes Arboretum, too.

Sacred spaces sometimes come to an end. My home church, the sanctuary where I was baptized, had to be demolished; my ordination was under a tent next door to it before that final step came. There’s a parking lot there now. (Cue Joni Mitchell.)

Other sacred spaces get repurposed; I could do a chapel tour at Denison of all the places and spaces the original Baptist institution used before Swasey Chapel was built a century ago. The oldest church building in the county houses the United Way today; in between it was a muffler shop, a Hudson dealership, a bank office. All along, the 1834 tower shows the original purpose, sticking up in the midst of all the change.

Then there’s Ross’ Granville Market. It is no more. Lucky's Market will open there May 22nd, and I wish the new owners well. You might say there’s really no change here, still a grocery store, and not a sacred space. But I would disagree. Not only is there planned a major internal renovation, but it marks the end of an era. It feels like a church closing, even as a new congregation has bought the building and most of the furnishings.

Ross’ Market has been a place I’ve been familiar with through a couple of renovations even under the same management. The Ross family, which will justly be the grand marshals of the Fourth of July parade in Granville, has been a familiar and welcoming presence as long as many of us can recall; I could ask Greg about an item and see it on the shelves the next week, and that happened many times.

But it’s the “liminal space” aspect of Ross Market that I will be watching in that same building, to see how it returns. And it will. A place between home, and elsewhere, a spot where you might intend to meet people, but more often you met people you weren’t expecting. And conversations I had in the produce department have ended up being repeated in memorial services.

Sacred space, indeed.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he likes to go shopping for produce. Tell him where your sacred spaces are at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Notes from my Knapsack 5-14-2026

Notes from my Knapsack 5-14-2026
Jeff Gill

And the beat goes on…
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Summer is here.

You may want to call this spring still, but once the dogwood blossoms drop, it’s summer in my book.

There’s a pattern to summers here in Our Fayre Village: Denison commencement this Saturday, Granville High School graduation on Sunday the 24th. Then Monday the 25th, Memorial Day, with the parade down Broadway to Pearl and ending in Maple Grove, ceremonies ending at noon, and the half-staff flag raised back to full.

Ecumenical Vacation Bible School starts around the four corners June 1st through the 5th, then Cub Scouts and others have their day camps and overnight weeks, church camps and 4-H, all through the summer but increasingly jammed in before August when school sports and marching bands begin…

All of this punctuated by the legendary Granville Fourth of July Street Fair from July 1 to the Glorious 4th (sponsored and managed by your friendly neighborhood Granville Kiwanis club), fireworks on July 2nd and of course our beloved Mile Long Parade on the 4th. Yes, I plan to bring up the rear as usual, but make sure to cheer hometown heroes the Ross family, our grand marshals this year. They have earned this honor!

Take a deep breath, enjoy the heart of the summer, where we’ll hear so much about America 250 both before and after July 4, 2026; did I mention I’m helping with some events in June around our national semi-quincentennial? I’ll save that for my next column. But then the Great Granville Picnic comes along on August 15, 2026, intended to help accentuate the 250th birthday of our country; the table space is entirely sold out along Broadway, but there will fun to be had aplenty, walking around from 4 pm to 8:30 pm or later… Granville schools start on Wednesday the 19th, so better start working on those bedtimes, parents.

All of that and I haven’t even mentioned the Granville Recreation District’s concert series, celebrating 50 years of music and community, mostly at the Bryn Du Mansion, but during the picnic back to the old home on the Denison Fine Arts Quad along Broadway. The whole series runs from the evening of Memorial Day to the evening of Labor Day, Sept. 7, at which time summer is officially done.

It can wear you out just reading about it, you know? Mark events in your calendar, because it is amazing how quickly it goes by. And I can assure you that people are already working on planning for events this fall and through the Christmas season, because that's how planning works. The reason I can tell you about all these summertime events in Granville is a mix of firmly established tradition, and the reality that people have had meetings, shared text messages, and forwarded emails for many weeks and months before this May, just to see to it you can’t get bored this summer. Youth baseball is already in full flourish, and soccer coaches are starting to mend their goal nets and pump up the practice balls.

