Worshiping Together

 

Thursday was Ascension Day. My church united with the other LCMS churches in our district for a joint service, and I sang in the combined choir.

Colossians 3:16 says, “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs with thankfulness in your hearts to God.” (ESV) That’s exactly what happened on Thursday night. The five congregations that were represented joined together in singing the liturgy (Divine Service 3 for my LCMS friends) and six very joyful hymns, including several of my favorites.

I love to sing, and the entire service filled me with joy. But the real joy didn’t come from the music or the sermon or even from taking communion. The real joy comes from knowing that my Savior lives and will return again one day, and that I am with Him now and for all eternity.

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Alleluia!

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The image at the top of this post is Rembrandt’s “The Ascension,” painted as part of a Passion Cycle commissioned by Frederick Henry, Prince of Orange. Oil paint darkens over the years, so I lightened the image to show the detail better. It is in the public domain because of its age.

Prejudice vs. Reality

 

As I’ve mentioned in past posts, some of the people who joined the California gold rush took a route across the Isthmus of Panama. My current work-in-progress follows that path.

Once the gold seekers reached the eastern shore of Panama, the next leg of their trip was up the Chagres River. The vast majority seem to have hired canoes with native crews, as each of the men in my collection of journals did. So it makes sense for my protagonist’s family to do the same.

But here’s the problem. The journals give the impression that the natives were untrustworthy and lazy. At first glance, it appears to be a stereotype fueled by prejudice. But maybe it isn’t. The natives’ behavior is a common theme and the narratives include concrete details. In some cases, the natives weren’t anywhere to be found at the time contracted for departure. In other cases, they left during a rest stop and had to be rounded up before proceeding. Sometimes it even took an extra payment to get them to provide the services they had promised. The native crews did eventually get the men to their destination, but it was a frustrating experience for the travelers.

So here’s my dilemma. Good historical fiction portrays reality, and the reality appears to be that the natives had a different work ethic than the American and European gold seekers. If I describe the situation the way the journals do, I open myself to a charge of prejudice. If I don’t, I open myself to a charge of altering history. I can’t win.

Or maybe it isn’t as bad as it seems. My protagonist is a twelve-year-old workaholic, and I can play into that. My current solution to the dilemma is to have her father contract for a canoe with a native crew the night before with the agreement that they will leave first thing in the morning, but they don’t show up until the afternoon. When Lizzie complains to Pa, he says the natives have a different culture than the Americans, who are always impatient and uptight. Then he tells Lizzie that she can learn something from the natives because she needs to relax more.

That solution may change with subsequent drafts, but I won’t sacrifice historical reality to sanitize my story.

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The image at the top of this post shows an 1850 oil painting by Charles Christian Nahl titled The Isthmus of Panama on the Height of the Chagres River. It is in the public domain in the United States because of its age.

Journaling Across the Isthmus

 

As I’ve mentioned before, diaries, journals, and other personal experience accounts are my favorite research materials. I’ve found a number of journals documenting the trip across the Isthmus of Panama on the way to the California gold fields in the mid-1800s, but there’s a problem.

All eight accounts were written by men who traveled without their families.

There are enough references to assure me that women took the Isthmus route, too, but if they kept diaries or wrote letters about the experience, I haven’t been able to find them. That’s not really surprising since the vast majority of gold seekers took the overland trails across the prairies and mountains of North America, and the percentage of women and children traveling that route was much higher than it was for the other two main routes, including the one across the Isthmus. But women generally have a different perspective than men, so it would be nice to hear their side of the story.

It isn’t as much of a problem for me when writing the ocean part of the trip. Ships varied, and those that carried passengers usually had separate sleeping accommodations for women and families. So privacy probably wasn’t an issue.

It was for the trip across the Isthmus, however. It’s amazing how similar the experiences of the eight men were, sleeping crowded together in crude one-room buildings—or in even more primitive conditions when the “hotels” were crowded or unbearable. As far as I can tell, the women would have had to sleep right alongside them, to turn away when the men relieved themselves, and to find their own spot in the jungle—complete with snakes and fire ants—where they wouldn’t be disturbed when they took care of their own needs. I’d love to know their thoughts, but I can only infer them.

Unfortunately, my protagonist has to live with those conditions. I can imagine how she would feel, but I’d rather have confirmation from women who were there.

Still, I’ll figure it out.

