The Testament of Ann Lee

As one might expect of a miraculous person,

Ann Lee was born on the 29th of February

in the year 1736.

The second eldest of eight children,

she was the daughter of a blacksmith and his wife,

residing upon Toad Lane.

Situated beneath the looming shadow of Christ Church,

Manchester's utmost feared

and favored place of Christian worship.

Hurry now, William, or they mightn't find a space for us.

Wherever she went,

William followed his sister, adoringly.

As William learned to keep pace,

Ann and the boy's march were to be in lockstep.

Again, like this, brother.

Bless this food, dear Lord. We thank you.

-Amen. -Amen.

When Ann was a child,

her mind was taken up with the things of God,

so that she saw heavenly visions

instead of trifling toys.

Hurry, William.

The coldly intellectual Church of England

is more concerned with ritual and power

than the plight of the common people

who are at mercy of brutal laws.

A ten-year-old child can be sentenced to death!

To death!

Ann had great light and conviction

concerning the sinfulness and depravity of human nature.

She put her hands to work and her heart to God,

laboring tirelessly without complaint.

-Ann? -A place for everything,

and everything in its place, William.

George Whitefield

persistently preached his sermons

from the steps of Christ Church.

Ann yearned to dedicate herself

to serving God with equal fervor.

...preach the Gospel to arouse the workers

to awareness of their rights!

What do you call yourselves?

Because we conduct our worship by "rule and method,"

some do refer to us as Methodist.

Shh!

The children can hear you.

Ann's hatred of "fleshly cohabitation"

dated from her earliest youth.

Ann, what has possessed you this morning?

You--

Speak intelligibly, Ann Lee.

I know what you do to her.

She doesn't mean anything by it, sweetheart.

Hands on the table.

Flat on the table.

Enough.

That's enough now.

I don't have to be down the mills yet, do I?

It's not light yet.

I want to visit my mother's resting place

on the way to the infirmary.

Uncle William will walk with you to the mill this morning.

And Nancy, if Uncle William's slow to rise,

clutch him by the nose.

Blame it on Auntie Ann.

To be free of the mill's wearying labor,

Ann found herself in service as a cook at the local infirmary.

In the scant leisure she possessed,

she yearned to find purpose amidst the dullness of her lot.

No! No!

Pardon me.

The invalids are having something

of a collective episode, Miss Ann.

My companions are waiting for me.

Make haste, sister.

The assembly mightn't welcome dalliers.

When have you known me to dally, William?

There was some gruesome commotion at hospital.

Gruesome? Was someone injured?

A patient, self-harmed.

They barred the exits of all faculty

until the coroner arrived.

Here, quickly. Provisions from the kitchen.

Nicked an egg for each of you, and some bread.

-Nicked? -No, dear.

- I just saved it from waste. - Let's take our supper

as we tram over mountain and moorland.

No time to wash up, Nancy?

No, Auntie.

Always seeking a more harmonious consonance

between her faith in God

and the religious establishment,

she attended a series of local revival meetings

hosted by Jane and James Wardley.

Good evening.

I would be remiss if I were first

not to thank Mr. John Townley

for hosting us in his beautiful home.

For those new here tonight,

perhaps you're unaccustomed to hearing the voice

and seeing the demeanor of a woman preacher.

So James and I thought you might find this passage

particularly illuminating.

From Jeremiah...

"How long wilt thou go about, O you backsliding daughter?

For the Lord hath created a new thing on earth,

a woman shall compass a man..."

Christ's spirit first appeared in the form of a man, Jesus,

but will eventually reappear,

to fulfill the promise of the second coming,

in the form of a woman.

As we were all created in his likeness,

God must be both male and female.

Yes!

You there, we have not seen you before.

May I ask, what's drawn you to us?

I am Ann Lee. This is my brother, William Lee,

and my late sister's daughter, Nancy Lee.

Yes?

We've come because--

"For he who confesses,

shams are over and realities have begun;

he has exteriorized his rottenness."

Tell us why you've come.

Bare yourself to us.

Well...

many times when I'm about my work,

I feel my soul overwhelmed with sorrow.

I will work as long as I can to keep it concealed

and then I will run to get out of sight,

lest someone should pity me

with that pity that God does not.

Welcome to the Wardley Society, Ann, William, and Nancy.

Yes, welcome.

I'm Father James Wardley

and this is my wife, Mother Jane.

When you confess your sins, you must labor to remember

the time when and the place where you committed them.

And when you have confessed them,

you will cry to God

to know if your confession is accepted.

And by crying to God,

you will eventually travel out of your loss.

James Whittaker, please rise...

and share with us your unflinching testimony.

Go on, James. Give your grief to God.

Some years ago, I have by chance

seen my sister bathing and, at once,

I was filled with a tremor throughout my whole being.

My body quaked at the sight of her

like a split peach.

It is improper because she is a child.

It is wrong because she is my own flesh and blood.

The Wardleys had been devout Quakers,

dedicated to the belief that true religion

comes from inward experience.

But had left to form their own,

more dynamic, religious community.

They were known as the Shaking Quakers,

or Shakers, as the locals referred to them,

because of the shaking and dancing

that characterized their worship.

Ann Lee had at last discovered a community

that espoused her beliefs,

and she, in turn,

embraced their principles wholeheartedly.

There, she caught the eye of a man

of the same faith, Abraham,

a blacksmith like her father.

She later married Abraham.

Mary Partington bore witness to the marriage ceremony,

but would ultimately prove more true to Ann

than Abraham's solemn vow.

I, uh... seized a copy of this puzzling,

frequently concerning text,

off the person of my new apprentice.

Now, it's filled with terrible images,

but I find it has some philosophical value,

as it's a direct and unrelenting attack

on the traditional clergy.

That's atypical of literature of this kind.

Who is its scribe?

Anonymous, far as I know.

What is it?

Well, from what I can tell,

it's the story of a young girl, Thérèse,

facing a religious institution rife with corruption.

Now, in the only segment I've read,

Thérèse is hidden in a cupboard

as she watches a fellow novice, Eradice,

instructed in the ways of prayer by Father Dirrag, her confessor.

Why is Thérèse in a cupboard?

That is irrelevant.

May I go on?

So, he explains that Eradice has been chosen by God

to experience his full presence.

Now, he then goes on to request that she lift her skirt.

He then applies "the rope of Saint Francis" to the nun,

causing her to feel all the ecstasy

of an exalted religious experience.