Enough With the Anti-Institutional Sloganeering: A Divergent Friend Speaks

February 6th, 2010

I’m increasingly troubled by the repetition of anti-institutional slogans in what is sometimes called “emergent” Quaker circles and conversations. Much of this, in my reading, consists of about one per cent of insight, that’s being puffed up like a bit of rubber into a big-looking balloon of empty hot air.

Some of this talk comes from younger Friends, who appear uneasy facing the seemingly endless array (or dead weight) of Quaker institutions. (”Institution” here refers to an organization which has existed for at least 40 years; it will often, but not always, have paid staff.)

Young adult Friends are entitled to feel nervous about all this alphabet soup, which constitutes perforce “The Quaker Establishment” (even if its gray-haired stewards still secretly think of ourselves as the radicals we thought we were forty-plus years ago). Such initial discomfort is part of growing up.
Quakers-A Great Institution

Further, among these younger Friends there may be (and if my prayers are answered there will be) some few who have the vision and gumption to push past us Geezers in Grey and turn their unease into something new and exciting, which can make its mark — and likely endure until its founders join our weathered ranks.

However, many of these complaints are distressingly vague and generalized, dissing “Quaker institutions” in general or as a body. And here is where I start to have trouble with them, for some specific reasons:

First, such generalized complaints are likely to be as false as they are true. That’s because actual “Quaker Institutions” in the real world are not all bad — and in any case they are unavoidable.

Consider: the fact that any of us today can be having this conversation is due in very large measure to Quaker institutions which have preserved and transmitted to us the basics of Quaker history and documents which are the basis for our arguments about them. Like it or lump it, there it is.

But I'm Not Ready?

A not-so humble example: John Woolman’s Journal is close to holy writ for many Friends, myself not least. But we are able to have a clear view of what Woolman wrote ONLY because of the dedicated labor of an institution called the Friends Historical Library, on the campus of Swarthmore College in PA, where the original hand-written copy thereof has been lovingly preserved.

(I have seen this Quaker Holy Grail on several occasions, even come close enough to make out the handwriting on the small, Ipod-size brown pages, hand-sewn with thick thread. I’ve never actually touched it, of course; but then, I am not worthy).

The late scholar Phillips Moulton, however, was worthy to touch this book, and he spent long labor at this library scraping away the editorial alterations, euphemizations, and general mucking up of the Journal by its presumably well-intentioned editors of days gone by. As a result, we now can read all of what Woolman really wrote. And argue about it.

The same goes for lots of other Quaker bodies. The mere fact that Quakerism has survived for 360 years, as small a group as we are, is the legacy of its institutions. This fact hardly exempts them from criticism (more on that presently), but it pokes a big needle into the balloon of generalized anti-institutional posturing.

Besides the Friends Historical Library, there are numerous other Quaker institutions that have done similar good or even great service.

And now I hear the splutters , “But, but, I wasn’t talking about those institutions. . . .”

Right. So, which ones WERE you talking about?

The question points up a twofold shortcoming of generalized anti-institutional sloganeering: on the one hand, it exhibits lazy, sloppy thinking, a readiness to repeat a meme rather than do some actual hard analysis and diagnosis.

That’s bad enough; the habit of sloppy thinking by Quakers about Quakerism is widely entrenched, but needs to be named and challenged.

And on the other hand, there’s an even more unhappy Quaker habit in evidence here: passive aggression masquerading as conflict avoidance.

Beat Up Your Honor Student

In the anti-institutional screeds I have read, where I know enough about the context to make an educated guess, I am morally certain that the writers were not really speaking ill of ALL Quaker institutions, but only some, a specific set with which they have issues or grievances. Yet they lack the wherewithal to name names, and take any resulting heat. So they hide behind the sweeping generalization.

That will not do, Friends. It is unworthy. Also unhelpful.

For such discussion to become serviceable, we need those involved to undertake some Quaker triage:

That is, to make up three lists of Quaker institutions

List A includes those we think are good, worth keeping and strengthening;

On List B go those bodies which are pernicious, outdated, useless, or otherwise need to be laid down; and:

List C will name those institutions which are a mixed bag: partly useful, partly not, but which could be reformed and made worth keeping.

Now, praise is cheap and popular, so populating List A should be relatively easy. The real labor here will come in connection with lists B and C: for them to be useful, and their authors responsible, they will be ready to explain WHY a particular institution needs to be laid down (List B), and not only why but HOW some other institution, currently in a mess, can be salvaged (List C).

