The past ten years have seen great strides in our understanding of the many forces at work in Counter-Reformation Spain. Historians and hispanists have demonstrated clearly that the Spanish religious landscape was complex and have elucidated several problems of interpretation. How readily did Spanish monarchs, religious leaders, and laity follow the decrees of the Council of Trent? How influential was the Spanish Inquisition in enforcing religious beliefs and behaviors? In what ways did religious reform involve assumptions about gender and differing religious roles for men and women? Finally, and more to my point, how did men and women respond to such assumptions and roles?

The breakup of Western Christendom in the sixteenth century gained momentum when an academic theologian called into question the theology of the church in his day. Martin Luther wanted to discuss theology when he posted his Ninety-five Theses in 1517. In the ensuing years, Luther and the “Lutherans” were forced to forge their theology in the heat of an intensely polemical and conflict-ridden environment. They responded to the theological issues raised by their opponents, as well as to the real pastoral concerns of the emerging evangelical church in Protestant lands.

“It is a special joy for me to hear that our good and pious table companion and house guest [Robert Barnes] has been so graciously called by God to pour out his blood for the sake of God's dear Son and to become a holy martyr.” Martin Luther's reflection on the death of this friend, the English churchman and diplomat, in 1540typified his attitude toward martyrdom as his followers experienced it at the hands of Roman Catholic opponents. He continued, “Thanks, praise, and honor be to the Father of our dear Lord Jesus Christ, who has let us see the same kind of times which were seen at the beginning [of the church], times in which his Christians, who had eaten and drunk with us (as the apostles said of Christ, Acts 4 ) … are taken away before our very eyes and from our eyes and our side to martyrdom (that is, to heaven) and become saints.”

A photograph taken in 1896, the year of Miami's incorporation, circulated widely in periodicals of the time, and it came to symbolize the founding of the city in the local and national imagination (figure 1). “That picture has gone all over this country,” one of the men who posed for it recalled, “showing the start of Miami.” In the image seventeen men stand by the mouth of the Miami River, where workers were clearing the ground for the construction of the first tourist hotel, a building owned by a wealthy northern Protestant. For the historian, the carefully posed photograph is illuminating. Most important for the purposes of this essay, it offers hints about power relations in that urban frontier. Note the four white men dressed in their Sunday best who stand behind the workers and observe the scene. They were there that day because John Sewell, the white Baptist who supervised the crew, had hurried down the dirt street to invite "the boys" to get into the historic picture. For Sewell, “the boys” meant white mainline Protestants, each of whom had arrived relatively recently to seek his fortune.

The liturgical movement in the American Episcopal Church owes its origin to William Palmer Ladd (1870–1941), a pragmatic New England Yankee whose ideas helped reorient the church's worship and self-understanding, and came to fruition in the current liturgy, the 1979 Book of Common Prayer.