Perotine Massey

Perotine Massey


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Perotine Massey morava em Guernsey. Ela era casada com um ministro calvinista. Ele deixou a ilha para viver em Londres, possivelmente para evitar um processo. Em 1556, Perotine Massey e sua irmã, Guillemine Gilbert, e sua mãe, Katharine Cawches, foram acusados ​​de receber um cálice roubado. No julgamento, foi decidido que a testemunha principal, Vincent Gosset, mentiu sobre o cálice. As mulheres foram declaradas inocentes e Gosset teve sua orelha pregada no pelourinho. (1)

Durante o julgamento, foi registrado que as três mulheres não frequentavam a igreja. De acordo com o relatório do tribunal: "Mestre Dean e os juízes em seu tribunal e jurisdição, depois de todas as recomendações amáveis, agrada-lhe saber que somos informados pelos depoimentos de certos homens honestos, perante nós na forma de um inquérito; no qual inquérito Katharine Cawches e suas duas filhas submeteram-se a um certo assunto criminoso: em que somos informados de que foram desobedientes aos mandamentos e ordenanças da igreja, ao desprezar e abandonar a missa e as ordenanças da mesma, contra a vontade e mandamento de nosso soberano senhor, o rei e a rainha. " Todas as três mulheres foram acusadas de heresia e, em 1º de julho de 1556, levadas para o Castelo Cornet.

Em 4 de julho, Perotine Massey, Guillemine Gilbert e Katharine Cawches foram julgados por heresia. As mulheres alegaram que estavam agindo de acordo com as políticas religiosas do rei Eduardo VI. No entanto, de acordo com o testemunho de seus vizinhos, eles não estavam dispostos a seguir as cerimônias religiosas que haviam sido impostas pela Rainha Maria. Todas as três mulheres foram consideradas culpadas de heresia e condenadas a serem queimadas na fogueira. Perotina estava grávida. Nos tempos pagãos, as mulheres grávidas não podiam ser executadas, mas os católicos do século XVI achavam que era aceitável matar o nascituro.

Helier Gosselin foi encarregado das execuções ocorridas em 18 de julho de 1556. Todos os três foram queimados no mesmo fogo. John Foxe mais tarde registrou a morte das três mulheres: "Chegará o tempo em que esses três bons servos e santos santos de Deus, a inocente mãe com suas duas filhas, deveriam sofrer, no lugar onde deveriam consumar seu martírio, foi três estacas montadas. No poste do meio estava a mãe, a filha mais velha à direita, a mais nova na outra. Primeiro foram estranguladas, mas a corda se quebrou antes de morrerem, e as pobres mulheres caíram no fogo Perotina, então grávida, caiu para o lado dela, onde aconteceu uma visão triste, não só aos olhos de todos os que ali estavam, mas também aos ouvidos de todos os cristãos sinceros que hão de ler esta história. Pois assim como o ventre da mulher se despedaçou pela veemência da chama ”.

Uma das testemunhas da execução, William House, tirou o bebê do fogo e o deitou na grama. Helier Gosselin ordenou que "fosse levado de volta e lançado ao fogo". Em seu livro, Livro dos Mártires (1563), Foxe argumentou: "E assim a criança, batizada em seu próprio sangue, para preencher o número dos santos inocentes de Deus, nasceu e morreu mártir, deixando para trás para o mundo, que nunca viu, um espetáculo onde o mundo inteiro pode ver a crueldade de Herodin de ... algozes católicos. " (2) Como o tio da mãe falecida posteriormente reclamou em um dos registros sobreviventes do incidente "o bebê nascido de um deles foi levado e lançado no fogo novamente, quatro sendo executados, embora apenas três tivessem sido condenados". (3)

A rainha Maria morreu em 17 de novembro de 1558. Na época em que a rainha Elizabeth assumiu o poder, havia protestantes em Londres e Salisbury que haviam sido condenados como hereges e aguardavam para serem queimados. Elizabeth se recusou a assinar a sentença de morte e eles foram soltos. Os protestantes em Guernsey tentaram processar Helier Gosselin, que organizou a execução de Perotine Massey, Guillemine Gilbert e Katharine Cawches. Foi alegado que Massey deu à luz um bebê enquanto era queimado na fogueira e Gosselin ordenou que o bebê fosse jogado de volta no fogo. Como o bebê não havia sido condenado como herege, argumentou-se que o Gosselin era culpado de assassinato. Isabel estava relutante em se envolver na punição das pessoas que participaram da queima de 283 protestantes durante o reinado de Maria e decidiu perdoá-lo. (4)

Entre todas as histórias singulares tocadas neste livro antes, há muitas lamentáveis, diversas lamentáveis, algumas horríveis e trágicas; assim, não há quase nem em crueldade a ser comparada, ou tão longe de toda compaixão e senso de humanidade, como este fato impiedoso dos papistas, feito na ilha de Guernsey, sobre três mulheres e uma criança, cujos nomes são estes da seguinte forma: - Katharine Cawches, a mãe; Guillemine Gilbert, a filha; Perotine Massey, a outra filha; uma criança, filho de Perotino.

Mas antes de prosseguir com o propósito desta história, será necessário para uma melhor explicação do assunto, começar primeiro com as circunstâncias em que o primeiro original e a ocasião surgiram desta trágica crueldade: o caso foi este:

No dia dezessete de maio, ano de 1556, na ilha de Guernsey, que é membro da Inglaterra, em uma cidade lá chamada Porto de São Pedro, estava uma mulher travessa chamada Vincent Gosset, que, estando mal disposta, foi, o dia supracitado, para a casa de um certo Nicholas le Conronney, residente na cidade do referido Porto de São Pedro, cerca de dez horas da noite; e ali, pegando a chave da casa, (que estava embaixo da porta), entrou em uma câmara em direção à rua; onde ela, vendo uma taça de prata dentro de um armário, a tirou, e então se conduziu para fora de casa novamente: quem, imediatamente após este fato feito, (seja por conselho ou por outra ocasião, não devo dizer) trouxe a referida taça para um Perotine Massey, uma mulher honesta, que morava na referida cidade, desejando que ela emprestasse seus seis pence na mesma.

Perotina, vendo a taça ou taça, e suspeitando (como a verdade era) que a mesma tinha sido roubada, respondeu que ela não a tomaria; no entanto, tendo conhecimento do dono da mesma, levou-a para devolvê-la novamente a quem ela havia feito appertain; e para o fim ela não deveria carregá-lo para outro, deu-lhe então seis pence. Onde além disso deve ser notado, que Thomas Effart diz e testifica, que o conhecimento foi dado pelo referido Perotino a Conronney no tocante ao roubo desta peça, que depois, ao não gostar dela, anexou o referido Vincent Gosset da transgressão; que, sendo apreendido e examinado sobre o mesmo, imediatamente confessou o fato, desejando que um fosse enviado com ela (que era Collas de Loutre) com seis pence para buscar novamente a taça, onde estava; e ela o fez.

