IN THE WEB OF COLONIAL DISSIDENT HISTORY

As I reviewed of Dover’s early (and admittedly tangled, hazy) history recently, I was struck by a reference to several early settlers who had been banished from Massachusetts Bay Colony amid the Antinomian Controversy to the south.

In a flash, my mind leapt from 1638 to 1662 when three Quaker women arrived, preached, and were banished by Major Richard Waldron.

The Colonial histories traced an underlying religious tension in the New Hampshire settlement arising between the Anglican affiliation of the colony’s charter holders and the Puritan convictions of many of its earliest settlers. That, in itself, suggests serious political and social differences as the two institutions of belief and action conflicted. After all, the Parliamentarian armies that would defeat and eventually execute King Charles I were largely Puritan, as was Oliver Cromwell, who ruled Britain as Lord Protector from 1653 to 1658.

Beyond the Anglican/Puritan rivalry for power in New England, however, was another struggle, the role of a trio of dissident voices and their followers in New England in the mid-1630s.

The new readings did change one of my premises. Rather than having all three of the dissident voices being from Salem (closer to Dover than is Boston), their residences were more diverse. Only Roger Williams (c. 1603-1688) had a Salem connection, and that was as a controversial pastor between his tenancies in Boston and Plymouth. He was banished in 1636 for “sedition and “heresy” (note the linkage of politics and religion) and left to establish the colony of Rhode Island and the Providence Plantations to the south, as well as the first Baptist church in the Americas.

Next was Samuel Gorton (1592-1677), banished in 1638 after ministry in Boston and Plymouth. He fled to Portsmouth, Rhode Island, before settling Warwick on the other side of Narragansett Bay. My postings at my Orphan George Chronicles blog about Robert Hodgson and his wife, Alice Schotten, take place largely in Portsmouth, and Alice, as a descendant of a Gorton follower, inherited a large parcel of Warwick. So these histories begin to overlap and even get personal for me.

The third dissident voice was Anne Hutchinson (1591-1643), the daughter of an Anglican cleric and the wife of a prominent businessman. She was banished in 1638 after leading home Bible study groups for women that were both popular (even among the men) and, to the ministers, “unorthodox.” Her theology became the focus of the famed Antinomian Controversy that challenged the conventional Calvinism held by most of the Puritan clergy. Reputedly, the “Veritas” in Harvard University’s crest comes from the cries of the judges, asserting their orthodoxy over her offending testimony, as she was taken from the courtroom at her banishment. She soon settled Portsmouth, Rhode Island, where Robert Hodgson would land in 1657 as an itinerant Quaker minister and remain when many of the Hutchinson’s followers joined in his Quaker faith. Hutchinson, however, had already moved on to the Dutch colony on Long Island to avoid continuing Puritan persecution before she and most of her family were slain in an Indian attack.

All of this ran through my head when I came across the reference in John Andrew Doyle’s 1887 The English in America: The Puritan Colonies, Vol. I: “After the persecution of the Antinomians, some of the victims took refuge at Cocheco,” an early name for Dover. Could this have provided fertile ground for the three Quaker women 24 years later? I think so.

The plot thickens when looking at the history of First Parish Church (United Church of Christ) in Dover, which divided into two hostile camps when one side of the congregation preferred two of the Antinomians as ministers over the more orthodox alternative. This was one the courts had to settle. Add to that an Antinomian leaning in nearby Exeter, and I’m left wondering all the more. Throughout its history, New Hampshire has always been at odds with Massachusetts – and here’s one more example.

The fact is that a third of the population of Dover quickly joined with the Quakers after their initial exposure to the new movement. Resentments do, after all, linger, and those chafing under an imposed authority just may break away, given an alternative. As much as we Friends like to think our early message and witness alone were sufficient to sway new adherents to our cause, I’m left considering how much of the attraction came from altogether different motivations. Think, for instance, of finding yourself always outvoted at town meetings; how much of a threat is actually felt when your right to vote is taken away as a result of your religious affiliation?

