Found Ministry

or Gospel Truth

I love our Meetinghouse. It's like a small, upside-down ark in the spiritual ocean, a shelter against the storm and a beacon of light. It's simply but well-built, with caring and craftsmanship showing in many small details.

Quakers didn't build our Meetinghouse. Before we bought it, it was a neighborhood church. There's a disused immersion baptistry behind what used to be the altar, and faint crosses spray-painted on the light fixtures in the worship room.

I feel gratitude and warmth for the people who built our Meetinghouse, a connection that transcends time and creed. Their work shelters us now, and the spirit that went into the construction of the building still feeds us.

About a month ago, I was hanging out with the children in the small yard behind the worship room. There's a small play structure there under liquid amber trees, and an even smaller patio with a few benches and chairs for supervising adults.

Suddenly, I noticed what looked like some letters carved in the concrete near the building. I went closer, scraped away the leaf mould with my foot, and tried to read the words.

For it is God

I scraped some more, and moved the bench out of the way.

For it is God who works in you

I was getting excited. What Quakerly words were these, left for us by the founders of the neighborhood church?

I found a broom and swept the mud off the next section of the letters.

For it is God who works in you to will and to act

“Spirit-led, spirit-led,” my heart was singing. 

I had run out of letters. I shifted back to the left and used my broom to free the next line.

according to his good purpose. Philippians 2:13

Oh wow. 

No Bible verse had ever struck me with more force, or seemed more appropriate to the circumstances.

For it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose. Philippians 2:13

Pain, Prayer, People and the Presence of God

At the end of August, my dad was diagnosed with a new brain tumor. Happily, that tumor was operable. Unhappily, another tumor was discovered 23 days after his surgery.

This news threw me into a darker space than I have been since he was originally diagnosed. I wanted to crawl into a cave and hide. I wanted to be alone with my pain. I so hated the way I was feeling that I didn't want to share it with anyone.

For weeks, I held everyone, with the exception of my husband, at arm's length. I struggled with my pain alone and in the dark.

After three weeks of this, I bestirred myself to go to a Worship & Ministry meeting. We opened with a query about how we were holding onto our centers during this election cycle.

"The election isn't ruffling my serenity much," I said slowly. "What's blowing my serenity out of the water is my father's struggle with cancer. My heart is breaking for my mother, for him, for my children, myself, our extended family, and his friends. I can't find any comfort. I pull back from people, because the pain is too raw to impose on anyone else, even second-hand. Nothing helps, not even prayer."

A Friend started talking about how pain in itself is a prayer. I sat bolt upright and asked her to talk more about that. I needed to know how my pain could possibly ever function as a prayer.

She talked about opening to God and sharing our pain with him, about allowing God and God's compassion in our hearts along with the pain. As she spoke, I begin to see a glimmer of what she meant.

I went into prayerful worship then and saw how, when I hold people at arm's length, I am, at the same time, holding God at arm's length. When I close my heart to other human beings, I also close my heart to God.

This reminded me of my old tai chi master's words: You have to open your heart to get your head on straight.

I sat there in grateful prayer with tears spilling out of my eyes. For a short time, I saw how deep the commandment Love your neighbor as yourself goes.

I bow my life in humble prayer.

Eldering: a Parable

I've had a lot of beautiful eldering in my Meeting. Many of my Friends have brought me along, a little bit at a time, with a well-placed comment or sharing. They've educated me lovingly, patiently, and with humor. I've been grateful for this gentle eldering, and imagine that other Friends also welcome it.

To my surprise, however, many Friends seem to think of eldering not as teaching or guidance, but rather admonishment. When I suggest that someone might welcome a little gentle eldering, I run into a wall.

Oh surely, say my Friends, we don't need to tell this Friend that they're doing something wrong.

Well, no, I certainly wasn't suggesting that. Just that we might share our own insights and approaches to different situations, plant a few seeds with what wisdom we've been given, and perhaps encourage the Friend to think about things a little differently.

I eldered a weighty Friend in this manner a few weeks ago. He has a habit of delivering deep, thoughtful, spiritual ministry. Unfortunately, in the preamble to this ministry, he also often delivers a slight or a barb directed at a subset of the Meeting.

After Meeting, I told him about reading a parenting book that suggested that, when we give our children instruction, we leave off the insults. If, for example, we are telling our child to pick up his socks, we don't need to tack on a "you filthy slob" or "you'll never learn, will you?" to the end.

This Friend didn't seem to understand what I was driving at (although another Friend, listening, did). I left it there, however, having planted my seed. Perhaps it will germinate or perhaps it will die in barren ground. I've done what I was led to do, and now I'm led to wait.

The current Worship & Ministry committee is staffed by Friends who believe in the slow and subtle approach to nurturing the Meeting and the spiritual lives of Friends. We stay in contact with Friends, plant our small seeds, and wait to see what happens. Some Friends see our role as too passive, and have suggested that we might do more, manage things more vigorously, and be a lot more visible about what we are doing.

After Meeting, I was chatting with the incoming clerk. I shared something about how the committee had handled a particular issue, and how, once again, the issue was resolved without it looking like Worship & Ministry had done anything about it.

To me, this is a sign that we're doing our job well, but not everyone sees it that way.

That Saturday, my two sons had a disagreement that ended in my younger son telling my older son that he was not going to share his birthday-gift books with him. My older son and my 15-year-old daughter were incensed about this, and insisted that I do something about my younger son's refusal to share.

"I have done something," I said, "He doesn't have to share his books if he doesn't want to. I've told him that I think that families work better when people share, but it's important that he comes to that decision on his own."

