We are all aging, inexorably, at the same rate: one day at a time. The experience will be different for each of us, although the ultimate end will be the same.

Aging can be a wonderful adventure; we can experience it with enthusiasm, joy and curiosity. Aging can also be burdened with dread and denial. Anticipating our needs means that we, our loved ones and our communities will face fewer crucial decisions in stressful emergency situations. Planning ahead can minimize family disruptions, bring comfort and security, and enhance our freedom to enjoy all that our lives still have to offer.

When I decided to fulfill a dream of returning to school to study Judaism, part of my seminary training included work as a chaplain. That in turn nurtured my already deep interest in aging issues. Now, thanks to a grant from Friends Foundation for the Aging, I am doing “outreach” on behalf of Friends House retirement community in Santa Rosa, California, offering workshops on “Aging as an Adventure” to Meetings throughout Pacific Yearly Meeting. In these workshops we explore many of the issues outlined below. My goal is for us all to see the aging process as a positive experience so we will be better able to cope with the inevitable difficulties that must arise.

Recently I gave a ride to a friend who lives in a nondescript “senior residence” apartment building, and as I waited for him in the noisy, dingy lobby I noticed the sign over the receptionist’s desk that said, “Be nice to your children; they’re going to choose your nursing home.”

Most of us would prefer to choose our own accommodations rather than having someone else making decisions for us, especially in the midst of a crisis. The problem with aging – with life – is that uncertainty makes advance planning difficult. But not planning will make it even more difficult! Some of the happiest people I know moved, while they were still “young,” into Continuing Care retirement communities, which provide the full spectrum of independent living, assisted living and nursing care. They had both physical and mental energy to make new friends, join service organizations and faith communities, take advantage of educational and cultural opportunities, travel and spend time with far-flung friends and relations. Most importantly, they had the peace of mind that comes from knowing that they would be cared for in place if and when an emergency arose. This was also an immense relief for their children. Other people are creatively banding together in “Villages” or in co-housing arrangements; some have adapted their homes to enable family members or caregivers to live with them as needed.

In my workshops, I have enjoyed asking older Friends: “What is the greatest thing about being the age you are now?” One woman in her late 70’s discovered bicycling! She now goes on tours of more than forty miles per day. She loves the physicality and the serenity of biking, and getting to know the wildflowers and the birds on her new routes. Other Friends speak of freedom from the stresses of career and ambition, the flexibility to travel and explore new skills. Some find that aging makes them more “honest” or at least more outspoken, more free to say “no.” I repeatedly hear about the joys of grandchildren and family, friends, even new love affairs, intellectual growth, the chance to ‘go deeper’ in their communion with the Spirit. For many of us, perhaps the best adventure of aging is a more intense and satisfying knowledge of our selves.

There are new fears, too. People worry about maintaining their independence. I hear anxiety about becoming dependent: fears of losing one’s energy, mobility and driving privileges, cognitive skills and memories; fears of pain, chronic and life-threatening illnesses, of financial insecurity, being burdened with caring for someone else, and of becoming lonely, invisible, or useless.

It’s a bit of a paradox: aging is a (great) adventure while at the same time we are all just one unknowable small (or large) step away from disaster. How can I help Friends focus on the A of adventure, and not fall into the D’s of denial, dread, depression, dependence or despair? I suggest a “report card,” in which we will strive for A’s, B’s and C’s and try to avoid the D’s.

A focus on the positive Adventure
B Be prepared
C Create Community
D avoid Denial, Despair, Disaster

Be Prepared
The adventure is there for us to grasp, and while growing old can be filled with positive new experiences, we all know that limitations also loom on the horizon. Planning ahead can’t prevent the losses we must ultimately face, but being prepared can reduce anxiety and make facing them easier. There are three primary areas of concern: health care, facing death, and long term housing.

Health Care
It is never too early to examine our feelings about life-saving and life-sustaining treatments such as CPR, respirators and feeding tubes. Both Karen Ann Quinlan and Terry Schiavo were in their twenties when doctors determined that they had entered a persistent vegetative state, unable to think, or relate meaningfully with their loved ones.

One should clearly state their treatment preferences before being hospitalized, and we often can’t plan hospitalization. The medical issues are significant, but the real reason the Quinlan and Schiavo cases were so dramatic was the high-profile lawsuits that arose because the patients had not clearly stated their wishes.

Long before the need for hospitalization arises, every adult should complete an Advance Health Care Directive (also known as a “Living Will”) stating what you want done if you are unable to communicate your wishes. Perhaps the most important element in an advance directive is naming your health care agent or power of attorney for health care. This is the person who will make decisions on your behalf if you are incapacitated. Keep in mind that as your beliefs and values change over time, you can always update or amend the document. Good resources for advance directives include Five Wishes, which is widely accepted throughout most of the United States. For the form specifically issued in and for your state, go to www.caringinfo.org and click on the words “download your state specific advance directive.”

Far more important than completing an advance directive is talking with key people. Along with your loved ones and closest family members, the person you designate as your power of attorney needs to know your wishes. She or he does not necessarily have to agree with all your choices, but must be willing to carry out your requests if the need arises. She or he also needs to be comfortable making decisions on your behalf if a situation arises that you couldn’t anticipate.

