Last night, a very good friend sent me a copy of an article from a 1906-1907 journal which I duly printed out in its entirety: nineteen pages. I’m so glad I did. Huddled under a crocheted afghan in my living room in my antique, windy house, my husband beside me in his easy chair, both of us reading, I couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the portrait that was painted, in words, of Mark Baker, Mary Baker Eddy’s father.

The story that made me laugh is an account of a Monday morning in which he dressed for church and proceeded to go there, chiding his neighbors in their fields for “working on the Sabbath,” in a very outraged fashion. One neighbor called him a “lost soul.” Another woman, hanging out her wash as he passed, replied to his question, “Don’t you know that this is the Sabbath?” She said, “Why, Uncle Mark, this is Monday!” Humorlessly, he retorted “I’ll have no joking with the Sabbath Day.” Arriving at the church, he found it was locked. He sought out the minister and together they “fell on their knees in prayer.” He must not have been totally convinced, however, because when he was nearly home he bonked a tame crow over the head and killed it, saying “I’ll learn ye to hop and caw on the Sabbath day!”

I recount the story here because 1) I find it shockingly funny and 2) it seems to be indicative of many who have found “religion” and go off half-cocked, tilting at windmills and basing their deeds on the words of mortals, not God. Trouble is, these “lost souls” truly believe in their own mental flights of fancy or those of designated spiritual leaders.

Recently, I saw a program on television that depicted a number of people who sincerely believe that they are the “second coming of Christ.” One of them, an Englishman, stood in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and wept openly, choking out the words, “So this is where I am buried.” He deems himself to be Jesus Christ, and customarily lives in a tent in England, thinking that he is doing the Father’s will.

Violence is often the by-product of religion. We do not have to look far today to come to that understanding. Historically, there is a greater story to tell as anyone who even entertains a brief look at History can readily ascertain. The greater question for all who live is whether or not there is “life after death,” and whether there is some prescribed set of actions that will achieve that goal, whether it is praying in the direction of Mecca, eating only unleavened bread, or going to church every Sunday. Are those actions enough? What would be enough to please the gods or the one God… to ensure safe passage across the proverbial river that intersects life as we know it and eternal life. These are not questions that one ordinary mortal or one specific brand of religion can answer. Humankind has been seeking The Answer to mortality/immortality for centuries.

To me, Mark Baker, represents a type of person who is didactic and always right, even when he is wrong. He is portrayed as anti-Lincoln (and one who rejoiced at Lincoln’s death), pro-slavery, “ignorant, dominating, passionate, fearless” as well as “hard-fisted.” He was a strong church leader who made his six children sit with their hands folded all day, on the Sabbath. The author of the article states that his qualities were passed along to his children and all of them had a local reputation for “crankiness.” The Bakers lived in New Hampshire, thus my interest in this part of history of which I previously knew very little.

Patrica Cummings

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