Felicity Wright

Travels

Ascending (and Descending) the Steps of Justice

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On October 6, 1993, I join my parents walking up the steps into that enormous edifice, a modern-day Parthenon. These aren’t normal steps leading up to a normal building.  Rather, these 44 pure white marble steps are stunning for their length (over 250’) and perfection, with nary a speckle or worn spot to diminish their purity.  They lead up to the west entrance of the almost-square building, each side slightly bigger than a football field.  Welcoming us are towering statues of a pensive young woman (“Contemplation of Justice”) on the left and a muscled man (“Authority of Law”) on the right.  Above us, sixteen enormous Corinthian columns suggest respite and protection.  Emblazoned on the top frieze are the words, “Equal Justice under Law.”  

As with my earlier visits here, there are no tickets, no reservations, no admittance fees, and no bag check.  All are welcome.  Equal justice under law.

On previous outings, I would take a short tour, admire the sculptures of Moses, Confucius, and Solon, study the bas relief scenes of jurisprudence history, and ponder the architrave that reads “Justice the Guardian of Liberty.”  Depending on time, I might walk through the Great Hall and up the long circular staircase to the visitors’ entrance into the Court Chamber, slightly under 100’ square, where Brown v. Board of Education and Roe v. Wade were decided.  There, in the upper galleries of the 44’ high courtroom, I could watch and listen as justices and lawyers argue the future of our country.  Sitting humbled in a stiff wooden chair, I wonder: in what other country could I participate, if only as a bystander, in the greatness of a nation?  

But that was past visits.  On this day, things are different. My parents and I aren’t in a far-away visitors’ gallery getting a birds-eye view of the action, but in the main floor section reserved for important people.  The seats are wide and well-cushioned as I admire the 24 Siena marble columns and watch my brother Peter argue Shannon Carter’s case against the Florence County, S.C., School District, in what would become a seminal case on special education law.  During his presentation, the justices sit forward in their chairs, as Chief Justice William Rehnquist leads the questioning, Sandra Day O’Connor and Ruth Bader Ginsberg ask precise-but-gracious questions, Anthony Scalia counters with operatic flair, and Clarence Thomas stares silently throughout.  After Peter, the defense counsel argues its case and then both sides give closing statements.  The oral arguments continue for just under two hours.

Afterwards, as we gather in the wide oval plaza at the top of the steps, the Carter family, other lawyers, and some of the justices come over to thank Peter for his efforts.  I walk down the steps, proud of my brother and proud to be an American.  [One month later, the court ruled unanimously in favor of Ms. Carter.]

Descending the majestic marble stairs, I remember that Ruth Bader Ginsberg once wrote, “Real change, enduring change, happens one step at a time.” 

I try to remember her wisdom and her words as the world struggles through the terrors of COVID-19, one step at a time. 

Un-tied Nations

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This is literary fiction.  But we can dream. 

The young woman emerges from the podium to loud applause before heading to the exit of the large hall.  Everything about her reeks of rigidity and righteousness: straight shoulders, clenched fist, long brown braid, and taut body all sync with the bitter fury of her message.  With calm wrapped in anger, she spells out the coming reality of a furious future like a viper ready to strike.  The sneer in her mouth dances with the scowl in her eyes. 

Is the closing applause one of gratefulness for her message or for the fact that she has just finished?

Few expected Greta Thunberg to be this powerful … or this vicious.  Although the petite and plain-looking teenager from Sweden has long been celebrated as a formidable advocate for climate change, her speech at the United Nations on Monday let loose the anger of an innocent victim who has been tortured far too long.  Her bearing says it all: “Enough is enough.  This is a matter of life or death and I don’t care any more what you think or whether you like me.”  

The brightness of her glowing magenta blouse is the only lightness in the room. 

 

A few minutes later, while descending the dark stairway from the stage to the vestibule, Greta happens upon a tall, stocky man whose fanciful blond hair outshines her own blouse.  He has arrived early to the hall, walking through the crowds the way he walks everywhere – charging imperiously like a lion on the prowl.  Although he hadn’t slowed for the 180-degree turn on the stairs, he abruptly halts at the glimpse of her thin frail legs from a half flight above. 