(Meanwhile, the real innovators can skip all this and get busy creating their exciting new Quaker institutions. Yet if in the process they are to escape some of the errors of The Old Quaker Establishment, they will be well-advised to make a close study of how those fading groups on List B ended up there.)

The real innovators are usually few in number, though. So the triage process will be the more likely one for most of us. And it comes with hazards, which may be why many avoid it:

For one thing, it requires some actual knowledge to be able to say, credibly: “Organization X belongs on List B, bound for Quakerism’s trash heap.” And then, having said it, to brave the likely wrath of organization X’s defenders and beneficiaries. The former process involves work, serious study and analysis; the latter takes courage and perseverance. (Been there and done that, BTW.)

And List C is no easier. To tell Organization Y it is a mess, but if it repents and changes it ways it may yet be saved, not only can require fortitude. One runs the further risk that — OMG — the criticism might be accepted — and then you’ll be expected to pitch in and help bring about the needed reforms. WTF–more work!

It is easy to understand, in light of this, the temptation to simply float, and take refuge in vague potshots about those yukky “Quaker institutions,” or spiritual-sounding rants about how God wants us to step forward boldly into the future, yada yada.

There was a burger commercial of the last century that built a cult following (er, excuse me, “went viral”) around the slogan, “Where’s the beef?” shouted belligerently by an old lady

Doubtless today’s counterpart YouTube video would ask, “Where’s the tofu?”

Either way, I repeat the question to those complaining about “Quaker institutions”: You say you don’t like the ones we geezers are passing on?

Fine. Then do the homework, name names, take the heat, and either ditch the terminal ones, help fix the salvageable ones, or go out and start some better new ones.

My prayers go with you in all those options.

But spare me the blowing of balloons of vague unfocused complaining. That’s just playing; and I’ve got work to do.

Almost Touched Woolman's Journal

“When it comes to revolutionaries, only trust the sad ones. The enthusiastic ones are the oppressors of tomorrow – or else they are only kidding.”

– Peter Berger

Good Grief! Punk Rock Sez, YES to Troops-NO to Wars

February 1st, 2010

Okay, this is not on my usual beat, and has only a very indirect connection with Quakerism.

But here’s the deal: Because of my work at Quaker House, involving GI counseling and jousting with the Demon of War, I subscribe to Army Times, a weekly dealing with — well, you can guess.

And in the Feb 1 issue of Army Times, there’s a feature section called “Off Duty,” in which there’s an article about how punk rock is getting on the bandwagon we’re been pushing ever since I got here in 2002. Namely the one that says YES to the troops while standing fast with NO to the wars.

Now all this is big news to me, for a couple reasons, including 1) I could never understand the lyrics, if that’s the right word, of punk songs; and 2) I only listened to that stuff when my beloved son, now almost 30, seized control of my car’s CD/tape player, Back in His Day (not to be confused with that golden age, Back in THE Day).

But every little step helps, so if it’s good enough for Army Times and their readers, it okay by me.

And it’s worth quoting here, at some length. (You can’t really read it online unless you’re a subscriber.)

New generation of musicians shows support for military, but retains anti-war tradition
By Matt Schild

Punk rock used to be so nice, reli­able and predictable.

For decades, its almost religious suspicion of the military-industri­al complex was one of a handful of notions upon which its followers could agree.

Now, after 30 years ― the last nine with overseas military action ― the genre’s latest generation of movers and shakers are abandoning the traditional black-and-white opposition to all things military to fine-tune their criticism.

You’ll still be hard-pressed to find a gang of three-chord warriors who’ll be scheduling a tour stop at the Pentagon, but punk’s icy relationship with service members has thawed considerably in the past decade. Grizzled veterans such as Henry Rollins and The Vandals broke with expectations to perform in Iraq and Afghanistan for troops. Top-tier acts like Rancid, The Dropkick Murphys and Bouncing Souls have penned songs in tribute to today’s men and women at war. Even Rise Against, who caused a stir this fall after refusing to headline a show that would be played on a stage sponsored by Army re­cruiters, provided the USO with stacks of tickets to hand out to service members on its tour this summer.

After decades of confusing the two, punk is starting to grapple with the sub­tle distinction between opposing the war and opposing the veteran.