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The image at the top of this post shows a painting called Crossing the Isthmus. A.D.O. Browere painted it around 1858, and it is in the public domain in the United States because of its age.

Guidebooks to History

 

The characters in my current work-in-progress have to wait in New York City for several days before boarding a ship for Panama and the California gold fields, and they explore the city during that time. So how can I learn what NYC was like then? Download and read old tourist guidebooks.

It’s amazing what you can find on the internet. My story takes place in 1850, and an internet search came up with two guidebooks from around that time. Appleton’s New York City and Vicinity Guide was published in 1849, and The Stranger’s Hand-Book for the City of New York was published by C.S. Francis & Co. for use in 1853 and 1854. Both gave me a feel for the major tourist attractions that my characters might have seen and I picked the most likely ones, including the view from the top of the Trinity Church tower and the fountain at Central Park (then just called “the Park”).

Of course, I still had to be careful because things can change quickly. This is especially true if the guide is published after the story’s date. In the days before the Panama Canal, my protagonist and her family take a steamship to the Atlantic side of Panama, cross the Isthmus by canoe and mule, and pick up another steamship at Panama City on the Pacific. When talking about the ships leaving New York City for Panama, The Stranger’s Hand-Book states that “The transit of the Isthmus by the Panama Railroad is performed in from 18 to 24 hours.” The railroad was not finished until 1855, however, and the guide was probably quoting some optimistic member of the company building it. That’s fine with me since I can get a lot more drama from a crossing that occurs before the railroad is built. But my point here is that a writer should double-check facts even when using contemporary materials.

I also needed to be sure that the information in the 1849 guide was still current in 1850. At a time when fires were an everyday occurrence, one or more of the buildings referenced in Appleton’s guide could have burned down before my characters arrived in NYC. All the sights I used were referenced in both Appleton’s guide and The Stranger’s Guide-Book, so I can be fairly certain that nothing happened to them in-between.

So if you are trying to describe what a city was like in the past, see if you can find a guidebook from that time.

But don’t forget to check its facts.

Back to the Future

 

Fifty years is a long time.

Or a very short one.

On Saturday, I went back to my alma mater for my 50-year college reunion. Hope College in Holland, Michigan, has changed a lot in that time, and so have I. But a lot has also stayed the same.

During the Class of ‘72’s reunion brunch, the college president pointed out that of the 4,000 colleges in the United States, we are one of the few that is named after an idea rather than a person. When Rev. Van Raalte started the school, he remarked that “This is my anchor of hope for this people in the future.” And the school motto is “Spera in Deo,” which translates to “Hope in God.” The photo at the top of this post shows Hope College’s symbol, the anchor in front of Graves Hall.¹

When I attended Hope, there were a few buildings—such as the library—that were considered modern for that day, but most Spear were majestic older buildings, such as Graves Hall and Dimnent Memorial Chapel and it’s oldest one, Van Vleck Hall, where I lived my freshman and sophomore years. The next two photos show Dimnent and Van Vleck.

The historical buildings are still there, with the exception of Van Raalte Hall, which burned down just after I left. But now the old architecture mingles with newer styles, such as the Jack H. Miller Center for Musical Arts in the last photo.

The important things have not changed, however. Hope is still a Christian liberal arts school known for its academic excellence and its Christ-centered focus. Well, one important matter has improved. When I went there the vast majority of students belonged to the Reformed Church and came from Michigan or New York. (So as a Presbyterian from Michigan, I met half of that criteria.) And anyone who wasn’t white stood out. I don’t think the lack of diversity was intentional, but Hope College is affiliated with the Reformed Church in America, which was founded by immigrants from the Netherlands, and the Dutch weren’t a diverse group at the time. Besides, a Hope College education wasn’t cheap.

There is significantly more diversity these days as well as a focused effort to make a Hope College education affordable. Yes, the tuition is still steep (around $50,000 a year), but between scholarships and other efforts, the college is committed to finding ways to mitigate the expense for students.

During the last fifty years, I also changed—and stayed the same. When I started college, my dream was to become a lawyer. By the time I graduated, I was planning on becoming a psychology professor. But it was the first dream that came true. Then it changed again, and now I am a writer.

A lot can happen in fifty years, but it doesn’t have to change the important things. In spite of all the changes on campus, Hope’s mission to provide an excellent Christian education remains firm.

So I’m proud to be a Hope College graduate.

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¹I took the first three photos in 2014. The last one is from Saturday’s visit.