Though half his size in both width and height, the toughness of Greta’s bearing apparently spooks the man, who looks at her wide-eyed from a few steps below.  It is just at this moment that her father Svante rushes forward to protect her daughter, now more famous than he, a celebrated author and movie producer.  Caught off-guard by people rushing up the stairs, he looks aghast at a burly man sporting a long red tie on a plain white shirt and charcoal suit who stands frozen in his tracks while her daughter says, icily, “Hello, Mr. President.”   With her startled father struggling to navigate the growing crowd, Greta continues her path to the exit, bypassing Donald Trump without acknowledging either his status or his stature.

“Oh my God!” exclaims Svante, placing a tender hand on Greta’s shoulder.   “Did you see the look in his eyes when he saw you?”

“No, I just wanted to get past him as fast as I could without giving him an opening to go off on me the way he does everyone else.  It was like the stairway was filling with toxic fumes and I just wanted to escape.”

“Well, you certainly startled him!” says her father.  “Of all the faces he has ever displayed – charming, contemptuous, dismissive, innocent, vitriolic, abusive, whatever – I’ve never seen him with that look…”

“What do you mean, Dad?  What do you see?”

“Terror.  True terror.  He’s scared!”  Then, with awe in his voice, he continues, “He’s scared of … you!”

Greta pauses to smile before moving to the exit.

 * * * 

“David said to [Goliath] the Philistine, ‘You come to me with sword and spear and javelin; but I come to you in the name of the Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied. ‘” [1 Samuel 45]

“And a little child shall lead them.” [Isaiah 11:6]

A Cure for TB

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This was a sermon that I delivered at the First Congregational Church in Ithaca, NY on July 7, 2019.  

 

We’re coming to the end of the July 4thcelebrations.  Hopefully, we enjoyed fireworks of beauty and joy as we gave thanks for the many blessings that come to us in this time and place.  For all the challenges facing our country and the world, the gift of freedom is perhaps the greatest that humankind has ever enjoyed.

But many of us are free in name only.  We can vote and congregate and speak as we like, but we’re torn apart by inner conflict. And I’m sorry to say that the institutional church is one of the worst tyrants in terms of creating prisons of fear and spiritual, intellectual, and emotional torture.  If we believe the tenets of the Apostles’ and Nicene Creeds, then God loves us and we’ll go to heaven.  If we don’t, then all hell is likely to break loose.  The curse of orthodoxy, i.e., “right thinking” has too many Christians in its vicious grip, as it has for almost 2,000 years. 

But spiritual freedom is possible, and it’s a gift for each of us as individuals and for the world as a whole.  Before I go there, however, you might be curious about the affliction of TB that I have found a cure for.  Be assured that I have many challenges, but I’ve never been diagnosed with tuberculosis.  So what might the “TB” stand for?  An Internet search provided:  text back [Internet slang]; textbook; teeny bopper [that’s from the Urban Dictionary]; Tampa Bay, tailback [in football] and dozens of others.  At first, I was thinking TB White, the beloved author of Charlotte’s Web and Stuart Little– and a graduate of Cornell University – but then I remembered it was EB White, not TB…  [That’s part of the reason you can’t take me too seriously…]

My affliction has nothing to do with any of these, so let me share a bit of my background and see if you can figure out the problem – and whether any of you might also suffer from it.  My guess is that I’m not alone…

  • My grandparents were all Episcopalians and active churchgoers – progressive and involved in justice and charitable causes. My father’s side was more conservative; mother’s side more liberal (both theologically and politically), but they all represented the best that church might offer
  • My parents were secular humanists. The idea of God just didn’t make sense.   They were active in politics and community issues, but not church. So, since I grew up in Washington, DC, instead of church, we went for a Sunday picnic up the Potomac River – snow or shine. 
  • I discovered the National Cathedral when I was 7 and loved the music, poetry, and architecture. I also loved being with my grandparents, but the idea of God didn’t make sense.  Yet I could feel something, inexplicable but lovely.  So Sunday picnics up the Potomac and occasional worship at the Cathedral filled my spirit.

