John Winthrop’s Model of Christian Charity: A Vision for America, April 25, 1630

2026-04-24T17:48:31-05:00April 24, 2026|HH 2026|

“This day I call the heavens and the earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live.”—Deuteronomy 30:19

John Winthrop’s Model of Christian Charity: A Vision for America, April 25, 1630

The spring of 1630 found England restless under a king seemingly bent on stamping out the pure, gospel-based worship so many devout souls practiced and desired to maintain. King Charles I and his archbishop, William Laud, had tightened the screws on the Puritan Reformers by banning their meetings, silencing their preachers, and enforcing ceremonies that became increasingly popish in practice and trappings. King Charles had also suspended Parliament indefinitely, causing grave concern for the security of the rule of common law.

For parishioners who believed the Church of England had not gone far enough in its Reformation, that both churches and courts should be brought under the law of God, the only honorable path left was to consider departure.


Arbella in the Winthrop fleet

And so a fleet of eleven ships carrying nearly a thousand souls set sail for the untamed shores of Massachusetts Bay, determined to build a commonwealth ordered entirely by Scripture. At the head of that company stood John Winthrop. Quiet, scholarly, and profoundly devout, he was a forty-two-year-old lawyer and gentleman of Groton, Suffolk, and had been elected governor by the shareholders of the Massachusetts Bay Company before the ships ever left English waters.


Arbella, flagship of the fleet—Winthrop’s sermon was preached on board

It is important to keep this context in mind—that Winthrop was an elected public official sent to establish the rule of law in the new country while it disintegrated in the old—when he delivered his now famous lay-sermon aboard the flagship Arbella. He titled it “A Model of Christian Charity.”

His subject was not a call to obey civil magistrates, a warning against laziness or even an encouragement to bravely face the trials ahead, but rather it was a solemn charge to model for all the world the chief attribute of the Christian Religion: charity.


John Winthrop (1588-1649)

Winthrop began, as the sermon itself opens, with the plain fact of Providence:

“God Almighty in His most holy and wise providence hath so disposed of the condition of mankind, as in all times some must be rich, some poor, some high and eminent in power and dignity, others mean and in submission.”

Why this inequality? Not, he insisted, for the sake of the individuals themselves, but for the glory of the Creator and the common good of the creature, and so their experiment was first and foremost to be a model society rooted in graciousness.

The reasons were, he said, threefold:

“First, to hold conformity with the rest of His works, being delighted to show forth the glory of His wisdom in the variety and difference of the Creatures and the glory of His power, in ordering all these differences for the preservation and good of the whole, and the glory of His greatness, that as it is the glory of princes to have many officers, so this great King will have many stewards counting Himself more honored in dispensing His gifts to man by man, than if He did it by His own immediate hand.”

Second, he said,

“That He might have the more occasion to manifest the work of His Spirit: first, upon the wicked in moderating and restraining them: so that the rich and mighty should not eat up the poor, and amongst the regenerate in exercising His graces in them.”

Third, he asserted,

“That every man might have need of the other, and from hence they might be all knit more nearly together in the bond of brotherly affection; from hence it appears plainly that no man is made more honorable than another or more wealthy but for the glory of his Creator and the common good of the creature, man.”

The heart of his appeal was contained in the closing paragraphs where Winthrop warned his listeners that they had entered into a special covenant with God, that the eyes of the world were upon their endeavor, but greater still the eyes of Heaven. If they dealt truly with one another, loved their brethren as themselves, and labored together for the common good, then in the beauty of God Almighty’s economy they would become “a praise and glory” in the earth. But if they failed—if selfishness, greed, or coldness crept in—they would become an infamous “by-word throughout the world.”


Winthrop meets with a Narragansett warrior, c. 1631–1639

Theirs was the holy “duty of mercy” which was to be the hallmark of the new American colonies. Winslow gave them a profound charge:

“Beloved, there is now set before us life, and good, death and evil in that we are commanded this day to love the Lord our God, and to love one another and walk in His ways and to keep His Commandments and His ordinance, and His laws, and the articles of our Covenant with Him that we may live and be multiplied, and that the Lord our God may bless us in the land wether we go to possess it. But If our hearts shall turn away so that we will not obey, but shall be seduced and worship other gods, our pleasures and profits, and serve them; it is propounded unto us this day, we shall surely perish out of the good land wither we pass over this vast sea to possess it. Therefore let us choose life that we, and our seed may live, by obeying His voice, and cleaving to Him, for He is our life and our prosperity.”

Then came the immortal, vision-casting line that has echoed down four centuries: “We shall be as a city set upon a hill. The eyes of all people are upon us.”

