fathermothergod by lucia greenhouse - excerpt

8/6/2019 Fathermothergod by Lucia Greenhouse - Excerpt

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http://www.crownpublishing.com/https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Lucia_Greenhouse_fathermothergod?id=q7Q1vZ2k7B8C&feature=search_result#?t=W251bGwsMSwyLDEsImJvb2stcTdRMXZaMms3QjhDIl0.http://click.linksynergy.com/fs-bin/stat?id=VD9*lkiWNd8&offerid=146261&type=3&subid=0&tmpid=1826&u1=http://itunes.apple.com/us/book/fathermothergod/id422529984?mt=11http://www.indiebound.org/book/9780307720931http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/fathermothergod-lucia-greenhouse/1101087914?ean=9780307720931&isbsrc=Y&cm_mmc=Random%20House-_-CrownScribd-_-CrownScribd-_-CrownScribdhttp://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0307720934?ie=UTF8&tag=randohouseinc2-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=0307720934


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Copyright 2011 by Lucia P. Ewing

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Crown Publishers, an imprint of the

Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

www.crownpublishing.com

CROWN is a trademark and the Crown colophon is a registered trademark of

Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Greenhouse, Lucia.Fathermothergod: my journey out of Christian Science/by Lucia Greenhouse.

p. cm.

1. Greenhouse, Lucia. 2. Christian ScientistsUnited StatesBiography. 3. Christian ScienceControversial literature.

I. Title. II. Title: Father, mother, God.

BX6996.G74A3 2011

289.5092dc22

[B] 2011001059

ISBN 978-0-307-72092-4eISBN 978-0-307-72094-8

Printed in the United States of America

Book design by Lauren Dong

Jacket photography courtesy of the author

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

First Edition


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Photos of Lucia Greenhouse

Note: These images are additional content, not included in fathermoth

Lucia, home from boarding

school, with an Easter cake.

London 1977.

Lucias mom, possibly taken in Hampstead Heath during the London years. 1975-78.

Lucia sitting in her

fathers study. 1974.

Lucia in front of the Mother Church, at the Christian Science

Headquarters in Boston, MA. 2011.

Lucias parents on a ski trip to Sun Valley, Utah, date

unknown, probably early sixties.

Lucia, on her way to the Circle Eight Ranch.

Around 1968.

Lucia with her mom and brother. 1968.


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April 1970

Wayzata, Minnesota

One afternoon a couple of weeks before my eighth birthday,my five-year-old brother, Sherman, and I scramble out of the

school bus and race each other home up the steep hill, which we

only doand always doon Wednesdays. Wednesday is Caramel

Apple Day, because on Wednesday mornings, Mom volunteers at

the Christian Science Reading Room, and on the way home she

stops at the Excelsior bakery for their caramel apple special. We

drop our books in the front hall and dart into the kitchen to find

not only the white square cardboard bakery box sitting, as usual,on the lazy Susan in the middle of the table but also our older sister,

Olivia, asleep on the tattered red and white love seat, with a blanket

up to her chin. Her long brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail. Her

chin, cheeks, nose, forehead, and both hands are covered in little

red spots.

Hi! Sherman says.

Olivia opens her eyes.

Chicken pox, she says miserably.

Do they hurt? I ask.

They really itch, she says, wincing.

Satisfied with her answer, our eyes turn to the caramel apples.

You want one? Sherman asks.

Olivia shakes her head no.

Mom appears as we help ourselves to the bakery box.

Olivia has chicken pox? I ask.Mom doesnt answer.


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4 Lucia Greenhouse

Mom? Chicken po

In Christian Science, she reminds us gently, we know that

there is no illness. No disease. No contagion. Olivia is not sick. She

is Gods perfect child. We are all going to work very hard to keep

our thoughts elevated.

Does that mean she doesnt have to go to school? I ask Mom.

It means I cant, Olivia says.

No fair! Sherman protests. How come?

Well, even though we know Olivia isnt sickcant be sick,

our mother says, we need to follow the schools policy on certain . . .matters.

I cant go back to school until the chickenI mean, until . . .

they . . . crust over, Olivia says.

We know from Sunday school that were not supposed to name

illness, because by naming something, we are giving in to the lie

about it. Mary Baker Eddy tells us to stand porter at the door of

thought.