“With the old issues of punk rock, I’d like to believe that it was never about the soldiers; it was always about the gov­ernment,” explains Dropkick Murphys bagpiper Scruffy Wallace, who served with the infantry in the Canadian mili­tary. “That’s what the punk legends have always stood on, saying how much the government can [expletive] themselves.” That’s a sea change in punk bands’ position on military service. British acts with their roots in punk’s 1977 heyday, like The Clash, spared sol­diers little sympathy. Ameri­ca’s early adopters ― such as the Dead Kennedys ― echoed those sentiments. In fact, most mod­ern bands are just as belliger­ently pro-peace as their forefa­ thers. They’re just learning to distinguish policy from those whose job it is to carry out orders.

“I think it’s an important distinction to make,” Rise Against frontman Tim McIl­rath says, “because what it does is … em­power people to not be afraid to speak their mind about the war and what’s going on while still being able to support their brother or their sister or their mother or their father who is a proud member of the armed forces.” For many acts, they k now what it’s like to have a family that served. McIlrath’s father fought in Vietnam; his grandfather is also a vet. Rancid singer/guitarist Tim Armstrong’s brother retired from a career with the Army, and punk-folkie Tim Barry came from a line that included veterans of Vietnam, Korea and World War II.

“To betray the soldiers is betraying my family,” Barry says. “To not look at each person as an individual who made those decisions on their own or at the encour­agement of their community or as a re­sponse to something tragic that hap­pened, such as 9/11, would be to skew the reality of the situation.” Exposure to the troops eroded some of the antipathy toward the military for New Jersey’s Bouncing Souls. A Euro­pean tour brought the act to Schwein­furt, Germany, where the band played to soldiers on the verge of ship­ping to Iraq in the early stages of the war.

“I just couldn’t wrap my head around why anyone would do it or want to go there,” singer Greg Attonito says is reflection. “Then I met those guys and I could understand.” The Dropkick Murphys took a similar angle on “Last Letter Home,” a tune in­spired by fan Marine Sgt. Andrew Farrar and his final communication with his family, sent a couple weeks before he was scheduled to return to the States.

The song was especially poignant for Wallace, a combat veteran himself.

Military Families Say - Bring Them Home Now

“I know how hard it is coming back from combat, just trying to adapt to being in civilian life again,” he says.

Even the new breed of troop-friendly punk still rages at the machines that send men and women into war.

“Activists and punk rockers haven’t changed their tactics since Vietnam,” Barry says. “Let’s be realistic about this: There’s very little validity in walking around with a sign on a stick with a peace symbol. Everybody has to accli­mate and adjust to new situations.” “It is ridiculous to have someone say, ‘I don’t agree with this war. I think we should pull out.’ And then be, like, ‘So, what you’re saying is that you hate my brother in the Army?’ ” McIlrath says.

“It’s this kind of rhetoric that is designed to silence people, which is very un­American in itself.” □

Why I Wake Up Screaming on Jan. 27 –
My Recurring Quaker Nightmare

January 28th, 2010

It happens every year

In the dream, it’s 1777, and a Quaker minister named Scatterwell gets a concern to visit the decadent city of Vienna, to preach the gospel of love of God and neighbor. He’s particularly moved by reports of the tens of thousands of poor Austrians and others huddling there in the shadow of the opulent indifference of the imperial court.
Look Out, Vienna, Here Comes Scatterwell . . .

When Scatterwell arrives in the bustling capital, he heads straight for the nearest low-life tavern, figuring to plunge into the depths and confront the Devil’s work head on.

Old Vienna . . .

In the crowded, dark tavern, he spies a young man leaning dejectedly over a big mug of ale, a crumpled sheaf of papers at his elbow. The youth is clearly trying to get drunk. His clothes are out of place in the tavern — they are of a finer cut, though ragged and soiled.

Scatterwell sits at the same table, and tries out his Deutsch. “My friend,” he says gently, whatever has brought thee to this dreadful place?”

The lad looks up at him. “Ach,” he says. “I’m lucky to be here, rather than in the ditch outside. I’m all alone. My mother just died, I’ve no work, and I’m down to my last few coins. I don’t know what I will do, so I thought I’d just drink and forget my problems.” He took a big swig, and wiped his mouth. “It works. For awhile.”

Drinking to forget

“Oh, Friend,” Scatterwell declared, “thee doesn’t have to end it here, or in the mud outside. God has a wonderful plan for your life, and for the many other unfortunates that you can help”

And then, summoning all his earnest eloquence, Scatterwell preaches to the youth of the Universal Saving Light, of Christ’s gracious example and sacrificial life, and how His grace can be spread today as it was in the early church, for this is the day of Primitive Christianity Revived!

