4474
Pt. 1
I have always wanted to visit Salem, Massachusetts.
It is a sad and convoluted story, but I have family
ties there; undesired, undenied, but undisputable ties there.
As any serious student of history knows, between 1692
and 1693 dozens of Salem's citizens were accused of being witches, and
approximately thirty were not only judged, but found guilty. As a result, most
were hung by the neck 'til dead, at least one was pressed to death by heavy
stones, and several died in prison.
I regret to say that two of my ancient uncles, Joseph
and Jarvis Ring, were involved in that nasty business.
Fast forward exactly three and one third centuries.
Recently my wife and I were in Massachusetts. Our
daughter had undergone surgery in Boston, remained in the hospital several
days, and was released to return home. Having been released, Kristy insisted on
driving the two hours which lay ahead of us.
However, we had hardly left the hospital when our plans
abruptly changed.
Our daughter spoke.
"How about we take a slight detour? Haven't you
always wanted to see Salem?"
To which I replied,
"Well, you have just completed a serious
operation. Wouldn't you rather head on home?"
Not to be deterred, Kristy was determined to follow
through with her plan.
Pt. 2
Not knowing Massachusetts, I had no idea I might have
almost walked the 15 miles between Boston and Salem. We were there before a
half hour had elapsed.
I had read the testimonies of my maternal 9th great
uncles, Joseph and Jarvis. I knew they had accused, and testified against a
particular woman.
While we were in Salem, my daughter and I took a
trolley tour; a tour which focused on the sites where the accused citizens were
interned, and, ultimately, executed. We drove by the site of the old prison,
and the location of the hangings. Having been hung, their bodies were thrown
off the brow of a hill. (It is said that their relatives retrieved their bodies
at night, and provided them a primitive burial).
I had seen photos of the Salem memorial stones; each
one bearing the name of one of the accused so-called "witches."
One of the stones was inscribed with the name, Susannah
Martin; the lady against whom my ancient relatives gave false testimony.
I stood there for the longest time. And I found myself
doing penance, as it were; on the part of mouths long since stilled, and which
no longer had the wherewithal to utter an accusing word.
"I am so, so sorry, Susannah. You were wrongfully
deprived of a long, good life. I ask your forgiveness. My family asks your
forgiveness."
It seemed a weight, almost as heavy as that memorial
stone, fell off my shoulders.
Old Testament scripture speaks of generational
blessings and curses. I think if the dynamic of curses applies in the New
Testament, it is largely due to bad role modeling, and a conscious willingness
to emulate one's forebears' behavior patterns. Those who have placed their
faith in a merciful Savior, who have been forgiven of their sins, and have been
saved by grace have, I believe, been removed from the curse.
However, I not only did what I had to do that day. I
did what I had desperately wanted to do.
As a counselor I have often told my clients,
"There are no time
machines."
And yet, I like to think I fulfilled a personal mission
that day which will serve, as best just one man can, to reconcile a severe
injustice inflicted upon someone who in no way deserved it.
Rest in peace, Susannah. Rest in peace.
by Bill McDonald, PhD