No dia seguinte, os oficiais do rei sendo informados das instalações por um certo Nicholas Cary, da dita cidade, condestável, reuniram os juízes lá para inquirir e examinar mais detalhadamente, bem como sobre o fato de Vincent Gosset, como sobre outras dores e coisas há errado. De modo que após declaração feita pelos oficiais e condestáveis ​​perante os juízes, o referido condestável relatou ter encontrado um certo vaso de estanho na casa da citada Perotine Massey, (que então morava com sua mãe Katharine Cawches, e ela irmã Guillemine Gilbert,) cujo navio não trazia nenhuma marca; e especialmente para isso havia um prato de estanho, do qual o nome foi raspado; seus corpos sobre o mesmo foram fixados e colocados na prisão, e seus bens móveis foram tomados por inventário. Poucos dias depois dessas coisas assim feitas e passadas, essas três mulheres tolas, permanecendo assim em durance no castelo, fizeram sua súplica aos juízes para que a justiça fosse ministrada a eles, a saber, se eles tivessem ofendido a lei, então que eles tenham a lei; se não, implorando para conceder-lhes o benefício de súditos. Súplica que apresentou, então eles foram designados para vir à sua resposta no quinto dia de junho do ano acima mencionado; nesse dia; após estreito exame do assunto, e a honesta resposta da causa pelas ditas boas mulheres, por fim submeteram-se ao relatório de seus vizinhos, de que não eram ladrões, nem pessoas de má vontade, mas viviam verdadeira e honestamente , como deviam fazer as mulheres cristãs, apesar do relato falso e falso de seus acusadores.

Assim sendo a causa assim debatida, após o inquérito feito pelos oficiais do rei, eles foram considerados pelos ditos vizinhos inocentes do que eram acusados, mas viveram sempre como mulheres honestas entre eles; salvando apenas que aos mandamentos do santo chuh eles não haviam sido obedientes, etc. Diante deste julgamento e veredicto de seus vizinhos, foi em multa julgado, primeiro, que o referido Vincent Gosset, sendo acusado de crime e condenado pelo mesmo, deveria ser chicoteado, e depois, sua orelha sendo pregada no pelourinho, deveria ser banido da ilha sem mais punições. E no que diz respeito às outras três mulheres, a mãe com suas duas filhas, por não terem vindo à igreja, foram novamente prisioneiras ao castelo no dia primeiro de julho.

E até agora, a respeito do verdadeiro discurso deste assunto, com todas as circunstâncias e acessórios do mesmo em todos os pontos do caso, de acordo com o fiel teor e testemunho dos homens de Guernsey, escrito por suas próprias mãos tanto em francês como Língua inglesa na qual você vê que matéria falsa presumida foi pretendida contra essas mulheres, e nada foi provado; e como, pelo atestado de seus vizinhos, eles foram totalmente inocentados do fato, e deveriam ter sido demitidos pelo tribunal temporal, se os clérigos espirituais, escolhendo contra eles questões de religião, tivessem exercido tal extremo na perseguição desses miseráveis ​​prisioneiros, que em nenhum caso eles deveriam escapar de suas mãos ensanguentadas, até que finalmente eles os trouxeram (como você ouvirá) ao seu fim final. Pois após o tempo desta declaração acima mencionada feita pelos vizinhos, por meio da qual foram purgados de todas as outras coisas, e sendo então conhecidos por não terem vindo à igreja, o oficial de justiça, o tenente e os jurados, pensando que o assunto não era pertencem a eles, mas ao clero, imediatamente escreveram suas cartas ou mandato sob seus signos para o reitor, cujo nome era Jaques Amy, e para os cura da referida ilha: o conteúdo do que aqui segue.

"Mestre Dean e os juízes em seu tribunal e jurisdição, depois de todas as recomendações amáveis, agrada-lhe saber que somos informados pelos depoimentos de certos homens honestos, passados ​​perante nós na forma de um inquérito; no qual inquérito Katharine Cawches e seus dois filhas se submeteram a um determinado assunto criminoso: em que somos informados de que foram desobedientes aos mandamentos e ordenanças da igreja, ao desprezar e abandonar a missa e as ordenanças da mesma, contra a vontade e mandamento de nosso senhor soberano o rei e a rainha. Do qual lhe enviamos o referido assunto, por ser o assunto espiritual, para o fim de que você possa proceder conforme sua boa discrição, e tão brevemente quanto possível, e também para o que se refere ao seu ofício recomendando-te a Deus, o que te dá graça para fazer. o que diz respeito ao direito e à justiça. - Escrito no primeiro dia do mês de julho, no ano de nosso Senhor 1556.

Depois dessas cartas e informações assim dirigidas a Jaques Amy, reitor, e a outros do clero, as ditas mulheres foram novamente convocadas perante a justiça citada com seus assistentes: na presença deles, sendo examinadas sobre sua fé quanto às ordenanças de a igreja romana, respondeu que obedeceriam e guardariam as ordenanças do rei e da rainha e os mandamentos da igreja, não obstante terem dito e feito o contrário na época do rei Eduardo VI, em mostrar obediência a suas ordenanças e mandamentos antes. Após essa resposta, eles foram devolvidos novamente à prisão, até que os outros tivessem uma resposta de sua carta do reitor e seus complicados. Durante esse tempo, o reitor e os curadores deram suas informações sobre as ditas mulheres, e as entregaram aos oficiais de justiça e aos jurados, condenando-os e reputando-os como hereges, as mulheres não ouviram nenhuma informação, nem foram jamais examinadas em qualquer momento anterior de sua fé e religião. Após o que, quando os ditos oficiais de justiça e jurados compreenderam que os ditos reitor e párocos não tinham examinado as mulheres da sua fé, não se sentariam em julgamento nesse dia, mas ordenaram que as mulheres viessem primeiro perante o reitor e os párocos fossem ex- amined de sua fé. E assim os oficiais, por ordem dos juízes, os buscaram e os apresentaram perante os ditos reitores e padres. O que sendo feito e feito, eles foram examinados separadamente um do outro: após o qual exame, eles foram incontinentemente devolvidos à prisão.

Em seguida, no décimo quarto dia do referido mês de julho, do ano acima referido, após o exame acima especificado perante Helier Gosselin, oficial de justiça, na presença de Richard Devicke, Pierre Martin, Nicholas Cary, John Blundel, Nicholas de Lisle, John le Marchant , John le Fevre, Pierre Bonamy, Nicholas Martin, John de la March, jurats; Sir Jaques Amy, reitor, e os padres entregaram perante a justiça, sob o selo do reitor e sob os signos dos padres, um certo ato e sentença, cuja soma foi que Katharine Cawches e suas duas filhas foram encontradas hereges, e tais eles os reputaram, e os entregaram à justiça, para fazerem a execução de acordo com a sentença.

Feito isso, ordenou-se aos oficiais do rei que fossem ao castelo buscar as ditas mulheres, para ouvir a sentença contra elas na presença supracitada. E eles, aparecendo diante deles, disseram aos ouvidos de todos os auditivos que veriam seus acusadores e reconheceriam os que se deporiam contra eles, porque poderiam responder às suas palavras e personagens, e de acordo com sua difamação; pois eles não sabiam que tinham ofendido as Majestades do rei e da rainha, nem da igreja, mas obedeceriam, serviriam e guardariam inteiramente as ordenanças do rei e da rainha e da igreja, como todos os súditos bons e verdadeiros são obrigado a fazer. E por qualquer violação das leis do rei e da rainha que eles tivessem cometido, eles exigiam justiça. Apesar de todas as suas razões e alegações, as ditas pobres mulheres foram condenadas e julgadas para serem queimadas, até serem consumidas até as cinzas, de acordo com uma sentença dada por Helier Gosselin, oficial de justiça: da qual segue o tenor a seguir.

No dia 17, ou alguns outros pensam que no dia 27 do mês de julho de 1556, Helier Gosselin, oficial de justiça, contou com a presença de Richard Devicke, Pierre Martin, Nicholas Cary, John Blundel, Nicholas de Lisle, John le Marchant, John le Fevre, Pierre Bonamy, Nicholas Martin e John de la March, jurados: Katharine Cawches, Perotine Massey, Guillernine Gilbert, (as ditas Perotine e Guillemine, filhas da dita Katharine) estão todas condenadas e julgadas hoje como sendo queimados, até que sejam consumidos em cinzas, no lugar costume, com o confisco de todos os seus bens, móveis e heranças, para ficar nas mãos das Majestades do rei e da rainha, de acordo e após o efeito de uma sentença proferida na justiça pelo Mestre Dean e pelos padres, aos treze dias do mês de julho do ano referido, em que foram aprovados hereges.

