Snake-Handling Turns Deadly at Cawood Holiness Church

A Sunday Tragedy in Harlan County

A quiet summer service in the mountains of Harlan County turned tragic this week. During Sunday worship on July 27, a 27-year-old man was bitten by a venomous snake at the Cawood Holiness Church, a small Pentecostal congregation near the community of Cawood. According to local reports, the man was participating in a ritual serpent-handling ceremony when the snake sank its fangs into his arm. Fellow congregants prayed desperately over him, but no medical help was sought – a decision in line with the church’s faith tradition that tests one’s trust in God. Approximately seven hours after the bite, the worshipper succumbed to the venom. He reportedly passed away later that day at a family member’s home in Rose Hill, Virginia, as a direct result of the snakebite. Kentucky State Police have opened a death investigation, though officials indicated no foul play is suspected. The incident has left the close-knit community in shock and grief, grappling with how a sacred practice could yield such a heartbreaking outcome.

Faith and Serpents: A Church’s Unusual Tradition

Cawood Holiness Church is one of a handful of “signs following” Pentecostal churches in the Appalachian region that practice snake handling as an expression of faith. For these congregations, the ritual is rooted in a literal interpretation of biblical scripture – specifically the King James Version of Mark 16:17-18, which proclaims that true believers “shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them”. Members of Cawood Holiness and similar churches believe that if they are filled with the Holy Spirit, God will protect them from harm while they handle venomous snakes. The church’s worship services are often ecstatic and emotional, featuring fervent preaching, gospel music, speaking in tongues, and occasionally the handling of rattlesnakes or copperheads as visible proof of one’s faith. Worshipers may also practice other “signs” mentioned in Scripture, such as laying hands on the sick or even passing their hands through open flames, all in the belief that divine power will keep them from injury.

This unconventional tradition has deep roots in the local culture. Snake-handling rituals first emerged in the Appalachian hills in the early 20th century and took hold in isolated mountain communities. In fact, Harlan County itself has a long history with this practice – the nearby community of Lejunior was once a center of serpent-handling faith. In September 1946, a photographer famously captured an image of believers in Lejunior gripping snakes during a church service. That photo, now archived by the National Archives, offers a glimpse into a secretive religious subculture that has quietly endured for generations in these hills. Despite the danger, the practice continues in a few churches like Cawood Holiness, passed down as a cherished test of faith. Participants describe feeling “covered up” by the Spirit and experiencing a transcendent joy or high while handling serpents. They acknowledge the risks – a bite is seen either as a sign of personal failing or simply God’s will – yet they view the ritual as a direct act of obedience to God’s Word, more powerful than fear.

The Snakebite Incident: What Happened?

Details of Sunday’s fatal incident are still being pieced together, but accounts from authorities and church members portray a dramatic and tragic chain of events. The service at Cawood Holiness Church was underway as usual that evening, filled with singing and preaching, when the victim – a young male congregant – felt moved by the Spirit to take up one of the church’s snakes. Handling of snakes typically occurs at the emotional height of these services, and it’s done voluntarily by believers who feel divinely inspired. At some point, the rattlesnake (one of several reportedly kept in a secure box at the altar) struck the man’s arm, injecting venom. Gasps and shouts rang out among the pews as the man collapsed or was lowered to the floor. Longtime members immediately gathered around him in prayer, anointing him with oil and laying hands, imploring God to intercede.

What did not happen, notably, was any call for an ambulance. Like many devout snake handlers before him, the injured man refused medical treatment, trusting in a higher power for healing. Such was the strength of his conviction that instead of going to a hospital, he was carried to a nearby home (the residence of a relative) to recover or “be with the Lord,” depending on the outcome. Over the next several hours, however, his condition worsened. Witnesses say the bite victim suffered classic symptoms of severe envenomation: swelling of the limb, excruciating pain, and difficulty breathing. By the early hours of Monday, those present realized the worst – the young man had succumbed to the snake’s venom, despite all prayers. His death, coming roughly seven hours after the bite, has devastated his family and the congregation. It also mirrors past incidents among serpent-handling churches, where victims often forgo life-saving medical care due to their religious beliefs.