So when there’s a clear evening, and as the sun is setting, look to the southeast in a clear patch of sky, see Scorpius with red Antares rising, with a crescent Moon pulling together Venus and Jupiter in the west. Just enjoy the stars and the sky, and take a few deep breaths. It’s going to be a wonderful summer.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; yep, he’s thinking ahead to Advent and Christmas these days. Tell him how far you plan ahead at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Faith Works 5-8-2026

Faith Works 5-8-2026
Jeff Gill

Understanding your own faith, and others
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This Saturday, May 9th, there are some worthwhile opportunities in downtown Newark to learn from.

Newark Homeless Outreach is on courthouse square at 10 am with a memory walk, and their “Steps of Change” display of empty shoes, representing the invisible homeless around us. The walk is meant as a fundraiser, and you can find them online or social media whether you go on the walk or not. They will be feeding the hungry at noon a few blocks east as they do every Saturday, rain or shine, summer or winter, all year ‘round.

From 11 am to 8 pm a block and a half south of the courthouse, at the Canal Market District, there’s a Food Truck Festival, hosted by the Licking County Coalition for Housing. Some thirty trucks with food for every taste will be set up, and this, too, is a fundraiser, along with some information displays for their work all through the year, entering their thirty-fifth year in 2026.

Housing and homelessness weave through the Christian Bible, and in other sacred texts. Faith is a perspective that knows a tangible home is often elusive, and the solidity of feeling at home in the world is what people hunger for. How to find such a place while being a pilgrim people: that’s a tie that binds us all in faith, and in service.

Many different religious perspectives find helping and serving people who are for a season without housing a central tenet. My own tradition’s gospel according to Matthew includes Jesus saying “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” That same book, in the 25th chapter, talks about how serving the hungry and dispossessed is the same as serving Jesus himself. That’s created a deep history of ministry in those areas.

There’s a pillar, as it’s called, of Islam called the practice of “Zakat,” sharing from your income with those in need. In Judaism, “Tzedakah” is part of how faithful believers participate in the “repair of the world,” or “tikkun olam.” This work of justice is not just an ethical suggestion, but usually called a “Mitzvah,” or a “commandment.”

When I have worked with youth groups, I’ve found going to experience different Christian traditions, and having interfaith religious experiences as well, have been crucial in helping them (and their parents) understand their own practices. You see your own church more clearly when you come back from viewing things differently. Service experiences often do double duty in helping people develop their faith through actual practice, directly helping others, but in so doing usually encounter perspectives other than their own.

It’s also Mother’s Day weekend, speaking of common, shared experiences of humanity. My mother was always very supportive of ecumenical and interfaith experiences, sometimes when other parents were not so excited (or so I would learn later). To be blunt, her mother had some major issues with different faiths; then Mom went to college, and had both Catholic and Orthodox roommates. What she gained from those experiences, she wanted her kids to have, too.

This is also why, almost every year, I try to put in a column an exhortation leading into the summer inviting readers to visit worship services while on vacation, and even better, of traditions different than their own. Although, even if you just visit a church “like” your own, I guarantee you’ll see things differently there.

And if you do, I hope you’ll write and tell me what you learned from the experience. Even if it’s just “I’m glad to get home and worship the way we do here!” But I bet it will be a bit more than that.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he’s looking forward to some time on the road this summer. Tell him about your worship along the way at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Faith Works 5-1-2026

Faith Works 5-1-2026
Jeff Gill

Religious literacy in the wider culture, and in church
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Can we all agree that literacy is a good thing?

And that is an expansive use I’m intending for the term “literacy.” That extends from reading as a basic skill to awareness of basic concepts and stories and characters in a social setting. Literacy can be up for grabs in other fields: mathematics talks about “innumeracy” as their parallel, but most people just talk about basic math as well as financial literacy, and we know what they mean.

Where we may not agree: our culture is slowly but steadily moving backwards from literacy on a number of fronts. And again, I’m talking about the wider application of the term. You can read simple texts and be non-literate in the way I’m thinking about. People can scroll on their devices for hours, and mostly be reading as they go, reading headers or captions or prompts, but are they developing literacy?

