The Plymouth Church of the Pigrims of Brooklyn Heights was founded in 1847, with Henry Ward Beecher as its first pastor. Beecher was the most famous American preacher of the time, counting amongst his fans the likes of Walt Whitman, Mark Twain, and Abraham Lincoln. An ardent abolitionist (and not coincidentally the brother of Harriet Beecher Stowe, author of Uncle Tom's Cabin), Beecher turned the church into the "Grand Central Depot" of the Underground Railroad. For this reason, the building is included in the National Register of Historic Places.
True to its name, the church also houses a piece of Plymouth Rock itself, presumably chipped off by one of the founders.
I've been thinking a lot about the Pilgrims lately, in light of the ongoing dissolution of the Episcopal Church.
The Episcopalians are the American branch of the Anglican Communion, which is headed by the Church of England. The best characterization I have heard of the Episcopalian ethos was offered by my paternal grandmother to my mother, in a vain attempt to get her to convert:
"Oh, Susan, you simply must convert to Episcopalianism. It's so easy. You don't have to do anything."
The only requirement was that you occasionally went to church. What you did or did not believe was your own concern. What anyone else did or did not believe was their own concern. Don't ask, don't tell. Dress up, show up, shut up.
This works pretty well, as long as no one starts taking themselves too seriously — which is exactly what happened with the Pilgrims. "Free to believe whatever we want, as long as we just come to school and play nice? Screw you! We're going to Holland! And when we get bored there, we're all gonna go missionize some heathens in the New World! See ya!"
The English have lived for quite a while in quite a crowded little piece of land, and have established traditions of communal practice coupled with tolerance in order to get along. This is decidedly not what the Pilgrims et al brought with them to America, which is why our branch of the Anglican Communion was probably always doomed to schism. "Free to discriminate against women & gays, as long as we accept that this doesn't happen everywhere? Screw you! We're going to join the Church of Nigeria! See ya!"
The Grand American Tradition is that of the dramatic exit. If we don't like the rules of the game, or it doesn't look like we're going to win, we storm off in a huff. We are malcontents. We are what the English would call "bad sports."
I've been criticised for repeatedly harshing on the English in this blog. In my defense, I want to first say that every American schoolchild is taught that the English were horrible tyrants who killed half of Boston and hated us for our freedoms. I would also like to say that I think my country has gone bonkers, and I resent that the one people on Earth to whom we might listen have not brought us back from the brink.
But mostly, to an American, what is frustrating about England is that it all just seems to work somehow. Because it shouldn't really. I mean, you're not trying hard enough. Not enough Protestant in your work ethic, not enough sweat on the brow, not enough dyspepsia. Where's the ulcer that shows you really care?
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