Depois da sentença pronunciada, as ditas mulheres apelaram ao rei e à rainha e a seu honroso conselho, dizendo que contra a razão e o direito foram condenadas e por esse motivo fizeram seu apelo; não obstante, não puderam ser ouvidos, mas foram entregues pelo referido oficial de justiça aos oficiais do rei e da rainha, para que lhes fosse feita a execução de acordo com a referida sentença.

Chegará então o momento em que estes três bons servos e santos santos de Deus, a inocente mãe com suas duas filhas, deveriam sofrer, no lugar onde deveriam consumar o seu martírio foram três estacas postas. Pois quando a barriga da mulher explodiu pela veemência da chama, o bebê, sendo um belo filho varão, caiu no fogo e, tarde, sendo tirado do fogo por uma William House, foi deitado na grama. Em seguida, o menino foi levado ao reitor e dele ao oficial de justiça, que censurou-o para que fosse novamente levado de volta e lançado no fogo. E assim a criança, batizada em seu próprio sangue, para preencher o número dos santos inocentes de Deus, nasceu e morreu mártir, deixando para trás para o mundo, que nunca viu, um espetáculo em que o mundo inteiro pode ver o Herodin crueldade dessa graciosidade, afastamento de algozes católicos.

Neste caso, ao deixar o Tribunal, a triste procissão terá enchido até Tower Hill, onde foram colocadas estacas, a mãe colocada no meio. Eles foram primeiro estrangulados, mas a corda quebrou antes que eles morressem e eles foram lançados nas chamas, e para Perotine Massey, naquela fornalha furiosa, um menino nasceu. Ele foi retirado vivo das chamas por um espectador, o mestre artilheiro e cirurgião "cannonier et cirugien" da ilha, chamado William House, e foi levado pelo xerife ao oficial de justiça, que disse que seria jogado de volta nas chamas. E, ao dizer isso, garantiu a infâmia eterna para sua memória.

Harding, o padre Parsons, o jesuíta, e outros se esforçaram para contradizer esses fatos, mas eles são confirmados não apenas pelos registros oficiais no Greffe e pelo relatório detalhado do julgamento no Livro dos Mártires de Foxe, mas também pela petição apresentada em 1562, aos Comissários de Sua Majestade por Matthew Cauchés, irmão de Catherine, incorporando as declarações acima, reuniu, como ele diz, "Pela relação fiel de franceses e ingleses, dos que então estavam presentes, testemunhas e observadores;" apontando que o veredicto foi devido ao "ódio malicioso" por parte do Reitor e seus cúmplices que "condenaram ilegalmente sua irmã e suas duas sobrinhas por heresia, elas declarando a todo o tempo sua inocência, e, além disso, o bebê nascido de um de eles sendo levados e lançados no fogo novamente, quatro sendo executados, embora apenas três tivessem sido condenados. "

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(1) Edith Carey, História Social do Século 16 em Guernsey (2000)

(2) John Foxe, Livro dos Mártires de Foxe (1563) página 196 da edição Google.

(3) Edith Carey, História Social do Século 16 em Guernsey (2000)

(4) Jasper Ridley, Mártires de Bloody Mary (2002) página 215


18 de julho de 1556Os Mártires de Guernsey foram queimados na fogueira

As irmãs Guillemine Gilbert e Perotine Massey foram queimadas vivas, junto com sua mãe, Katharine Cauchés, em 18 de julho de 1556. Coletivamente, as três são agora conhecidas como os Mártires de Guernsey.

Como calvinistas, eles foram considerados culpados de heresia durante as perseguições marianas. As perseguições foram assim chamadas porque foram realizadas sob a autoridade da rainha católica romana Maria (e, antes dela, de Henrique VIII). Perseguições semelhantes foram conduzidas durante os reinados de Eduardo VI, Elizabeth I e James I.

O "crime" das mulheres foi sua crença protestante, o que foi o suficiente para ganhar uma condenação no tribunal eclesiástico de orientação católica realizada na Igreja da cidade de St Peter Port.

As mulheres foram inicialmente levadas ao tribunal por suspeita de roubo - crime do qual não eram culpadas. Foi somente após receber declarações dos vizinhos das mulheres que as autoridades descobriram que suas crenças não condiziam com a doutrina oficialmente sancionada.

Uma execução horrível

Se eles tivessem recebido a punição usual por se desviarem das crenças do monarca, as mulheres primeiro teriam sido estranguladas. Dessa forma, a queima que se seguiu seria mais uma cremação do que uma execução. No entanto, a corda que estava sendo usada para esse fim quebrou. Em vez de atrasar ainda mais as coisas, a queima ocorreu como planejado, com as mulheres ainda vivas e plenamente conscientes.

Katharine foi amarrada a uma estaca no meio do fogo, com uma filha de cada lado. O calor - e, sem dúvida, o estresse e o medo - eram tão grandes que Perotine Massey, que estava grávida no momento de sua execução, deu à luz no incêndio. Relatos contemporâneos descrevem como “o ventre da mulher estourou na veemência da chama”.

Seu filho foi resgatado pela multidão e deitado na grama para se recuperar. No entanto, o meirinho, Hellier Gosselin, ordenou que fosse jogado de volta no fogo para que sofresse o mesmo destino de sua mãe.


À memória de Katherine Cawches, Guillemine Gilbert, Perotine Massey

À memória de Katherine Cawches, Guillemine Gilbert, Perotine Massey, todos os crentes no Senhor Jesus Cristo, que em, ou por volta de 18 de julho de 1556, e perto deste local, foram cruelmente queimados na fogueira por sua fé protestante.
Esta última nomeada estava grávida no momento do martírio e deu à luz um filho nas chamas.
A criança foi resgatada, mas foi ordenado que fosse jogado de volta.

Fiel até a morte. Rev 2:10

Tópicos Este marcador histórico está listado nesta lista de tópicos: Igrejas e religião. Uma data histórica significativa para esta entrada é 18 de julho de 1556.

Localização. 49 e 27.184 & # 8242 N, 2 & deg 32.267 & # 8242 W. Marker está em Saint Peter Port, Crown Dependencies, em Guernsey. O marcador está na parede de Tower Hill Steps. Toque para ver o mapa. O marcador está nesta área dos correios: Saint Peter Port, Crown Dependencies GY1 1LF, Reino Unido. Toque para obter instruções.

Veja também . . . Mártires de Guernsey. Artigo da Wikipedia com detalhes adicionais sobre o evento descrito no marcador. (Enviado em 29 de setembro de 2014, por Richard Denney de Austin, Texas.)


Queimando

Foi Gosselin quem os enviou ao Tribunal Eclesiástico e, quando o Deão os declarou hereges, foi Gosselin quem os condenou a serem estrangulados e depois queimados. Foxe conta a história de sua morte:

"Em seguida, foram instaladas três estacas. No poste do meio estava a mãe, a filha mais velha à direita, a mais nova na outra. Primeiro foram estranguladas, mas a corda se quebrou antes que morressem, e as pobres mulheres caíram Perotina, que estava grávida de uma criança, caiu de lado, onde aconteceu uma visão dolorosa, pois, quando sua barriga explodiu pela veemência das chamas, a criança, sendo um belo filho varão, caiu no fogo, e os efstoons, sendo tirados do fogo por uma Casa W, foram colocados sobre a grama. Em seguida, a criança foi levada ao Reitor, e dali ao Meirinho, que censurou que deveria ser carregada de volta e lançada no o fogo".