Obviously, if you don’t engage with a field at all, you won’t know its terms or usages. I’m not literate in many sports, each of which have technical reference points a player or fan of the particular game will know without thinking about. In my youth, adults expressed sheer bafflement at the lexicon of soccer, while Chicago area folk mostly could explain icing in hockey to a child (“it ain’t on a cupcake, okay?”) and discussed why Stan Mikita wore a helmet while most NFL players then did not.

Religion has its own set of terms, and even related branches of Protestantism might have a vocabulary different from that of their cousins in faith. How you talk about salvation, redemption, stewardship, atonement (just to name a few) requires a certain level of religious literacy than you have to pick up if you’re new to that church.

Even individual congregations have a form of local literacy. Many churches I’ve served have main doors, sometimes even painted read, that almost no one used. Once you got involved, you learn where people park, and how they enter the building, let alone the fraught subject of: where can I sit? Literacy, familiarity, knowing the landscape.

Some folks in evangelism and seeker-sensitive outreach programs have suggested Christians should drop, or at least avoid in most public settings, the narrow technical terms which aren’t familiar to everyday folk. To speak of “being saved” takes some explaining if you’ve never gone to church before, however you understand that working out. And internal language of the church building, like narthex, nave, chancel: church growth consultants say “don’t use those words.”

Or, we find ourselves more aware of needing to teach as we talk. That’s been my orientation on all this as a minister, and I say that not certain I’ve always been right in how I work these questions out. Be aware of what’s “insider speak” and interpret as you go. Religious leaders are always needing to be aware of how they are called to teach as much as just preach.

An intersection of literacies is the largely concluded debate, at least in many quarters, about hymnals. Quickly, I’ll concede: hymnals in hand make people face down, sing out less, and are awkward for some to manage.

My musically literate friends are quick to cry out: no! Hymnals give us simple technology for a wide range of songs, and allow for harmony in our singing, four parts and sometimes even a descant!

To which I sadly say: but was there ever a golden age of most people singing parts during worship? I say it sadly, as my mother taught me from youth what it was, and how to do it. She sang alto, I (once upon a time) sang a high tenor as I learned how to follow the music, and when grandma visited she sang soprano.

Today, many churches have no hymnals in the seating… or Bibles. He said, sadly.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he’s got a bit more to say about religious literacy, musical and otherwise. Tell him what you read in your faith development at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Notes from my Knapsack 4-30-2026

Notes from my Knapsack 4-30-2026
Jeff Gill

Revolutionary figures, pioneering personalities
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For all sorts of reasons, the nationwide America 250 observance is focused on Revolutionary War history. 250 years ago was 1776, and it’s our nation’s formal “birthday” of July 4 of that year which gives us the cause for celebration; that leads us pretty directly into the conflict with Great Britain, which started with shots fired on Concord Bridge in April of 1775 and did not end until the Surrender at Yorktown on Oct. 19, 1781.

Ohio has some investment in the Revolutionary War, if much less than the original Thirteen Colonies. Towards the end of the hostilities in 1780, George Rogers Clark fought the Battle of Piqua against Black Hoof and a contingent of Shawnee and other Native American tribal warriors, just west of Springfield.

Not long before, between 1778 and 1779 Fort Laurens was built and then abandoned, northeast of us towards Canton; the losses there are still marked by a "Tomb of the Unknown Patriot of the American Revolution.” Non-combatant Native Americans died in even larger numbers by the Gnadenhutten massacre of 1782, around a hundred women and children and old men buried in a mound still memorialized in that village today.

But Licking County between 1775 and 1783, when the official peace was signed in Paris, has little or no recorded history. What we have are dozens of Revolutionary War veterans who brought history with them after 1799, as they came and settled this formerly Shawnee and Wyandot and Delaware land.