My daughter was particularly steamed at this. She wanted me to make my son share his books, to lay down the law, to punish him for his selfishness.

Within a few hours, my sons had worked things out, and my younger son decided to share his books. I was still, however, a bad parent in my daughter's eyes, because I had not taken a more direct approach. I think we have a better outcome than we would have had if I had enforced sharing. My son came to the decision, under his own power, that it was better to share and to have his brother share with him. 

That's eldering, to me, in a nutshell. Planting little seeds and then giving people time and space to come to their own insights, their own solutions, their own decisions. And, while planting those seeds, being humble enough to realize that we don't ourselves have all of the pieces of the puzzle, and that bits of the solution come from all sorts of different places.

We just toss our pebble into the pond and wait for the ripples to do whatever ripples do.

Nineteen Minutes to Five

Okay, so once a month, it is my job to hold the container for worship and close Meeting at the end of the hour. This seemingly simple job has created a number of issues for me, which I have blogged about before.

For a time, I deliberately went to Meeting without a watch and trusted in the promptings of Spirit as to when to close Meeting. At first this worked well, but then I realized that it took too much of my attention. So much energy went into discerning how long worship should go that I didn't feel like I had enough left to monitor the pulse of the Meeting or tend my own worship.

So I started bringing a watch.

The next problem was that I don't ordinarily wear or carry a watch. In the midst of getting the family ready for Meeting, I needed to remember to scoop my watch out of my jewelry box and put it in my purse.

Fortunately, my husband carries a pocket watch, so he could act as my back up.

When I last came to close Meeting, I forgot my watch. As we were pulling into the Meetinghouse, I remembered, and asked to borrow my husband's. I slipped it into my pocket, slid into my chair, and fell into worship.

Some time later, I checked the time. The hands of the watch were frozen at nineteen minutes to five. Meeting for worship runs from 10:30 to 11:30.

I went back into worship and asked God to tell me when it was time to end Meeting.

Worship continued in fullness and beauty, and I imagined myself holding it open all day. Several individuals gave heartfelt ministry, and we sat there in the peace of deep worship.

Finally, I rose. "Friends," I said, "it's my job to close worship today. My watch says that it's nineteen minutes to five, and that seems about right to me. I have no idea when we should close worship."

Friends started shaking one another's hands and wishing one another good morning. Later evidence suggests that I was 10 to 15 minutes late closing worship, but I really have no idea.

As we rose, I thought that perhaps I am not meant to close worship. Perhaps my struggles with the clock, and with speaking at all after worship, mean that I should do different jobs for the Meeting.

A record number of Friends came up to tell me how much they enjoy it when I close worship. "You're so light and funny," they said, "you have such a wonderful spirit about it."

Indeed. On the mornings I close Meetings, there is always laughter and lightness of spirit as I try to find the words to welcome everyone to Meeting. My struggles to rise from worship and speak from a script are a continual source of entertainment to my Friends.

Ah. I have missed my calling. I am meant to be a Quaker stand-up comic, playing at the Meetinghouse on First Day mornings. Don't miss my "I seem to have forgotten my name and what I'm meant to be doing here" act followed by "I'm delighted to be with you all. Let's just beam at one another for a moment while I try to remember how to do this."

And, the truth is that I am delighted to stand there, blinking, and welcome everyone. I'm happy to invite newcomers to our Meeting and tell them how wonderful it is that they shared worship with us. I am filled with joy at the opportunity to facilitate announcements. After worship, I am so happy to be in the heart of the gathered Meeting that it doesn't matter that I stumble over the words I'm meant to speak.

It's even okay with me that God sees fit to tell me that it's nineteen minutes to five, whatever that means.

Heartstone

I dreamed I was visiting God's garden. God and I had a long walk through the garden, admiring the plants and the changes since my last visit. We came to an apricot tree, and I reached up to touch a blossom.

"I remember when you gave me an apricot from this tree," I said, "I still have the stone."

"You still have the stone?" asked God, "Do you have it with you?"

I reached into a pouch, took out the stone, and held it out in my hand to see.

"Give it to the gardeners!" God commanded.

I handed the apricot stone to one of God's gardeners. The gardeners took it to a prepared bed and gently slipped it into the rich soil. One of them watered it deeply.

When I woke, I held the dream lightly. I didn't want to read too much into it, to decide the meaning of the apricot, the stone, and God's gardeners.

All I know is that I feel very good about having given the apricot stone to God's gardeners and seeing it find its rightful place.

Testing Leadings

I'm going to lift up something that Richard wrote in a comment to my post before last:

At this point it's good to look outside yourself for signs to help you discern. When you mention the possibility of doing this to weighty Friends what is there reaction? Do they caution you to reflect more deeply on it or do they brighten at the thought of you doing this? Have you detected any signs of Way opening for this project? For example did some other responsibility that was taking up some of your time and energy suddenly lifted from your shoulders to make space for the new project? Did something or someone that would help you with the project suddenly appear in your life unexpectedly?

If weighty Friends do not discourage this and if signs of Way opening appear, then don't hold back from following the leading just because you think you might like it!

Sometimes I feel like a blind person tapping in front of me with my white cane, trying to discern my next step. Part of my leading has been to take the next step and trust that God will continue to guide my feet. I can't see the end of the path from here.

It's good to be reminded to check in with weighty Friends and spiritual buddies about our leadings. My Friends did, somewhat to my amazement, respond very enthusiastically to my leading and encourage me to relax and enjoy it. It is a little like working with the children during our Meeting retreat. I might have felt like I was goofing off and having a good time, but the Meeting appreciated the work I was doing anyway.