For the next several days, life at our house is unbearably dull.My brother and I go to school; our sister doesnt, until her spots

crust over. After school, our friends dont come to play kickball or

ride bikes in our driveway. We are told its because of contagion,a

scary thing other people worry about but we Christian Scientists

dont believe in. We know that contagion is about germs spreading;

we also know thatprevailing thought(something we can tell is bad

just from the way our parents and other Christian Scientists say it)

claims that chicken pox is contagious. But we have learned in Sun-

day school that theres no such thing as germs.

Before we go to bed, Olivia, Sherman, and I pile into our par-

ents bed and listen as they read aloud various passages from the

Bible and Science and Health.

We weep because others weep, we yawn because they yawn,

my mother recites. Curiously, I find myself yawning.

And we have smallpox because others have it; but mortal mind,not matter, contains and carries the infection.


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fathermothergod 5

I think to myself that Id rather hear the next chapter of Little

House in the Big Woods, the book Mom was reading to us before

Olivia got spots.

They read aloud for almost an hour. Snuggled under the soft

comforter and between warm bodies, we fall asleep; soon we are

carried, half-awake, to our own beds.

Am I going to getI hesitate groggilychicken pox? My

father has just brought me a drink of water.

Lets talk about what youre learning in Sunday school, he says

gently. Is sickness real?I shake my head no.

Are you Gods child?

I nod yes.

Can you be anything but perfect?

Nope.

Mary Baker Eddy says we must put on the panoply of Love.Do

you remember whatpanoplymeans?

Even though Ive heard the word a lot in Sunday school, I cannever remember what it means. I make a face that tells my dad Ive

forgotten.

A panoply is a full suit of armor, he says. So if we think of

Gods love as a suit of armor, protecting us, we can never be hurt or

sick.

Well, I ask, how come Olivia has . . . spots?

Thats just erroneous belieferror, my dad says, which we

all must guard against. She may have the appearanceof error,but

we know its a lie, an illusion.

My Sunday school teacher talks a lot about errortoo, and I re-

member what that is: sin, disease, and death. She tells us that error

is like a mirage in the desert: the vision of a pool of water where

there is nothing but sand. So when my dad says Olivias spots are

the appearance of error,I understand that he means the spots are not

real. But I dont exactlyunderstand how that can be; it seems likeeverything that Christian Science says is unreal is real, and vice


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6 Lucia Greenhouse

versa. I guess when Im older itll make more sense, but for now, it

is comforting enough to know that, as Mom and Dad and Sunday

school have taught me, Christian Science is ascience that works.

Okay, Loosh, Dad says, and I know it is time for bedtime

prayers, and he will give me a choice.

Daily Prayer?

I shake my head no.

Fathermothergod, I say.

Together, we recite the Childrens Prayer, written by Mary Baker

Eddy.

Father-Mother God,

Loving me,

Guard me while I sleep;

Guide my little feet

Up to Thee.

I kick the covers off my bed and levitate my feet toward mycanopy.

Good night, Dad, I say, giggling at our silliness. I pull the cov-

ers back up to my chin.

My father gives me a kiss on the forehead, and I wonder if he has

just done the same to my sister, who is now asleep in the next room.

My sister has gotten to skip four days of school already and hang out

in our parents bedroom watching TV and eating cinnamon but-

tered toast. As appealing as that sounds, my birthday is only days

away. If I get spots, I know I wont be able to have my party.

The next morning, I wake up and my pajamas are damp and

cold, and Im shaking. I crawl out of bed and walk over to the mir-

ror on my wall to see if I have red spots like Olivia. I have only a

flushed face (it looks like Im wearing Grandmas rouge) and bright

red ears. My throat stings when I swallow, my head hurts a little bit,

and I feel really tired. I return to bed and yell, Mo-om?Moments later she enters my room.


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fathermothergod 7

I dont feel good, I say.

She sits down beside me, tenderly pushes my bangs out of the

way, and places her hand on my forehead. I know from TV that

this is how you check for fever, but I have never seen my mom do

this. Fever, I know, is error.Then she presses her lips against my

forehead, which should feel like a kiss, but I wonder if shes doing

something else.

Hmm, I think well give Mrs. Hannah a call, Mom says.

Mrs. Hannah is our Christian Science practitioner. We call

her when we are sickI mean, when we have a problemandshe prays for us. She is also the superintendent of our Sunday

school. She leads us each week in singing hymns and reciting the

Lords Prayer with its spiritual interpretation by Mary Baker Eddy.