Of the some 7,000 Revolutionary War veterans buried in Ohio, over 140 have been tracked and recorded here in Licking County. Doug Stout with the Licking County Library has been diligent in this work for many years, and the Sons of the American Revolution along with the Daughters of the American Revolution have been hard at work in recent times to ensure good, readable memorials at or near our veterans’ last resting places. Some are in outlying and less well tended cemeteries, and no small number are in well known burying grounds, like the Old Colony in Granville, with a new monument just erected to list them all, or in Newark’s Veterans Park on Sixth Street.

The three Revolutionary War narratives I associate most with Granville are Patrick Cunningham, Jonathan Benjamin, and William Gavit. They arrived here in roughly that order, Cunningham and Benjamin before the 1805 settlement of the village, and Gavit with those first Granville Land Company pioneers.

I’ve written previously about all three, and there’s a book in each of them. Cunningham, born in Ireland in 1750, served with Pennsylvania troops and by 1800 had outlived two wives, raised children to adulthood, and was an unusual solo pioneer. Cunningham would soon move to fast growing Newark, married again, finally dying and buried outside of Hebron in 1832.

Benjamin would live to 1841, just six weeks shy of his 103rd birthday, outliving almost his entire family and laid to rest in the Old Colony Burying Ground by his grandchildren. A young soldier in the French and Indian War, losing close family in the ongoing battles on the Pennsylvania frontier with British allied Native American raiding parties, he went on to serve as a sergeant in the Pennsylvania troops during the Revolution. As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, both Cunningham and Benjamin are likely to have encountered Rev. David Jones during the war at Valley Forge, who directed many after the conflict ended to the valleys around the Licking River.

William Gavit was a young sailor engaged in naval action against the British during the latter years of the Revolution, and so was one of the last living veterans of the Revolution in our area, dying in 1854 at the age of 87. He was captured twice by the Royal Navy, and escaped twice from the infamous prison ship “Jersey,” where thousands died in captivity.

That may have something to do with why this seafaring youth from Rhode Island moves inland after war’s end, comes twenty years later to Ohio, and never seems to miss the sea.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he likes to wander cemeteries for education and enjoyment. Tell him where you get your history at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Faith Works 4-24-2026

Faith Works 4-24-2026
Jeff Gill

If you’re reading this, you may be too close
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There’s a bumper sticker out there saying “If you can read this, you’re too close!”

That has to do with typeface size and traffic speed, but you get the point. If you’re close enough to make out the words, you probably should slow down, unless you’re standing right behind the vehicle in a parking lot.

If you are reading this column, whether on a screen or phone online, let alone in print, you may be “too close” to the question of literacy and religion. Preachers talk about Biblical literacy all the time, as do many church leaders, lay or ministerial, but the reality is our relationship to reading is different than that of most of our congregation, let alone to the wider culture.

Some of us, a fair number of people even in 2026 Ohio, like to read. We do it for fun; a healthy audience turned out this week in Newark to hear an author speak about books, and the process of writing.

And I know as a pastor there are people who read their Bibles regularly, faithfully, diligently.

I also know there are many who wrestle with the topic, and find it hard to maintain a regular, consistent pattern of devotional reading, over time or just day to day.

What I hear much less directly about, but am painfully aware of, is how many people do not read. I’m not talking about literacy per se, and I’m not even sure calling it functional illiteracy is fair, but the practice of reading as measured by a number of metrics is on the decline.

Reading for pleasure by adults has been widely reported to have dropped by half in my adult lifetime. That sounds terrible, and I won’t say it isn’t, but that’s actually a decline from around 30% to 15%. If you think about it, that means even in the halcyon days of the 1970s, 70% of adults did not read for pleasure. That’s what’s generally referred to as a majority.

A few years back, it was widely trumpeted in book circles that the number of adults who had read a book, one book, at least a single volume, in the previous year had dropped below half. This isn’t even asking if you enjoyed it, just “have you read a book this year?” Over half now say “nope.”

As a born and raised American Protestant, I’m used to a mindset in my faith community of thinking that Bible reading is well-nigh equal to belief in general. If you don’t read your Bible, your faith is heading for the rocks. Not reading the Bible is dangerously close to not believing in God. Directly and indirectly, that’s what I internalized. But the unfair part here is two-fold: one, I enjoy reading, and read fast, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m more religious or a better person, I just read more. Trust me, I know that’s true.