For that matter, how much of a similar situation is unfolding in the current political scene we’re viewing today? Are there lingering hostilities that have been buried only to resurface today? I’d say it’s worth considering.

A WARNING FROM COLONIAL DOVER

As I’ve mentioned previously, Dover is the seventh oldest settlement in the U.S. – as well as the oldest in New Hampshire. After residing in the state nearly three decades now – half of that in Dover itself – I’ve come to recognize how tangled the early history of New England is, and how little of it was exposed to me in the traditional versions of the American experience taught in public schools elsewhere in the nation. I’m not even sure a clear accounting is possible, even through the Colonial years.

For one thing, the surviving records leave gaps. As an example, consider how much was lost each time city hall burned down. And then, what did so and so mean in a passage about such and such? How do we interpret them?

For another, trying to follow a particular thread can become frustrating. Which perspective do we pick – Puritan or Pilgrim? They had distinct differences from the get-go, despite their underlying embrace of Calvinist theology. What about the dissidents, notably the Quakers and Baptists, who were major influences yet seldom are mentioned in the mainstream accounts? And then which colony or settlement, often at odds with others?

Even trying to follow a particular family in a thoroughly researched genealogy through this period can become overwhelming. Five, six, or seven generations from the time of the first Mayflower landing till the American Revolution can produce a lot of offspring.

Inhabited since 1623, Dover was often outside of the purview and control of Puritan Massachusetts. In contrast to the Bay colonies to the south, New Hampshire was chartered as a money-making scheme, not as a New Zion. So it rarely appears in the overview histories, especially the ones that focus on Boston.

One central character in Dover’s early years is Richard Waldron (1615-1689), who arrived around 1635 and soon turned what’s now downtown – then known as Cochecho Village or Cochecho Falls – into a personal fiefdom.

He was a powerful figure, not just as major of the militia but also in colonial politics both in New Hampshire and Massachusetts as well as in his control of trade with the local Native populations.

My awareness of him comes in his ordering the persecution of three Quaker women in 1662, missionaries he sentenced to be pulled by an oxcart to Cape Cod and stripped to the waist and flogged in each town en route – a death sentence, if not for the courage of those who turned the itinerary instead to sanctuary in Maine. (These were the women who founded the congregation I now serve. A poem by John Greenleaf Whittier relates their ordeal and witness.)

Major Waldron is also notorious for an event in staged September 7, 1676, when he invited Natives to join in a “mock battle” or day of games and contests a few blocks away from where I live. Of the 400 braves who accepted the invitation and showed up, half were captured and taken to Massachusetts, where they were either sold into slavery or hanged.

This was in the midst of an Indian uprising known as King Philip’s War (June 20, 1675, to April 12, 1678) that arose in Rhode Island. Many New England settlements were raided and burned, including Providence, Rhode Island, and Springfield, Massachusetts, and almost all of the English settlements in Maine were eradicated in that outbreak, not to return until the end of the French and Indian War.

In northern New England, however, hostilities continued for decades after the King Philip’s outbreak, often orchestrated by Jesuit French priests. (The last fatal attack by Indians in Dover was in 1725.) Remember, too, bounties were paid for scalps.

In Dover, like many of the surrounding towns, garrison houses and fortifications were ordered built as refuges during periodic raids. Sometimes they worked. Sometimes they didn’t.

On June 28, 1689, during what’s recorded as King William’s War, the Natives launched a devastating attack on Dover in which 52 colonists – a quarter of the population of what’s now downtown Dover – were killed or taken captive.

Among those murdered was Major Waldron, mutilated with his own sword. Look up the details, if you wish. It was sweet revenge.

Raids over the years left many of the surrounding towns with similar destruction, death, and captivity. (Even tracing the tribal connections involved can become challenging, since these were shifting alliances.)

Essentially, much of northern New England was on alert until the end of what we know as the French and Indian War in 1760. That’s a long time of simmering violence.