What followed that April address was the slow, arduous work of turning this vision into the renowned, devout, industrious colony that would, in future generations, become the Massachusetts of Harvard, Lexington Green, and Bunker Hill fame. By the influence of this ideal, Massachusetts was the first state to establish a board for American Foreign Missions, and America entire would produce more missionaries in her short 250 years than all the rest of the Christian world.

Winthrop himself would serve as governor for twelve non-consecutive terms in the colony’s first nineteen years, guiding the settlers through famine, disease, and the constant temptation to scatter or compromise. The Massachusetts Bay Colony never became the perfect society he desired—human frailty saw to that, his own included—but its founding ideal endured.

Though the sermon itself lay unpublished until 1838 and was little known for two hundred years, its essence shaped New England’s churches, schools, and laws. Later generations would reach back to that “city upon a hill” imagery and apply it, sometimes loosely, to the whole American experiment. Presidents from John F. Kennedy to Ronald Reagan would quote Winthrop’s words when recalling the nation’s divine purpose.


John Winthrop’s “Modell of Christian Charity” sermon, as published in 1838

Winthrop himself would write in his journal, years later, that the colony’s survival had been “a wonder of wonders,” and he gave glory to the Most High for this mercy. Winthrop’s charge is as applicable today as it was in 1630, that to be a city set upon a hill we must reclaim our Christian duty to charity, for we are commanded to “not neglect to do good and to share what you have, for such sacrifices are pleasing to God.”

The Other Side of the Night: RMS Carpathia, April 14-15, 1912

2026-04-11T12:30:57-05:00April 13, 2026|HH 2026|

“For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.”—Ephesians 2:10

The Other Side of the Night: RMS Carpathia, April 14-15, 1912

The tragedy and heroism that marked the sinking of the RMS Titanic amidst the vast ice fields of the North Atlantic has rightly kept our fascination and admiration for over a century. Among the stirring stories often repeated are those of the two telegraph operators, Jack Phillips and Harold Bride. Both bravely stayed at their posts, sending out the chilling distress call, until the electricity gave out and the ship split in two—one perished, the other lived on with health complications.


John George “Jack” Phillips (1887-1912)


Harold Sydney Bride (1890-1956)

But who were these brave operators trying so desperately to contact? Cape Race on the Nova Scotia coast, for one, but more opportune were any vessels in the nearby vicinity. For the three hours it took the mighty vessel to sink, they sent messages begging for anyone to come alongside and help take on passengers who would be without seats in the too few lifeboats. Did they successfully make contact with anyone in that late hour? They did, and that is the other side of that dreadful night, as D.A. Butler called it in his book, The Other Side of the Night, in which he explores the subject in depth. It highlights a deeply stirring drama of human nature, and of the often gigantic impact that our moral responses hold when calamity strikes.

It turns out there were multiple ships who answered and heard Titanic’s call for help. Among them was Titanic’s sister ship, the RMS Olympic who, after picking up Phillips’ report of a collision, telegraphed back with the placid inquiry, “So are you steering south to meet us?” Phillips tapped back in exasperation, “We are putting the women in the boats,” feeling that should convey the dire situation to anyone listening. Far away the Frankfurt’s operator, who had previously ignored any communication not addressed directly to his ship, broke in with, “Are there any ships around you already?” Then, a few seconds later: “The Frankfurt wishes to know what is the matter? We are ten hours away.”

All this as the water rushed into the lower levels in a torrent and the electricity began to flicker.


The Californian on the morning after Titanic sank; photo taken from Carpathia

Infamously, the Californian was an estimated mere six miles away, which in the event of a rescue would have enabled them to reach the Titanic with plenty of time to spare before her sinking. Close enough that her senior officers were witness to five successive distress rockets that Titanic sent up, and had time to observe and comment that the distant ships’ lights “looked queer” through their telescopes—Titanic was listing to such a degree by that time that six floors were already submerged on her stern. Close enough that Titanic’s fourth officer Mr. Boxhall, who was sending the rockets up personally amidst the pandemonium of loading the lifeboats, was witnessed to swear directly at the Californian’s distant lights for their fatal inertia.

The Californian’s captain, Stanley Lord, had been asleep already when notified by his officers that a ship appeared to be firing distress rockets in the distance. He encouraged his men to use the method of flashing a morse lamp at the distant ship, but declined to wake up his own telegraph operator to check the comms. Captain Lord then retired back to bed, possibly inebriated, leaving his crew with a great disincentive to wake him for any news.


Stanley Phillip Lord (1877-1962), captain of the SS Californian

Meanwhile, some fifty-eight miles away from the site of unfolding disaster, the Cunard liner RMS Carpathia was steaming peacefully toward the Mediterranean under the command of Captain Arthur Rostron. The Cunard Line was a respectable but modest rival of the Titanic’s White Star Line, but like all good passenger steamers of day, she was fitted with the revolutionary wireless technology that enabled ships to pass radio messages between themselves even at great distances. To work this luxury innovation, Carpathia had a single wireless operator, twenty-one-year-old Harold Cottam.