This continued until I served a year as a VISTA Volunteer in Appalachia and went with friends to a Baptist church.  As the preacher spoke about the wages of sin and the torments of hell, he quite literally, scared the you-know-what out of me.  So I started going to an Episcopal church, mostly for companionship, although the fact that they served wine for communion – in a dry country – was added incentive.  But, even though I didn’t agree literally with the creeds and other tenets of faith, church reminded me of my grandparents and being loved for who I was rather than being damned for who I wasn’t.

In my 20’s and 30’s, I went to church mostly to sing in the choir. God didn’t have a lot of influence one way or the other until several cousins on my father’s side became caught up with the religious right at the same time that my sister realized she was a lesbian.  Suffice it to say that the resulting split was vicious.  As the only churchgoer in my immediate family, I was expected to save my sister and parents or I too would end up in hell while my cousins enjoyed being cheek-to-jowl with Jesus and our beloved grandparents for all eternity. 

This is when I realized that I was suffering from TB – in my case, being theologically bipolar.  My head believed in the power and message of Jesus but dismissed the supernatural folderol of Christianity, while my heart was calmed and comforted in worship and other church activities.  Everywhere I looked, I saw people who either believed or didn’t believe and they were comfortable with their choice.  But I wasn’t. I lived on a seesaw that was careening up and down with the demand that I make a decision for or against God.

In my mid-forties, after one-too-many life crises, I felt called to explore ordained ministry even though I knew it didn’t make much sense. God and Jesus spoke to me regularly in dreams, through music and poetry, and the outdoors.  But… as a minister, I would be expected to preach the company line – and I knew I couldn’t. It seemed all so binary.  In or out.  Believer or heathen. Either one accepts the doctrines of the church or one doesn’t.  I could celebrate mystery but not magic.  There was no room for my both-and spirituality.   So I continued to take classes but didn’t see ministry as a life path.  I could recognize the Potomac River as my first altar and great blue herons as my first priests – but the church wouldn’t accept me with that kind of nonsense.  New Age Spirituality might have much to offer, but it wouldn’t pass muster if you wanted to be ordained. 

And then, a year in, I discovered Celtic spirituality.  The first treasure was Matthew Fox’s book, Original Blessing, published in 1983, when Fox was a Roman Catholic priest in the Dominican Order.  The book was revolutionary in that it looked as creation as we discussed in the children’s message and it then explained how the Christian church had gotten off course with its focus on original sin.  Fox drew inspiration from the mystical philosophies of such medieval Catholic visionaries as Hildegard of Bingen, Thomas Aquinas, Saint Francis, Julian of Norwich, Dante, and Meister Eckhart as well as the wisdom and prophetic traditions of Jewish scriptures.  “Creation Spirituality,” as it became known, is also strongly aligned with ecological and environmental movements and embraces numerous spiritual traditions around the world, including Buddhism, Judaism, and Native American spirituality.  It was so effective that Fox was expelled from the Dominicans.

The second, and even more important gift was to learn about the 4th century Celtic theologian Pelagius, who believed that newborns come from God, blending the goodness of creation with humanity’s blessedness.  This put him in conflict with St. Augustine who taught that children are born depraved and humanity’s sinful nature is transmitted from one generation to the next, beginning with Adam to the present – in other words, original sin.  Augustine argued that our lives are beset with constant fights between our human, sinful nature and God’s will for us. He also believed that infants who die before baptism are doomed to life eternal in hell.

This contrast between Pelagius’ original blessing and Augustine’s original sin was played out on the papal stage. Augustine won and Pelagius was declared a heretic and expelled from Jerusalem. The doctrine of original sin became orthodoxy and the consequences have rippled through the centuries, typically leaving women and children at the bottom of the moral order.

