Quakers historically have gathered as a group and worshipped in silence. We traditionally have called this type of gathering “unprogrammed.” Basically, this means there is no agenda or program for the congregation to follow. It is not liturgical in the traditional sense. There is no designated priest or even obvious leader. In most Quakers gatherings there typically would be some elders who feel some “oversight” for the group. We might think this means they are “in charge,” but that is much too authoritarian for Quakers! When we gather, we actually hope God is in charge.
However, many of us (most of us?) live our ordinary lives in ways that do not have us in touch with God. We are dealing with our own agendas---doing our own thing. While I might wish to be doing God’s will, too often I suspect I am doing only my own will. That is not necessarily a bad thing; it is just my will and not God’s will. What I hope to happen is that my own will can become so aligned with God’s desire, that I don’t have to worry about a discrepancy between mine and God’s. That’s where worship comes in for me.
I have been thinking about the Quaker style of gathering for worship in silence. I will share some observations that might help the non-Quaker. The first thing to say is silence is not the goal. It is not the reason we gather, nor is it the desired end. It is the means. It is the process. The goal is to connect with God. Our hope is that an encounter with the Holy One will happen for us individually and corporately. The theology behind our process is we need to quiet ourselves. Living normal life as we do is often too noisy and busy.
So it is that silence offers an alternative. Be quiet and begin to listen. That sounds so simple…and it is. But how many people take time out of their day or even once a week to be quiet---truly quiet? Of course, those among us who have learned the importance of meditation and mindfulness have a good clue what I am talking about. That is why I am comfortable with those styles as well. Our hope as Quakers is that we can “empty” ourselves. Our language is to center ourselves. This recognizes that most of us live normal lives away from our center. As the Franciscan Richard Rohr puts it, we are a circumference people. We spend too much of our time on the boundaries of life. This is not bad. But it can tend to be superficial and cursory.
John Greenleaf Whittier, the nineteenth century Quaker poet and abolitionist, helps me in articulating our process. In a poem entitled, The Meeting, written in 1868, Whittier describes coming to worship. Indeed, Quakers call our gather a meeting for worship. Whittier says, “And so I find it well to come for deeper rest to this still room…” He knows that the meetinghouse, as Quakers call our place of worship, will be set so that folks gather and begin “waiting,” as we put it. Again, the goal is not silence. Rather, we get still and wait.
We are waiting for the connection and the encounter. It is even fair to call it expectant waiting. We look forward to God coming and filling up the emptiness in our hearts and souls. That is why we empty our minds---to the best of our ability. We want to be available to God and to each other in the spirit. The theme of availability is an important one to me. I find in my daily interactions that people may not be as available to each other as they think they are.
Whittier continues his poem. “For here in the habit of the soul the strength of mutual purpose pleads more earnestly our common needs…” I am intrigued by the phrase, habit of the soul. I wish Whittier were here to converse about it. I wonder about my habit of the soul. Am I as spiritual as I think? As I hope? I think there is work to do. Worshipping occasionally does not build a habit. Habits are day by day ways of living. And I like gathering with others in the strength of our mutual purpose. We are all intending and hoping for the same kind of connection and encounter.
Finally, Whittier finishes this section. “And from the silence multiplied by these still forms on either side, falls off and leaves us God alone.” Together we find the process of having been quiet and prepared our souls for the possibility of our connection and encounter. We all have the capability of this experience. Quakers hope for it and expect it. But we know we cannot manufacture it. We cannot compel it. We quiet ourselves and wait for it. But we trust that God is a lover who can’t resist approached and embracing us.
It is mutual trust. By gathering as we do, we trust that God will show up. Somehow and somewhere God will come to be present. And we will be aware of and participate in this presence. I am even tempted to capitalize it: Presence. There is a famous Quaker painting called “Presence in the Midst” which shows this divine, silhouette figure hovering over a group of folks. We humans come to this endeavor trusting that God will come. And I imagine that God waits in trust for us to come and to expect it to happen.
If I sense this experience, I am grateful. If it does not happen---and this is not unusual---then I will do it again. I see it as an exercise of trust.
Those of us who have read theology or, perhaps, those who are people of faith and are old enough might well recognize this title as a reminder of the late Jewish philosopher and theologian, Martin Buber. I remember reading Buber’s book, I and Thou , when I was in college in the 1960s. It was already a famous book by then. I am not sure I fully understood it, but that would not be the last time I read it. It has been a while since I looked at the book. Buber came up in a conversation with a friend who asked if I had seen the recent article by David Brooks? I had not seen it, but when I was told about it, I knew I would quickly locate and read that piece. I very much like what Brooks decides to write about and what he contributes to societal conversation. I wish more people read him and took him seriously. ...
Comments
Post a Comment