Quakers and the gathering Word

North Valley Friends Church is a programmed Quaker meeting, part of Northwest Yearly Meeting. Yet, along with many meetings in the evangelical branch of the Quaker movement, we have both unprogrammed and programmed services. And in both types of meetings, we try to give precedence to the living Word (Jesus our Teacher, present among us), while also carefully considering the written Word.

I especially love the early unprogrammed meeting. The 20 or so of us who gather have become family. The facilitator for the morning (a task that rotates among us) passes out the “gathering word,” reads it aloud twice, and we then enter into silence. The word is usually a short portion of Scripture, but is sometimes a quote from Fox, Barclay, Woolman or another worthy Quaker.

The gathering word quiets our spirits, and literally gathers us around a central point of light. In the following silence we let the written word settle us in the presence of the living Word. A strong sense of community moves us forward. We are the people of God, listening together, waiting for our Lord to speak.

Sometimes the whole meeting proceeds in silence. Usually, after about 40 minutes, one or two people reflect on the gathering word (or on something else they sense the Spirit saying). We end in prayer. And then stand around talking for as long as we can. There are times I leave the meeting amazed by what I’ve learned, warmed by being part of the family.

I realize I’m describing this in ideal terms. In actuality, sometime I fight sleep the whole time. Other times I wrestle with reigning in my fertile imagination. But little by little, I think I’m learning how to do this. Letting go of guilt feelings when I don’t do so well helps. Having the gathering word to hang onto also helps me focus.

This past Sunday, the gathering word came from John 13:12-17: When he had finished washing their feet, he put on his clothes and returned to his place. “Do you understand what I have done for you?” he asked them. “You call me Teacher and Lord, and rightly so, for that is what I am. Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet. I have set you an example that you should do as I have done for you. Very truly I tell you, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Now that you know these things, you will be blessed if you do them.”

Toward the end of the meeting, three people spoke out of the silence. Arthur remembered a foot washing ceremony in Alaska Yearly Meeting. Eskimo leaders of the meeting washed the feet of the Caucasian visitors, thanking them for bringing the gospel to Alaska years ago. It was profoundly meaningful to Arthur. Bill spoke from the context of the history of religion about the continuing temptations of leaders to operate from a base of power rather than service. He noted the enduring effect of the image of Jesus washing the disciples’ feet.

My reflection came from personal experience. I was especially struck by Jesus’ simple acceptance of his role: “You call me Teacher and Lord, and rightly so, for that is what I am.” My experience as an introvert cast in the role of teacher of Latin American leaders (mostly men) contrasts to Jesus’ example. I can do the servant stuff that goes with teaching, but I have trouble seeing myself positively as teacher. Yet Jesus says, “I have set you an example.” The integration of servant and leader, and the simple acceptance of both roles spoke to me. Sometimes a personal message is meant to be shared with the group, and this was one of those times.

We ended the meeting with a time of prayer for Alaskan Quakers. It was good.

The fragrance of our time together and the encouragement received continues with me throughout the week.

From Bolivian mud

Lord God Almighty, Powerful King,
   Maker and Mover of mountains
   and universes,
we're stuck in a river.
We've been here for over an hour
   and what I want to know is--
   why don't you get us out?
Sure, the scenery is great,
   but I'll bet it's just as pretty
   'round the bend.
Those mountains--
   you raised them up from nothing
   with a mere creative word.
Why are you mute now?
Speak, Lord, and resurrect this hunk
   of steel, fiber glass and rubber
   from its muddy grave.
Move, miracle worker, feeder of 5000,
   elemental wine maker, curer,
   creator.
I know you can do it.
After all, I'm here on your business.

But here I sit.

Could it be
   you're trying to tell me something,
   something I can only hear
   from this river bed?

Could it be
   you have your reasons and lessons
   and character sessions
   better learned mid-stream
   than mid-church service?
OK, Lord,
   I give in.

Pardon my griping
   and teach me
   what I need to know.
In all of this
   I'm still your
   wet but
   willing servant.



(From The Secret Colors of God: Poems by Nancy Thomas, Barclay Press, 2005)

Quaker business and the silence of God

After years of sitting through Quaker business meetings Latin American style, I am currently experiencing the practices, policies and quirks of doing things in the older traditional Quaker way, US style (and, presumably, European as well). For the most part, I’m drawn to what I see—the focus on waiting on God and seeking God’s will, on genuinely listening to each other, even all the language and formalities that at times seem so, well, old-fashioned. And the time all this can take. There’s a sweet seriousness about it that I sense pleases God.

But it doesn’t always work as smoothly as it’s supposed to.

I’m currently an elder in my congregation. A year ago in the midst of a budget crunch, the congregation gave the elders the task of coming up with some creative alternatives for the configuration of our pastoral team. This deepened into a visioning process that involved the whole congregation asking such questions as who are we and why has God placed us in this particular place at this specific time. The focus on the calling, as well as on the needs of the church, was to guide us elders to a proposal for our pastoral team.

