I speak of him here because I believe "formative" experiences--especially those that involve coming to (or abandoning) faith--are not always confined to the person directly involved. If such experiences are profound, they will be shared--talked about, at least--and thus they will ripple outward, affecting family, friends, strangers--even those yet to be born.

About Gustav: He was strong-willed and adventurous, with something of a rowdy streak. At 18, he abruptly pulled up stakes from his native German village, found his way to a seaport and set sail for America. He got as far west as Illinois, where he shifted between agricultural and factory labor, eventually ending up working for his cousins, fellow immigrants who owned a farm. They were pious folk and used to invite him to church. He typically refused.

But one day, he took them up. There's no record that's come down to me about what he heard that morning. But a sermon changed his life. Words do matter: I take that on faith.

After seminary, Gustav became ordained in the old German Evangelical Synod of North America. He had four children, three of whom (his daughter and two youngest sons) went into religious education--at McCormick Theological Seminary in Chicago, Union Theological Seminary in New York and Yale Divinity School. But that experience of his in 1881 continued to be felt in one way or another--although certainly not as the sole factor in people's lives and choices. Still, one of his grandchildren--my father--went on to pursue a career of theologian.

I became a journalist with every intention of specializing in politics. But after several years, I suddenly resolved to switch subjects, having decided religion was both vastly undercovered as a news subject and yet also exceptionally important to understanding American culture. I spent 16 of my years as a journalist covering religion in the US and sometimes abroad.

A few years back, some good people in Lincoln, Ill., where Gustav had his last church, organized a small celebration of his memory (he'd died long, long before) and invited me and one of my cousins. At one point, Toby and I went to the cemetery where our great-grandfather is buried, visiting his grave.

I could quote Faulkner here, about the past not being past. But I think it's more to the point to say that experiences involving faith--which I consider deeply human experiences--can be exceptionally powerful. They can transcend space and time, and can even be felt for generations.