I also continued to pray about the leading, continually, and to wait for confirmation before taking each step. This is not something I always do, and I think I sometimes might have a tendency or out-run my Inner Guide. Part of my discipline in this event, however, has been to go no further than guided by Spirit.

I am forced to admit that God was right again. There were times along the way that weren't as easy and pleasant as I anticipated, and events took a few twists and turns that underscored the wisdom of my care and attention to this seemingly simple and pleasant activity. I needed my Guide on this trip, and I needed to be on the trip to do work that needs to be done.

And perhaps I also needed to know that sometimes God calls us to go with our strengths, to refresh our spirits, and to do what we love.

Baptism in the Spirit

At the rise of worship on Sunday, a Quaker elder I admire greatly asked to speak with me for a few minutes.

"At the Worship & Ministry meeting, you spoke of being born again," she started, "What did you mean by that? Did you mean that you had been born again at some time in the past and renounced it? Or did you mean that you're still born again?"

When I was 13, I came forward at an altar call at a Baptist church. The choir sang "O, Lamb of God, I come, I come" and I came to lay my life at the feet of Jesus and to welcome him into my heart as Lord and Saviour. I was baptized by immersion, and I can still remember the grave sweetness on the face of the minister who baptized me.

Had I renounced it? That experience, while not my earliest religious experience, was certainly strong. I felt God's presence deeply throughout that time, and it gave me comfort and courage through my parents' divorce and my own teenaged confusion.

I didn't stick with the Baptist church. We moved, and I joined the Unitarians and then the Pagans. I went with friends to Catholic masses, lived with members of the Hanuman Fellowship and the followers of Yogananda. I hiked extensively in the mountains. I went to Hawaii and watched Kilauea erupt from an ancient Hawaiian village now used as a campground.

Everywhere I went, I saw God. I saw the Divine in what I read and heard, in the faces of other human beings, and in the rocks and the trees and volcanoes. Wherever I went, I have carried that sense of the indwelling Spirit, of my own deep and personal connection with the Divine.

"I didn't renounce it," I said slowly, "the Spirit that moved me then is still here, in my heart. I've seen it in lots of other places since then, though, the same Spirit."

"I think, though, that it's wrong to talk of a single act of salvation. I don't think I changed for once and forever when I answered that altar call. I've come to see it as a practice, a continual need to welcome Spirit into my heart and my life, a continual process of learning to yield myself up to God's service."

I spoke then about my ongoing struggle to live my life fully in the Spirit, to live from that Spirit-led center. Not my will, but Thine. And how difficult it is to do that. And how, a lot of times, I don't want to do that, but to follow my own way.

"I'd be a much better Christian," I mused, "if I wasn't impatient."

"And proud.  And willful. And lazy."

"And sometimes, I just don't believe any of it. 'Lord, I believe. Help Thou my unbelief.'"

"But somewhere, deep within, the Spirit keeps bubbling up and renewing me and guiding me and helping me on my way."

So my faith, what I have of it, is a gift. It's not something I can claim credit for. It's not something I do.

I wonder how it happens, that baptism in the Spirit. 

The Fruits of Radical Faith?

Over the past few months, worship has been filled more and more with calls to radical faith. I hear these calls weekly in my heart, and quite often on the lips of other Friends.

Personally, I keep getting the message to be a lily of the field. I am not to worry about the outcome of what I am asked to do, just to do it and trust God to handle the rest. This is a huge challenge for me, and I definitely need the weekly reminders to relax and trust in God. He's got my back, okay? It's fine for me to do my little bit, let go, and leave things in God's hands. Really. C'mon, Heather, LET GO ALREADY!

For the Meeting, I am hearing that we need to do the same thing: let go and trust in whatever God's got planned for the Meeting. Maybe we don't need to make sure that every i is crossed and t is dotted before we move forward. Maybe God wants us to cross the ts and dot the is instead. Maybe we should just GET OUT OF THE WAY and let Spirit MOVE.

Well, when God shouts at me repeatedly, I hear. That doesn't always make it easy for me to obey, but at least I'm clear about what is expected of me.

The leading I'm finding it hardest to follow right now is personal. Moreover, it's something I want to do, something that delights me. This has made me question repeatedly whether it can really be a leading, and why I am being led to do it. The answer I keep receiving is that I don't need to understand, that I should just relax, enjoy it, and leave the driving up to God.

This is almost impossible. I can follow leadings to do things that are difficult and unpleasant more easily than I can follow a leading to relax and enjoy myself.

It is my Father's good, good pleasure
To give me the kingdom as I live and breathe.

That song keeps recurring to me. God has given me so many gifts in this life: friends, family, trees, healing, learning, natural beauty, bodily comforts, safety, protection, and much, much else. Why is it so hard to accept that I might be led to do something that is easy and pleasant to do?

Much that has been asked of me this last year has not been easy and pleasant, but has been difficult and has stretched me.

I heard a Friend's laugh yesterday in the distance and went up to tell her how much it delighted me.

"Oh, I know, I have a terrible laugh," she said.

"I love your laugh."

She laughed again, "Maybe I should just accept the compliment instead of arguing with it?"

Maybe I should just accept God's gifts instead of arguing with them.

Awesome and Sufficient

We held a worship-sharing to respond to queries for our State of the Meeting report to the quarter.

Our Meeting has faced big challenges this last year. It's been a time of pain and struggle, of divisions and hard feelings worked out with difficulty, of low energy and the letting go of things our Meeting has always done. We're in the process of a radical restructuring in the spirit of the Jubilee Year, and we lack the comfort of familiar forms for our ongoing work in the Spirit.