The other thing that seems off here: up until good old Johannes Gutenberg and circa 1450, reading in your own copy of the Holy Scriptures was simply not possible. Monks and priests had handwritten, illuminated copies of the Bible, and the wealthy had beautiful psalters and breviaries or a “Book of Hours” for their prayers, illustrated and artistically written out, but Jane and Joe Average had their ears. They heard the Bible read in worship, through the year in the lectionary, echoed in bells ringing to let farmers know in their fields what was being sung and said in the parish church, but their Bible was largely auditory. If you missed church, you didn’t hear or receive your Bible text for the week.

Now, we can skip public worship, and read in our paperback “The Way” or on our Bible app across phone screens to get divine content that way… or do we? How should we think about Bible reading, and relating it to worship, today?


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he likes all manner of translations, which is a column all its own. Tell him how you read scripture at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Faith Works 4-17-2026

Faith Works 4-17-2026
Jeff Gill

Authors, readers, and a culture of religious literacy
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How do we share the message of resurrection with others?

Some like George Whitefield and John Wesley two hundred years ago preach on street corners and out in the open; we had a good example of that on Courthouse Square last weekend, and that approach can reach new audiences.

Others are more focused on institution building, planting congregations and seeing them properly developed and led and housed, which is where figures like my own tradition’s Alexander Campbell, or Joseph Smith, Jr., or even one-time local resident Archbishop Lamy came in, building churches and temples and cathedrals. There’s a place for that kind of well-ordered religion.

And then with the rise of mass media there came a new model for extending good news to those who needed to hear it: Aimee Semple McPherson, before her Dwight Moody and after Billy Graham, all examples of ministries which used modern technology to reach new audiences.

I will confess to being a lower-key preacher in most ways, including a personal interest in how literature and history can be used to open people up to horizons beyond their own immediate circumstances. For instance, Jan Karon may have reached more people seeking the hope of the Gospel with her Mitford series of books than many on television, or even those preaching in arenas. Susan Howatch some years ago and Anthony Trollope further back have been authors who created a space where the claims of faith can be quietly considered; C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien famously have done so with their writings. Ellis Peters had a series with a medieval monk, Brother Cadfael, whose chronicles I love to commend, murder mysteries with a regular touch of redemption in their plots.

Most Sundays, I preach to a roomful of people, generally looking to the texts of the day in the discipline of the lectionary (like most of my disciplines, I follow it mostly, but not always), and the circumstances of the people where I’m asked to speak. I trust God’s word can speak through my foibles and failings, and over time in a particular place I am building up a body of work, in the ear and the mind more than on the page.

Then there are these columns; they aren’t sermons, not quite. Whether as many or more, or less, are reading than did so when I started over two decades ago is something only the circulation manager knows for sure, but now we measure more by clicks than copies sold. What I’m regularly reminded of, though, is that there’s a wide audience of you all out there.

Helen Vendler said back in 1980 (almost half a century ago!) to a convention of English professors: “Our students come to us… having read no works of literature in foreign languages and scarcely any works of literature in their own language. The very years, between twelve and eighteen, when they might be reading rapidly, uncritically, rangingly, happily, thoughtlessly, are somehow dissipated… It is no wonder that they do not love what we love; we as a culture have not taught them to… Nothing is more lonely than to go through life uncompanioned by a sense that others have also gone through it, and have left a record of their experience.”

I think of this when people worry about the internet, and now AI, as obliviating the place of reading and literature in people’s lives. This is not a new concern, as this quote indicates. If we are “people of the Book” as many Christians would claim, what are we to do with the place of reading, let alone reflection, in our lives?

Perhaps part of the answer for preachers is in Professor Vendler’s claim: “It is no wonder that they do not love what we love; we as a culture have not taught them to.” We as a church have not, either. It’s not enough to say the people will not learn: we need to teach them, which includes finding a way past the obstacles our times place in the way.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he’s not done with this train of thought, as you can probably tell. Tell him what you’re reading at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Faith Works 4-10-2026

Faith Works 4-10-2026
Jeff Gill

What the bleep is the problem, [deleted]?
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Profanity is in the news, and if you don’t know why there’s no point in going there.