It was a little after midnight on the 15th that Cottam left Carpathia’s bridge and returned to his wireless office, having just handed several routine messages to First Officer Horace Dean. Once there he decided against going to sleep and instead sat down to his telegraph device to relay a number of messages in need of forwarding for the new White Star Liner Titanic. He thought he would remind Jack Phillips, Titanic’s senior operator whom he knew professionally, about those waiting messages. It took a few minutes for his telegraph set to warm up, then he politely tapped out a call to the Titanic, quickly receiving a curt go ahead.


Harold Thomas Cottam (1891-1984)

“Good morning, old man [GM OM].” Cottam typed out cheerily, “Do you know there are messages for you at Cape Race?”

What Cottam heard next made his blood run cold. Instead of the expected jaunty reply came the dreaded “CQD…CQD…SOS…SOS…CQD…MGY. Come at once. We have struck a berg. It’s a CQD (come quick, danger), old man. Position 41.46 N, 50.14 W.”

Cottam later reported being so stunned he did nothing for a moment, then tapped back asking Phillips if he should tell Carpathia’s captain. The reply was immediate: “Yes, quick.”

Cottam then raced to the bridge and breathlessly told First Officer Dean. Dean didn’t hesitate—he bolted down the ladder, through the chart-room and into their captain’s cabin with Cottam hard on his heels. Without the slightest prevarication upon hearing the dire report, Captain Rostron told Dean to order the ship around, and only after doing so grilled Cottam on the details. Being a moderate man, and as informed as any of Titanic’s boasted engineering, he seemed to find the possibility of her sinking as incredible as the rest. He inquired twice if Cottam had not misunderstood. His young telegraph operator insisted he had not, Titanic was sending out every distress call in the books, old and new. Never once did Rostron ask if any other ship was nearer or better suited to answer the call and once convinced of his duty, Captain Rostron swung into action, immediately ordering Cottam to assure Jack Phillips they were coming as fast as they could.


Sir Arthur Henry Rostron (1869-1940), captain of the RMS Carpathia

What followed was one of the most remarkable acts of seamanship and courage in maritime history.

Carpathia was a modest fourteen-knot ship, built for comfortable service rather than speed. Yet to rescue her rival, Rostron demanded every ounce of power her engines could produce. He ordered the off-duty stokers roused and made to shovel coal, the ship’s heating and hot water were cut off from passengers so that every scrap of steam could be diverted to the boilers, and the vessel was thus pushed in every way beyond her normal limits. Titanic carried three thousand souls, and Carpathia was already full, so dining rooms and saloons were noisily rearranged into makeshift berths, with blankets, hot soup, and medical stations organized in the bold expectation of a complete roster of survivors. Above decks, gangway doors were opened, rope ladders and cargo nets rigged, chair slings fashioned to lift the injured and the children from lifeboats.

Carpathia’s Chief Steward, a most unflappable man named Hughes, gathered his stewards and stewardesses together, and knowing they would work harder if told what their mission was, explained to them that the mighty Titanic and her thousands of souls were depending on them and their preparedness alone for rescue. “Every man to his post and let him do his duty like a true Englishman,” he charged them, “As the situation calls for it, let us add another glorious page to British history.”


The RMS Carpathia

The middle-of-the-night commotion began to arouse Carpathia’s guests, along with the perturbing symptoms of speed such as their bunks vibrating and the pistons banging underfoot. “We are going north like hell” the Quartermaster informed those who asked, and many upon learning of the rescue attempt they were sudden accessories to, pitched in their efforts and belongings for the relief of the anticipated survivors.

Through fields of ice—the same as had just dealt Titanic her fatal blow—with growlers scraping along the hull, and bergs looming suddenly out of the blackness, the Carpathia raced on for three and a half hours at an unheard-of seventeen knots. Captain Rostron reportedly covered the boiler’s pressure gauge so as not to alarm his crew over minor details like a boiler’s imminent risk of bursting. Despite such haste, he was also determined that the Carpathia would not meet the same fate as the ship she was rushing to aid. Rostron had an extra man posted in the crow’s nest, two lookouts in the bow, extra hands posted on both bridge wings, and Second Officer James Bisset, who had especially keen eyesight, posted on the starboard bridge wing.

Having done all he could do, the devout Rostron attended to one last duty. Second Officer Bisset noticed it first, then so did the others on the bridge—the Captain was standing toward the back of the bridge holding his cap an inch or two off his head, eyes closed, lips moving in silent prayer. Later Rostron would say of Carpathia’s miraculous feat, “I can only conclude another Hand than mine was on the helm that night.”