I expected our State of the Meeting worship to strike a somber note. I was extremely surprised to hear one Friend after another rise and speak of the coming of spring after a fallow period. Friends spoke of difficulties and challenges in many areas, and then they spoke of new seeds germinating. There was a great sense of hope, of energy building beneath the surface, of a time of growth and renewal after our fallow time.

Friends came to speak of the awesome strength, courage, and faith our Meeting has shown in taking on the Jubilee Year challenge set forth by Pacific Yearly Meeting. We have indeed been examining our structure in the light of the Jubilee Year, turning away from other responsibilities to focus on the shaping of our Meeting. We have allowed our fields to go fallow, and sustained ourselves with that which sprang from the Spirit of its own accord.

One Friend rose to say that the power of the Spirit of Love is awesome and sufficient to bring us into unity.

Then it struck me with great force: our forms and structures might be worn and outmoded, lacking in energy and support, but the Spirit is moving strongly among us and we are honoring it. We are willing, as a corporate body, to offer our Meeting to Spirit to use for its purposes. We are waiting for guidance and willing to follow that Spirit whereever it might lead. The Spirit of Love is awesome and sufficient to lead us, and we as a Meeting have the faith to relinquish control of the Meeting and go whither it leads.

No wonder we've had pain, having to let go of forms that no longer serve us. No wonder there is such great energy for our discussions of the issues we face. No wonder there is such great support for radical change in our Meeting. We are joined in Spirit, and we share a deep faith in our Quaker process.

And no wonder, too, that we have such pain at letting go of beloved forms. Our Meeting is dying and being reborn in a new form, and we all grieve the old forms that we so loved.

How often this last year I've heard the words "We should do this, we ought to do that, we're not doing the other as well as we might." That's all true, but it seems to me that there's a tension between perfectly fulfilling the functions of human structure and following Spirit. We say that we are primitive Christianity revived, but we also take comfort in our outward forms and having things done in the manner of Friends.

How scary it is to think about stepping outside of the forms and living unsheltered in the wilderness of Spirit! How scary and yet exhilirating to be living on the edge of spiritual dynamicism, to feel the ground shift beneath our feet.

Our feet stumble and find the new path with difficulty. We let go of old forms grudgingly, like a well-mannered dog leaving behind a juicy bone to go on a walk with our mistress. We look at the mess and confusion and feel a stab of guilt and regret.
Then we go to worship and the Spirit pours into us: "You are my children, with whom I am well pleased. You are the beloved community living my ministry. You are living in the grace and beauty of my love."

I feel intense gratitude this morning for the movement of Spirit in my life, in my Meeting, in the world. What a blessing to be part of this beloved community in transformation, to share in the suffering and strife as well as in the joy and beauty.

Healing the Wounds of War

On Friday, my husband and I went to see a movie and slide show presented by a Vietnam vet who has spent the last 15 years working with the people of My Lai, Vietnam to try to heal the wounds of war. His work is sponsored by the Friends Meeting in Madison, Wisconsin.

We were deeply touched by the presentation and the good work that these folks are doing. It started with a Peace Park on the site of the My Lai massacre, with trees planted by Vietnam vets and Vietnamese people working together. Mike Boehm went on to work with the Quang Ngai province women's union to determine what sorts of
projects are needed by the people of the My Lai area.

Since that time, the group has built a clinic, three schools, and a fair number of houses in Quang Ngai province. They've also been running a micro-loan program for the women of Quang Ngai province, serving almost 3000 women and with a payback rate of 98%.

Mike's group is the only NGO working that the Vietnamese government trusts to work with ethnic minority groups in central Vietnam. The ethnic minorities live in remote areas in extreme poverty (even more extreme than the poverty in the rest of Quang Ngai province).

This group seems to be doing a great deal of good on very little money. Their goals go beyond economic aid, to the empowerment of Vietnamese women, improved relations between the Vietnamese and Americans, and a hope that we can find ways to build peace in the world.

Our family is planning on including this work in our holiday giving this year. I strongly encourage anyone with a little extra to give to consider giving to one of the My Lai projects.

Even if you don't have any extra money to give this year, take a look at the site anyway. It's wonderful to know that there are people doing this sort of work in the world.

What are we doing here together in worship?

This morning in worship, Meeting seemed awfully wiggly. I tried to reach down into the Well where we gather, but my Friends mostly didn't seem to have made it that deep. Or, perhaps, they were in a part of the Well that I wasn't able to get to. Whether it was them or me or a combination, that old gathered Meeting thing wasn't happening.

I thought about Brooklyn Quaker and the Manhattan Meeting's joy in the energy that flowed through their Meeting. This morning, we didn't seem to have that upwelling of joy. We weren't having ministry either, so I thanked God for that blessing and tried again to go deeper.

"What are we doing here anyway?" I thought, "Are we really waiting on God? Are we striving to listen for our marching instructions? Or are we sitting here, sifting through the problems in our lives, trying to find the solutions to our own small problems? Do we have the self-discipline we need to do this?"

"What you are doing," said a familiar deep rumble, "is waiting on ME. And you will LISTEN when I speak and SPEAK when I tell you to."

"Oh no," I thought, "I'm not sure I have it in me to speak in Meeting this morning."

"You will SPEAK when I tell you to."

"Okay. Am I to speak now? What am I to say?"

"You will SPEAK when I tell you to."

Obviously, I was meant to listen. So I did.