What the bleep, man? Why do certain words carry such weight of approval or disapproval?

For religious people, the roots of the question go back to a commandment. Yep, one of the big ten (not that Big Ten). Do not “take the name of God in vain.”

There is a whole deep religion rabbit hole we could go down with the Hebrew four-lettered or “tetragrammaton” symbol of the divine name, where it comes from, what it means, and how you work around using it even while knowing it. But the point is you are not supposed to say it out loud. It has to do with respect, appreciation, and a certain amount of mystery that is beyond us, acknowledged by a faithful avoidance.

Some carry this forward, by the way, to a caution with even the word, or name, “God” and they write it “G-d.” Obviously, I don’t follow that, but I respect the usage in communications as a seminary instructor; you’ll note that while I’m not Jewish, I haven’t and won’t type out the English version of the Hebrew name. It’s a weighty issue for some.

(Then there’s the whole modern, secularist insistence on always putting the name God in lower case, which sometimes gets done to a fault, a stylebook issue I may take up some other day.)

So all of this about being courteous about the name of God, just like you don’t run your mouth and use my mother’s name, right? If you say “Rose” you better be respectful… and not associate such usage with profanity, which is our general point. What is it?

George Carlin made some money, as well as paying out a bit of it, with his "seven words you can’t say” routine in the 1970s. He was eloquent in his own way about the role hypocrisy and inconsistency played in what is profane and what isn’t, and when.

But profanity is most often used for impact; they exist legally in a grey area next to “fighting words,” speech used to provoke. I should note during my brief sojourn in the Marine Corps, profanity was not forbidden to sergeant instructors, but God bless them, they didn’t need it. I heard less profanity in the Marines than I did in [insert almost any institution here]. Now, we heard about maggots, worms, babies, infants, pathetic hopeless cretins, ignorant basket cases, and worthless wastes of space, but very little cursing.

Good sergeants probably knew Mrs. Froberg. One of the great American middle school English teachers, she effectively made the point to her room full of hormone addled teenagers that profanity, in a word, was lazy. Profanity was the sign of a lazy mind. And friends? When Mrs. Froberg said the word “lazy”? It had the impact of a sergeant saying “maggot” at the top of his lungs. You could tell having a lazy mind was close to the lowest form of life imaginable.

Mrs. Froberg was right. (Carve that sentence in granite.) Profanity leaves you nowhere to go. Once you’ve cursed at someone, what do you say next? You can pile up Carlin’s whole list, and then what?

There is always a better way to express yourself, and with that insight, I would say as a minister the problem with profanity, however defined, is one of stewardship. It’s like gambling: you can’t really find a specific argument against it, Biblically, but it is a profound failure of good stewardship, of appreciation and best use of the blessings you’ve been given.

In the same way, swearing is inadequate stewardship of the gift of speech, of reason, of relationship. It’s a short cut that goes nowhere. You should avoid profanity, gosh darn it. It’s a small thing, except when it is not.

Mrs. Froberg says so.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he has had many good teachers, of which Mrs. Froberg was one of the finest. Tell him about your memorable teachers at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Faith Works 4-3-2026

Faith Works 4-3-2026
Jeff Gill

Jesus was dead on Good Friday
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Jesus was dead.

As they took him down off the cross, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that day. He was dead.

For three hours he had been subjected to the harshest punishment the Roman Empire or almost any earthly authority could hand down. Crucifixion was not like a hanging or beheading, which while humiliating and fear inducing would be a moment in time once imposed. To be nailed to a cross was to be killed in as slow a fashion as human ingenuity could devise, to inflict as much pain as possible without quite killing the victim.

There are some traditions suggesting a member of the nobility might be executed by archers; Roman hierarchies had long had their own rules, from being flung off a height near the Forum (a spot tourists still visit), or other forms of regal dispatch. Crucifixion was largely for slaves, or criminals in occupied provinces like Judea or Galilee.