A exatidão do relato de Foxe foi contestada, mas todos os detalhes são confirmados no apelo feito pelo irmão de Catherine Massey a Elizabeth para que os culpados pela morte de sua irmã sejam punidos e os fatos sejam recitados novamente no perdão de Elizbeth eventualmente concedido aos reitores e jurados . Por esta execução, Gosselin foi privado de seu posto por Elizabeth e preso em dezembro de 1562. Ele permaneceu na prisão até janeiro de 1565, quando foi perdoado.

De volta à ilha, foi eleito Jurat pelo Partido Católico. Casou-se quatro vezes: (1) filha de Thomas Dumaresq de La Haule (2) Perotine, filha de François Henry de Guernsey, 1545, (3) Emet filha de James Blondel (4) Thomasse, deaughter de Collas Effard. Seu filho mais velho, Nicholas Gosselin, tornou-se Greffier de Jersey em 1560. Hellier morreu em dezembro de 1579.


O caso de Perotine Massey

Perotina não era ninguém "especial". Então, por que sua morte foi tão controversa? A resposta é que ela estava grávida no momento de sua morte.

Perotine era filha de uma Katherine Cauches (ou ‘Cowchen’) e vivia com sua mãe e uma irmã chamada Guillemine em St Peter Port. Outra mulher que havia roubado uma taça de prata tentou vendê-la para Perotine, mas sabendo que era na verdade propriedade de outra, Perotine informou ao verdadeiro dono da taça. O ladrão foi preso e Perotine também foi interrogado por qualquer envolvimento impossível no roubo. Não foram encontradas evidências suficientes de seu envolvimento, mas ela foi acusada de não frequentar a igreja. Ela foi talvez acusada pelo ladrão descontente? , quem sabe, de qualquer maneira, o caso foi levado ao reitor de Guernsey e em 14 de julho de 1556 ela foi interrogada perante uma série de figuras locais importantes (entre eles o reitor). No dia 18 de julho ela foi condenada como herege e queimada na fogueira. Ela foi estrangulada antes, mas a corda quebrou. Enquanto estava na fogueira, ela deu à luz um menino e uma testemunha inicialmente salvou o bebê, mas o oficial de justiça, Helier Gosselin, insistiu que ele também deveria morrer. Como consequência, a criança foi atirada de volta às chamas.


Perotine Massey

Perotine Massey Sua mãe era Catherine Cauch & # x00e9s (N.N).

Guillemine Gilbert e Perotine Massey eram irmãs, que viviam com a mãe, Catherine Cauch & # x00e9s (às vezes denominada & quotKatherine Cawches & quot). Perotine era esposa de um ministro calvinista normando, que estava em Londres, possivelmente para evitar perseguições. As três mulheres foram levadas ao tribunal sob a acusação de receber uma taça roubada. Embora eles tenham sido considerados inocentes dessa acusação, descobriu-se que seus pontos de vista religiosos eram contrários aos exigidos pelas autoridades da igreja. Eles foram devolvidos à prisão no Castelo Cornet e mais tarde considerados culpados de heresia por um tribunal eclesiástico realizado na Igreja da cidade e entregues ao Tribunal Real para serem sentenciados, onde foram condenados à morte.

A execução foi realizada por volta de 18 de julho de 1556. Todos os três foram queimados no mesmo fogo - deveriam ter sido estrangulados de antemão, mas a corda se quebrou antes de morrerem e eles foram jogados vivos no fogo. John Foxe registrou que Perotine estava "ótimo com uma criança" e que "quando a barriga da mulher explodiu pela veemência da chama, o bebê, sendo um belo filho varão, caiu no fogo". O bebê foi resgatado por uma casa W. e deitado na grama, levado pelo reitor ao oficial de justiça, Hellier Gosselin, que ordenou que "fosse levado de volta e jogado no fogo".

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guernsey_Martyrs Pessoas envolvidas: (Catherine Massey e suas filhas Guillemine e Perrotine) Island Wiki.

Jacques Amy era o segundo filho de Jean Amy, da Rue de Grouville. Enquanto seu irmão mais velho, Philippe, e o irmão mais novo, Thomas, seguiam uma rota tradicional de serviço paroquial em Grouville, Jacques entrou na igreja e acabou se tornando Reitor de Guernsey. Seu período no cargo chegou a um fim polêmico quando ele entrou em confronto com o oficial de justiça da ilha por causa da condenação (Amy) de três mulheres como hereges.

Jerseyman Hellier Gosselin tornou-se oficial de justiça de Guernsey no século 16 e presidiu um notório julgamento de bruxa e a queima dos três acusados.

Ele era o segundo filho de Thomas Gosselin de St Helier e Catherine Le Bastard. Seu irmão mais velho, Guillaume Gosselin, tornou-se tenente-oficial de justiça de Jersey em 1551.

Os Gosselins foram uma das primeiras famílias de Jersey a se tornar protestantes. Hellier nasceu em Jersey na grande maison do Gosselin en ville. Em 1559, ele recebeu permissão para construir uma casa em Guernsey. Em 1546 ele foi nomeado procurador do rei naquela ilha e em 4 de outubro de 1549 foi empossado como oficial de justiça.

Sob Eduardo VI, coube a ele fazer cumprir as mudanças da Reforma. Quando Maria se tornou rainha, sua posição era crítica. Daí, talvez, sua severidade para com três mulheres protestantes, Catherine Massey e suas filhas, queimadas em 1556.


Fatos e números de Guernsey

o Bailiado de Guernsey é uma dependência do Reino Unido localizada nas Ilhas do Canal. A dependência está dividida em freguesias e todas elas têm registos nesta base de dados. Em Guernsey, não descobrimos marcos históricos em nenhuma cidade ou vilarejo. Propaganda

Não sabemos quantos marcos históricos existem em Guernsey. Não catalogamos marcadores históricos, nenhum! Sem marcadores históricos no banco de dados, não parece haver muita história em Guernsey!

Na verdade, estamos sendo jocosos. Embora não haja informações suficientes no banco de dados para que possamos dizer mais sobre a forma como a história foi marcada na dependência de Guernsey, não há dúvida de que muitas coisas são importantes para os habitantes das ilhas de Chanel e importantes para o povo do Reino Unido aconteceu aqui. E também temos certeza de que muitas pessoas que fizeram coisas interessantes ou importantes viveram ou passaram por essa dependência. Além disso, nós, os editores do Banco de Dados de Marcadores Históricos, temos certeza de que muitas pessoas e organizações nas muitas comunidades que compõem Guernsey se esforçaram para marcar onde algumas dessas coisas aconteceram e onde algumas dessas pessoas famosas ou infames fiquei. Portanto, não é que não haja história aqui, é apenas que os muitos marcos históricos em Guernsey ainda não foram encontrados neste banco de dados.


Hauteville fez jus ao seu nome. Quando Victor Hugo foi exilado da França, ele se colocou em um pedestal. As lojas e pubs de cada lado da rua que levavam à casa de Hugo pareciam prestes a despencar no mar lá embaixo. Monica escalou as calçadas com cuidado, temendo tropeçar e rolar como uma atrevida nas ondas violentas abaixo. Ela fez essa caminhada quase todos os dias desde que deixou a França e se mudou para a ilha. Whenever she felt foreign and alone, she abandoned the milling crowds of St. Peter's Port to look for a sense of complacency up here, closer to someone who might understand who she was, or who she wished she could be.

Had the office of tourism not planted a sea-mangled French flag out front, it would have been hard to locate the house&mdashthe modest façade made the house look like it could have belonged to anyone. The tourist season behind it, the place was locked up against the elements, but Monica had visited it so many times she could easily picture the eclectic décor of the rooms behind the shutters.