Harold Bride hard at work in the wireless room aboard the RMS Titanic—this is the only known picture of this room, taken by passenger and Catholic priest, Francis Browne

It was a quarter past one aboard Titanic when her captain, Edward Smith, informed operator Phillips that the power was beginning to fade. Maybe ten minutes later he told him the water was reaching the engine rooms. At 1:45 a.m. Phillips, still at his post mechanically tapping out distress calls to any who might hear, called to the Carpathia again, “Come as quickly as possible, old man; engine room filling up to the boilers.”

The way the wireless system worked was such that any ships who were able to pick up these communications between Titanic and Carpathia forwarded them on to the Marconi station at Cape Race, Nova Scotia, and they in turn forwarded them inland to cities like New York and Philadelphia. So it was that this unfolding tragedy and the strenuous exertions of the would-be saviors were read in real time by those awake inland and powerless to do ought but pray for the outcome.

At two o’clock Titanic’s Captain had exhorted Phillips and Bride, “Men, you have done your full duty. You can do no more. Abandon your cabin. Now it’s every man for himself.” According to Harold Bride who survived the night, Phillips had glanced up at him, then went right back to Morsing. The Captain continued: “You look out for yourselves; I release you. That’s the way of it at this kind of time.” Then he turned and left the wireless shack for the last time. Without a word, Phillips continued to tap out his distress call. The lights were starting to take on an orange glow as the power began slowly fading. Phillips kept tinkering with the set, trying to adjust the spark to make it stronger. At 2:10 he tapped out two “Vs” as a test; at 2:17, the distant Virginian heard a faint “CQD…CQ—” that ended abruptly. That proved the last transmission anyone heard from Titanic. Aboard Carpathia, Cottam desperately tried to make contact, but without success. Despite eventually tearing herself apart in her strain to make all speed, the rescue ship would prove two hours late for those who perished in the frigid North Atlantic, the dauntless Jack Phillips included.


Wireless operators Harold Bride of the Titanic (seated with bandaged feet) and Harold Cottam of the Carpathia during the U.S. Senate inquiry into Titanic’s sinking


An artist’s rendition of the sinking of the RMS Titanic

As dawn broke over the icy sea, they saw green flares. Knowing the odds were impossible, Rostron still harbored hope that this meant Titanic was yet afloat. It was instead the first of her lifeboats hailing them, relieved beyond expression to be found amidst the huge Atlantic ice floes after hours adrift in the cold, and after spectating one of the greatest—and loudest—human calamities witnessed at sea up to that point. Rostron recorded the moment: “I swung the ship round and so came alongside the first of the Titanic’s boats on the starboard side. Devoutly thankful I was that the long race was over.”

One by one, the boats were emptied—women and children first, the injured and the frozen helped aboard with infinite care. Over the next four hours, Carpathia’s crew and passengers took in 705 survivors, a goodly lot but devastatingly scant when considering the inferred death toll of 1,500. Hot drinks were pressed into numb hands, coats given to the shivering, prayer vigils were held. Rostron offered his own quarters to the most distressed. When the last survivor was safely aboard, the Carpathia turned away from the grave of the great ship, all sick at heart that there were no more to be saved. Captain Rostron would later say with characteristic humility: “I thank God Almighty that I was within wireless hailing distance, and that I got there in time to pick up every one of the 705 survivors of the Titanic wreck.”


A group of unknown Titanic survivors aboard their rescue ship, the Carpathia

In the weeks to follow there would be other ships sent out—to collect any remains. Multiple official inquiries were held, investigating every aspect of the disaster and critiquing each ships’ response to it. What had been clear to the officers of the Titanic became clear to the public in eagerly sought transcripts of the hearings. Talks of insurance fraud, lifeboat quotas and the like tended to obscure the incredible story that belonged to the Carpathia’s fearless crew, their bravery and urgency, and their real life foil, the dormant Californian.

Captain Rostron’s actions that night are widely praised as a marvel “of systematic preparation and completeness to duty,” and those he rescued would bless him for such efforts until the day they died. These are the stories that, in a Christian’s view of history, quietly shape how we remember even the most wretched of catastrophes, not only for the horror, but for the light of honor that refuses to be extinguished.


Titanic survivor Molly Brown presenting an award to Captain Arthur Henry Rostron of the Carpathia for his heroism in risking all to save survivors

May we always remember the Titanic, but the Carpathia and the Californian, too! May we always be ready to be used of God for good deeds as Captain Rostron was, for, “who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this?”