I was led on one of those magical mystery spirit tours. I saw places where people had gathered in the spirit, and how the spirit had moved them and moved through them. They built things and they struggled and they lived with the fire in their bellies and then the spirit moved on. I saw the spiritual communities of my own life, how the spirit had been alive in each of them and how the spirit had led me to move on. I saw a great dance of spirit, moving people and moving through people and moving on. Always moving on.

I saw how difficult it is to let the spirit move through you, how hard it is to stay open to the spirit and give your life into its hands. I saw my Meeting, hearts half-open and half-closed, not quite willing to make the gift outright of themselves to the spirit. I saw myself, holding onto my separateness, my pride, my ego, my principles, only half willing to step into the holy flame.

Just when I thought I would have to speak, a Friend rose. He talked about the early Friends and how the Light had come up in them and burned away their veils. He prayed to the Holy Spirit that it would shine in our Meeting and burn away our veils. He was praying for what my soul had been longing for all during worship. My heart joined his prayers, and I felt the whole Meeting sink, together, into the Well.

And there we were. Perhaps we were still half-hearted, wounded and halting, half-blind and half-deaf. Perhaps we were still wrapped up in our little lives and our small concerns, but there we were, deep in communion with the spirit, open for that precious moment.

Other Friends spoke, calling for us to be brave and to answer the call of spirit.

I used to pray every week to be made into a strong vessel for the work I was called to do. That prayer was answered. Maybe it's time to up the ante, to pray for courage to tackle big things.

Growing Up Among Friends

A couple of weeks ago, our First Day school class discussed the Quaker value of Unity. My 12-year-old son illustrated Unity like this:




It's a strong and hopeful image, reflecting a child's view of a world I'd like to live in. The people, and two tigers, are all holding hands all around the world. In the ocean, two narwhals are touching tusks.

Quaker Unity, however is a concept that's not easy for a child to grasp. Even adults have difficulty with the Quaker concept of unity, substituting "consensus" for something that is at core far more mystical. Unity is more synergistic than consensus, more an expression of the Meeting as a whole, more otherworldly in origin. It's not simple intellectual agreement, but rather something that emerges from the core of the gathered Meeting.

I'm not surprised that a 12-year-old couldn't capture that ineffable quality in a drawing.

I was closing Meeting that morning. It's our custom to ask the children to tell us what they've been doing in First Day school. On this particular morning, my 8-year-old son had chosen to sit in Meeting instead of attending First Day school. As I listened to the report, I thought about the child who sat with us through Meeting, and how the Quaker education he received by sitting in worship with us was at least as valuable as the discussion in First Day school. I asked him for a report as well.

"Well," he stammered, nervous and struggling for words, "it was like waiting for God."

A soft "Ah!" went around the Meeting. A reminder, from the mouth of a child, of what it is that we're doing when we gather for worship.

After Meeting, a few curious Friends asked my son whether God had shown up at Meeting. The answer was "Yes."

The Call to Joy

My spiritual life has been in ferment.

My father continues to battle valiantly with brain cancer. I spent a week with my parents in Manhattan just being a daughter. It was a lovely precious week, a piece of joy frozen in time to hold in my heart forever.

While in Manhattan, I was able to worship with 15th Street Meeting. I was a little nervous entering my first East Coast Meetinghouse. It was a big, imposing structure with wooden benches arranged in a square. I thought that the Quakers who worshipped in such a setting must be squarer, weightier, more solemn than our West Coast variety. I wondered whether I'd be able to dig deep enough to join them in worship.

As soon as I sat down, however, I sank easily into worship with this new group of Friends. They felt familiar, almost as if I was worshipping with my home Meeting. They wore different faces, but their hearts were gathered in the same worship I know so well.

The ministry came thick and fast. If we'd had a Meeting like that in Santa Cruz, Worship & Ministry would have talked it over at our next committee meeting, trying to figure out how to get the Meeting to slow down. In New York, however, the wealth of ministry seemed a measure of the energy of the Meeting. There might not be much space between messages, but the ministry came from the heart.

I went home resolved to be more accepting of the popcorn in my own Meeting. I love the silence in worship, and often long for more of it. The Manhattan Friends showed me that lively worship can also nourish the spirit.

Back home, I felt less at home. Our Meeting is still unwinding some difficult business from the summer. I was deeply involved in this business. It was sensitive, and many of the facts were confidential.

I became aware that there was a lot of gossip swirling around the Meeting, and that many people had an inaccurate picture of what had happened. People were angry and hurt.

Gossip is always tough. It's like fighting shadows, because you don't know who has heard and believed inaccurate stories. I asked a few Friends to help me find guidance, but we didn't receive anything that seemed particularly helpful.

On Friday, I received a copy of a letter that a weighty Friend had sent to the Clerk. In her letter, she repeated the gossip and expressed her outrage at the injustice that had been done.

Well, now I was hurt and angry in my own turn. I talked to a few of the others who had been involved, and we were all upset that this Friend had believed the gossip and taken public action as a result of it.

I didn't want to go to Meeting yesterday. I mentioned this to my 14-year-old daughter, and she said, "But, Mom, you need to go and face up to it. You need to confront these people with the truth. I'm sure it will all work out."

I was not at all sure, but I accepted her wisdom and went to Meeting.

I did not sink immediately into worship. It took longer than usual to settle down and let go. I felt ill-at-ease with the weighty Friend who had written the letter and suspicious of many of the other Friends who sat there.

I did my best, though, and was able to join in worship.

A Friend rose to read the monthly queries, which zinged to the heart of the issue facing our Meeting. Tears of gratitude crowded my eyes as I listened again to the distilled wisdom of other Friends. During the reading of the queries, I felt the Meeting sink together more deeply into worship. Forgiveness filled my heart, and I felt the hearts around me soften as well.