And as the young man listens, his eyes begin to shine, and Scatterwell knows his heart is being reached, his mind convinced. At length, he nods, and says, “Oh yes, my new Friend, your English accent is strange, but your words ring true. Show me how to join in this wonderful new life.”

And then Scatterwell shares the burden that he has carried all this way, of concrete help for the many desperate poor of Vienna, through the founding of eine kuchenzuppe, which is the closest he can come to “Soup Kitchen.” His monthly meeting will help them get stared, he says, and they will find other supporters as they work. Scatterwell emphasizes that just a small share of the value of courtiers’ costly but useless baubles could underwrite their new work, and feed many thousands more.

“Yes,” says the young man, pushing the mug of ale away. “That is so true! Let’s get started right now.”

They both rise, and start to head for the door. But then the lad spies the forgotten sheaf of papers on the table, and grabs them up, to toss into the fireplace as they pass.

Music, a useless worldly frippery

Scatterwell sees musical notes on them as the flames light up and then consume the sheets. “So much for worldly vanity,” he says with grim satisfaction. “Your new life will be much more fruitful — er, what did thee say thy name was, Friend?”

The lad replies, “It’s –

And that’s when I wake up screaming.

Because the youth’s name is Wolfgang. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

Mozart

Yes, January 27 is Mozart’s birthday. He would have been (and IS, in a real way) 254 years old today, give or take.

And the nightmare scenario just recounted haunts me because it brings home how drastically poorer my own life would be, had the musician by some miscarriage made the kind of conversion it imagines.

How much difference has it made? There was an underground comic strip back in the Sixties about several disreputable characters called the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers. These fellows had a saying, that “Dope will get you through times of no money better than money will get you through times of no dope.”

For me, tho I enjoyed the Brothers in their time, a truer motto would be, MOZART will get you through times of no money better than MONEY will get you through times of no Mozart!”

And let the church say, “AMEN!”

So while I am also dedicated to Quakerism, seek to achieve our vaunted “Simplicity,” and admire such missions as that of Friend Scatterwell, I’m sure grateful that neither he, nor any of the Catholic ascetic groups Mozart was more likely to have run into, found and deterred him from his musical course. It’s also a great relief that Quakerism has finally outgrown (to a large extent), our opposition to such art. (To get a sense of this evolution, see this excellent compilation, “Beyond Uneasy Tolerance,” compiled by Friend Esther Greenleaf Murer.

angelic theologians & music critics

Not that fulfilling what seems to have been his destiny turned out much better. His music never brought him much worldly success, and he was carried off before the age of forty, buried in a common grave in Vienna.

Ah well, his genius was what was as close to immortality as things human can get. If you’re also a Mozart fan, or just curious, have a listen to this short piece, the Credo from his “Great” mass , K. 427. This is the kind of “creed” even a liberal Quaker can get behind.


Doing What I Get Paid To Do

January 16th, 2010

Friends–

Just wanted to note here that on Saturday Jan. 16 2010 I went to the brig at Camp Lejeune NC, where we picked up Cliff Cornell, a GI resister who had served eight months there. The full blog post, with lots of pictures, is here.

There are also a couple of YouTube links to related videos.
Cliff went to Canada in 2004 as a refusal to fight an unjust war in Iraq. We have visited him and encouraged letters and other support during his jail time nearby. We wish him well as he moves on with his life. And we hope to be ready when the next GI resister comes along.
Camp Lejeune Sign at the Main Gate

