The Pilgrim Mother
Every time we take our own little pilgrimage to Plymouth, something strikes me, moves me, or captivates my mind. And sometimes I’m surprised by what I ultimately ponder in my heart and carry with me as I travel home.
Many times it’s some element of the Forefather’s Monument that stirs my soul. Sometimes it’s just the vast ocean, the smell of the salt air and knowing my ancestors tilled the very ground on which I stood. Last time, seeing my tenth great grandfather’s (Peregrine White) cradle in Pilgrim Hall Museum, and the painting of the first Thanksgiving at which he is shown in attendance, just a baby, the first of the saints born in the new world. He was a little olive shoot that would produce a fruitful tree, this lineage of faith and freedom in the wide wild land we now call America.
Now this year, in this moment, I cannot get her face out of my mind. The Pilgrim Mother, a gift from the Daughters of the American Revolution in 1920, commemorating the 300th anniversary of the Mayflower debarkation. Serious yet gentle, grieved yet ever hopeful. Pious and strong. The face of “true grit” on which we New Englanders place a high premium.
The first winter in this wilderness was harsh. It brought death to nearly half of the 102 passengers. Of the group, 18 were women. The brutal winter spared only five. It is believed that the majority of the women perished because they were not afforded opportunities to venture from the camp, where the sickness was suffocating, and the bitter cold was biting. Unlike the men, who were building, hunting, and exploring, the women were stationed, caring for the sick, abstaining from meals so their children would have enough to eat, and sleeping unsheltered in the frosty night air, their bodies huddled over their children to keep them warm. Remarkably, every little life was nurtured and sustained, not a single child died that winter.
What I missed on my last trips to Plymouth, was the back of the monument. Listed are the names of the 18 Pilgrim women. Many of the first names, or some portion of the names, are missing. It stuns me to think how little is known of these women who risked and sacrificed all for the call of Christ. Below the names, the Daughters of the American Revolution had inscribed, “They brought up their families in sturdy virtue and a living faith in God, without which nations would perish.”
The pilgrims were said to have had a 500 year plan. Their eyes set squarely on God. For some of these women, their journey brought death to their mortal bodies, but the cross they bore did not bite. Death had lost its sting. For the joy that was set before them, they came to a land where they could worship God freely, according to their conscience. Their 500 year plan didn’t include their children alone, it also included me. It included scores of Christians who would worship and glorify the One True God in this nation for generations to come. In the stoic face of the Pilgrim Mother I see a legacy of faith that I will never forget, a legacy I long with my whole being to continue— to bring up my children in sturdy virtue and a living faith in God, without which nations would perish.
Today, monuments are being systematically destroyed. And there’s a reason—they want us to forget. All through history, even in the Old Testament, memorials have been erected to help the people remember, to help them to press on, to continue striving for that which has been fought for, sacrificed for, and achieved. This Thanksgiving, as we look to the Pilgrim Mother, may we remember the Pilgrims, their sacrifice, their zeal, their courage. May we never forget their motive and their purpose in the history and foundation of this great nation. May we continue to carry out her legacy of faith.