I was moved to hold each Friend who believed the gossip into the Light. I noticed that most of them weren't present.

"Perhaps they too are feeling at odds with Meeting. You need to labor with them, Heather, and help heal their hurts."

I bowed my head in humility.

A Friend rose to give ministry. He spoke about following the love in difficult situations. Another Friend spoke about unreasoning joy, and how Friends are called to it.

My heart filled with grim purpose, and I felt a small measure of joy.

After Meeting, I approached the weighty Friend and thanked her for sending me a copy of the letter.

"I was quite distressed to read it."

"I imagine you were."

"The letter contained one side of a complex situation, and it doesn't match my memory of what happened." I explained what I had been trying to do, the constraints on me, and what I had actually done.

"It must have been so difficult for you," she said, and my heart lifted. We proceeded to have a heartfelt discussion of just what it was like for me. She said that she had found it difficult to believe that I had acted as others claimed I had, and that she had been hasty in writing her letter.

I felt much better after talking with her, and better yet after talking with other Friends. There was a general striving to heal the rift, to work things out in community, to create peace in our Meeting.

Joy is calling, and I have more faith that I can find it by walking through the dark spaces with only a dim candle of love to light my way.

I am grateful, once again, to be among Friends.

The Blessings of Service

I was feeling down last week because we got some bad news about my dad's health. I spent a couple of days down in the dumps and then tried to rouse myself.

A Friend was moving to Pennsylvania. She asked me if I'd take her three younger children for an afternoon so she could pack in peace. The three children ended up spending two days with us. We had a great time: swimming, playing games, chatting, and just plain playing. I was far too busy to feel sorry for myself. The needs of the seven children under my care grounded me and cheered me. When the mother thanked me, I returned her thanks. The opportunity to care for her children lifted me and blessed me.

Some years ago, the following message wove in and out of my worship during Meeting:

Every request is a gift.

At the time, I still had two quite young children who made frequent requests of me. It was not always possible to see their requests as opportunities, let alone gifts. The message served as a reminder that it was a gift to be asked to change diapers, pour juice, fix toast, listen to problems, admire creations, and clean the paint off the floor. It reminded me not to rush through the small services I provided, but instead to slow down and connect with the child as I did my job.

In Meeting this First Day, I looked around at all the dear Friends whose lives have been filled with acts of service. I thought that each of them must know the joy that comes from doing simple services for others. I wondered whether they sought opportunities for service in order to experience the joy I was feeling. I felt blessed to be sitting in the circle with them.

I had been feeling overwhelmed. How is it that, by almost doubling my burden, I could have my burden lifted from me? It's a small miracle. For a moment, I thought I could see some of what lies behind the joyful, compassionate eyes of our Meeting elders. They know this secret! They know that service lightens our hearts and makes it easier to bear our burdens. They know that walking through life with an open heart calls blessings forth.

Virtue on the Bias

My children have a toy horse named Vain Pride. Vain Pride is a beautiful chestnut mare with a white mask and white stockings. She is also an insufferable herd-mate, constantly bragging and worrying about her appearance.

There's another Vain Pride, one who lives in my heart and mind. She thinks I'm precious beyond belief, and it matters desperately to her that I look good. She goads me to excel at all I do, and she spends all of her time in front of a mental mirror replaying my best moments.

There was a time when vanity and pride were considered serious sins. They've fallen by the wayside, along with other classic sins: jealousy, envy, greed, gluttony, anger, lust, and sloth. We think about mistakes and character flaws differently these days. Some sins, vanity and pride among them, have been air-brushed into virtues.

I combat my own vanity with a self-deprecating sense of humor. "It's just me, playing down to expectations. Gee whiz, aren't a funny clown?"

I caught myself at this a couple of weeks ago. Was my self-deprecating humor just another way of looking good, and hence an offering at the altar of my vanity?

I pondered this for days. Then, while driving in traffic in San Francisco (not a good time for epiphanies, in my view. Would you mind awfully, God, holding off on blinding revelations until after I've negotiated this lane change?), I got a nudge.

Maybe my problem really isn't vanity after all. Perhaps I've been practicing humility so long that I've gone too far. Perhaps my real problem is lack of confidence.

Maybe I'm afraid that people will be angry with me.

I remember being confident, sometimes to the point of arrogance. I remember being an assertive person who knew what she wanted.

I've changed myself. I can feel the weight and complexity of the alterations I've made to my thinking, the ways I've tweaked myself to become what I am now. I'm not sure if I went too far or if I used the wrong approach entirely. I wish I knew how to run diagnostics on my own brain to see if it's doing what it ought to do.

The answer is not usually at the extremes, but somewhere in the middle. There's a point where it all balances beautifully. All I need to do is feel my way towards that place at the dead center of my soul, the fulcrum that balances the load of my life.

My Life as a Spiritual Clam

A couple of weeks ago, a Friend called to ask if I could close Meeting. I agreed, put on my wristwatch, packed up my family, and arrived at Meeting feeling prepared for whatever the day might bring.

A Friend spoke about her struggle to remain open to God. She talked about how she could open herself to God and walk a short way along her path open to God, but then she closed up again.

As she spoke, the words "happy as a clam at high tide" sang through my brain. In a flash, I saw a great insight into my own spiritual nature.

I am a spiritual clam. I open at high tide to receive God's wisdom, and then close at low tide to digest my blessings.