As for following a particular thread through all of this, the minutes of our Quaker meeting’s sufferings and service through this period are lost to a later fire at the home where the books were in storage. As I was saying about the surviving records? I’ve heard bits and pieces. An anvil that sits in our meetinghouse was, by oral tradition, pulled from the ruins of one of the houses in 1689, although it more like was made later and used by one of the descendants who turned Civil War cannons into plowshares.

~*~

I have no doubt where Major Waldron would be standing in today’s political scene.

He ordered the deportation – and in effect execution – of three women for their religious convictions.

Sound familiar? They were, we should note, pacifists.

And then he foolishly inflamed a neighboring nation – in this case, the earlier owners of the land (oh, my, does that sound familiar when thinking of Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, or California?) and then look at the havoc and destruction that followed. To wit: brash talk, cruel action, misogyny, words that promise one thing but mean something else altogether.

History does provide warning signs. Let us pay heed.

HONORING THE WORK THEY DO

In spiritual traditions, being an elder has nothing to do with chronological age. I’ve known some who are barely in their 20s.

It has everything to do with wisdom and compassion, along with a talent for asking gentle questions and listening deeply. Each one guides the individual to deeper experience and holds us all together.

They are found across the spectrum, from Asian streams of Buddhists and Hindus to Sufis and Muslims to Jews and Christians, where I’ve known them especially among Quakers and Mennonites.

Here, then, respect and honor the elders and the work they do.

Elders 1~*~

For your own copy, click here.

 

ALTERNATIVE CHRISTIANITY

Understanding that we don’t see light itself but rather what light illuminates opens a fresh way of envisioning the divine Spirit of life.

As I examine the writings of the early Quaker movement (Society of Friends), I find a remarkable wisdom emerging within their application of the metaphor of Light and through that, an alternative Christianity itself.

Consider the argument and then its applications.

Light 1~*~

For your own copy, click here.

RANTERS, THEN AND NOW

One of the most remarkable periods in world history came in mid-1600s Britain, an outbreak that included the execution of the monarch by commoners (rather than a rival for the throne) amid a host of social, economic, and political upheaval. For an overview of the ferment, you can read Christopher Hill’s The World Turned Upside Down or Antonia Fraser’s Cromwell, Our Chief Among Men.

My primary interest, of course, focuses on the rise of the Quaker movement out of the waves of conflict – with the rise of a two-party political system and a loyal opposition as a byproduct of a pacifist faith. I also see parallels with much of the counterculture experience I’ve known from the hippie era on, where some have remained faithful but many others have flaked away.

The waves of English radicals can be fascinating, from the New Model Army and Levelers, Diggers, and True Levelers on through the Muggletonians, Fifth Monarchists, and others, but for Quakers, the Ranters presented a special cross to bear.

Like Quakers, the Ranters espoused personal experience of ecstatic faith, and the two movements were often confused with each other by the wider public. Unlike the discipline and discipleship among Quakers, though, Ranters had no qualms about sexual promiscuity or any other limitations (it was all God’s will, in their eyes, no matter any hurt to others), at least until persecution hit and they readily recanted. Not so the Quakers, who insisted on eternal Truth. God doesn’t change.

So here we are. What are our deepest values? Where do we stand firm, and where do we yield and bend? What is principle and what is opportunistic? How far out is our vision, and how much a matter of short-term maneuvers?

Where are we – each of us – truly accountable?

Anyone else feeling uncomfortable?

OVER THE YEARS OF SITTING SILENTLY WITH OTHERS

When I first took up the practice of meditation, my goal was to get high – a natural, chemical-free experience, but a kind of escape all the same.

Moving to the ashram took that a step further. The goal became to transcend this mundane experience, entering into hours of unconscious ecstasy and returning to daily life with a heavenly vision.

Over the years, though, the practice has shifted. Yes, I still value those moments of natural high and clarity and oneness with the universe, but my bigger aim these days is to get grounded. To sit and move in that which is eternal, or my true nature. To be open to the divine around me. To be authentically loving and kind and …

The practice itself still means sitting with others in silence. That hasn’t changed!