Sin:  it thrives on fear – the fear of being judged unworthy. Fear of the eternal torture of hell.  Those who argue for original sin allow church leaders to have undue power over others. One must rely on the priest (in the sacrament of baptism) to be put right with God. Original sin – the bailiwick of the institutional church – emphasizes domination. It is an invention of flawed human beings who inflict spiritual bondage on others as a way of building up their own power.  Humans are on top of the food chain and priests and bishops are on top of the human chain.  Ugh. 

But that hierarchy of horror is alien to the thinking of the Hebrew writers, the Celts, native Americans, and most other religions.  The uniquely Christian version of original sin is what sets us apart from everyone and everything else, and to argue that it is what God wants of us just makes no sense whatsoever.  We need to take a walk in the woods, enjoy the beautiful songs of the birds flying overhead, and treasure the gift of a newborn child – or puppy or calf or whatever – to experience the gifts of God in an intimate and visceral way. 

How wonderful it was to be liberated from my TB (theological bipolarity) affliction and to write my own Declaration of Independence from that old construct called original sin!

Then, while learning more about Celtic spirituality, I discovered key aspects of ancient Christian principles that blended with very modern ideas, including:

  • Everything is sacred because God is interwoven in the physical and spirit worlds. Celtic thinking is both/and rather than either/or.
  • The Celts believed in panentheism. Pantheism sees nature as God, but panentheism recognizes God in but not limited to the natural world.  The natural and supernatural worlds are interwoven, without boundaries between sacred and secular. 
  • “Matter matters” (George MacLeod, founder of Iona Community)
  • Pilgrimage is not a trip or a vacation but a way of life – we’re always on a journey to God
  • “Soul friends” help us be honest with ourselves and each other and bring God’s love into our daily lives
  • There is equality between sexes and between lay/clergy
  • Focus on mysticism and experience of God, not dogma about God.

Those of us who speak of original blessing do not deny the reality of sin. We know the brokenness of bad decisions and the realities of systemic patterns that perpetuate injustice and sorrow. However, we trust in the original blessing as the gift of life and call on leaders to empower others to recognize the image of God inside, outside, and all around them – like the Affirmation of Faith that we spoke earlier.  Isn’t this a liberating way to honor our faith, our world, and our lives?

So look around.  Look at the faces of your family and friends here.  Look at the stones and waters and plants and flowers.  Everything is sacred.  Everything carries a message of the love of God, asking only that we tear down institutions of false domination and celebrate the interwovenness of the divine with humanity and all creation. 

 

Note:  Here is the Affirmation of Faith from the Iona Community.  You might want to compare it with the Apostles’ Creed to understand why Celtic spirituality has so much to offer the world:

WE BELIEVE IN GOD ABOVE US,

MAKER AND SUSTAINER OF ALL LIFE,

OF SUN AND MOON,

OF WATER AND EARTH,

OF MALE AND FEMALE

WE BELIEVE IN GOD ABOVE US,

MAKER AND SUSTAINER OF ALL LIFE,

OF SUN AND MOON,

OF WATER AND EARTH,

OF MALE AND FEMALE.

WE BELIEVE IN GOD BESIDE US,

JESUS CHRIST, THE WORD MADE FLESH,

BORN OF A WOMAN, SERVANT OF THE POOR,

TORTURED AND NAILED TO A TREE.

A MAN OF SORROWS, HE DIED FORSAKEN.

HE DESCENDED INTO THE EARTH

TO THE PLACE OF DEATH.

ON THE THIRD DAY HE ROSE FROM THE TOMB.

HE ASCENDED INTO HEAVEN

TO BE EVERYWHERE PRESENT,

AND HIS KINGDOM WILL COME ON EARTH.

