Lucia Greenhouse - Fathermothergod: My Journey Out of Christian Science

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

eISBN: 978-0-307-72094-8

Jacket photography courtesy of the author

v3.1

For Olivia and Sherman

This book is about my experiences, told to the best of my recollection. To create a readable story of manageable length it was necessary to condense and combine some events and characters, and some things have been omitted to protect the privacy of those involved. Dialogue is re-created to the best of my memory; others may remember or interpret certain events and conversations differently, but Ive tried to remain true to the way I remember them.

To succeed in healing, you must conquer your own fears as well as those of your patients, and rise into higher and holier consciousness.

M ARY B AKER E DDY ,
Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures

O ne 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.

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 that prevailing 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 Sunday school that theres no such thing as germs.

Before we go to bed, Olivia, Sherman, and I pile into our parents 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.

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 what panoply means?

Even though Ive heard the word a lot in Sunday school, I can never 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 appearance of error, but we know its a lie, an illusion.

My Sunday school teacher talks a lot about error too, and I remember 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 exactly understand how that can be; it seems like everything that Christian Science says is unreal is real, and vice 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 a science 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 my canopy.

Good night, Dad, I say, giggling at our silliness. I pull the covers 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 buttered 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.