Shock, Mourning, and Official Response

News of the tragedy spread quickly through Harlan County’s mountain hollows. By Monday morning, local radio stations and social media were buzzing with both sorrow and controversy. Many neighbors offered prayers and condolences for the victim’s family, expressing respect for their faith even if they didn’t fully understand it. “Praying for everyone involved in this terrible loss,” one Harlan County resident wrote online, capturing the community’s grief. Others, however, openly questioned why the dangerous ritual persists. “This didn’t have to happen,” another commenter lamented, arguing that public safety should come before tradition. The incident has prompted renewed debate over Kentucky’s legal stance on snake handling. Technically, serpent handling during religious services is illegal in Kentucky, a law on the books since the mid-20th century. It’s classified as a misdemeanor offense (punishable by a $50–$100 fine) to use venomous snakes in a way that endangers people during worship. In practice, however, enforcement of this ban is almost unheard of – authorities typically “look the other way” unless someone is seriously hurt.

That may now change, at least temporarily. The Kentucky State Police (KSP) have confirmed they are investigating the 27-year-old’s death, as they would with any unattended death. Troopers from KSP Post 10 (based in Harlan) responded to the scene after the man’s passing was reported. An official autopsy will determine the cause of death, though there is little doubt it was the snake’s venom that killed him. No charges have been filed at this time, and it remains unclear if any will be. “We’re looking into all the circumstances,” a KSP spokesperson said, declining to comment further on the church’s practices. Legal experts note that prosecuting worshipers in this case would be unusual – past snakebite deaths in Kentucky have not led to criminal convictions, given that participants are willingly engaging in the ritual. Nonetheless, public health authorities may use this incident to reiterate the obvious dangers of handling poisonous snakes. “Please, if you’re bitten by a snake, seek medical attention immediately,” urged one local health official, who emphasized that antivenom and prompt care can mean the difference between life and death. The tragedy has also caught the attention of state regulators; Kentucky wildlife laws prohibit possession of indigenous venomous snakes without a permit, meaning the church’s reptiles themselves could be subject to confiscation. For now, though, the focus in Harlan County is on mourning the young man lost and supporting his family through an anguished time.

A Region’s History of Snake-Handling Accidents

 Historical photo of a snake-handling worship service in Harlan County (Lejunior, KY, 1946). Faith leaders and congregants handle serpents as a test of devotion, a practice that has deep roots in the Appalachian region.

This is not the first time a snake-handling service has turned deadly in southeastern Kentucky. The practice, while rare, has a long history in the area – and with that history comes a sobering list of past accidents and fatalities.

In recent years, southeastern Kentucky has seen several high-profile snakebite deaths linked to worship services. Some of the most notable cases include:

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• 1995 (Bell County): Melinda Brown, a 28-year-old worshiper, was bitten by a rattlesnake during a service at the Full Gospel Tabernacle in Jesus Name in Middlesboro. She refused medical treatment and died two days later. (That church’s pastor at the time, Jamie Coots, said Brown chose faith over medicine, believing “what happened was the Lord’s will”.)

• 2014 (Bell County): Pastor Jamie Coots, 42, a third-generation snake handler famed for the Nat Geo reality show Snake Salvation, died from a rattlesnake bite during a Saturday night service in Middlesboro. Coots was bitten on the hand and pronounced dead later at home after refusing medical help, in accordance with his beliefs. His death made national headlines and rocked the serpent-handling community, but it did not end the practice – mourners at his funeral even returned to the church to handle snakes in a show of unshaken faith.

• 2015 (Bell County): John David Brock, 60, was bitten on the left arm by a rattlesnake while handling it during a Sunday service at Mossie Simpson Pentecostal Church in Jenson, KY. Like others, Brock declined medical treatment; he went to his brother’s home after the bite and died there from the venom later that day.