She is not much taller than me, and she is round. She needs to

stand on a stool when shes behind the lectern,and even then, we

cant see her face, only the top of her head and her arms. Sometimes

I squint, and her arms look like theyre attached to the sides of the

tall desk.I hear my brother, Sherman, calling from down the hall. My

mother gets up and goes to his room. I fall back asleep, and when

I wake up, my sister has already left for school with Dad (her spots

have crusted over), and Mom has brought me a tray with cinnamon

toast and orange juice. I dont want to eat it.

How would you and Sherman like to go to Grandmas today?

my mother says, as she sits down beside me again.

Grandmas house could be my favorite place in the whole world.

From the moment I walk through the front door, and feel the pleas-

ant warmth of the house my mom grew up in, I experience some-

thing magical. The kitchen smells of coffee, and Grandma keeps a

candy dish of lemon drops next to her ashtray on the small round

kitchen table. In the powder room off the front hall, set on the shelf

of the toilet tank, theres a basket of miniature lipsticks, ranging from

Siren Red to Pearly Pink, several little rouge compacts, each with itsown brush, and a dozen tiny bottles of perfume samples. Next to this


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8 Lucia Greenhouse

basket is a jar of Jergens lotion. I love that smell too. My cousin Mimi

and I can spend hours in the powder room, making each other up,

and then we climb the steep stairs to the attic, which smells of moth-

balls, where there are boxes and boxes of costumes, ballet tutus, and

our moms old prom dresses, as well as my grandfathers old black

leather doctors bag filled with his tools. My grandmothers nurse

uniform and cap from when she was younger are there too.

But today, I dont want to go anywhere.

I want to stay home, Mom, I say.

Cmon, she says. And so we go. Mom lets us each bring a blan-ket and pillow for the twenty-minute car ride. I close my eyes and

try to get comfortable, but now I ache all over. I wonder to myself

why Moms making us get out of bed and drive to Grandmas. When

we arrive, Grandma greets us at the door with her soft-cheeked hug

and the warm squeeze of her hand on my arm. I love the way her

charm bracelet jingles.

Here, lets get you settled. Would you like to watch TV in my

bed?Normally, when Grandma asks if I want to sleep in her room

during a sleepover, I say no, politely, because Grandma snores, but

today, it will be just Sherman and me in the room. I nod yes.

My brother and I climb under the covers and face each other,

wondering what to make of today. We should be in school, but in-

stead well get to watchBewitchedandLets Make a Deal.Grandma

brings us a tray, with two tiny glasses of orange juice, two bowls of

Lipton instant chicken noodle soup (my favorite), cinnamon toast

cut into triangles, and two bowls of applesauce.

I frown. I hate applesauce.

Go on, have some, Grandma says. It tastes good when youre

under the weather. She spoons it into each of our mouths as though

we are toddlers.

Im not sure whats going on. Olivia just had chicken pox (or

the erroneous belief in chicken pox), and weve spent the last weekpraying a lot and not seeing friends. Now, my brother and I dont


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fathermothergod 9

have spots but were under the weather and Mom has called Mrs.

Hannah, who is praying for us. Instead of going to school we have

come to Grandmas, where we are being spoon-fed applesauce, which

has what looks to me like teeny bits of chalk in it and leaves a taste in

my mouth that is yucky and bitter. The cinnamon toast fixes that.

Mom comes into the bedroom, Grandma goes downstairs, and

together weMom, Sherman, and Ising Mothers Evening

Prayer, one of the hymns by Mary Baker Eddy that we know by

heart. I dont know why, but when I sing it, my eyes tear.

O gentle presence, peace and joy and power;

O, Life divine, that owns each waiting hour,

Thou Love that guards the nestlings faltering flight!

My throat tightens, and when the tune climbs upward on nest-

lings faltering flight, I start to cry. I just want to feel better.

Keep Thou my child on upward wing to-night . . .

Mom rubs my back, my nose gets all runny, and my voice sort of

wobbles through the remaining four verses.

After were done with the hymn, we recite the Scientific State-

ment of Being, just like we do at the end of Sunday school every

week:

There is no life, truth, intelligence, nor substance in matter.

All is infinite Mind and its infinite manifestation, for God is

All-in-all. Spirit is immortal Truth; matter is mortal error.

Spirit is the real and eternal; matter is the unreal and tempo-

ral. Spirit is God, and Man is His image and likeness. There-

fore man is not material; he is spiritual.

Although the words skip over my tongue as easily as the Pledge ofAllegiance, I dont really understand what they all mean, separately


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fathermothergod by lucia greenhouse - excerpt

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