Note—For the first time since 2012
Ash Wednesday and George Washington’s Birthday coincide.
Ash Wednesday.
Since
the entirely spurious story of the Vision at Valley Forge was reportedly made in 1859 reminiscences by 99-year-old Anthony Sherman, who was supposedly present with Continental Army at Valley Forge during the winter of 1777
and overheard Washington tell an
officer that an angel had revealed a
prophetic vision of America to him. There is no other confirmation of this
and the recollections or revels recounted second hand make it dubious.
It
did not see print until April 1861
just at the outbreak of the Civil War by Philadelphia journalist Charles Wesley Alexander. Writing under the
pseudonym Wesley Bradshaw, Alexander authored several fictional vision or dream
pieces featuring historic American figures which were published as broadsheets and in various newspapers during the Civil War and were later offered for
sale through advertisements in the
pages of The Soldier’s Casket, his post-war publication. It was meant to be allegorical fiction but was swallowed hook, line, and sinker by American
Evangelicals and some Catholics who
would find the mystical revelation an
echo of many saint tales. It has also
been cynically promoted by certain hyper-conservative elements as proof that Washington and other Founders were deep and profound Christians
in refutation of the fact that many of them were rationalists, Deists, or adherents of heretical sects or theologies.
An iconic image by artist Arnold Friberg—one of several versions created over the
years—was widely used to promote this pseudo
history. The story, image, and propaganda punch got new
wings during the McCarthy era Red
Scare of the early ‘50’s when the original so-called prophesy—obviously meant as a metaphor
for the Civil War—was retooled as an anti-Communist
screed.
These
days it is a handy tool in the dominionist belt for asserting a claim that the U.S. is a Christian
Nation and should be ruled in the name of Christ.
All
of which begs the question—what
were Washington’s actual religious
beliefs? Conservatives point out
that he was a life-long Anglican and
served as a Vestryman in his local parish. True enough.
As the local squire the role
of Vestryman—a lay member of a parish governing council—was an expected duty. Washington from adolescence always was keenly
aware of the duties of a gentleman and his obligation to fill them. But
in adulthood like many Virginians of his class he became influenced
by the heretical philosophies of the
Scottish Enlightenment, and
eventually Deism. While never a deep religious thinker like young Thomas Jefferson, he privately discarded most of the tenets of orthodox Christianity. In
his letters, writings,
and public utterances he
sometimes used the word God but more
frequently used Deist constructions like Providence. He virtually never referenced Jesus Christ.
In adulthood
he often skipped regular Sunday services when he could—his
duties as a soldier and statesman provided ample excuses. When he did attend, he always left after the sermon and before the call to
the communion rail.
Washington’s
real spiritual life was rooted in Freemasonry, to which he was devoted.
The Masonry of his era combined esoteric
mystic ritual with strong Deist elements and more than a dash of republican (small r)
radicalism. Washington famously laid the cornerstone of the Capitol building wearing his Grand Master Mason apron. The eye-in-the-pyramid
on the obverse of the Great Seal of the United States, seen
most commonly on the back of the one
dollar bill is generally credited to the influence of the First President on its design.
Anyway,
all of that was rolling around my fevered brain and contributed to this opus.
The Vestryman
Ash Wednesday/Washington’s Birthday 2012
The
Vestryman performing the duty expected of the local squire
attended chapel when absolutely
necessary
and when no good excuse like
fighting an Empire
or Fathering a Country was handy.
He sat
bolt upright on a rigid pew
contemplated
the charms of Lady Fairfax
or later dental misery.
When came the altar call, he would
stand up,
turn on his heel, and
march straight out
as if a legion was at
his back.
No filthy priestly thumb ever grimed
that noble brow.
—Patrick Murfin
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