Having put on my Sunday best (clean jeans and a button-down chambray shirt), I head off to Quaker meeting, looking forward to seeing Friendly faces and absorbing an hour of spiritually nurturing worship. At the meetinghouse, the greeter welcomes me by name with a handshake. I find my name tag, put it on, and enter the central worship space. I do not have a set place to be, but allow my feet to find the place where I’ll sit among the other worshipers this morning. I quietly place my shoulder bag under the bench, feet on floor, hands on lap, and center down with eyes closed.
Often it takes time to settle. Other times I drop right in. Sometimes worship is silent for the hour. Sometimes there is more vocal ministry, perhaps even a song. Sometimes the ministry doesn’t speak to me, and sometimes it is deeply nourishing. Once in a long while something may rise in me during worship, which I then test: Is it a message for me? A message for a particular Friend to be shared at another time? Is it a message for the body? Should this message be given as a prayer?
Usually, in Quaker meeting, time stops moving in a linear way for me. Meeting for worship then seems to pass in moments. It may take some time for me to rise from a centered depth, and notice that the Friend next to me is offering a hand in greeting. A wonderful, gathered sense of gratitude fills me, but is accompanied by tensing and a small anxiousness.
The faith part of my morning is drawing to a close. The practice part options will now be presented in announcements.
Quakerism has always been an activist religion. Quakers used plain speech. They practiced something like social equality, stretching past divisions of class, gender, race, nationality, sexual orientation, etc. Quakers have been vocal pacifists. Our faith informs our practice, and our practice infuses our faith.
In many different Eastern meditations I have participated in, the metaphor is used of an individual collecting water, nectar, light, life, or peace in a bowl, perhaps symbolized by joined palms. The practitioner is encouraged to try to retain the gathered spiritual juice and carry it forward as long as one can.
Admittedly, one could leave such a meditation, then feel their phone buzz, and read the incoming message from their boss—“Sorry to bug you during time off, but your proposal made it to the final committee, and they want to see a few revisions by 10 a.m. tomorrow. I’ll email you their comments and requests so you can get it in good shape in time.” Little porcelain bowl of gathered joy juice goes flying in the air, and the bowl itself, though not shattered, rolls under the furniture. Sploosh. It happens.
However, at every Quaker meeting I’ve been to, a more intentional approach is used for emptying the tranquility tray, the bliss bowl, the harmony holder. A time of announcements is announced, and there are a series of energetic runs around the room, flipping each bowl, all the accumulated peace toward the ceiling.
“Please sign my petition against . . .”
“There is a rally this Friday in protest of . . .”
“I am doing a walkathon to end . . .”
“Please write to your state senator, as they will be considering . . .”
My peace and tranquility bowl runneth . . . empty. Quakers have always been passionate (“concerned”) about making the world a better place, but of necessity, this requires us to consider all the ways that it isn’t: racism, sexism, nationalism, militarism, ableism, homophobia, transphobia, ecological devastation, poverty, etc., etc., etc.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m passionate about these concerns too. I’ve donated to various causes. I’ve written lots of letters. I make lifestyle choices and go on marches, and pray for change. The world is on the cusp of an evolutionary leap toward peace, justice, and sustainability, but like the time before such evolution often is, things are turbulent. They are likely to get worse before they get better.
How do we share the news of what is going on, opportunities for Friends to be part of the work of building a better world, etc., without ending our time of deep worship with urgent reminders of the critical state of our world? Could I leave Friends worship with my bowl full?
Perhaps announcements should be reserved for meetings of business, not worship?
Perhaps instead of reacting to seemingly urgent issues in the media, we should focus on our long-term priorities?
For example, since tax policy will be the main focus of Congress for the next two years, why not emphasize rewarding good things like generosity to charity, particularly by lowering taxes on donors who do not want to support immoral government killing or violence.
To balance tax cuts for generosity, could we raise taxes on bad or harmful things, particularly greed and excess?