There's nothing wrong with being a spiritual clam. I might rather be a spiritual eagle or redwood tree, but God in his wisdom made me a clam. Early Quakers encouraged us to be lowly, to walk humbly. Clams are lowly, and they drag their single feet through the tidal mud. Clams are patient; clams move slowly; clams know how to wait in silence. When the time is right, they open to the sea. When the time is not right, they close up and wait.

In the high tide of Meeting for worship, I opened up and received the blessings God showered on me.

I forgot utterly that I was supposed to close Meeting, that I was wearing a wristwatch, that there might be people in Meeting who had other things to do on a fine summer First Day. We'd run ten minutes and two messages late before God shook my shoulder and said, "You're supposed to close Meeting, Heather."

I shook hands with the Friends around me and said, "Good morning."

When I stood to go through the post-Meeting wrap-up, I said, "Well, Friends, this morning I remembered to wear my watch, but I forgot to look at it. Despite my best efforts, we're running on God's time again this morning."

Even though we were running late, I was prompted to ask for after thoughts, those messages that didn't quite rise to the level of ministry. Two Friends shared rich tidbits, and my spiritual clam took them in.

There were no visitors (an unusual occurence, especially in the summer time), so I was able to skip many of the closing items. We only had a few short announcements. Despite our late break from worship, Meeting rose earlier than it usually does.

The clam closed and went to work on digestion.

The Now Sound of Quaker

On lazy summer afternoons, I've been taking my youngest son to the swimming pool for lessons. I'd while away the hour with my knitting as he learned his strokes.

Other mothers would strike up conversations. We'd chat about children and menus and all those things that moms talk about at their children's lessons. I participated lazily, one eye on my son and the other on my knitting.

One day, one of the other mothers hesitantly asked if I thought she could learn to knit.

"Absolutely," I replied.

Her grandmother had tried to teach her, but she was left-handed and it hadn't worked out.

"I'm left-handed," I said.

She really wanted to learn to knit, she said, because she was trying to quit smoking and she needed something to do with her hands.

I told her I'd be happy to teach her to knit. I loved the idea of helping a human soul free herself from the false god nicotine. A simple act of service, and all I needed to to was to share something I loved.

After I'd taught her to cast on and form her stitches, we sat in my living room and knit companionably. She started talking about her belief in a Higher Power and asked me if I went to church.

"Yes," I said, having learned that it is simpler to call Meeting "church" when talking to non-Quakers, "we're part of the Santa Cruz Quaker Meeting."

"There are still Quakers?" she asked, "What do you believe?"

"Well," I said, sifting through my mind for a concise-yet-essential description, "we believe that each person has a direct relationship with God. We sit in Meeting together and wait for God to speak to us, in our hearts."

"But that's what I believe!" she said, "Are Quakers Christians? Do you follow the Bible?"

"We started as Puritans," I explained, "The early Quakers believed very much in the Bible, but they also believed that Christ had come to teach his people himself. That inner teaching, that direct connection with God was very important to them. Over time, Quakers have become more universalist, but our roots are very much Christian."

I did not get into the different varieties of Quakers. If I'm given the opportunity to proselytize my Quaker faith, I'm going to speak that bit of Light that's been given to me, and not worry overmuch about representing Quakerdom as a whole.

Later, as I was thinking about this exchange, I thought, "We're not the early Quakers. It's a bit fusty, really, to cling so much to words from the 17th century." The tune to a song from my childhood called The Now Sound of Christmas went through my head. "What we need is The Now Sound of Quaker."

"We are the Quakers," I thought, "what can we say?"

My authentic experience doesn't read like a travelogue through 17th-century England. I don't have the epiphanies they had, the leadings they had, or the struggles they had. I sometimes question my small leadings, wondering whether they're really Quakerly enough to be called leadings. I am led to help women kick the habit, protect children from abuse, promote breastfeeding, promote home birth, and give away canvas grocery sacks. Can any of those things really count as 21st century Quaker witness?

If not, what can? What constitutes the now sound of Quaker?

Load-bearing Exercise

Twelve and a half years ago, I dislocated my femur rollerblading backwards. My hip has never completely healed, and for many years I walked with a noticeable limp. I had limited mobility and learned to live with constant pain in my hip and back.

Week after week, I sat in Meeting with the prayer "Make me a strong vessel so I can do the work you have given me."

Two years ago, I was diagnosed with multiple food allergies. Eliminating the problem foods lessened the inflammation in my hip and back. Exercises strengthened my muscles and greatly reduced the pain. After a year, I no longer woke up each morning because it was too painful to keep sleeping. I was able to move more freely. I went days at a time without pain.

This last fall, I had recovered enough to start working on the weight I'd gained when I was partially disabled. Now 30 pounds lighter, I find that I'm busier than I ever have been. As I've gained strength and energy, my responsibilities have expanded as well.

My prayer, it would seem, has been answered.

In recent weeks, I have been under the weight of a leading. My path has been unmistakable, winding along the edge of a cliff. I haven't had to wonder whether I'm doing the right thing, and doing the right thing has been difficult enough that I haven't had time to appreciate the clarity of the leading.

I've been thinking a lot recently about those whose leadings have taken them out ahead of everyone else. How difficult and lonely it must be to carry the Light alone into the darkness. Were their feet guided inexorably on a path they didn't want to walk? How did they hang onto their leadings in the face of condemnation and persecution?

I don't think I could carry a load like that. I have enough trouble carrying my small burdens.

My recent experience has shown me areas where I need improvement. I have not been asked to do anything that I can't manage, but I've been shown the places where I am still weak and inexperienced. The Light has shone on my flaws and said, "You'd better work on this, Heather. You'll need to be able to handle twice the load on the road ahead."