The Committee On New Quaker Cliches

January 13th, 2010

Re-posted January 13, 2010

Friends, permit me to announce formation of a new project for our Religious Society, namely The Committee for New Quaker Cliches, or CNQC.
The need for this body hit me like a thunderbolt while attending a large yearly meeting awhile back.
There I was, sitting and trying to pay attention, but feeling ever more uneasy, and not sure why.
Then finally, when all my hopes in all men were gone, and I did not know where to turn
— Lo there was as a voice calling to me and it said: “Yea, there is one thing that could speak to thy condition, and it is: not to hear the word ‘nurturing’ again, even once, for at least ten years.”
Yea, I heard the voice, and as it echoed my heart did LEAP for joy.
And when it came back to earth, I knew it was time to create the CNQC.
It isn’t that I’ve turned against “nurturing,” or what the term is supposed to evoke. It’s rather that the word has become like the tires on my car: they’ve gone round and round so many thousands of times the tread is worn off and they won’t hold to the road anymore.
What might replace it? Well that, of course, will be the subject of many extended committee sessions, plus megabytes of email traffic. But for starters, there would seem to be numerous candidates: how about “development”; or “maturation”; even “growth.”
(Hmmmm; I’m not so sure about that last one. “Growth” itself is a candidate for CNQC review. That’s not only from obvious overuse, but also because our attachment to it tends to overlook its inherent ambiguities . . . .
Such as when the doctor frowns over the chest x-ray and says gravely, “Err, I’m afraid we’ve found a GROWTH here.” Yes, it’s definitely on the CNQC agenda.)
The next cliche on my initial list is “spiritual journey.” Here again, the underlying thought is reasonably sound, yet every time I hear it nowadays my mind goes off in impertinent directions:
A journey, eh? Hmm, Friend, did thee have to go through security metal detectors to begin it? Did they make thee take off thy shoes (drop your pants?), give fingerprints, and show several forms of identification? And how many times have they lost thy luggage?
For my part, when such reactions come unbidden but irresistible, it’s time to hear the phenomenon described in a different way.
Why not try “pilgrimage”? Or even “quest”? The late Friend Jim Corbett, one of the Quaker giants of the late millennium, preferred “errantry,” with a nod to Don Quixote; I think it has a ring to it.
There are many more words and phrases for CNQC to grapple with, and reader suggestions are encouraged, but two will suffice here. First is, “Hold me in the Light.”
This chestnut lands on the CNQC list not only due to over-familiarity, but also because I’ve never read or heard an explanation of what, if anything, it actually means.
(I realize that this very vagueness is a key part of its appeal; but even so.) My recommendation, at least for my own plight, would be to substitute the hopelessly old-fashioned, “Pray for me.”
Yes, I know, “prayer” is problematical for some; in which case, “Pass on your best wishes,” or “Think good thoughts” would suffice. (Plus there’s the ever-popular, “Just send money.”)
This last points to still another option: “Beam me some good vibrations.” I’m aware that this was one of the prime banalities of the Sixties and Seventies; but it’s been locked down in the linguistic equivalent of Gitmo for a couple of decades now, so it may be due for rehabilitation, or at least a stint on work-release.
There are many other Quaker cliches that need to be on the CNQC review list, and again Friends are invited to make their own nominations.
In the meantime, rest assured that the committee will not try to rid us of these words and phrases forever; we too are opposed to capital punishment.
No, CNQC will simply send them on a spiritual journey, where they will be nurtured and held in the light, until they, or we, are ready to rediscover them as an aid to our growth.
Or like my tires, til they return from the retread shop, good as new, almost.

Submitted,

C. Fager,
Assistant Clerk
This Message Approved By The Committee of Cutest Calicoes.

null

A Comment from Chel:

I am waiting with your message to discern whether I am led to serve on your committee. If way opens for me to reach clearness on this matter, I will take it under advisement, should it speak to my condition.

Chel

A comment from Mitch Gould:

I guess I have greatly enjoyed my years as the John McEnroe of Quakerism, but really, the one thing I learned is that no matter what I say or do, Friends will just grin and go right on along in the eternal groove. Didn’t you ever hear the phrase, “Like water off a Quack’s back?”

Comment by Martin Kelley:
The vagueness of it all seems usually to be the point. We want to sound deep and spiritual without really laying out what we believe or what spirit we’re actually talking about (I was a bit more rantery about the subject when I wrote that about Sodium Free Friends and followed up that we need a rel="nofollow">testimony against community). I saw with some amusement when my former employer spent thousands of people hours to craft the most banal “nurture”-filled mission statement possible–there was a good use of time and funds. It’s not limited to Friends of course. My wife is fighting the good fight against banality in the Catholic Church, where “vibrant” has become the leading cliche among the bureaucrats. The rising tide of mediocrity is everywhere it seems.

And Brent Bill chimes in:
Ah, Friend Fager speaks my mind. Wait… that sounds like another Quaker
cliche’. Ooops

An initial response from Chuck: Thanks for the timely, well-seasoned responses, Friends. Keep them coming!

September 3, 1998 Harmon Case Update:More Charges to Come, Prosecutors Say.

January 13th, 2010


On September 3, Terrill D. “Terry” Beebe, signed a plea agreement in a Seattle Federal Court, admitting to “Conspiracy to Commit Mail Fraud, Wire Fraud and Embezzlement from a Health Care Benefit Program, in violation of Title 18, U Code, Section 371,” according to the prosecutor’s information filed with the case. The charges were part of the ongoing investigation of the Philip Harmon-National Friends Insurance Trust Case, code-named “Operation Island Scam.”

