A Living Word

I’ve thought that if I had lived during the era of the War for Independence and could have picked my husband’s profession, I’d choose printing. Laying out rows of type (backwards so that the text would appear left-to-right on the printed page) seems fascinating, and I’d like to think that I wouldn’t mind at all if Mr. Printer’s hands and apron were all ink-stained. What would that matter compared to the joy of promulgated news, knowledge and noteworthy notions? Besides, I figured I would be able to manage the print shop nicely (all right, with some help) if my hero joined the ranks of the American militia. After all, we would surely strive to practice what we printed!

Yes, if my last name were Gutenberg itself I’d be rather thrilled (though I admit to true partiality to my real last name as is…It’s rather a handy title, you see.) But why Gutenberg, you ask? Ah, well, it was back in the 1400s that Johannes Gutenberg invented the first movable type printing press. This invention made possible faster and economical printing of all kinds, especially books. 

Thanks to movable type, phrases like these haven been printed and distributed around the world:

“Humility makes great men twice honorable.” ~Benjamin Franklin, Poor Richard’s Almanac

“If I can stop one Heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain…”  ~Emily Dickinson 

“It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.” ~Charles Dickens

“Elementary, my dear Watson.” Sherlock Holmes, via Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

The writers behind these words wrote them for various reasons, I’m sure, but, I think, they all understood that what someone reads affects him. Whether their goal was to instruct, encourage, inspire, or amuse, they counted on the power of the printed word. If what people read only goes in their eyes and out the back of their heads and doesn’t change how they live at all – even for moments – I think most writers would scurry off to a different profession. The world certainly knows that writers don’t write for the money involved!

Yes, words have power. Yet books fall apart, ink fades and paper decays. Words really cannot live on their own. They are like marionettes, sitting motionless unless someone gives them action.

There is, however, one Living Word. It is of this Word that a German – who demonstrated that he believed in the power of words by nailing a parchment to a chapel door in Wittenberg on this day 498 years ago – wrote the following lines.

Did we in our own strength confide, our striving would be losing;

Were not the right Man on our side, the Man of God’s own choosing:

Dost ask who that may be? Christ Jesus, it is He;

Lord Sabaoth, His Name, from age to age the same,

And He must win the battle.

And though this world, with devils filled, should threaten to undo us,

We will not fear, for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us:

The Prince of Darkness grim, we tremble not for him;

His rage we can endure, for lo, his doom is sure,

One little word shall fell him.

That word above all earthly powers, no thanks to them, abideth;

The Spirit and the gifts are ours through Him Who with us sideth:

Let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also;

The body they may kill: God’s truth abideth still,

His kingdom is forever. 

~”A Mighty Fortress Is Our God”, Martin Luther

And it is of this Word that it was written first by hand and then printed for all the world to read: 

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. ~John 1:14, ESV

Now that’s a Living Word. 

And what became of Martin Luther’s words nailed to the Wittenberg Chapel on October 31, 1517? Those Ninety-Five Theses sparked a movement that took Europe by storm and, arguably, changed the course of history: the Reformation. Whatever your view of that event, it does show that words (especially when they are brought to life by actions) have power. Let’s remember that on this Reformation Day.

Stepping into the Story: The Williamsburg Years

At long last, I stepped through the doorway. Even though the inside of the Colonial Williamsburg apothecary shop didn’t look quite how I’d pictured it, my heart leapt as my eyes swept up the details. Above the counter were the jars of medicinal elements. No wonder Thomas Hutchinson felt overwhelmed in The Rebel on his first day as the apothecary’s apprentice! I felt as if I had spent hours in this place even though I’d never set foot in it until this moment. That’s the beauty of books…and I had just stepped into one of my favorites!

With rich details and fast-paced adventures, Nancy Rue brought Colonial Williamsburg all the way to eleven-year-old me in Guatemala via her series The Williamsburg Years. Of course, literary license and the fact that today’s Colonial Williamsburg bounces around in the Revolutionary-War era meant that not everything was as I wanted it to be when I visited today’s Williamsburg. Wouldn’t it have been fun if old Mr. Pickering really were behind the counter of the apothecary shop? Still, whether I was listening to George Washington, strolling up to the Governor’s Palace, nibbling ginger cookies or riding in a carriage, Thomas Hutchinson’s adventures were spread over my experiences like the chocolate sauce on my peppermint stick ice cream at the King’s Arms Tavern.

Like the young United States, Thomas Hutchinson has a lot of growing up to do in The Williamsburg Years. In fact, you may not like him very much when you first meet. On the other hand, you may understand why he feels like he might as well not even bother trying to live up to his two “perfect” older brothers. No matter how you see him at first, you’ll find that he’s changed by 1783. How could it be otherwise when he’s learned to love learning from Alexander Taylor, spent three years as Mr. Pickering’s apprentice, become like a brother to indentured servants Malcolm and Patsy, trained as the right hand of Dr. Nicholas Quincy, witnessed Tarletan’s raids on the Hutchinson plantation, and watched one brother leave to fight for liberty and the other to become a minister? (Not bad for a thirteen-year-old, right?) Yet, with all the progress he’s made, as the battle of Yorktown fills the Williamsburg air with explosions and the Governor’s Palace with wounded soldiers, Thomas still has plenty of his own battles to fight. There’s the issue of Malcolm wanting to join the army more than anything while Thomas can’t stand the thought of sending off another brother. Then there’s Dr. Quincy, who has risked the ire of hot-headed Patriots to follow his Quaker beliefs and is now risking everything to save lives on the battlefront. And what will the Patriot victory at Yorktown mean for Thomas’s best friend, Caroline Taylor, who has a melon-slice smile and a Loyalist family? Maybe you can join the adventure and find out for yourself!

I think one of the many truths Thomas learns as the new United States gains her freedom is what it means to be really free. After the battle of Yorktown brings the war mostly to a close, Thomas’s father shares a few thoughts with him.

When they reached the end of the Green, the bells in Bruton Parish Church were ringing joyfully and people were rushing back and forth across the Market Square in their best clothes, ready to go to the surrender ceremony. Papa watched them for a moment before he spoke. 

“I feel no need to go to Yorktown today,” he said. “For me, the war has been fought right here.” He put his hand on his chest. “Right inside ourselves.”

Thomas felt his brow puckering. “I don’t understand.”

“You have fought your own battles during this war, Thomas,” Papa said. “Right there in your own soul. I think you’ve come through it all feeling God’s hand.”

I have felt God’s hand, Thomas thought as he looked out over the Duke of Gloucester Street…

Papa touched Thomas’s shoulder. “I am proud to say, son, that you’ve joined God’s side, and you’re winning that war inside yourself. Do you know what that makes you, Thomas?”

Thomas shook his head and looked where his father was pointing. On the roof of the Courthouse, the new flag flapped proudly in the wind, brilliantly red, white and blue against the October sky.

“It makes you free, son,” Papa said. “No matter what you may have to suffer, you will always be free.”[1]

What do you think? What does it really mean to be free? This post brings to a close my miniseries on the War for Independence. However, there’s so much more to learn! While The Williamsburg Years are no longer in print, you can still find copies on eBay and Amazon. Then you can visit Colonial Williamsburg online. If you ever get a chance to visit in person, the peppermint stick ice cream at the King’s Arms Tavern really is the very best! Step into the story today.

 

[1] Nancy Rue, The Battle, The Williamsburg Years, no. 6 (Minneapolis: Bethany House, 1997), 187-188.