Led by the God of Our Experience

Thoughts from a Quaker Solitary

I first came to Quakerism after experiencing what I’ve heard referred to as a “conversion experience,” a moment of personal spiritual clarity that radically changed the direction of my spiritual journey.

I had been raised in a post-Vatican II liberal Catholic family. I went to parochial school, received the sacraments, and dutifully went to catechism class. One evening in the “teens” group, I asked a visiting bishop about the church’s position on the Vietnam War. I don’t remember much about the exchange, but the question was not well-received, and an argument ensued. The bishop told me that I could be excommunicated because of something I had said. The threat really didn’t bother me, and I told him to go ahead!

I saw too many contradictions within my church of origin that I was unable to reconcile, especially the church’s claim of exclusivity: it being the “One True Apostolic Church.” How could any institution claim ownership of God or Christ? That’s when I first began my search of the spiritual landscape for a faith or practice that was less authoritarian and dogmatic. I was only 17 then, and my concerns were primarily about life on this side of the cosmic curtain. The afterlife could wait!

During my early 20s, I took a job in a furniture factory, and while there, I had the good fortune of meeting and befriending a man who would become my spiritual mentor, who helped me discover and navigate my way through my early spiritual seekings. I began to read theologians such as Thomas Merton and other contemplatives. Some were monks; some were hermits; all were what you might call mystics within the Christ tradition. Through the writings and lives of these contemplatives, I was eventually led to the writings of George Fox.

After nine months of reading, it was time for me to move on to the next part of what I began to call my “pilgrimage.” Around this time I came across a record review of an album by the F&W String Band, a New England contra dance band made up of staff and campers from the Farm and Wilderness Camps in Vermont. Being recently unemployed and a five-string banjo player, I decided to get myself hired!

As the camp had been founded on Quaker principles, I figured I should acquaint myself with what the Friends were all about so I began reading. During this time of preparation, I came upon this statement by Fox in his Journal:

And when all my hopes in them [priests] and in all men were gone, so that I had nothing outwardly to help me, nor could tell what to do, then, oh then, I heard a voice which said, “There is one, even Christ Jesus, that can speak to thy condition,” and when I heard it, my heart did leap for joy.

His proclamation resonated with me and my own moment of clarity. It was Fox’s belief that by waiting in prayerful silence, it was possible for every individual to directly encounter the Light of God in Christ. This was what I had been looking for. During this period of my life, I began seriously considering entering a monastic order. The desire was very strong, but as I continued to read, it became clear that Quakerism was, at its foundation, a contemplative practice that could be practiced outside the walls of the monastery and without a monk’s robe or formal vows.

My summer at Farm and Wilderness had a profound impact on me, and after returning home to New Jersey, I immediately found a nearby meeting and began attending meeting for worship regularly, eventually becoming a member. As the years passed, however, I began to become uncomfortable with the overly political nature of the “messages”: the righteousness of these messages bothered me. My reasons for becoming a member were spiritual not political: I was seeking a refuge where I could be with others in communal worship and temporarily leave behind the chaos of the world. But after a while, the chaos had found its way into the meetinghouse. Meeting for worship had become a place for soapboxing about the urgency and centrality of a particular cause.

I understood the reality of these heartfelt concerns, but I began to wonder: when do we take time to lay down these burdens and simply rest in the Light? As a Christ-centered Friend seeking at least one weekly hour of refuge, I found myself getting frustrated, often angry, and longing more and more for peace. After visiting other meetings, requesting a clearness committee, and getting no response, I eventually decided to stop attending meeting. I felt heartbroken, and, again, I found myself wandering the spiritual desert, this time questioning if I was still a Friend.

I still believed in Quakerism’s spiritual foundation, it’s unique centering practice, so, in the manner of Friends, I sought clarity by waiting in the Light and asked: Is it appropriate to call myself a Quaker even if I practice my faith outside the walls of a meetinghouse?

Eventually clarity came when I remembered the tradition of the “solitary practitioner”—monks, hermits, and pilgrims—that had always been a part of the Christ tradition dating back to the earliest days of the church, so why not carry on that tradition and practice my Quaker faith as a solitary?

It’s the framework of Quakerism as a spiritual practice that I’ve chosen to call my spiritual home. Lately, I’ve been led to find spiritual refuge in the perfection of Creation: within the wild places where God’s love and beauty is ever present. As Christ says in the Gospel of Thomas, “Split a piece of wood; I am there. Lift up the stone, and you will find me there.” It is here that I’ve chosen to be present with the Christ that dwells in all things!

Through my Quaker practice, I have come to understand what Christ said in Matthew 7:3–5, that we should remove the log from our own eye before we point out the speck in another’s eye. That is to say, heal yourself first before taking on the wound of the world. I believe we have two primary obligations in this life. The first is to self-actualize by working to become the person we were born to be, and as a result of this “becoming,” we are asked to share that experience in service to others, including all of Creation.

Christ said, “In my Father’s house, there are many mansions” (John 14:2, KJV), and I believe that to be true. Truth and wisdom is not limited to any one Scripture or revelation; no religious institution or individual can claim ownership of God. I believe that we are all led by the God of our experience, and if we consciously center ourselves, wait in the Light, and then take the time to discern what has been revealed, we will find our path, which might, perhaps, lead us away from the “meetinghouse” for a time. Christ-centered Quakerism is the path I’ve been led to follow, and I will stay true to this leading as best I can by waiting in the silence and listening for Christ’s good counsel.