She felt as though she knew the man behind the stories through the way he described the inhabitants of Guernsey and their "nationalité complexe". Like Hugo, she wanted to be adopted here, but she hadn't been forced out of France&mdashnot blatantly.

Charcoal clouds inched closer, as treacherous and compelling as he had described them a century before. The wind carrying them slapped at Monica's cheeks, drying her tears as quickly as they fell. From everywhere, the church bells came, filling the corners with their historic echo. It seemed to Monica as though there were more churches on the island than residents to fill them. As their empty tunes mingled, the sun was swallowed by the incoming storm, making their song all the more ominous.

With one last glance toward the flag, Monica turned and headed towards the stairwell that would take her back to the shopping district. But first, she would stop and read the inscription on the plaque that she already knew by heart. It was her way of paying tribute to the castaways of the past, and it served as a reminder to her that she must continue to blend in, to pretend she belonged here.

She'd come across the plaque a year ago, and since then, she'd researched the appalling history behind it, a history that Monica feared might repeat itself here like it repeated itself in other parts of the world. The gold engraving read, To the memory of Katherine Cawches, Guillemine Gilbert, Perotine Massey. All believers in the Lord Jesus Christ who on, or about 18th July 1556, and near this site, were cruelly burned to death at the stake for their Protestant faith. The latter named was pregnant at the time of martyrdom and gave birth to a son in the flames. The child was retrieved, but it was ordered that he be thrown back.

Monica had removed her veil, even highlighted her hair, and hoped that the people of Guernsey would see her as nothing but a French immigrant, almost one of their own.

The clouds now fully blanketed the island, making everything appear somber. Even the gray of the granite steps and wall seemed to intensify.

She looked toward the spot half-way down the steps where she expected to find the plaque. There, slumped against the wall, she noticed a figure that didn't belong there. Had it not been for the tassel on the hand-knit hat, she might not have noticed it at all. The dinginess of the overcoat mixed in with the stone and although the tassel now appeared nearly the same shade as the coat, she could tell it had once been some shade of red. Instinctively, Monica moved to the other side of the rail and sped up to a skip. When she passed by it, she heard its breath but didn't turn to look.

A flash of color drew her attention to a family embarking on their ascent at the bottom of the staircase. Their shiny burgundy cheeks and thick coats of English primary shades reassured Monica. Their gloved hands linked them together, the man on one side, the woman on the other, and the little girl bouncing between them. The child's laughter ricocheted off the stone wall and steps, and her blonde girls poked through here and there around her furry collar, bouncing to the rhythm her polished black derbies provided. When they all met in the middle, Monica offered them an apologetic nod, and they let go of each other and separated to give her room enough to slide past them.

Shortly afterwards, when Monica reached the bottom step, she felt a change. Their giggles subsided, their steps quieted to a mere pitter-patter, like sneaking slipper feet. Monica turned around. This time she couldn't avoid seeing the person slumped against the wall, and nestled between its two gray legs, was a child, half-hidden under the long coat.

The bright, cheery family Monica had crossed now slinked past the two on the steps, and their silence accentuated the anxious shuffle of their feet. Monica couldn't see their faces, but she knew their eyes remained forward, pointed towards their feet, like hers had when she'd passed these people minutes earlier. Only the girl, too young to understand shame, gawked at the vagabonds. In her hand, the blonde girl held a doll that looked like a miniature replica of herself, and she swung the doll nearly in the dingy child's face.

When the child on the steps looked up at the doll, Monica noticed it was also a girl. Although dark with filth, Monica could tell that freshly scrubbed, her face would have been pale. Iridescent against her soiled clothes and skin, her eyes held a glassy expression, something hollow, as if she might be blind or empty of emotion. Monica knew the feeling, the desire to become blind, and the stronger desire to become invisible, and Monica had been trying to forget that feeling for years.

Monica was propelled back to Paris. She could almost smell the wretched roasting stench of the Metro in the air. Disgusted, she filled her lungs with the dewy fragrances of the island, tinged with fishy undertones. But Monica's memories lurked. She could picture her mother's raised open palm, and she could hear the trembling rhythm of the shuffling feet, feel the icy floor shake with the explosion of each incoming train.

How dare they come here, Monica thought, taking one last glance at the mother and child on the steps. How had they managed to get here? Fear and anger ran through her veins, bringing forth that familiar chill that made her bones ache.

She'd read once that Victor Hugo had welcomed poor children into his home for lunch once a week, but she had a hard time believing that. In any case, poverty didn't apply to modern day life in Guernsey&mdashthe people were sheltered by the vicious sea as if the fortresses that remained scattered along the shore still held ammunition. Monica had come here to escape France and her past, hoping to find security on an island that refused to belong to anyone except itself. And now, these people had dared come here, threatening to proliferate like mold and force the islanders to take notice of their vulnerability.

Here, Monica had thought she'd be safe. Everyone in Guernsey had a home, didn't they? Hidden away, up winding roads, the less affluent, London row houses even followed the island tradition by priding themselves with a stone. The coastlines were sprinkled with them, glittering rocks, that the islanders fetched and had engraved with gold the names they'd chosen for their homes. Perched on embankments, the headlights of rental cars set them aglow on summer nights, and the inspired tourist lost himself to the game, reading each one out loud.

Monica had no idea how many people here were actually rich, but it seemed to her that the ferry boats spat out more BMWs and Ferraris than they did Renault 5s. The locals put on quite the show each evening, filtering into restaurants in their scrumptious attire, so poised and elite. In the midst of all this glamour, Monica had pretended to forget life on the other side of the Channel. Here, the natural splendor of the sapphire waters, emerald fields, and diamond rocks left one to wonder if there was no other place on Earth. The people simply followed suit, shimmering themselves.

Monica looked up again at the bowed heads. Downwards, toward the sea she sped. A trip on a loose stone and she would be tossed into the foaming frenzy of the bay. The rain began. Umbrellas opened, people fled. She pulled her collar tight over her cheeks and lowered her face into it.

Despite the cold, she decided to take the long way back to her flat so that she could window shop on her way. Christmas was only a week away, and although she knew her mother would refuse to celebrate the holiday, she intended to bring gifts back to Paris with her. The shops illuminated with a good dose of English charm and French elegance&mdasha blend that made for ultimate decadence. As she gazed at it all, she suddenly felt disgusted by these posh displays. Her mind kept drifting back to the scenes she'd tried to forget, and the one she'd just witnessed. Around her the streets emptied as shoppers took shelter in tea rooms. They stared back at her, sipping at their steaming cups and rubbing their hands together, unwrapping a scarf, removing a glove or two. The wind howled into the bay, masts sung in desperation, and Monica thought of the little girl shivering under her mother's coat, the dampness penetrating her skin.

Tenaciously, Monica continued on her way, trying to concentrate on the window displays that fogged up and blurred with raindrops. She stopped at one window that featured several teddy bears perched under a tree. Monica spotted a doll among them. It was set high above the others and dressed in deep red velvet that caught the tree lights in plush reflections. The porcelain face was painted with pink lips that pouted daintily and matching cheeks. Its caramel colored hair fell in smooth ringlets on the puffy shoulders of the dress, and a velvet hat rested on the top of its head. Monica stared into its marble-like eyes, pale blue and wide, and again, she came face-to-face with that emptiness she'd felt for years.

She ran, straight through puddles, soaking her shoes and socks. She ran towards her flat and the future she was forging for herself. If her mother could settle for a whiskey-blurred view from a plastic kitchen in a box of a home the government paid for, Monica wanted more. She wanted a house with a stone.