Beebe, 41, is Harmon’s son-in-law. He was ordered to pay $7,111.699.92 in restitution, and will be sentenced later to a prison term which could be up to five years, plus a fine of up to $250,000. Formal sentencing is expected in November.

Beebe admitted to sending letters to state insurance authorities in Kansas and Iowa which falsely described the trust as a legitimate insurance plan, which it was not. Instead, Harmon, Beebe and others operated the Trust, in the prosecutor’s words, as an “outlaw insurance company,” stealing the premiums and avoiding payment of many claims.

Beebe also admitting sending similarly false information to the administrator of the North Carolina Yearly Meeting of Friends, many of whose staff were at one time covered by the phony plan. They, along with several hundred others, were left without insurance when the Trust collapsed in early 1997.

In addition, Beebe admitted to diverting numerous checks from the insurance trust accounts to his own personal benefit.

Besides these items, however, Beebe played a much larger role in the entire Harmon family criminal enterprise. For instance, he helped bring investors into the Harmon retirement plans. The most prominent among his “clients” was his mother, Norma Beebe, who, at his urging, invested $115,000, which was almost all of her inheritance from her late husband Richard, with Harmon’s companies.

Richard Beebe was a very prominent member o the northwest evangelical Quaker community: he served as presiding Clerk for Northwest Yearly Meeting for many years, and after his death a building was named in his honor at George Fox University.

His widow’s $115,00 was lost, as was an estimated $16 million in other retirees’ nest eggs. Losses in the health insurance plan fraud are now estimated at over $7,000,000.

Phil Harmon and his associates used the stolen funds to support a lavish lifestyle of houses, beachfront condos, a large yacht, numerous antique cars and other luxuries. However, when authorities seized these properties, virtually all of them were found to be mortgaged, often for more than their actual value. In July , Phil Harmon began serving an eight-year sentence at a federal prison in Oregon.

Beyond the minimal specifics of the indictment, Beebe’s services for Harmon extended to fielding complaints from worried insurance plan subscribers, whose medical bills were being paid increasingly late or not at all, reassuring them — falsely — that the plan was sound and that all their claims would be paid.

The federal prosecutor who brought the complaint, Jeff Coopersmith, told local reporters that there were nine more persons who are the objects of the ongoing investigation. Names of the other targets were not released, but speculation centers on two persons in particular: Steve Harmon, Phil Harmon’s son, who also was heavily involved in the Harmon enterprises; and Maurice Roberts, formerly the Superintendent of Mid-America Yearly Meeting. Roberts was a key Harmon employee in the company’s final years.

Federal authorities in Seattle say they hope to recover some of the insurance plan’s losses through negligence suits against third-party companies the Harmons did business with. Any such recoveries will likely be a long time coming.

Does Quakerism Have Any Value In The World?

December 22nd, 2009

I’m writing this post as a form of procrastination.

What’s being put off here is resuming the labor of writing down an explanation of Quakerism for a teenaged Quaker – let’s call her Lucretia. She feels strongly identified with the liberal wing of the Religious Society of Friends (RSOF), but has been having trouble answering questions about it from her peers.

Like many teens who live “in the world” rather than behind the hedges of a secluded liberal ghetto, she has buddies who want her to visit their fundamentalist megachurch, where they hope (tho they have not yet admitted this) to get her “saved” and signed up with their flock.

They’ve also been asking questions, along these lines:

“What do Quakers believe?” “Do they believe Jesus is the Son of God, who died for your sins?”

Red Barn-Christ Coming Soon

“Aren’t you afraid of burning in hell forever?” “But don’t you know the Bible says . . . (fill in the blank)??”

Anyone Else Died?

And the like. These may be pesky, but they’re legitimate inquiries.

Further, Lucretia has discovered that she has not a clue how to answer them.

Why not? Well, the biggest reason is that she’s never been taught anything that could serve as answers.

Which is too bad. And this despite six or seven summers at Quaker camp, plus a dozen sojourns at her Yearly Meeting, FGC Gatherings, and the like.

These experiences have influenced her greatly. But they have not left her equipped to articulate and explain why they are the way they are. Now, time’s up for this indirect, inarticulate approach.

So a week or so ago, I set out to try to fill this gap, at least somewhat, by explaining as much of the basics of such Christian orthodoxy as I could, and setting forth a concise version of alternative Quaker views.