WE BELIEVE IN GOD WITHIN US,

THE HOLY SPIRIT OF PENTECOSTAL FIRE,

LIFE-GIVING BREATH OF THE CHURCH,

SPIRIT OF HEALING AND FORGIVENESS,

SOURCE OF RESURRECTION AND OF ETERNAL LIFE.  AMEN

Letter of Mark Twain to His Mother

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PLEASE NOTE:  EVERYTHING HERE IS FICTIONAL!  It was written by Felicity Wright as part of an exercise in a writing class.  The assignment was to write a 2-page letter.  That was all.  This is what came out.  But few people know about Mark Twain’s tortured theology and even fewer know about his affection for Joan of Arc.  So enjoy and learn — and celebrate heroes of all persuasions, times, and personalities. 

Editor’s Note: This letter from Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain) to his mother, Jane Lampton Clemens, was discovered in the papers of Suzy, his youngest daughter who wrote a “biography” of her father when she was ten. In it, Clemens refers to family members: Orion (older brother), Livy (wife), Jervis Langdon (deceased father-in-law). He also refers to Quarry Farm (the summer home in Elmira where he wrote his greatest novels), and The Park Church (an Elmira landmark founded by Langdon and other abolitionists).  Twain’s last book, Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc, was published in 1896.  He later wrote: “I like Joan of Arc best of all my books; and it is the best; I know it perfectly well. And besides, it furnished me seven times the pleasure afforded me by any of the others; twelve years of preparation, and two years of writing. The others needed no preparation and got none.”

Elmira, August 7, 1885.

Dear Ma,

I’ve heard that Orion is slowly recovering from his broken leg, and I’m guessing that you’re dealing with my aging brother’s plight as you managed my childhood – with a blend of humor, tenderness, and insults.  Since Orion inherited Father’s seriousness while I was nursed on your nuttiness, I’m sure that he is aching to return to the law, farming, and politics if only to escape your pestering.

As always, life is enchanting here at Quarry Farm.  The girls are delighting in the beauty of the landscape and the affection of the people here, of which Mary Ann Cord, the colored cook whom I wrote about in “A True Story Repeated Word for Word as I Heard It” is our special favorite. We all gather for a couple of hours after dinner to watch stars, listen to the animals, and share stories (both real and imagined).  Life doesn’t get any better than this.

Even though my 50th birthday is still three months away, the girls are plotting outrageous concoctions and playful dramas.  They love your story of Halley’s comet appearing on my birthday and the prediction that I will die when it next appears.  Since Halley won’t return for another 25 years, you, Livy, and the girls will have to put up with me until 1910, at which point I will follow the comet to heaven, or some other strange and unknown destination. They’re not sure whether to be reassured or disappointed. 

The charm of this place fills me with gratitude for Livy’s father and the courage that he and other founders of Park Church showed in making Elmira a commercial hub and key stop in the Underground Railroad. This has made me think about my other heroes, including you, Abraham Lincoln, and your favorite Christian, Joan of Arc.  It was just after Pa died, when I was eleven, that you used her to teach us how to manage loss. I still remember the awe upon learning that a young girl from a poor family spoke truth when lying was the common speech of men; she was full of pity when merciless cruelty was the norm; she was a rock of conviction when her countrymen believed in nothing and scoffed at everything.  She was the youngest person of any sex to command the military forces of a nation andshe was burned at the stake. When people chide me for my scorn for the institutional church, I simply sigh and smile, “If there were more people like Jervis Langdon and Joan of Arc, I would be worshipping God and hanging out in church every day.”

But how did Joan manage the terror?  Was it faith or something more? Was God responsible for the visions that changed history, or was she crazy? Being haunted by these questions for almost forty years, I’ve decided that her story will be my next book. I’m just beginning the research, so I’d love your insights when you come visit for Christmas.

Livy and the girls join me in sending our undying love. 

Sam

The Key to God’s Heart: Then and Now

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March 7 is the Feast Day for Sts. Perpetua and Felicity (Felicitas).  Perpetua’s letter to her father is a powerful testimony — then and now.  I’m part of a small writing group in which we have 2 pages each week to write on a top that varies each week.  In this case, the “spark” was “key.”  This fictional dialogue between the two saints is what emerged.