"It's all those books you read," Monica heard her mother telling her. "They make you think you're better than me." But she'd be better, Monica reminded herself. This year she'd bring back an armload of Christmas presents to prove that, knowing well her mother would sneer at her insistence to celebrate that "Catholic consumer holiday."

This year, Monica would refuse to join her mother who'd dish Restos du Coeur slop into Styrofoam plates, feeding the homeless in a weak attempt to rid herself of her own remorse. "We can't forget who we once were," Monica's mother reminded her each year.

No one in France had let her forget. If her mother had given Monica a European first name, her last name hadn't been changed, and her olive complexion served to confirm their suspicions. Monica would never be French, in France.

The storm ended as quickly as it began. A timid sun appeared, setting the slick granite streets into a frenetic celebration. Colored lights set the damp streets aglow. Monica had always hated this season as a child&mdashall that glimmer and joy sickened her. If someone, anyone, had just looked her in the eye without wincing, it might have been enough. Maybe she could be cured, she thought then. She turned and began walking back to the shop, to the doll, to those eyes.

"Would you like it wrapped?" a salesgirl asked Monica a few moments later.

She must have nodded. The girl enveloped the box with green paper and tied a big red bow on the top.

With the box tucked under her arm, Monica made her way back to the steps, past the shoppers who had resumed their square dance of in and out, across and back, hands heavy with bags and faces light with bliss. Monica felt weighted by her soaked clothing, by the rich lunch she'd yet to fully digest, and by the task before her.

She imagined the child. Would she speak? Surely they wouldn't understand each other. She knew they were foreign, probably from Eastern Europe, having recently fled the post-war misery. Monica pictured the girls eyes, filling with anticipation and surprise as she reached up for the gift, and then she pictured them filling with a warmth that had never been.

Coughing up some brittle air, she forced herself to climb faster. The stairwell wasn't far off. But after she passed the house and the French flag, she peered down the steps to find nothing but bare stone. No masked shapes lurked there. She walked down the steps, wondering if it hadn't been a trick. Perhaps her mind had brought forth a memory, some image from her past, and stuck it here in another setting. Dizzy, she balanced her weight against the wall. She felt the smoothness of the Perotine Massey plaque under her fingertips, and sat below it with the gift between her legs. She slid the bow off, unfolded the wrapping paper, and lifted the box out.

Behind the plastic shield, the eyes looked back at her, perplexed. Monica removed the doll and took a deep breath of its newness. After a long while, she placed it on the step and gathered the paper and carton before heading back toward St. Peter's Port.

A little girl arrived before Monica reached the bottom of the stairwell. She was primped and pudgy. When their paths crossed, Monica smiled down at the child who responded by exposing her crimson tongue. Her mother, too busy tugging her along, did not notice.

"Mummy! Look," the child cried in delight. A chunky finger pointed in the direction of the doll.

The mother gave her arm a yank. "Don't touch, dear. It's dirty."


"The Guernsey Doll" was published in Thought Magazine, Issue IV.

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The Sad, True Story Behind The Bloody Mary Mirror Legend

The legend of Bloody Mary is centuries-old and appears in many folkloric variations. In the West, she borrows her name from Queen Mary I, the infamous monarch known as a burner of heretics. To summer campers and slumber parties, though, Bloody Mary appears in bathroom mirrors — not as a murderous queen, but a howling woman drenched in blood. Sometimes, she’s said to be clutching a dead, blue baby. Other times, her arms are empty and outstretched as the conjurer taunts her: “I stole your baby,” or “I killed your baby.” In any variation, the ritual is as macabre as it is childish. But while most children outgrow the game even before outgrowing camp, there is a strange, sad, and very true story wound up in this myth.

Queen Mary I was born unwanted. She was the only living child of Henry VIII and his first wife, Catherine of Aragon. While loved by her parents, and by all accounts remarkably intelligent, the fact that she was born female meant she was openly and constantly regarded as a disappointment — not merely to her royal family, but all of England. It was his lack of a male heir that (primarily) incited Henry’s historic series of marriages, leaving Mary caught in his dreadful wake.

At 14, she was permanently separated from her mother, forbidden even to visit Catherine’s deathbed. Depending on which wife was on the throne, Mary was alternatively banned from court as a bastard or ordered to come make appearances, suddenly a princess again. She’d been born to Catholic parents in a Catholic country. When Henry broke with Rome to marry Anne Boleyn, her fervent faith became heresy. From puberty, she suffered crippling menstrual pain and irregular cycles, as well as periods of “very deep melancholy ” — perhaps due to the stress of simply being her father’s daughter. Though the firstborn, Mary was pushed down in rank, first by her younger half-sister, Elizabeth, and then their half-brother, Edward. While these much younger siblings suffered trauma of their own, it was Mary who witnessed the whole of her father’s tyranny. She would survive, but by no means unscathed.

Despite all odds, in 1553, Mary took the throne, becoming England’s first queen regnant (as in, a queen who rules on her own, rather than being the wife of the king or the mother of a child king too young to rule). It had been six tumultuous years since Henry’s death and she ascended on a new wave of popularity and hope from the English people. She knew better than anyone what they were hoping for, and, at 37, she knew that there was no time to waste. Like her father, she needed an heir.

Mary married Philip of Spain two days after meeting him. Like all royal marriages, it had been preceded by a long negotiation process, during which Mary had fallen in love with Philip — though he (10 years her junior) almost certainly did not return her feelings.

“Starved of affection from her childhood, deprived of the fulfilment of sexual love and children during her adult years, she was ready to lavish all her frustrated emotions on the husband she had acquired so late in life,” writes historian Alison Weir writes in The Children of Henry VIII. “For the first time since she was 10, when her father's eye had first lighted on Anne Boleyn, she was truly happy.” Two months after the marriage, her greatest wish came true. She was pregnant.

Thus began one of the strangest and most controversial chapters in royal history. At the time, of course, there were no true forms of pregnancy testing and propriety forbade doctors (such as they were) from thoroughly examining a monarch. But while her status as queen prevented physical inquiry, it also made her reproductive system a subject of public discourse. Hence, history records a fairly detailed litany of Mary’s pregnancy symptoms: Menstruation had stopped, her breasts were swollen, she was nauseated in the morning. While she’d always been a notably thin woman, she’d suddenly gained weight. Her pregnancy began with all the standard signs and it continued just as typically. Her abdomen grew round and larger by the month. Soon, she felt the baby move.

Even then, it seemed some were suspicious. Mary appeared in public three months along and her newly thickened midsection drew cheers from her subjects, though rumours began to spread that she wasn’t pregnant at all — perhaps, she was plotting to take some other woman’s baby for her own.

Mary had never been beloved — not the way her dazzling younger sister, Elizabeth, was. Elizabeth was subject to another kind of animus, as both the daughter of Anne Boleyn and a protestant. But she was sharp and charismatic where Mary was rigid and out-of-touch (and perhaps “hysterical”). Both sisters were exceptionally intelligent, yet it was Elizabeth whose brilliance shone in the spotlight, who was flirtatious yet resolutely virginal, whose poise and regality were unmatched. At least, that’s how history tells it in broad, fairy-tale strokes: Elizabeth, the fiery princess who would usher in The Golden Age and Mary, the desperate, haggish zealot she would have to unseat.

By the time of her pregnancy, Mary’s reputation was almost entirely unearned. Her age, devout catholicism, notorious menstrual problems, and intermittent depression all painted a nasty caricature. Amplified by constant comparison to the youthful Elizabeth, this may be how she came to be seen as the kind of woman who might fake a pregnancy and steal a child. But as she entered her second trimester, Mary took action that would cement her legacy as bloody.

At the time, England was divided between Catholics and Protestants, but Mary was determined to reunite the country under “the true religion” by any means necessary. Shortly before Christmas in 1554, she signed an act which would incite a legendary series of executions known as the Marian Persecutions. Beginning in February 1555, an estimated 240 men and 60 women were condemned as Protestant heretics and burned at the stake.