SETTING UP FOR A ‘QUIRKY QUEER QUAKER PERFORMANCE ARTIST AND SCHOLAR’

Peterson Toscano, an extraordinary “Quirky Queer Quaker Performance Artist and Scholar” with bizarre and wonderful stories to share, is coming to my corner of New Hampshire next weekend — and it’s good reason to be excited.

I’ve heard him present the Bible half-hours at Friends General Conference and New England Yearly Meeting and can say he’s both insightful and original in his exploration of Scripture. It’s a matter of encountering a passage for the first time, no matter how often you’ve read it or heard it or think you have. I’ve also seen him delivering his comedy routines to teenagers, not the easiest of audiences, and he’s had them hanging on every word.

His topics will likely range from climate change (from a social justice point of view) and environmental awareness to human rights and gender outlaws in the Bible to coping with privilege or our most tragic losses – and back again. He’s both outrageously funny and a delightfully original thinker. Who would want more?

He’ll appear in the Dover Friends Meetinghouse Saturday at 4 p.m. with his “Everything Is Connected (a collection of stories – many weird, most true)” as a late-afternoon event that’s free to all. We’re hoping this fits in between busy rounds earlier in the day and those of the evening to come – giving folks a shot of humor and hope along the way.

Other performances are at 6:30 p.m. Saturday in Portsmouth, and Sunday at noon in Rochester and in the evening in Concord.

If you can attend any of them, great! Obviously, I’m a big fan. But why not amuse yourself and sample him in his own voice? For starters, let me suggest:

Hope to meet you there, if you can. Meanwhile, we need to get him back from Wisconsin and Maine … en route to Massachusetts.

ELDERS HOLD

In Quaker practice, elders are what other denominations call bishops, except that in ours and other Anabaptists (Amish, Mennonite, Brethren), they’re found within the congregation, rather than over it. And elders can be young folks, if they’re so gifted.

Elders 1

For a free copy of my poetry chapbook, Elders Hold, click here.

MINDING THE FAITHFUL LIGHT

Living in New England, I’ve become enamored with lighthouses. My fascination has nothing to do with the quaint impression many tourists carry but rather an awareness of the ways these now antiquated emblems of peril define our landscape. Along the water, if you can identify the light, you know where you are. Believe me, there are places that would otherwise be difficult.

The night ocean, as I’ve also discovered, can be anything but romantic. It’s a different world from the one visitors encounter during the day. Cold, windy, wet, threatening, even on many summer nights. Yes, on a balmy evening, especially with moonlight, it can be magical. More often, a night ocean can be downright spooky.

Along the dark coastline, the flash of light can help you place yourself in the scene. You triangulate your position using the lights. Each lighthouse beacon has an identifiable pattern – one flash every five seconds. Or ten. Or two flashes. Their colors may be unique in that place, too – blue, green, or red, instead of clear.

The most powerful beams reach out 20 miles or more over the water. Think about that – the light doesn’t scatter but holds together using a technology that predates the laser. How much we take for granted!

And to think, in the old days the illumination came from whale oil or similar fuels.

These days it can be a 110-volt bulb the size of your thumb.

The mechanism that shapes the beams is itself a remarkable piece of technology – the Fresnel lens. Developed by the French physicist Augustin-Jean Fresnel in 1823, it’s a large sculptured glass cone, where each overlapping leaf joins to focus the ray into one. The larger ones are the size of a child, with the light from inside. Remarkably, these are much thinner than a conventional lens for the job would be – thus allowing more light to pass through and the lens to be mounted in a rotating base. (One we’ve visited floated in a 500-pound pool of mercury.)

A section of a 4th order Fresnel lens is featured on the cover of my booklet.

Just as incredible can be the tales of the lighthouse keepers and their families – lonely work, often tedious, cold, staying awake through the night, put at risk by the storms. Nothing nostalgic there, being faithful.

As I look at the light and its tower, my mind leaps to the universal application of light as a metaphor of religion and spiritual experience. It’s especially prominent in the writings of Quakers (Society of Friends), where it frames an understanding of an alternative Christianity – one earlier generations never dared voice completely. Still, the Light led them in fresh directions – and can still do the same for us today as it reaches far, including into the human heart and mind.