Death of Britain’s Wartime Queen, Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, March 30, 2002

2026-03-26T11:39:49-05:00March 26, 2026|HH 2026|

“Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her: ‘Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all’.”—Proverbs 31:28-29

Death of Britain’s Wartime Queen, Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon, March 30, 2002

When young debutante Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon declined Prince Albert’s first proposal to her in 1921, it was not for lack of affection for him or any strong pull elsewhere. Instead, as evidenced by her many letters on the subject, Elizabeth deeply dreaded the prospect of marrying into the British Royal family. Even by marrying a secondary Prince, such as Albert, with no claim to the throne, she would be signing up for a life of scrutiny and endless societal rigor despite all its privileges. Having been raised by a prestigious but modest family of Scottish aristocrats, Elizabeth found these deterrences too strong to be overcome. It was the sensible thing to decline, and she was always sensible.


Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon (1900-2002) in 1915

How amusing it is that when humans dispose to keep away from the trouble and inconveniences of life, they often seem to find them again in twofold measure. Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon had misgivings about becoming a Duchess, high-ranking to be sure, but not essential. In the course of Providence, she would end up becoming Queen instead, one called upon to serve in full public view during the first war waged directly on English soil by a foreign enemy in centuries. Perhaps greater still, she would be called upon to mother and raise England’s next monarch, her own little Elizabeth, firstborn of two daughters and the late grand Queen Elizabeth II.

Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon first met her princely husband at a ball held in 1920, after which Prince Albert pursued her, was rejected, and then continued the pursuit until accepted. Prince Albert, second son of King George V and Mary of Teck, (and known to his friends as “Bertie”) suffered from many physical complaints: knocked knees, left handedness, stomach pains and a severe stuttering affliction that did not abate with age. However he was also manifestly courageous, courteous and charmingly unaffected. His incredible persistence in overcoming his disabilities has since been made famous by films such as The King’s Speech.


The royal wedding of Prince Albert and Lady Elizabeth, April 26, 1923

The Royal Wedding took place in Westminster Abbey on April 26, 1923, the first to be held there since 1382, and from then on the two were inseparable from each other and singularly faithful. For her part, Elizabeth would, for the rest of their lives, show her husband Bertie a devoted understanding he did not experience from his own family. She would be his champion, in health and public service, knowing him to be vastly capable and extraordinarily charming long before the rest of the world was forced by circumstance to pay him any mind. As was mentioned above, they would go on to have two daughters, Elizabeth and Margaret. When it was practical to escape their public duties, the happy little family was known to gladly hide out in their secluded country estates.

Prince Albert’s father, King George V, had, like Prince Albert himself, been born a second son and an unlikely heir to the throne. By his reprobate brother’s premature death, George V had ascended to the English throne right before the tragedy that became World War One, shouldering with grace responsibilities for which he had not been prepared. Ironically then, King George V himself produced an eldest son, Edward VIII, who would repeat this pattern and saddle his younger brother, Prince Albert, with the duties of King—although Edward ceded them through abdication and not through death, and he did so to marry a twice-divorced American, Wallis Simpson. This renouncement of his royal duties rocked the entire British Empire, but nowhere was the betrayal felt more strongly than at home. Prince Albert is said to have pleaded repeatedly with his older brother Edward to reconsider, if not for his own sake then for the sake of his daughter, the young Elizabeth, who by her uncle’s selfishness now had her entire future rerouted, from the pleasant prospect of being a private noblewoman to the rigors of being a future monarch.


Three generations and four kings: Edward VII (far right); his son George, Prince of Wales, later George V (far left); and grandsons Edward, later Edward VIII (rear); and Albert, later George VI (foreground), c. 1908

Edward VIII, however, would not be moved. The abdication proceeded in 1936 and Elizabeth’s husband Bertie became king, with his royal name being King George VI. The woman who dreaded being a Duchess was now a Queen. And more than that, she became queen in an era prolific with constant exposure to cameras, demanded radio appearances, rising calls for a great leveling of society, and the looming threat of another world war. If her kind-hearted Bertie found it in himself to easily forgive his brother, Elizabeth on the contrary held onto her animosity of him until the last. A strongly dutiful woman herself, Elizabeth had no sympathy for a privileged, capable and physically fit incumbent shirking his role at the expense of her husband. When World War II broke out and it was learned that Edward was allegedly feeding the Nazis confidential information about Buckingham palace and British defenses, Elizabeth was only solidified in her loathing of him. In fact, in a life marked by generosity of spirit and acceptance of the faults of human nature, her strong feelings towards her brother-in-law would be a marked exception to the rule. She would later say that being made king had effectively killed her husband, and laid the blame for that solely on Edward.


