"Quakers -- aren't they like the Amish?" I've heard this and similar remarks a number of times when I say I was a Quaker for many years. Somehow it always surprises me how many people are unfamiliar with this wonderful religious group.
The Religious Society of Friends was founded in seventeenth-century England by a man named George Fox -- a seeker who underwent vivid spiritual experiences which became the foundation for the faith and practices of his followers. Friends believed (and still do) that divine Truth is continuously being revealed and is directly available to all. Thus the original Friends eschewed the sacraments and other churchly rituals, including the need for intercession by a minister or priest. Their worship services were silent as participants "waited upon the Lord," alert for direct experience of divine guidance.
The word "Quakers," though probably more familiar to the general public, is not used officially by the Society of Friends. It may well have been derived from the admonition by Geroge Fox to his followers to "tremble at the word of the Lord."
Friends desired to see all treated equally, as they believed there was an "Inner Light" in everyone or "that of God in every man." They refused to tip their hats or use the impersonal pronoun "you" to social superiors (thus the use of the familiar "thee," still occasionally found among Quakers today). And, they refused to be conscripted into the military and renounced all war.
Although the movement grew rapidly, Friends underwent considerable persecution for their beliefs and their tendency to "publish the Truth" far and wide. Being imprisoned or beaten for their convictions, the Friends' sensitivity to injustice and cruelty led them to work for the welfare of prisoners and the insane (as they still do now), and to protest vocally against slavery.
Several centuries later, this persuasion led to the formation of the American Friends Service Committee. As the outreach arm of Quakers in the U.S., the AFSC is widely recognized today for its effective work in promoting peace and social justice.
Despite persecution, the Society of Friends continued to expand in Britain, and, soon, in America. The group ultimately was instrumental in the development of religious tolerance in both countries. They also advocated fair dealings with American Indians, and Quaker John Woolman led the outcry among Friends and other Americans, beginning in the 18th century, against slavery.
In the mid-1800s, the Society of Friends experienced several schisms, the offshoot of which can still be seen today: some Friends meet under the care of a minister, while others retain the original format of meeting together without clergy in totally silent worship.
The Religious Society of Friends can now be found worldwide.
The above is (obviously) an extremely brief history, which I have based largely on a chapter in Faith and Practice, A Quaker Guide to Christian Discipline. This particular edition was issued in 1973 by the Pacific Yearly Meeting of Friends. A volume called Friends for Three Hundred Years, by Howard H. Brinton, gives a detailed and very readable history of the Society.
Brinton has referred to the Quakers' meetings for worship as "group mysticism," noting that meeting together in unity can deepen spiritual experiences beyond those which a person might have when alone. I love the phrase "gathered meeting," which refers to a meeting for worship in which all members become aware of Divine Presence.
It was this sort of experience, along with the Quakers' pacifism, which gathered me in and led me to an association with the Society of Friends that lasted for almost two decades.
NOTE: Please expect to see my posts published each Sunday.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
"Friendly Persuasion"
I had decided in early adolescence that I was an agnostic. Then, a few years later, I discovered the Religious Society of Friends, or Quakers.
Adolescence was tough for me; I developed a serious depression, for which I was ultimately hospitalized for a time at Presbyterian-St. Luke's Hospital in Chicago. There I met a psychiatrist who also worked at Chicago State Hospital, where he had spearheaded a unique (for the late 1950s) program. In this program, young people teamed together to go to the state hospital and visit with some of the patients. Sponsored by the American Friends Service Committee (AFSC -- more about them next time), it was called an "institutional service unit," or ISU for short.
On my first Saturday as an ISU-er, I entered one of the state hospital's "back wards" with some trepidation. It bore little resemblance to the shiny new psychiatric facility where I had been treated a few months before. This one smelled of urine; feces were smeared on the walls of the shower room. Many of the men were pacing or sat crouched against the walls, seemingly oblivious to everything around them. Decibel level was high, both because the room was bare, with tiled walls and concrete floor, and because of the moaning, crying, squawking and other sounds uttered by some of the residents.