These incidents, among roughly a hundred snakebite fatalities documented in U.S. religious settings over the last century, highlight the lethal risk that serpent handling carries. Southeastern Kentucky – particularly Harlan and Bell counties – has been an epicenter of this tradition and thus has suffered an outsized share of the losses. Older residents remember other fatal encounters as well: a preacher from the town of Evarts who was bitten in a Virginia church and died at home in agony as his family prayed; a pair of local ministers who were both fatally struck by snakes in the 1970s; and numerous non-fatal bites that left worshipers with withered limbs or missing fingers. “Handlers get bitten all the time, and every few years someone dies,” notes Dr. Ralph Hood, a University of Tennessee professor who has spent decades studying this religious subculture. It is a stark reminder that even the most devout faith does not guarantee earthly survival when dancing with deadly serpents.

Faith vs. Safety: Finding the Balance

The Cawood snakebite tragedy has reignited an emotional conversation about religious freedom versus public safety. On one hand are the constitutional and cultural considerations – America’s foundational commitment to freedom of religion, and Appalachia’s fierce traditions of independence and worship. Snake-handling congregations see their practice as a deeply personal expression of faith, one that outsiders may view as extreme but which they insist is rooted in biblical mandate. Over the years, organizations like the American Civil Liberties Union have even stepped in to defend the rights of snake-handling churches, arguing that as long as they are not coercing anyone or endangering the general public, the government has little ground to ban their ceremonies. Indeed, in neighboring West Virginia, snake handling remains perfectly legal as an exercise of religious liberty. Many locals in Harlan County, while not snake handlers themselves, are inclined to agree that people “ought to be free to worship how they see fit,” even if it involves rattlesnakes and risk.

On the other hand, the inherent danger of this practice is impossible to deny, as this week’s death so poignantly illustrates. Public safety officials and even some faith leaders worry that it’s only a matter of time before another life is lost – perhaps even a child’s. They point out that religious conviction, however sincere, does not neutralize a snake’s venom. Medical professionals emphasize that faith and medicine need not be mutually exclusive; one can believe in God’s healing power while still availing oneself of the antidotes and treatments that, arguably, God has provided through human knowledge. Every snakebite fatality raises the question: should authorities do more to enforce anti-snake-handling laws and prevent such tragedies? Or would cracking down simply drive the practice underground and infringe on deeply held beliefs, potentially creating rifts between church communities and the law?

As Harlan County reflects on the loss at Cawood Holiness Church, there are no easy answers. The congregation, now grieving one of their own, is reportedly continuing to meet in worship – undoubtedly leaning on their faith more than ever. It is unclear if they will cease handling snakes in the short term out of respect or caution; in similar past cases, some churches have paused the ritual, while others have carried on, believing the departed would want them to remain steadfast. One of Jamie Coots’ fellow pastors famously hailed him as a “martyr” for the cause after his 2014 death, and many snake handlers view those who die in the practice as having died “obedient to God”, assured of their heavenly reward. For them, the spiritual value of the practice outweighs its mortal costs.

For the broader community in Harlan County, the task now is to reconcile respect for religious tradition with concern for safety. The sight of a young man’s life cut short in the name of faith is prompting difficult but necessary discussions. Can there be a middle ground that honors the region’s spiritual heritage while preventing further loss of life? Some have suggested stronger dialogue and education – for instance, engaging snake-handling churches in safety training (such as having antivenom on hand during services, or establishing agreed-upon protocols to seek help when bites occur). Others argue that ultimately, the decision lies with the worshipers themselves: “You can’t save people who don’t want to be saved,” one local remarked, noting that those in the movement fully accept the risk each time they reach into the snake box.

As this community blog goes to press, funeral arrangements for the 27-year-old victim are being made. Family and friends will gather to celebrate his life, likely in the same church where it ended. They will sing the old hymns and testify to their hope of reunion in Heaven. And quite possibly, there will be serpents handled at the service, an act of defiant faith in the face of sorrow. It is a delicate moment for Harlan County – one that demands empathy, understanding, and perhaps a bit of soul-searching from all sides. In the Appalachian tradition, faith has always been a source of strength through hardship. Now, as the county mourns, that faith will be tested anew as the community strives to balance devotion with responsibility, ensuring that this unique but perilous religious rite does not claim another beloved life.

Sources: Local news reports and eyewitness accounts; Kentucky State Police statements; Appalachian serpent-handling historical archives; Associated Press coverage of snake-handling incidents; oral histories from Harlan County residents; Snake handling in Christianity (Wikipedia); WSLS News report (2015).