Edward VIII and Wallis Simpson, 1936

All throughout the war years, Elizabeth and her once private little family became almost as iconic as Prime Minister Churchill in the eyes of their British subjects. During the terrifying months of the Blitz, Elizabeth refused to leave London. “The children could not go without me, I could not possibly leave the King, and the King would never go“ she once famously told those advisors who begged the royals to evacuate under threats of invasion. Instead, they remained throughout the heavy bombing of London, where Queen Elizabeth aided her husband in his wartime broadcasts, showed herself frequently at the sites of destruction, and worked tirelessly to help alleviate the suffering of the civilian population most affected. The concept of losing the war was something she refused to entertain, and her very presence seemed to radiate that determination wherever she appeared. Her actions during this time earned her widespread admiration and caused Adolf Hitler to refer to her as “the most dangerous woman in Europe” for her success in rallying public spirit. Prime Minister Churchill, who had initially been wary of the couple’s untried spirit, declared after the war that “we could not have had a better King and Queen in Britain’s most perilous hour.”


Queen Elizabeth and her daughter Princess Elizabeth (the future Queen Elizabeth II) talk with paratroopers preparing for D-Day, May 19, 1944

In sad fulfillment of her constant worry for her husband’s health, Bertie succumbed to lung cancer in 1952, widowing Elizabeth at age 51. Their daughter—the late long-reigning Queen Elizabeth II—was crowned, and Elizabeth became known as the Queen Mother. Grief did not drown her; instead she carried always “a great zest for life” and continued to perform in her new role many public duties, remaining indispensable to royal life until her passing at 101 years of age. To put her extraordinary length of influence into perspective, she was a support act and constant advisor to her daughter for 50 years of her 70-year reign. Her funeral in 2002 drew over a million people onto the streets of London.


Queen Elizabeth the Queen Mother, 1986

Beloved but stringent, the devout Queen Mother was credited not only in raising her queenly daughter to be a paragon of duty in the ever-devolving 20th century, but was herself responsible for many moral standards of behavior that the Royal Family continued to espouse, publicly at least. For instance, after Princess Diana’s death in 1997, the issue of Prince Charles and his longtime mistress, Camilla Parker Bowles, acquired great emotional and symbolic relevance. By the Queen Mother’s influence, any formal support of the relationship continued to be denied and its potential union considered impossible. She viewed it as destabilizing of the monarchy and antithetical to the moral standards she believed the institution should project, a beloved grandson’s wish aside. It was considered by the public to be no mere happenstance that only after her death in 2002 were Prince Charles and Camilla Parker Bowles married, despite the church and family’s stance against it.

Lives such as that of Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon are the kind that shape a generation—something she herself might have laughed at or shrank from, had she been told at the beginning what lay in store for her. But quietly faithful and placidly trusting, she resigned herself to be used by God in many an extraordinary era. “Work is the rent you pay in life” her mother, Lady Strathmore, had impressed upon Elizabeth and her nine siblings growing up. She abided by this until the end, informed by a conviction that individuals were more important than the state and that the extension of the government’s reach into every area of life did “not absolve us from the practice of charity or from the exercise of vigilance. The English way of progress has always been to preserve good qualities and apply them to new systems.”


King George VI and Queen Elizabeth, 1939

The Continental Congress Resolves Upon a National Day of Prayer, March 16, 1776

2026-03-26T11:47:00-05:00March 26, 2026|HH 2026|

The Continental Congress Resolves Upon a National Day of Prayer, March 16, 1776

Amidst grave alarm over the protracted siege of Boston, threats to the safety of New York, and the crushing response from King George in refusing all peace negotiations, patriot William Livingston rose before the Second Continental Congress and read out a proposal. Drafted by his own eloquent pen, it read as “an Order for a General Fast” that would have the Congress designate a day for the colonies to publicly acknowledge God’s providence, confess their sins, and pray for protection of American lives and liberties amid the conflict with Britain.


The meeting room inside Independence Hall, Philadelphia, PA, where the Second Continental Congress convened

It was adopted unanimously on this day, and signed into being by President John Hancock—himself the son of Reverend John Hancock, Sr. This motion for a national day of spiritual solemnity and diligence would become the second such to be issued by Congress during the Revolutionary period. Fourteen more would follow in the years to come. With the thirteen colonies at that time operating under the Articles of Association, such motions were called resolves, as they carried no legal compulsion but instead were the “earnest recommendation” of the representative body.


John Hancock (1737-1793)

But here is a beautiful lesson to us all—these great men, harried by all manner of tasks and running out of time to defend their very lives and country from the ravages of an invading enemy, took time and pains to honor and center Almighty God in this great endeavor. And not only in their private devotions, but in the national consciousness.

Indeed, William Livingston himself, the man who drafted this resolve, was considered an exceptional statesman and administrator. Mired in the work of countless councils and committees, and accomplishing the work of a dozen men alone, he did not forget who strengthens the arm for battle or sharpens the mind for defense. Instead he called upon all around him to repent and to rely upon God’s “superintending Providence” in the momentous affairs occurring at home and abroad.