Uneasy, I focussed on one of the less bizarre appearing patients, a youngish man who reminded me a bit of movie star Montgomery Clift. He was squatting by one of the walls, too, but his dress and grooming were reasonably neat and he was silent. I tried talking to him, but since I was quite shy myself in those days, I'm not sure how much I had to say.
Mostly I urged him to come and play cards or some such. Looking back, I'm embarrassed for what I must have been like -- jabbering at this fellow with perhaps little awareness of his feelings or subtle responses. He just stayed silent and let me lead him around the ward, though he never did participate in any card game or other activity.
If nothing else, the youthful members of our ISU certainly brought newness to the place. New faces, new energy, new -- if not always skillful -- stimuli for the patients. And apparently the program was having some success. The psychiatrist who had inaugurated it seemed pleased with what was happening, and Life magazine published an article about it.
The ISU was very successful in another way -- it opened a new door for me. After spending the day at the state hospital, our young crew returned to an elderly house in one of Chicago's poorer neighborhoods. The house was kept by the AFSC for various community action programs in the area. Here, everybody joined together to cook and serve dinner (pasta) for ourselves, and then ate together, washed dishes together, sang and chatted through the evening. The fellowship felt wonderful.
The next morning, our group held a typical Quaker meeting for worship. This was again a totally new experience for me. The worship was held in silence -- a delicious meditative silence that embraced and inspired. Occasionally, someone would stand up and speak briefly, mostly about spiritual thoughts or discoveries. The statements didn't interrupt, but for the most part deepened the silence.
With the ending of the worship meeting, the ISU was over for the weekend. I went back to my family's home, in love with stillness and convinced that I had found new spiritual nourishment.
Adolescence was tough for me; I developed a serious depression, for which I was ultimately hospitalized for a time at Presbyterian-St. Luke's Hospital in Chicago. There I met a psychiatrist who also worked at Chicago State Hospital, where he had spearheaded a unique (for the late 1950s) program. In this program, young people teamed together to go to the state hospital and visit with some of the patients. Sponsored by the American Friends Service Committee (AFSC -- more about them next time), it was called an "institutional service unit," or ISU for short.
On my first Saturday as an ISU-er, I entered one of the state hospital's "back wards" with some trepidation. It bore little resemblance to the shiny new psychiatric facility where I had been treated a few months before. This one smelled of urine; feces were smeared on the walls of the shower room. Many of the men were pacing or sat crouched against the walls, seemingly oblivious to everything around them. Decibel level was high, both because the room was bare, with tiled walls and concrete floor, and because of the moaning, crying, squawking and other sounds uttered by some of the residents.
Uneasy, I focussed on one of the less bizarre appearing patients, a youngish man who reminded me a bit of movie star Montgomery Clift. He was squatting by one of the walls, too, but his dress and grooming were reasonably neat and he was silent. I tried talking to him, but since I was quite shy myself in those days, I'm not sure how much I had to say.
Mostly I urged him to come and play cards or some such. Looking back, I'm embarrassed for what I must have been like -- jabbering at this fellow with perhaps little awareness of his feelings or subtle responses. He just stayed silent and let me lead him around the ward, though he never did participate in any card game or other activity.
If nothing else, the youthful members of our ISU certainly brought newness to the place. New faces, new energy, new -- if not always skillful -- stimuli for the patients. And apparently the program was having some success. The psychiatrist who had inaugurated it seemed pleased with what was happening, and Life magazine published an article about it.
The ISU was very successful in another way -- it opened a new door for me. After spending the day at the state hospital, our young crew returned to an elderly house in one of Chicago's poorer neighborhoods. The house was kept by the AFSC for various community action programs in the area. Here, everybody joined together to cook and serve dinner (pasta) for ourselves, and then ate together, washed dishes together, sang and chatted through the evening. The fellowship felt wonderful.
The next morning, our group held a typical Quaker meeting for worship. This was again a totally new experience for me. The worship was held in silence -- a delicious meditative silence that embraced and inspired. Occasionally, someone would stand up and speak briefly, mostly about spiritual thoughts or discoveries. The statements didn't interrupt, but for the most part deepened the silence.