Fair warning.

I meet each month with a group of women Friends in a prayer circle. I feel especially blessed to share this intimate time with some of the older women, Friends who have grown deep in compassion and wisdom. This last week, our theme was forgiveness and healing. As I sat in worship with these Friends, I thought about the horrible tragedies they have experienced in their lives. I marveled that they had come through those dark times in their lives and emerged with so much serenity.

I thought about my own small burdens. I thought about my recovery from my hip injury, and how I've had to work at increasing the weight in my exercises over time. Bearing a small load now enables me to bear a larger load later. Each time I up the weights in my exercises, I increase my capacity to carry weight.

Maybe our spiritual practice is like that, too. Each time we faithfully carry out a small leading, we are exercising our faculties to prepare ourselves for larger leadings. By conditioning our spiritual muscles, we increase our capacity to carry our spiritual loads.

A Friend once shared ministry that said that God could give any of us great gifts when we needed them. I've come to think that those great gifts will only be given to those who are prepared to receive them.

One of the early Quaker beliefs (heretical to other branches of Puritanism) was the perfectibility of human beings. Yes, we humans are weak vessels and prone to sin and fear. As we live in the Light, however, we have the capacity to learn and grow, to perfect ourselves, to more and more fully live our Christian witness.

I have been blessed to join a community where this kind of striving is commonplace, and where many Friends have much to show for their lifetimes of faithfulness. I am starting to see the sorts of challenges that have helped shape them into the weighty Friends they have become, and I am humbled. I cannot follow their path on my merits or through my efforts alone, but only by yielding to leadings I don't want, wouldn't choose, and have difficulty following.

I would appreciate your prayers, Friends, and news of your progress on this shared journey.

Responding to Comments

One of the things I miss about mailing lists (as opposed to blogs) is the ability to respond to a comment when the response is ripe. I'm going to try the experiment of responding to comments in blog posts instead of or in addition to responding to comments in situ.

In Listening in Tongues, I mentioned my ongoing struggle to balance my individual worship with my corporate role as Meeting closer. At the last Worship & Ministry meeting, I asked the committee members to share their thoughts on the role of the closer. We did a round of worship sharing on closing Meeting. One of the things that I cherish about this committee is the quality of depth and tenderness that Friends bring to our work together. In our sharing, we seemed to approach the truth of what we are called to do when we close Meeting.

One of the things that has stuck with me is that the closer is essentially clerking worship. We are not just there to discern when worship has ended, but also to tend it while it happens. We are also responsible for handling any emergencies that might arise (health emergencies, disruptive individuals, problems with the sound system for the hearing impaired). The closer is the designated driver, there to keep the Meeting safe in its journeys. The closer is in worship, too, but mindful of her responsibilities to the Meeting as a whole.

When I closed this last Sunday, we ended "late" again, but right on God's time by my spiritual watch.

In Children in Meeting, Honey asked how my boys did in worship and what they said afterwards.

Both boys did well in worship and seemed to enjoy it. They got restless a few times, but they seemed to sink into the peace and love in the room. My youngest told me that he liked worship, that it felt good. My 11-year-old didn't say much, but he's a deep thinker and will share his opinion in the fullness of time.

After Meeting, the clerk came over to my younger son and told him how nice it was to see him in worship. They talked about worship for a few minutes, with my son sharing his opinion of a few of the messages. I appreciated the clerk taking the time to welcome a child to worship and his willingness to talk with him so naturally about my son's worship experience.

A Crooked Trail

Recently, I've been finding my way along a narrow, crooked trail. I've found myself handling a very sticky, very confidential issue on behalf of the Meeting.

I haven't been able to share this issue with the Friends I usually rely on to help me find my way in the Meeting's work. I haven't been able to pass this off to the clerk or the appropriate committee. I have needed to work with a few Friends on this issue, but have had to hold much of the information about the situation in confidence.

This has not been easy for me. I'm very much an open process person. I believe that groups work better when everyone knows what's going on. In Meeting, I have come to rely on the wisdom of the community, the strength of seeking truth in Quaker process among Friends.

In this case, I have had to trust to my own wisdom and my own leading. The leading part hasn't been so hard. Each step of this path has been laid out clearly before my feet, with walls and cliffs on either side. Each step has been tricky to negotiate and emotionally difficult, challenging my compassion, my ability to stay centered, and my ability to avoid polarization. Along the way, I have often thought that this task ought to have been given to someone else, someone with better skills and more experience. Let this cup pass from my lips.

In the past few days, however, I have accepted that I might just be the best person for the job. There's a generational shift in the leadership of our Meeting, and many of the wise Friends who might be better suited for the job are no longer up to it. This situation was an opportunity for the new generation to develop some of the skills that will make us the wise and seasoned Friends for the next generation.

This task has given me renewed appreciation for the way Friends usually handle difficult situations. It's much easier to be part of a committee laboring over a difficult issue, where tasks can be shared with those best able to perform them. It's much easier to handle difficult situations when you can test your discernment by meeting with weighty Friends. It's much easier to move forward when you can feel the Meeting behind you.

In worship on Sunday, Friends talked about the support we get from God (or our inner guides or the Light) when we walk through the darkness. A Friend talked about Jesus' faith on the cross. Another Friend talked about the faith of the Jews in the concentration camps. Several Friends talked about how they had been lifted out of their own personal despair. Sitting in the Meeting, I felt my own heart lift. We might not always be able to share the details of our struggles, but we still support one another.

I think I often put too much faith in the power of words and forget the value of silence. Worship reminds me to go deeper, beyond the words and into the experience.