William Livingston (1723-1790)

A devout Christian of the Dutch Calvinist persuasion, a missionary to the Iroquois Tribe, a prominent lawyer, and New Jersey’s foremost representative to the congress, William Livingston would go on to become a brigadier general, the first governor of New Jersey, and a signatory of the Constitution. In a time when men were encouraged to broaden their fields of study and exert all their capabilities in the public interest, Livingston strove foremost among them, yet remained until his last days a reliant sinner, clinging to Divine Grace.


The handwriting of William Livingston in a letter dated March 23, 1778

As we find ourselves again in such dire circumstances, let us come together in repentance and humility that we might find favor with Almighty God Who judges nations and alone has power to restore them. Livingston’s call to prayer is a beautifully crafted appeal for unity in Christ, and remains as pertinent now as it was 250 years ago.


In times of impending calamity and distress; when the liberties of America are imminently endangered by the secret machinations and open assaults of an insidious and vindictive administration, it becomes the indispensable duty of these hitherto free and happy colonies, with true penitence of heart, and the most reverent devotion, publicly to acknowledge the over ruling providence of God; to confess and deplore our offenses against Him; and to supplicate His interposition for averting the threatened danger, and prospering our strenuous efforts in the cause of freedom, virtue, and posterity…

[We desire] to have people of all ranks and degrees duly impressed with a solemn sense of God’s superintending Providence, and of their duty, devoutly to rely, in all their lawful enterprises, on His aid and direction….we may, with united hearts, confess and bewail our manifold sins and transgressions, and, by a sincere repentance and amendment of life, appease His righteous displeasure, and, through the merits and mediation of Jesus Christ, obtain His pardon and forgiveness; humbly imploring His assistance to frustrate the cruel purposes of our unnatural enemies; and by inclining their hearts to justice and benevolence, prevent the further effusion of kindred blood…

But if, continuing deaf to the voice of reason and humanity, and inflexibly bent, on desolation and war, they constrain us to repel their hostile invasions by open resistance, that it may please the Lord of Hosts, the God of Armies, to animate our officers and soldiers with invincible fortitude, to guard and protect them in the day of battle, and to crown the continental arms, by sea and land, with victory and success: Earnestly beseeching Him to bless our civil rulers, and the representatives of the people, in their several assemblies and conventions; to preserve and strengthen their union, to inspire them with an ardent, disinterested love of their country; to give wisdom and stability to their counsels; and direct them to the most efficacious measures for establishing the rights of America on the most honorable and permanent basis…

That He would be graciously pleased to bless all His people in these colonies with health and plenty, and grant that a spirit of incorruptible patriotism, and of pure undefiled religion, may universally prevail; and this continent be speedily restored to the blessings of peace and liberty, and enabled to transmit them inviolate to the latest posterity.

Letters of ’76: Mercy Otis Warren to John Adams, March 10, 1776

2026-03-26T11:42:55-05:00March 26, 2026|HH 2026|

Letters of ’76: Mercy Otis Warren to John Adams, March 10, 1776

Mercy Otis Warren came from distinguished Massachusetts stock that could trace their lineage as far back as the Mayflower. While not “formally” educated, Warren’s father ensured she received the same quality tutelage as her brothers, under the guidance of an uncle, the Rev. Jonathan Russel.


Mercy Otis Warren (1728-1814)

She married her second cousin, James Warren, a merchant farmer, who would eventually replace the martyr of Bunker Hill, Dr. Joseph Warren (no relation), as Speaker of the Provisional Congress. By the year 1776, Mercy Warren had capitalized on this new position—and the public influence she had gained as a playwright in years prior—to devote her public platform fully to the work of steering her colony towards independence.


James Warren (1726-1808)

Driven by unshakable faith in the Supreme Governor of the Universe and the doctrine of her forefathers, she considered the American experiment to be a direct outworking of Providence, and considered herself “awed” and “fortunate” to stand witness to its unfolding. Much of her writings stress to a bewildered populace the magnitude of the events engulfing them, and pondered if her generation was strong and virtuous enough for the task at hand. Considered by her contemporaries to be an astoundingly astute woman, she was a most capable wife and irrepressible mother of five boys! A leading female intellectual, Mercy Warren is still revered as a prolific commentator, poet and correspondent. After the war she would turn her pen toward preservation, becoming one of the first to write a history of the United States and its founding. In a show of commendation for her scholarship, President Jefferson purchased all three volumes for himself and each member of his cabinet.