With the ending of the worship meeting, the ISU was over for the weekend. I went back to my family's home, in love with stillness and convinced that I had found new spiritual nourishment.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
"The Gentle Art of Blessing"
How many people give out an automatic exclamation when someone sneezes: "Bless you!" But do they realize this response, rescued from the automatic, can become a powerful spiritual practice?
A gentleman named Pierre Pradervand has written a book entitled The Gentle Art of Blessing (Hillsboro, OR: Beyond Words & New York, NY: Atria Paperback, c 2009). In it, he defines "blessing" as follows: "To bless means to wish, unconditionally and from the deepest chamber of your heart, unrestricted good for others and events; it means to hallow, to hold in reverence, to behold with awe that which is always a gift from the Creator. . . . To bless is to invoke divine care upon, to speak or think gratefully for, to confer happiness upon, although we ourselves are never the bestower but simply the joyful witnesses of life's abundance."
Pradervand explains that this practice can and should be used at every moment -- to bless the day at its beginning, to bless the details of your life, to bless those with whom you interact as well as the strangers you pass on the street.
Blessing might be seen as a combination of gratitude, loving, and praiseful wonder. Pradervand notes that "Many of us have been told of the benefits of gratitude, but the art of blessing is something more: extending sincere, benevolent wishes from the bottom of our heart to another person."
The practice of blessing is also a way to develop awareness and to avoid the all-too-common habit of judging. And, Pradervand emphasizes, it is equally important to bless ourselves (often the targets of our own harshest judgments), thus acknowledging the truth that we are the beloved, treasured "children" of the ineffable, universal Love.
Pradervand spends a good bit of his book outlining the universal laws that the practice of blessing brings into play. As these laws are activated, so are the blessee and the blessor both blessed. These laws, such as the Golden Rule and the Law of Universal Harmony, are not limited to any one religious faith.
Blessing is not a mental practice so much as an attitude of the heart which enriches all and often changes circumstances -- as well as other people and ourselves -- for the better. The book is filled with examples and testimonies regarding the amazing power of blessing.
My own experience of beginning to practice the art of blessing is that I find chattering thoughts quieted and a feeling of warmth, joy and happiness welling up.
The Hindus have a Sanskrit blessing that has now become known in the West as well: "Namaste" -- "I acknowledge the divine in you."
Namaste!
A gentleman named Pierre Pradervand has written a book entitled The Gentle Art of Blessing (Hillsboro, OR: Beyond Words & New York, NY: Atria Paperback, c 2009). In it, he defines "blessing" as follows: "To bless means to wish, unconditionally and from the deepest chamber of your heart, unrestricted good for others and events; it means to hallow, to hold in reverence, to behold with awe that which is always a gift from the Creator. . . . To bless is to invoke divine care upon, to speak or think gratefully for, to confer happiness upon, although we ourselves are never the bestower but simply the joyful witnesses of life's abundance."
Pradervand explains that this practice can and should be used at every moment -- to bless the day at its beginning, to bless the details of your life, to bless those with whom you interact as well as the strangers you pass on the street.
Blessing might be seen as a combination of gratitude, loving, and praiseful wonder. Pradervand notes that "Many of us have been told of the benefits of gratitude, but the art of blessing is something more: extending sincere, benevolent wishes from the bottom of our heart to another person."
The practice of blessing is also a way to develop awareness and to avoid the all-too-common habit of judging. And, Pradervand emphasizes, it is equally important to bless ourselves (often the targets of our own harshest judgments), thus acknowledging the truth that we are the beloved, treasured "children" of the ineffable, universal Love.
Pradervand spends a good bit of his book outlining the universal laws that the practice of blessing brings into play. As these laws are activated, so are the blessee and the blessor both blessed. These laws, such as the Golden Rule and the Law of Universal Harmony, are not limited to any one religious faith.
Blessing is not a mental practice so much as an attitude of the heart which enriches all and often changes circumstances -- as well as other people and ourselves -- for the better. The book is filled with examples and testimonies regarding the amazing power of blessing.
My own experience of beginning to practice the art of blessing is that I find chattering thoughts quieted and a feeling of warmth, joy and happiness welling up.
The Hindus have a Sanskrit blessing that has now become known in the West as well: "Namaste" -- "I acknowledge the divine in you."
Namaste!
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