“Most were popular preachers, artisans, farm labourers, or poor, ignorant folk who could not recite the Lord's Prayer or did not know what the Sacraments were,” writes Weir. (The wealthy protestants had long since fled.) “Some were blind or disabled one woman, Perotine Massey of Guernsey, was pregnant. Her baby was born as she was burning, and cast back into the flames by the executioner.”

For weeks, she would lie in her bed without speaking, like one dead. Then, she would sit for whole days on the floor, huddled up, with her knees against her face.

True, Mary did not act alone, surrounded as she was by advisors. Yet, as Weir points out, most of them were wary of this massive persecution and “urged her to proceed with caution.” This blood is undoubtedly on her own hands. Already a deeply devotional woman, the ardency of her faith seemed only to increase as her pregnancy advanced. She believed it was her charge from God to bring a Catholic prince into a Catholic realm, and that, “If she failed in that duty, she would surely incur the wrath and displeasure of the Almighty.”

Furthermore, she was convinced that these executions would scare any remaining Protestants to turn back to the old faith — a fatal miscalculation. Explains Weir, “The burnings had the effect of hardening their resolve and inflaming their anger against the queen.”

As custom dictated, Mary went into “confinement” six weeks before her estimated due date, around May 9 (though some in her household believed she had miscalculated the date of conception and the baby was due a month later). Surrounded by female companions and servants, she entered a private chamber, stocked with birth equipment and clothes for the infant, to wait for her labor pains. Now, tension both in her court and country reached a fever pitch. As her advisor Simon Renard wrote to Emperor Charles V: “Everything in this kingdom depends on the Queen's safe deliverance. If God is pleased to grant her a safe delivery, things will take a turn for the better. If not, I foresee disturbance and a change for the worse on so great a scale that the pen can hardly set it down.”

May 9 came and went. No child appeared. Mary now agreed with her ladies: Yes, she must have mixed up her dates and the child would arrive in June. Meanwhile, the rumour mill churned out false reports that spread across Europe. Some claimed she had delivered, that it was a boy, that Mary had died in childbirth — and as the days passed with no sign of labor, the stories turned strange. An envoy reported to the French court that Mary had “been delivered of a mole, or lump of flesh.” Molar pregnancy is indeed a real (exceedingly rare) condition, though this report, like all the others, was based entirely on gossip.

Unavoidably true, though, was the fact that by the end of May, Mary’s abdomen appeared to recede. Mary’s doctors — likely terrified of delivering bad news — asserted that this was a sign of approaching labor. Still, the weeks passed and the truth became more and more obvious to everyone but the queen.

“She began to think that God was punishing her for not rooting out heresy with sufficient rigour,” writes Weir, and ordered that the burnings be stepped up. Masses and vigils were ordered for her safe delivery as the signs of pregnancy seemed to evaporate from Mary’s body.

“For weeks, she would lie in her bed without speaking, like one dead. Then she would sit for whole days on the floor, huddled up, with her knees against her face,” (a position nearly impossible for someone about to give birth). This dismal anecdote was reported by an ambassador, who got it from a paid spy, who got it from a midwife in the queen’s chamber. Perhaps the only thing that could make such devastation worse was having it so widely publicised. Just as everyone had first thrilled to the news of Mary’s pregnancy, they now jeered over each detail of her failure to produce an heir.

June and July passed. The doctors continued to extend their calculated due date, while supplies for the birth were slowly and discreetly packed away. In August, nearly a year after she’d first announced her pregnancy, Mary finally dismissed her nursery staff and left her chamber, childless.

This incident remains history’s most notorious and well-documented cases of pseudocyesis, or “false pregnancy.” It’s a complex and mysterious condition, but the short version is that a person can be so convicted in their desire for a child that the mind tricks the body into “thinking ” it’s pregnant and acting accordingly. Hormones shift, menstruation stops, and the belly grows. Today, false pregnancies are usually diagnosed early on thanks to ultrasounds, but the condition still exists, occurring between 1 and 6 out of every 22,000 births.

Mary never acknowledged the pregnancy, or lack thereof, again during her lifetime. Indeed, two years later, she believed herself pregnant again. This time, there was no fanfare. Not even her husband made much effort at appearing convinced. Philip had left England the very month that Mary left her first confinement and only rarely visited. Mary insisted to all that she had “very sure signs” of pregnancy, and she may have been correct. But this time, the cause was less mysterious: Her periods had stopped because she had entered menopause. The following year, Mary died at 42, from what was probably uterine or ovarian cancer.

The rest is well-known history. Elizabeth took the throne, launching perhaps England’s most venerated reign. Mary descended into a legacy of bloodshed and humiliation — and not without good reason. Like her sister, Elizabeth would send hundreds to be executed, and she, too, would have no children. Yet, only Mary bore the shame for these offences. While her sister became the gilded legend, she became the myth, the witch in the mirror, her arms forever outstretched and empty.

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The Deadly Cost of Worshiping the Bible Instead of God

Anything that leads to murder should raise doubts about its legitimacy when put in service of so-called spiritual truth. That killing was done "for God" and yet didn't lead to a complete re-think about the theological "approach" to a relationship with God is simply insane. Yet this madness persists today. Every time a sermon is preached where someone says "the Bible says God says" the lie continues to be spread. The answer to all such claims is a loud "Says who?"

Listening to the BBC Radio 4 program No nosso tempo, hosted by the always wonderful Melvyn Bragg about Foxe's Book of Martyrs (1563) one story hit home -- hard! One of the show's contributors told the story of Perotine Massey, a Guernsey woman burned for heresy by the Roman Catholics. She gave birth while in the flames. The baby was tossed back into the fire after it burst from her burning stomach and landed -- alive -- at the feet of a soldier guarding the pire.

This awful event was described in the quaint "Old English" title given to a contemporary engraving depicting the burning as: "A lamentable spectacle of three women, with a child infant brasting out of the Mothers Wombe, being first taken out of the fire, and cast in agayne, and so all burned together in the Isle of Guernsey, 1556 July 18."

Such an account might confirm the superiority of Protestant Christianity to the brutality of Roman Catholicism -- except that Protestants did the same sort of things to Catholics, not to mention to Native Americans.

There is a "reason" for such viciousness: theology practiced as if it is an exact science. Call this the Roman Church/Protestant idea of spirituality as "correct" belief. That's a liability. The equivalent would be to say that you're only married if you can pass an exam on the correct details of your spouse's life history, beliefs, likes and dislikes, blood-type and food preferences.

A theological approach to religious faith attempts to reduce something intuitive to an exact "science." Tick the "wrong" box and you fail the exam.

From liberal to fundamentalist to charismatic, the Protestant denominations are still as united in their commitment to salvation-through-correct-ideas as are the Roman Catholics. The root of the Protestant commitment to salvation through correct belief lies in the retributive and juridical "rationalistic" history of the Roman Catholic Church from which all Protestant denominations evolved. Western Christianity has relied heavily on signing up to "correct" doctrines in order to be saved. Catholics and Protestants may disagree on what is correct but they agree that correct doctrine is needed for salvation.

Believing "wrong" was for much of church history called heresy and punishable by excommunication or death. Religious "certainties" were so fragile they had to be protected by violence by all sides. That should have eliminated this theological correctness retributive and juridical rationalistic approach long ago. It didn't because religion was never about God but about a way to dominate people and keep rulers in power. Ainda é.

The problem is that the book around which these "correct" doctrines are spun is not a book at all. In that sense it "says" so many things that it says nothing. So the book is a great mine to dig anything out of needed to support one's personal tyranny over others but it is nothing more than that.