Gospel Gas Station

Yes, yes – I know we don’t have a creed, and that’s how I like it. But deep in the mist, there has been some serious Quaker thinking about all these matters, which can be drawn upon and summarized.

Of course, Lucretia will in due time draw her own conclusions, find her own responses to “What canst Thou Say?” In the meantime, she needs guidance.

I’m under the weight of this project because of one more query, and my response. The query:

Does Quakerism – as a concrete religious group with a 360 year history – have any value in the world?

My answer: Yes.

This one question is my focus here.

It’s not easy to explain why I believe Quakerism has value in the world, or to define just what that value is; but I believe it’s there.

The most satisfying stab at an explanation is a religious one, as follows:

For some unfathomable reason, God decided there was a place for the RSOF in the divine plans for planet earth, and the USA. (I also have a non-theist version of this formulation; but that’s for another post.)

I figure the RSOF is probably item # 752,483 on the Divine’s Top One Million Priorities List, give or take a few digits; but it’s on the list just the same. And like any link in a long chain, we have our place and function.

In which case, it’s important for Quakers to be about our and God’s business, even amid our incomplete understanding thereof. Part of that business is to prepare our children – such as Lucretia – and newcomers to continue it after the generation now walking around (i.e., thee & me) are gone. That’s because we’re not finished, nor is God finished with us.

The above three paragraphs are the basic premise of much I do and think and write about Quakes in the US. Starting from that, here’s one of its major implications:

No one else is going to prepare young Quakes and newcomers to be active and competent Friends, except us. The Catholics, the Jews, the Muslims, the pagans – they are busy doing their work, and raising up new Catholics and Jews and etc.

It’s good to learn from and collaborate with them. But our own work is our own to do, and so is the responsibility to pass it on to the next generation of Friends. Growing and shaping Quakers, with divine assistance, is up to us.

New Life Auto Sales

Now here’s the rub: because we’re a very small band, the preparation of young and new Quakers doesn’t bring many economies of scale. So the per capita cost thereof will likely be higher than for denominations with millions of folks to work with. It’s a BIG deal for Quakers.

In my time, a number of things have seemed important for this “religious formation.” Among them: yearly meeting sessions; FGC Gatherings; Young Friends gatherings; Quaker camps; participatory Quaker service projects (though in my time there have been far too few of these); RE programs, including publications; and, tagging along at the end, Quaker schools. Others might add more items.

In the budgets of Quaker organizations (Meetings etc), these items add up to a big chunk. And as potential recipients for individual Friends’ free-will giving, they can soak up a lot of money from all of us, affluent and non-. Same goes for the free-will donations of the asset that’s increasingly scarce for all, our time.

Viewed from the world’s perspective, many of these activities can seem less than compelling compared to a torture program here, a famine there, the continual crises in Washington, wars and warming all over the place.

Indeed, I have often heard these efforts described by some Friends as essentially wasteful luxuries: there we go, we (mostly) middle and upper middle class (and overwhelmingly white) Quakes, indulgently cosseting our own, while the world goes to hell in a handbasket. (“You mean you’re going to talk to them about ’sense of the meeting’ when there’s a war on??!!” And so forth.)

While not endorsing all the inside Quaker projects that come down the pike, I still feel that much of this criticism is misplaced. It depend on an unspoken assumption that seems to me not only mistaken but dangerously corrosive.

The assumption is that Quakers and the RSOF don’t matter. That our overwhelmingly white middle-classness and all its cultural stuff is all there is to us, and our faith community. Or all that’s important.

Surely we are class and color-bound to a great extent, such that among us one can often feel trapped in an endless public radio marathon being held inside a combination health food store and recycling center with no exits.

But, one keeps reminding oneself, that’s not all there is to it.

The RSOF does matter. We’ve still, with our baggage & warts, been assigned to fill slot # 752,483. And that’s not a generic slot. It’s like being a 17/32 double box ratcheting wrench: maybe not most glamorous tool in the box, but there are times when nothing else will fit.

So here I sit, resolved, once I stop putting it off, to get back to the work of trying to explain what, for example, “the perfect sacrifice for our sins” means to someone almost totally innocent of every syllable and nuance of that phrase, and what a liberal Quaker can say in response to insistent assertions about it.

It’s not easy, not for me anyway. It will take much time away from labor to end the wars, stop warming, smash racism, classism, homophobia, etc. But it can be done.

And it’s worth doing.

Because Quakerism, and rising Quakers, have value in and for the world.

