Dear friends,
thank you for your gracious return. Do please accept my apologies for cutting
our time short last month. I fear my emotions overwhelmed me. My dear
Nathaniel—he’s my husband, for you new friends—encouraged me to try again. He says
I have much to offer, for he tells me that in the last days many will undergo
what my family had and much worse. The strength I found, he tells me, may help
those who suffer the same.
Please
bear with me as I take my time and try to also share the joy. For what are
memories if you cannot find joy in them?
I
was quite young when we left Wales for the land claimed by the Massachusetts
Bay Colony. I remember little of the place except once passing beneath the
window of our town’s mayor. Some men from the king visited him, seeking the
names of the families leaving for America. The mayor was a tall man with a
fierce face and a pointed beard. His very presence frightened me. I cannot
remember why I should have ventured beneath his window, but I did.
“…condemned
wretches, poor gentleman, libertines, those fitter to spoil Wales and England
than to help raise the commonwealth…” he had sputtered.
At
first I did not understand, but when my father’s name was mentioned, I scurried
away confused that he should be listed with such men. My father, the youngest
son of a lawyer, had become a vicar. However, he had discovered the truth of
salvation by grace alone. ‘Twas then he had attached himself to those of the
dissenting Puritans. Rather unusual in Wales, ‘tis true. He soon lost his
vicarage and ‘twas shortly after this that he attached himself to Dr. John
Clarke. When Dr. Clarke decided to cross the Atlantic with other Puritans, my
father and my mother determined they should follow. Baptists were still feeling
the sting of their brother, Edward Wightman, who died at the hands of the
monarch in 1611 for stating, “That the baptizing of infants is an abominable
custom; that the Lord’s Supper and baptism are not to be celebrated as they are
now practiced in the church of England, and that Christianity is not wholly
professed and preached in the Church of England, but only in part.”[i]
If
my memory serves me correctly, Dr. Clarke was a member of a Baptist church in
Bedfordshire, England. Yes, a great distance from Wales, but not when one finds
brethren of like-faith. Though Dr. Clarke associated with other Pedobaptists,
he stood on the side of freedom of conscience. He was a gracious man, and like
so many who came to New England, he sought the freedom to worship God according
to his conscience.
‘Twas
the banishment of Rev. Whellwright and Mrs. Ann Hutchinson that led to the
separation between Dr. Clarke and my father. Dr. Clark chose to help the
Hutchinsons, while my father chose to step aside and let justice take its
course. Perhaps, when the leaders of the colony of Massachusetts claimed their
country to be infested with no less then eighty-two heretical opinions, my father
decided to speak out his beliefs.
On
First Days (I believe you call them Sundays), Father began to raise questions
regarding the rules by which the Puritans expected all to live. One such First
Day a traveler passed through our village. No one would open his door to the
man at sunset. Our First Day began at sunset on what is Saturday, but my father
welcomed him. A great lover of music, my father entertained this stranger until
the constable banged upon our door and threatened to arrest him. Father
questioned the law, but at that time did not press the situation and excused
the customs of our village to the stranger, who graciously accepted the
invitation to retire early without further noise.
Soon
Father’s acts of rebellion became noised about by gossips and those who felt it
their duty to correct his poor behavior. If he spoke in town, he would be
countered by another who claimed offense to his words.
I
too began to notice the children refusing to play with me, the girls drifting
away or turning their backs, and any act of kindness my sweet mother attempted
to perform was met with sour faces.
One
day, I asked my mother how she kept her cheery disposition. Her answer, “We are
buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was dead by the
glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.”[ii]
She sighed at the confused look upon my face and continued. “If I have died
with Christ, what offense can one bring me? My life is not here but with Christ
Who resides in Heaven. They can do me no harm with their words or actions,
because I do not live in this world, though my body be present here. I live
with Christ in Heaven. ‘But God, who is rich in mercy, for his great love
wherewith he loved us, even when we were dead in sins, hath quickened us
together with Christ, (by grace ye are saved;) and hath raised us up together,
and made us sit together in heavenly places in Christ Jesus.’”[iii]
While
I understood her words, I did not fully grasp her meaning until the day I stood
before those who sought to have me whipped.
Alas,
I see our time is running out. Forgive me dear friends, for leaving you again,
but you see Nathaniel returns today from Virginia and I promised to stand at
the shore in Newport to meet him.
Godspeed,
one and all.
______________________________________________________
Sarah speaks the
truth when she said the mayors and others sought to reassure the king that the
populating of America would not weaken the Commonwealth by stating only those
of little value were going.
England was in the
midst of much change, a reformation and the beginnings of discontent that would
lead to a civil war. I believe to understand those who came to America in the
1600’s you must also understand England at that time. The colonists brought
with them the values and attitudes of their home country.
Always love your posts, Lynn!!! Thanks for coming as Sarah today and sharing so much great info with us. Blessings!
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