Your death would be a relief, but it would not come soon enough. Some of the crucified would survive for days, especially when Romans were making an example of a population, nailing dozens, even hundreds to roadside crosses after an uprising. During the childhood of Jesus one such display happened in Galilee. Everyone knew what crucifixion entailed.

With Passover at hand, and Roman feasts planned, the victims were considered lucky in a way: they would not hang on their crosses past sundown, after being nailed up at noon. The thieves with Jesus had their legs broken, a gratuitous infliction of a last indignity which meant along with the pain and shock they could not hold themselves up enough to breathe, past the fluid-filled lungs of the dying in that fashion.

All the traditions agree that when the soldiers came to Jesus, he was dead. To be certain, they drove a spear into his ribcage, piercing his heart. No doubt. Blood and water poured out, but the heart no longer beat. Jesus was dead.

Friends may have taken him down from the cross, but Roman soldiers supervised. If there was the faintest flicker of life in that scarred and savaged body, they would have seen it, and stepped in, short sword in hand. But they turned the corpse over to the Jewish leader who offered his assistance, in closing out this grim scene before day's end by offering up his nearby vacant tomb. Joseph of Arimathea and what others were able and willing, likely including Nicodemus, took him down, cleaned the body off, wrapped it up (the body now an it, not a him), and carried him the short distance.

It is said "Mary Magdalene and Joanna and Mary the mother of James" and even other women, including his mother Mary, had seen where the burial happened, perhaps helped at some stage of the preparation of the body.

Some of them would come back, not because they expected to find him alive, but to finish the decency of what should be done to the dead body of someone you cared about, whom you loved. Not at once, but after things calmed down.

For now, Jesus was dead. They all knew it. It was now one of the few things they were certain of. Jesus had spoken of the kingdom of heaven, the realm of God, his Father's house, but the disciples and followers and friends of Jesus knew that was somewhere else, sometime yet to come. This day, Jesus was dead. As we would be. The goal now was simply to not make that dread day come too soon, as it had for Jesus.

The one they had come to know as the fulfillment of God's plan, of divine purpose on earth as it is in heaven, was dead. The future was dark, and empty of hope, even as the tomb was now filled. What else was there?


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's got a bit more to say on Easter day, but this is not that, yet. Tell him why you have hope at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Notes from my Knapsack 4-9-2026

Notes from my Knapsack 4-9-2026
Jeff Gill

History continues to be made in Licking County
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As a church historian, I have noticed over the "internet era" a trend on local church websites that saddens me more than a bit.

In the late 1990s on early congregational websites, and on into the early 2000s, you would almost inevitably see a tab "Our History." This was common, even standard.

Today, you may or may not find such information. If there's an "About Us" tab you might find a short church history note in the drop-down menu, but just as likely you will not. Obviously, the growth of new non-denominational churches feeds this trend, since they just started a few years back — and there's a whole additional story there about how even denominationally supported new church starts will bury their affiliation deep in a website if it's there at all.

One reason given for this is market driven, if not seeker sensitive per se: people don't care. Years ago people moved to a town and looked for "their" church, regardless of other factors; today, it's more likely families are looking for programs and worship styles which meet their needs, regardless of affiliation or even theology. History is not a connection for many.

Obviously, I have a different take on this. I try to be cautious, because what I like is not to everyone's taste, and I'm told occasionally I am wrong about some things. But I think history is woven into our tastes and instincts and interests in ways that go beyond the trends of the moment.

2026 is in theory a great year for people like me. It's America 250, with a peak around the Fourth of July, marking 250 years since the Declaration of Independence and our nation's founding, and many events have already taken place, with more to come even after July. In Granville, I'm doing a pair of programs in June I'll come back to next month about our history as a country and community around parks and the outdoors; in August, there's going to be a grand picnic event in Our Fayre Village. And on into the fall…

On the radio, some of you have heard me talking about a series of twenty-five historical figures in Licking County history. They range from the 1770s to the near-present, women and men, different ethnic and cultural backgrounds, some celebrities in their own right and others a surprise to even those who've lived here their whole lives.