History of the Rise, Progress and Termination of the American Revolution
by Mercy Otis Warren, published in 1805—An 1851 Christmas Eve fire destroyed almost two thirds of the books that Jefferson had sold to the Library of Congress in 1815; the flames almost claimed this book as well, as noted by the singeing of the title page (top right corner).


Dear sir,
As your time is so much devoted to the service of the public that you have little leisure for letters of friendship or amusement, and conscious of incapacity to write anything that would be of the smallest utility to the common weal, I have been for sometime balancing in my mind whether I should again interrupt your important moments, but on re-perusing yours of January 8th, I find a query unanswered. And though the asking my opinion in so momentous a question as the form of government to be preferred by a people who have an opportunity to shake off the fetters both of monarchy and aristocratic tyranny, might be designed to ridicule the sex for paying any attention to political matters, yet I shall venture to give you a serious reply.

And notwithstanding the love of dress, dancing, equipage, finery and folly, notwithstanding the fondness for fashion, predominates so strongly in the female mind, I hope never to see an American Monarchy, however fashionable in Europe, or however it might coincide with the taste for elegance and pleasure in the one sex, or cooperate with the interest, or passions of the other.

I have long been an admirer of a Republican form of government, and was convinced even before I saw the advantages delineated in so clear and concise a manner by your masterly pen, that if established upon the genuine principles of equal liberty, it was a form productive of many excellent qualities, and heroic virtues in human nature, which often lie dormant for want of opportunity for exertions, and the Heavenly Spark is smothered in the Corruption of Courts, or its luster obscured in the pompous glare of regal pageantry.

It is an observation of the celebrated bourge*, “that almost all political establishments are the creatures of chance rather than of wisdom, and that there are few instances of a people forming for themselves a constitution from the foundation, that the common course has been to blend with the new system of politics the errors and deficiencies that had crept into the old.”

Therefore there is scarcely any example of such a phenomenon as a perfect Commonwealth. But we will hope the present period will leave one to posterity, and that the American Republic will come as near the standard of perfection as the state of humanity will admit, and that listening to the dictates of common sense the Amphyctionic Body** will not be obliged to yield to the violence of party or to the blindness of private, or provincial prejudices, and leave the work half finished.

Shall the fabric which they now have the power of completing with facility which may never again take place, be left tottering under its own weight, to be showered up and cemented with the blood of succeeding generations? But however we may indulge the pleasing reverie and look forward with delight, on the well compacted government, and happy establishment of the civil police of the united colonies, yet with you sir I have my fears, that American Virtue has not yet reached that sublime pitch which is necessary to baffle the arts of the designing, and to counteract the weakness of the timid, as well as to resist the pecuniary temptations and ambitious wishes which will arise in the breasts of more noble minded and exalted individuals, if not carefully guarded. But we shall soon have a test. And if the union of the colonies, and a steady opposition to the disgraceful idea of foreign shackles still subsists, after negotiating with men picked for the purpose of flattering, terrifying and cajoling the colonists into compliances which their principles, their interest, their honor, and even their strength forbids, I shall have hopes that America has more than one politician who has abilities to make the characters of his people, to extinguish the vices and follies he finds, and to create the virtues he sees wanting.

Many among us are ready to flatter themselves that an accommodation with Britain is easy, and that we shall soon see the return of Halcyon days.

But I believe sir, you have little expectation that the Commissioners from a haughty, venal and luxurious court, acting in the name of a despotic prince, will submit to such humiliating terms as the safety, the happiness, and the justice of American demands.

I agree to the bargain you propose and I think, sir, you cannot retract, when a Lady has accepted your conditions. But I must ingeniously tell you, the pleasure you may expect to reap, will be very inadequate, to the advantage I promise myself by the compliance.***

I expect to be made acquainted with the genius, the taste, and manners, not only of the most distinguished characters in America, but of the Nobility of Britain. And perhaps before the conflict is ended, with some of those dignified personages who have held the regalia of crowns and scepters, and in the zenith of power are the dancing puppets of other European Courts. While the sphere of female life is too narrow to afford any entertainment to the wise and learned, who are called to exhibit some of the most capital scenes in the drama. And who dare to tread the Theatre, when not only [the] World are Spectators, but the Stage is so Conspicuous, and the part so interesting that all posterity will scrutinize their steps, and future ages censure or applaud according to the imbecility, the vigor, or magnanimity that marks the conduct of the Philadelphian actors.

The subject I have touched is so diffusive that I have been im­perceptibly lead to detain you longer than I designed, and after uttering every wish for the happiness of you and yours, that friendship can dictate, I will only add I should be gratified with a line if it was only an assurance of pardon for the freedom and length of this.

* bourgeois class
** Ancient Greek reference for a confederation
*** Adams had suggested she become an ambassador

Note: spelling has been corrected or modernized, no other changes have been made to the original text.

Go to Top