So we have been meeting regularly for over a year now, usually with our three pastors, occasionally without them. Without going into the particulars that have made this into such a complex task, let me just say that it’s proved to be daunting. When we finally presented a proposal to the October business meeting, I was tempted to jokingly label it “Revision #467.” And now we see that our church body is finding it just as frustrating. After three business meetings (and more revisions) it seems like we are making little headway to a contented “sense of the meeting,” other than “this is really hard.”

I believe that God speaks to his people, that he reveals his will. And I know that this sometimes takes time, especially as we emphasize the community nature of discernment. During the year I’ve occasionally taken God to task, saying, “OK. So what is it? Tell us. Show us your plan. It’s time.” But for some reason, God is not speaking clearly to us, at least in terms of a plan for the pastoral team configuration. This has not been easy for the congregation, the elders, and, particularly, for the three dear people that have served us well as our released pastors. So, why the silence on God’s part?

But even in the middle of all this, I’ve sensed the presence of God. While silent, God has not been absent. A few months into the process I began to wonder if God might be telling us that the particulars of the plan were not as important as the process, that he wanted us to use our minds, to listen well, to treat each other kindly, and to take the time necessary.

Then one night I had a dream. (Let me say here that my life among Latin American Friends has helped me be open to dreams as one of the ways God speaks to us. If the dream is of a certain quality and if it stays with me in detail after I wake up, I pay attention.) In the dream I entered the sanctuary at the end of a Sunday morning worship service. People remained in the room, some seated, some standing in small groups, quietly talking or just holding the silence together. No one seemed in a hurry to leave. I asked a friend what was going on, and he replied that the Spirit of God had been so present to the body that they all wanted to stay awhile and bask in the love and warmth. Our pastors were part of the congregation; it was not evident which one had been leading the meeting.

I sense that the Spirit wants to bless us, move among us, and use us in greater measure. And I sense that this does not depend on the configuration of the pastoral team, as important as that is. When I shared this in the business meeting, there was agreement and encouragement. I sense consensus in that basic Quaker (and Christian) value—that there is One, Christ Jesus, who can meet our need, that Jesus is among us to be our pastor and teacher, that he wants us to deepen in this reality. And I sense consensus that we are a community, the people of God in this place, and that it matters that we continue to listen to each other, to treat each other kindly, and to take the time to work out whatever plan we come up with. We may never agree on all the details, and that may not be so important. We may all have to give and take some, to practice mutual submission, to lay down personal preferences. Uniformity on details is not what Quaker practice is all about. At least not always.

It probably won’t happen in this situation. I certainly wish for a speedy end to this continuing saga. On a certain level I would still like for God to just give us The Plan. Maybe another dream, with the actual blueprint? But no. That’s not going to happen. In some mysterious way, what is really happening among us is probably deeper and better than we could imagine.

Yesterday as I was praying (pleading, actually), three metaphors came to mind, coming from three poems that have ministered to me many times. I won’t quote the poems here (maybe in another blog), but the metaphors alone are apt. One is Arthur Robert’s poem, “Our Winter Is a Foggy Drive.” Another is William Stafford’s “Travelling through the Dark.” And finally, a poem I wrote about being stuck in a river, entitled “From Bolivian Mud.” They all speak of slowly working (or driving) our way through difficult circumstances where the silence of God is the loudest sound around.

Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on us, your people. Show us the way. Amen

Beyond sacrament

The comments on last week’s blog lead me to the university library next door and one of my favorite books, The Oxford English Dictionary. The article on “sacrament” gave three root meanings of this word that has wiggled its way through Latin and French into the English language: 1) oath; 2) something holy, dedicated, set apart; and 3) mystery (this latter being the 3rd century translation of the Greek mysterium, mirrored in the Eastern Orthodox view of the sacraments). In reference to ecclesiology across denominations, the word has become “the common name for certain solemn ceremonies of the Christian church…belonging to the institutions of the Christian church.”

I even found a reference to the controversy between the words “sacrament” and “ordinance”: “By some of the English Puritans and Nonconformists, the word was avoided as being associated with opinions regarded by them as superstitious; the usual term applied by them to baptism and the Lord’s Supper was ordinance.”

The OED gives the wider connotation of the word as “something likened to the recognized sacraments, as having a sacred character or function; a sacred seal set upon some part of a man’s life”, “a sign of grace.” As an example of usage (I love how the OED does this!) the Book of Common Prayer is cited (1604):

“Q: What meanest thou by this word Sacrament?
“A: I mean an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace given unto us.”

In the same vein, the OED cites W.R. Inge (1899): “To the true mystic, life itself is a sacrament,” along with a reference to a 1921 English translation of De Caussades’ classic, Abandonment to Divine Providence and its concept “the sacrament of the present moment.” We Quakers would add a reference to Thomas Kelley’s A Testament of Devotion and our testimony to the sacramentality of life.

But as meaningful as these definitions are, they still don’t address the issue of Christ’s command to “do this in remembrance of me,” as pointed out by my conversation partners last week. While embracing the Quaker perspective, I struggle with this aspect. And I love it when I visit other faith communities and can participate in the Lord’s Supper. On the other hand, afterwards I always think how nice it would have been to have followed up the experience with some gathered silence.

It’s usually in the waiting, receptive stillness that I best hear the voice of Jesus. That’s where communion with the crucified and risen Lord happens. And that’s what this is really all about.