Background:  Perpetua was a noblewoman who lived in Carthage with her husband, infant son, and slave Felicity at the beginning of the third century. After Septimius Severus became Emperor in 193 CE, he proceeded to cripple Christianity on the grounds that it undermined Roman patriotism. Among those arrested were five Christians, including both Perpetua and Felicity.  Perpetua’s father pleaded with her to renounce her faith, but she refused to do so.  Her letters to him were as widely distributed as those of St. Paul to the early church and were instrumental in attracting people to the faith.  Jailed while awaiting execution in the amphitheater, this “conversation” between Perpetua and her slave occurred on 4 March 203.

Perpetua:  Felicity, you don’t have to become a martyr for Christ!  You’re my servant and I herewith absolve you of all wanted or unwanted devotion to me or my faith.  And before you protest too much, consider this: first, unlike me, you’re not yet baptized, and second, you will deliver a child in a month or so.  Thus, Christians won’t condemn you and the Romans won’t execute you.  You have time to reconsider.  So please don’t let my fervor influence you; decide for yourself and your child-to-be.

Felicity:  My lady, I watch you and other Christians and I am in awe.  It was humbling to listen yesterday as you spoke to your father with a blend of kindness and firmness I’ve never witnessed before.  Instead of being subservient – like me – you have a power that is quiet but inviolate.  Christian women are taken as seriously as men; they seem to possess an authority that comes from God.  That is why I want to join you – to experience the fearlessness that comes with faith.  You make choices based on love, not power, and courage, not fear.  I recognize that as liberty.  It is something I have never known, so please allow me to join Christ and you in this path to freedom.

Perpetua:  Those are lovely thoughts, but remember that you cannot follow me into the arena of death and new life: you have an infant growing inside you …

Felicity:   Yes, but I have been praying fervently for the baby to come early.  And just as your husband will care for your son, so also will other Christians foster my child.  All will be well:  I know that Jesus hears me and will do what is best…

Perpetua:  Hmmm… How do you know?  I understand my faith, but yours…?

Felicity:  Dear lady, as you know, during the last years since we first learned about Jesus, I’ve been having wonderful dreams, unlike anything in the past.  You understand this, for you write about your visions in ways that our leaders celebrate. But I haven’t been willing to share, until now.  Usually it’s Jesus or Mary who bring encouragement, but last night, it was a very strange bird-like creature that came and hovered just a foot from my head. I was walking along a mountainous path far above the sea, wondering about life, and death, and whether Jesus was for real, and what heaven is like, or if, in fact, there is anything after death. I was wondering whether God controls everything or not, and whether God is kind or mean or in-between.  Will martyrdom bring believers to Jesus and eternal happiness or is it just a silly notion to keep us docile?  I was muttering some of these things aloud when this bird – it was colorful and huge like the mythical phoenix, but hovered without flapping its wings – rather like an angel over my shoulder.  All of a sudden, it spoke aloud: 

        “Felicity, as you ponder what to do or what not to do – whether to join Perpetua and the other Christians in a brutal death or to take advantage of your pregnancy and slave status to deny your faith, know that God has sent me with one message and one message only.  It is this: God is love and God will love you whatever you choose. Nothing more, nothing less.”

         I interrupted.  “But what does that mean – right here, right now?  What does that mean, practically speaking?”  I paused and then asked, “What is the key to God’s heart?  If I knew what God wanted of me, then I would know what to do.” 

          The creature clucked, flapped its wings, did some kind of happy circle dance, and continued: “God is love, and love comes to those who live with courage, humility, and gratitude.  It’s like a three-legged stool: consider what brings deep but simple joy (the gratitude part) and then examine how to balance that with the other two.  Courage, humility, and gratitude: fused together, they become the key that opens the heart of God.  What you will discover there is the peace that passes all understanding.”

 

That night, Felicity gave birth to a healthy daughter, who was handed over to other Christians in the community.  Three days later, she and Perpetua were martyred in the amphitheater as part of the military games to celebrate the emperor’s birthday.