The full list (in roughly chronological order): Rev. David Jones, Catherine Stadden, William Stanbery, Archbishop Jean-Baptiste Lamy, William Hollister, Israel Dille, Jackson Shackleford, Thomas D. Jones, Johnny Clem, Gen. Charles Griffin, Edward Roye, Victoria Woodhull, William Woods, Mary Hartwell Catherwood, Reinhard Scheidler, Gertrude Dorsey Brown, Eli Hull, Augustus Heisey, Ellen Hayes, Bertie Burr Dawes, Jerrie Mock, Eleanor S. Weiant, Games Slayter, Dave Longaberger, Wayne Newton.

The challenge was to sum up a significant life in our county history in brief. They're one minute spots, but my part is forty seconds long for each. My hope is there's enough to make some of you want to go look up a bit more on your own.

Because all of these people tell us something about who we are. Not just who they were, but what we are trying to become as a nation, a county, a person in our own time. I would have loved to add a few dozen more, but these are a good start.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's a bit of a historian on a good day. Tell him which one intrigues you at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.

Faith Works 3-27-2026

Faith Works 3-27-2026
Jeff Gill

The question of a good death ahead of Good Friday
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If you were raised in the church, you don't find Good Friday too surprising.

That's simply the name long used in the Christian community for the day Jesus of Nazareth was crucified by Roman authorities in Jerusalem, some two thousand years ago.

Good, though? Good as in "holy," good because of the sacrifice Jesus as the Christ makes by accepting his death on the cross as necessary to our redemption from sin. Good because of our salvation in him.

To those new to religious observance, it can be jarring. Good Friday is crucifixion day? Really? And that's certainly understandable.

Good and death do not go together. Mostly. Basically. But if you have sat at the bedside of a long dying, there is a blessing, a relief, and yes there is a certain measure of guilt at times over the weight that relieved when death comes for someone long suffering. When only death is going to heal the situation, death can be, in a sense, good.

We are in the midst of an ongoing cultural discussion over how and when we can welcome death to the decision making. Sometimes, heroic measures, as the medical folk say, make no sense. Families are asked about "do not resuscitate" orders, or DNR markings on patient files. Harder are questions about feeding tubes, or other interventions. When do we stop pushing life, and when are we withdrawing it?

Recently, a number of deaths have been in the news, people I've not known personally, but whose lives keep intersecting with my own. Four men have stuck with me since their passings, in this order the last couple of weeks: Paul Ehrlich, Jürgen Habermas, Chuck Norris, Robert Mueller.

A scientist, a theologian, an actor, a lawyer. It would take longer than I have in a column to explain the personal ties, the likes and dislikes I might have had around their work, about these four very different public figures who died in a seven day period.

They were old men. They died, respectively, at 93, 96, 86, and 81. The last and youngest just a decade and a half older than I am, and what does that make me? The last two were known to have a faith they practiced, which is surely a comfort to their families, and I trust to them as their end approached. But I doubt any of them, or those they loved, called their last day "good."

Another "old man" who lived four hundred years ago didn't live as long as I am now. His name was John Donne, and he was a clergyman, a preacher, and a poet. Honorable callings, all. He is perhaps best known for a poem of which this is a part, from about 1630:

"Each man's death diminishes me,
For I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, send not to know
For whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee."

"Send not to know" refers to how the church bell was the internet of its day, in the Seventeenth Century. When the parish steeple rang out, you knew it meant certain times of day, but when it tolls, you learn the basic information that someone has died. You may well not know more, so you would have someone run into the village to find out: who died?

Rev. Donne said there's no need to ask. The church bell tolls, when the funerary tones ring out, for all of us. "It tolls for thee." We should not mourn more or less for ones we like more or less; each person's death diminishes all of us. Or as the Malian author Amadou Hampâté Bâ wrote not so many years ago in the Twentieth Century: "Whenever an elder dies, a library burns down."

May your Good Friday bring life, as we contemplate death. It comes for us all, but is not the end, and that is the goodness there is in it.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he knows everyone wants to get to Heaven, but nobody wants to die. Tell him what's good in your life at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on X.