Sitting with Quakers
Sitting with Quakers in silence. In silence and, later, while singing. In silence or speaking or singing they suppose the presence of Light, Spirit, God. Believe this, reject it, suppose it silly or pompous… but Dillard said nothing else wrenches us nearer the sublime like silly and pompous faith. Einstein or Feynman might defy her outright, I wouldn’t dare.
Quakers live simply, I believe, and truly their potluck was bland-ish, their benches lacked cushions, their lyrics spoke plainly. The livestream is modish, I admit, and teary eyes more-ish though earnest. The simple life always seems simplest when faceless; the middle aged faces (“and better”, ha) displayed here never could suggest pure simple Faith, total Truth. Maybe a chorus of children could, although the handful of children here appeared more streetwise than angels or even their elders; the pre-teens looked lightly goth.
Perhaps some background is required to explain my presence: K*** MG** crept into a meeting or two-ish in college; G***, grandma of cousins, had emailed some Quakers to shelter my tramping friends along with myself in Nelson, though revoked the request when other plans emerged. I noticed this building while walking streets around my duplex, thought about those contacts with Quakers, looked into their website, and supposed I’d attend a meeting… some later date.
Later dates often don’t arrive, but Donald bombed Iran one morning and straight-off to Meeting I hastened. The bombings sat among us; others spoke around them, implied their presence. How useful to witness the concern of neighbors! I’d wanted that. Hopeful speech (softly, one woman spoke about light waiting at tunnel’s end, about faith throughout the scary, dark middle) but also just concerned, just aware.
The H***ss’ state’s very much separate from churches; we’ve never prayed, never read Bibles, and never filed into pews. Being so worldly is awesome, for many a reason -- free Sundays is surely one. Being raised without God doesn’t mean without shared values: the values my parents hold closely come blaring from nightly talk programs back inside my childhood home, hardly a secret. Still, sometimes I wonder what neighbors think, strangers too. Many things never get discussed, there’s never a venue or reason. It appears that churches are places that people air values; I value that, even though clearly some values are stupid, and others are abused or professed but ignored in practice. Well, Quakers don’t blabber but certain points landed, they landed well, spirits seemed kindred.
An hour in, Meeting was ended with handshakes, “good mornings” to pewmates. A second (brief) meeting then began: some events were announced, prayer requests made, intros were performed (three newbies, me among them). Business took hardly ten minutes, then mingling, then potluck. While potluck prep happened, one Quaker (who married his husband here twenty years ago) showed little lost newbies all around the meeting house.
Although it hasn’t yet happened I suspect that someday I’ll return, and meanwhile I’m happy just knowing it happens blocks away each Sunday, and knowing I’m welcome there, welcome with empty hands, even at potlucks.
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