Light 1~*~

For your own copy, click here.

DAYTON’S LEADING REPUBLICAN PLUMBER

Decades ago, after hearing mention that my family had Quaker roots in North Carolina, I began the genealogical detective work that now fills my Orphan George Chronicles. Although I’d independently come to the Society of Friends and become a formal member, I was surprised to hear that my family had been Quaker and that there were Quakers in North Carolina – my, have my eyes been opened!

In the genealogical work, I chose to begin with my great-grandparents – people I’d never met in the flesh.

But when my father died, the focus shifted. I realized only one person remained who might be able to fill me in on questions of his childhood and parents, and that was his “baby sister.” That would mean getting to know her – and her parents – without all of the filters that had always been applied by my mother, who had issues of her own. (Oh, for these family dynamics!)

It became a rich and fascinating project, given all the more incentive when we met my aunt and her husband, a retired university dean, at the airport. It was a first-time encounter for them and my brood, yet he swept up my younger one in his arms and proclaimed, “It’s so good to have another Democrat in the Hodson family!” The party activist suddenly had a favorite uncle. Make it great-uncle-by-marriage if you will, he got the crown.

At that point, my aunt remarked that Grandpa’s slogan, painted on all of his trucks and on the calendars he mailed out each year, was “Dayton’s Leading Republican Plumber.” She promised to send a photo of the vans all lined up on the street. “You didn’t know that? It was even on his stationery and bills.” This was something I’d never known, although he did sign one of his last notes to me as “formerly Dayton’s leading Republican plumber,” a comment that long puzzled me. Through much of the spring and summer I wound up following up on her reactions and insights to her childhood and adolescence, which to my surprise (the word of the day) paralleled my own, especially in regards to their now-Methodist church, the denomination I grew up in. At last, I could finally look directly at my grandparents through all the memories and scattered bits of data I could assemble, as well as all the material I already had, doing genealogy. It was like being given a key, at last.

Grandma and Grandpa at family reunion & Aunt Irma Hodson
Grandma and Grandpa at family reunion

My aunt suggested I correspond with a surviving first-cousin Dad’s age, who wound up also contributing memories, and the result was a remarkable project, not quite memoir but more a realization of finally knowing my grandparents, pro and con, for the first time – years after their deaths – as well as questioning many of our ingrained expectations: just what are grandparents supposed to be, do, or look like, for instance. Unexpectedly, I reconnected to more feelings/memories from their house on McOwen Street than to the house I grew up in on Oakdale Avenue. Some of the stories that turned up, like my dad’s desire to be a sports writer or a big chicken dinner Grandpa arranged to help pay medical bills for one of Mom’s best friends, are priceless. From an intellectual perspective, the project also illuminates the difficulty of knowing – it often meant triangulating something in the middle of three often contradictory sets of perceptions. More importantly, to some extent, I’ve finally been able to reconnect with more than a few fragments of my childhood.

From my end, there’s little I’d say was happy in all of that childhood. But there are things I can finally claim and appreciate, and even rework or rewire. Much of my adult life, as I’ve found in Dad’s genealogy (Mom’s is entirely different, and far more gothic than she ever would have admitted) has been a matter of reclaiming many of the values and practices Grandma and Grandpa rejected in their move to the up-and-coming industrial city. I never knew that my Hodson ancestors were Quaker or that Grandma’s were Dunker (Church of the Brethren), very close to Amish and oh-so Pennsylvania Dutch. But they rejected all that, with some values somehow surviving, however invisibly.

Some discoveries still amaze me. The fact that Grandpa accomplished all he did with nothing more than a grade-school education, for one thing.

Or that his two best friends in adulthood were both a decade older than himself, and both died within a year – one of ALS, the other in a car collision. Since he was the youngest of three sons, I wonder about the dynamics.

There’s much, much more I’ve uncovered along the way. As you can guess, it’s a long story. Today would have been his birthday.