I really do believe that.

http://afriendlyletter.com/27-Fearful-Thing.jpg

Dreams of Spring

December 17th, 2009

I like to take pictures of wildflowers when I travel, along roadsides. Here are a few, taken in spring, to help us get through the months of cold.

Redbud

Redbud, my favorite. These were along Interstate 81, in southern Virginia.

A Field of tiny blossoms

I’m not sure what plant this was, but the tiny, faintly lavender blossoms covered several fields, in eastern North Carolina.

And last but not least . . . .

white flowers

These white flowers covered a corner by the overpass a few blocks from our house. Almost made the area appealing; but then they were gone.

Wait Til Next Month!

December 16th, 2009

Thanks for the positive feedback on the Quaker Christmas story, “Candles In The Window.”.

There’s more to come. Next month, we’ll have another story, one that’s semi-autobiographical. Watch for it after the New Year holiday . . . .

(If you missed it, the story starts here.)

Canadian wildflowers

Canadian wildflowers

A Quaker Christmas Story (Conclusion)

December 15th, 2009

Candles in the Window – A Quaker Christmas Story – Part V

Copyright (c) by Chuck Fager

At the rush of light and sound, Abram stumbled backward, and tripped again over the milk pail, which had rolled up behind him. Losing his balance, he flailed his arms out to keep from falling, flinging away his heavy parcel. The figure in the doorway, equally startled, reflexively dropped the club and caught the package one-handed.

Thoroughly rattled now, Abram rolled to his feet and darted to the gate. There he glanced back toward the cottage, then started to run again–right into Gran’s muffled form.

She caught hold of him and held him a moment, until he got over his panic. As he clung to her he suddenly realized she was stifling giggles.

“My heavens, lad,” she said, “don’t thee remember what the Saviour said? `When thou givest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand is doing.’ I’m afraid thee needs some practice in that, Abram. Come along now.”

Back out of the alley, Gran turned away from the village, up the steep street again, then plunged suddenly through a low gate onto what Abram knew was the path up the side of Castleberg. “Is there someone up here too?” he whispered, but she shook her head and kept climbing. She knew this path as well as the rest of the town, even in the dark, and kept ahead of him despite her age.

At the crest of the hill she stepped to the ledge where the village lay visible below. The predawn air was clear now. Settle’s few remaining lights blinked up at them, and a glimmer wavered on the slow current of the Ribble.

The night sky was a much more impressive display, moonless and glittering with stars from horizon to horizon. The slope of Pen y Ghent was a distant silhouette. Behind him Abram heard the faint baaing of sheep, somewhere on the dales. It was cold up here, but beautiful. He realized that he had hardly felt the cold til now.

Pen y Ghent in the mist
Pen y Ghent, in the morning mist

Gran broke into his thoughts. “Did thee recognize anyone at the cottage, Abram?” she asked.

He thought back. It all happened so fast. But wait–in the lamplight, just for a split-second, he thought he had seen a face–he drew in his breath sharply. “Gran!” he exclaimed. “It was the boy who kicked me. His hair, his tooth–they were the same.”

He felt rather than saw her nod. “Aye,” she said, “and he recognized thee, too. But what about the cottage, now? Did thee notice anything about it, lad?”

He thought back again. There hadn’t been much light until the door opened, just a glow from–from what?

Then he knew: “Candles,” he said. “In the window.”

“Aye,” she said again. “And did thee see what was on the candlestick?”

He frowned in thought, then shook his head.

“A black ribbon,” she said quietly. “It’s his father. Killed in Flanders two months ago.”

He considered this in silence, watching his breath turn into mist and starting to shiver, until Gran said, “We’d best get back. There’s still a dozen more stops to make yet. The war has been long, lad, and in the world’s eyes Christmas is short. Though I think thee knows better.”

He followed her quietly down the path, through the empty streets and across the square, toward the shuttered shop. The candles will be burning again tonight, Abram thought, and the redheaded lad might be out too, looking to throw his rocks.

But perhaps not. Abram realized that his anger at the boy was gone. If he met him again, he wouldn’t feel a need to fight. And he could hope that, if the lad had recognized him at the cottage, maybe some of his anger would begin to cool, too. Maybe they could have peace on earth, at least between the two of them, here in Settle, at least for now.

The elders of Settle Meeting wouldn’t let him put a candle in the window even for that small victory, he thought. But when the tapers were lit at home for dinner, he would remember. That would be his Quaker illumination for this Christmas.

It might not be much as the world measured such things. But it would do.

Sunrise