For any book to "say" something it has to fulfill 2 tests: First it has to be a work of non-fiction whose truth claims can be corroborated from outside of itself. Second, it has to be by one author or at least by authors who know each other and collaborate to bring their message to readers.

What it can't be and at the same time be said to have a single coherent message worth killing people over, is a collection of myths, essays, letters, stories, recorded oral history, misinformation and fables that were gradually collected and added to over thousands of years without the authors being aware that their bits and pieces of writing would someday be seen as "chapters" in one "book." And since little to nothing in the book can be corroborated from outside testable sources, its truth claims (real or imagined) are worthless if taken as "fact"-based let alone in a juridical sense and then used to judge others.

When I run into the idolatry of Bible worshiping I'm reminded of something I observe with the folks raised in the age of texting and cell phones. I see them expect "answers" from the little black box they hold. They seem to trust it rather than the reality around them. They seem to be losing a tactile sense of how the world works because their connection to it is mediated through their phones, tablets and computers. For instance I know a young woman who tends to check the weather by looking at her phone instead of up at the actual sky. And that reminds me of the people I know who argue about what the Bible "says," for instance "about" gay people, rather than trusting what they know to be true about the gay people they actually know.

At least the weather report on the phone someone is checking (rather than just looking up at the real sky) was put together by well intended sane meteorologists who were actually trying to tell their audience what was happening. But those who look to the Bible for instruction in a way that overrides the reality they actually experience are like people trying to find out what is happening with the weather who watch a cooking show to get a weather report!

Since what is being said on the cooking show has nothing to do with the weather the person looking for information has to come up with an elaborate "explanation" of just how it is that a show about -- say -- making fried chicken actually is about thunderstorms and what to wear to a family picnic.

When absurdity is being rationalized and explained things get a bit crazy, say like this:

"We're having fried chicken at the picnic, they are talking about fried chicken on the show and so they must know all about our picnic and so when they say to use corn flower to bread the chicken because it doesn't burn as badly at regular wheat flower that must mean that there will be no sun today but clouds so we need to bring umbrellas so we won't burn and that just proves that real believers will only be saved because corn flower saves chicken from burning so from now on real believers will never eat white bread again or go out without rain gear. White bread is sinful and a sign of true faith is wearing a raincoat at all times! Amen?"

Here's a theologian at work "explaining" his equivalent of mistaking a cooking show for a weather report, and no less nuts: "Solomon also teaches us that not only was the destruction of the ungodly foreknown, but the ungodly themselves have been created for the specific purpose of perishing (Prov. 16:4)." (Calvin's New Testament Commentaries: Romans and Thessalonians, pp.207-208)

Nothing much has changed since Calvin's day. Franciscan University (Steubenville, Ohio) classifies gay people with murderers and rapists. This is a course description on their website: "SWK 314, DEVIANT BEHAVIOR focuses on the sociological theories of deviant behavior. The behaviors that are primarily examined are murder, rape, robbery, prostitution, homosexuality, mental illness, and drug use (3 credit hours)"

The fact that theologians waste their lives is too bad but the problem is they've taken the rest of us with them into a labyrinth of absurdity where one can imagine a "god" creating the "ungodly themselves. [for] the specific purpose of perishing." I mean can you imagine seriously looking to -- say -- the life work of John Calvin for "answers" as to how to be saved when he said the system was rigged? And can you imagine going to a university where "murder, rape, robbery, prostitution, homosexuality, mental illness" are lumped together? Would taking this course be useful for learning how to relate to your gay daughter? And can you imagine how thinking of a gay friend as having been created for the specific purpose of perishing will help you love her as a human being?

The self-evident ridiculousness of "Bible-based" theology -- a ridiculousness evident to all but those who buy into it as the needed passport to salvation and/or to those who earn a living through it -- is due to the fact that most theology is as farfetched as trying to come up with a way to understand fried chicken recipes as actually being about the "meteorology" of salvation. This isn't because theologians are bad people. It is because they are trying to "interpret" a book that isn't a book. They are looking for a coherent single message in a book that the authors never knew they were writing. They are trying to explain the inexplicable and find coded "messages" where there are none. In that sense theology is the domain of the ultimate conspiracy theorists.

So perhaps it's no coincidence that atheism emerged in the context of the Western Christian expression of both Roman Catholic and Protestant "intellectual" and "rational" religions that carried on doctrinal disputes over their "facts" to such a degree that those theological issues became the root cause of endless wars, persecutions and killings. Beside the idea of correct doctrine leading to actual war Western Christianity paid another price in that it built a house of cards wherein if you remove one card the entire edifice collapses. Since religion was reduced to belief in the right ideas religion became more about the "recipes" in the "cookbook" than about cooking itself.

The problem is that this approach to faith (and cooking) flies in the face of all the rest of human experience which is a matter of trial and error, mixed motivations, sincerity seesawing with bad motives and healthy doubts about everything we encounter. Life is lived on an experiential plain that has less to do with coming up with the right formulations than with passing on wisdom gained by our experience. In other words "correct" ideas don't take into account changed minds.

In reality church for most folks is about community, family and continuity rather than about believing the ideas spouted from the pulpit. For most people the truth is that sitting through sermons is the passport to the coffee hour when the real business of church is conducted in conversations with family and old friends.

Most things we do have a human community reasons for doing them rather than an ideological or theological "reason." I go to church because of my grandchildren. I enjoy taking them to the liturgy. But I'm fortunate because the liturgy I take them to the Greek Orthodox service that revolves around doing of liturgical practice rather than talking about belief systems. What you believe isn't the point. Showing up is. We light candles, take communion, make the sign of the cross, and kiss icons. The comfort I derive from these inane rituals is much the same as the comfort I get from gardening.

The plants I like best in my garden are those plants that have survived many winters like the old rosebush climbing up against the porch. They can be counted on. They are not new and improved and I don't enjoy them by reading about them or talking about them but just by coexisting with them. The doing of rituals - like old plants in old gardens -- also binds us into familiar pathways where others have gone before.

Like caring for an old tree the pleasure is in the stewardship of continuity. And the "point" isn't knowing about roses, it's the pinprick form the thorns, the smell of the flower, the wife who you have taken the flowers to from the same rose tree each year, the grandchild next to you helping you water the rose while you're telling her that you did the same thing with her father "when he was little."

Faith is about finding contexts where we feel comfortable and where we don't have to constantly question ourselves on our motives or how we feel about the "facts" or if we "believe" this or that. Instead we just are. This just being in the moment, this "stillness of the heart" is a completely different experience than sitting through sermons and taking notes or turning to biblical passages and weighing up in one's mind whether you "believe" (whatever that means) in what's being said.

Certainty based on "facts" is a delusion since no information is complete and there's nothing we "know" that later we might not change our minds about. But experience is something that grows and can be added to organically. Learning by hands-on experience is not an either-or proposition. It is a matter of looking up at the sky to see what is happening in reality instead of down at an electronic device. And connecting with the experience of grace is better than looking at a book and reading about it.

A "fact based" religious life -- in other words the idea that theology is a road to knowing the "right way" to love God -- is like a fact-based marriage where each person has to be "right" about everything. It's devoid of hope on those days when you don't agree. And spirituality like a marriage only works when the prime directive of love overrides who is right or wrong.


Assista o vídeo: The HORRIFYING Execution Of The Guernsey Martyrs


Comentários:

  1. Ignatius

    Absolutamente concorda com você. Excelente ideia, mantenho.

  2. Justino

    Ao fazer isso, não tenho dúvidas.

  3. Yekuno Amlak

    Ideia sem sucesso

  4. Akigrel

    Sua opinião é sua opinião



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