As we age, our health problems become more numerous and more complex, while we also find it increasingly difficult to remember details and keep track of information. A health care advocate – a spouse, an adult child, or a friend (and often not your power of attorney) – can make a significant difference. Your advocate should be someone you trust with potentially intimate matters. Their primary role is to be familiar with your medical conditions, your doctors’ names, your treatment preferences, and to accompany you to medical appointments. Before a doctor visit the two of you might prepare a list of questions; your advocate could take notes and ensure these questions get asked and answered. After the consultation your advocate can help you remember and clarify what took place along with whatever follow-up is needed. A good resource for making the best use of medical experiences is Talking With Your Doctor; A Guide for Older People published by the National Institute on Aging (available free from the National Institutes of Health). Residents at Pilgrim Place, a retirement community in Claremont, California, have offered training programs for health care advocates, and successfully paired many of their residents as advocates for one another.

It is also a good idea to explore long-term care insurance, which can assist you and your family financially in the event that you need live-in attendants or an extended stay in a nursing home or care facility. There are many varieties of long-term care insurance, and the premiums tend to increase the longer you wait before signing up. Consult a trusted financial advisor for more information.

End-of-life issues
Everyone who owns property, and everyone who has a child should have a will, designating how they want their assets distributed when they die, and everyone should regularly review their will. Most adults already know this, although many resist committing their wishes to paper because they can’t face the reality of death, they fear hurting someone’s feelings, or they simply can’t decide what they want. Spelling out your funeral and burial or cremation preferences (and paying up front for them) will relieve your family of an incredible burden at a stressful time.

Most adults know about dividing up the physical property, but how many have considered an “ethical will” or “the legacy of the heart?” What values do you want to leave to your children, nieces and nephews, your wider community? What life experiences and stories are especially important to you? How do you wish to be remembered? There are numerous books and websites devoted to the topic of ethical wills, which can be written or taped on video or CD. A Meeting workshop on writing your ethical will can get the process started and lead to some profound sharing among the participants.

Living arrangements
Maximizing our independence requires thinking ahead about our living arrangements, and most of us want to remain in our own homes for as long as possible. But remaining at home can entail a huge financial and/or emotional burden on family members or caregivers. Across the United States, an exciting new “village” movement is creating virtual caring communities to support independence and “aging in place.” Ashby Village in Berkeley, California, Avenidas Village in Palo Alto, and Beacon Hill Village in Boston, Massachusetts are all functioning prototypes; a Pasadena Village is currently in the planning stages. Members of a local village develop new friendships while enjoying recreational and social gatherings. They voluntarily exchange services ranging from sharing meals to providing transportation; they can call on the village for social work support and a vetted list of service providers who offer discounts on home repairs. Based on the belief that we’re never too old to help to one another, the village extends both our usefulness and our independence.

While some prefer to remain at home, moving to a retirement community ensures long-term care and peace of mind for others. But this concept is fraught with negative images: too fancy or too sterile, too many ‘old’ folks, too expensive, too ‘programmed,’ too religious or too secular, too far away from loved ones. Some of us will be delighted to stop cooking; others balk at mandatory congregate meals. But retirement communities are not all alike. Some allow people to lease units but only for as long as they are ‘active’ and when the need for assistance with mobility or medical care arises, another move is required. Others provide continuing care: once you have moved in, you are guaranteed a home for the rest of your life.

If I could urge every older person to do just one thing, it would be to visit several different retirement communities – near where they now live and perhaps near where their children or siblings live – and get on the waiting list for at least two of them. There is usually no charge to be on the list, and this gives you a back-up plan, should you need it.

Create Community
The best way to maintain active independence and avoid depressing denial, despair and dependence is to create inter-dependence. We need to strengthen our communities: our Meeting, our neighborhood, and other social structures. In my volunteer chaplaincy one of the most important things I learned is how deeply people feel the need, the desire, and the enthusiasm to help others. I encourage everyone to ask for help: a ride to Meeting, assistance with shopping or sorting photographs, accompaniment at a meal, or a compassionate ear in a time of crisis. For most of us, the opportunity to assist someone else is a source of so much pleasure: it makes us feel needed and useful.

Finally, Friends need to examine our Meetings’ pastoral care processes, and ask whether we are doing all that we can to support our elderly members and those who are caregivers, with pastoral attention such as telephone calls, cards, visits, rides and meals. What do we want to have in place for ourselves when dependence becomes problematic for us and our loved ones? Do we let our Meeting know when we are facing crises? Can we count on them to follow up with resources and sensitivity? Is it enough to be “held in the Light” or do we want more from our faith community? Does our Meeting have up-to-date emergency contact information for our members and regular attenders, so if they stopped coming to Meeting someone would know who to call? Has our Meeting encouraged each member to complete a will, a burial plan, and an advance directive? What does our Faith & Practice testimony on community ask of us?

We’re not done yet! We may be old but we’re not “over the hill,” or ready for the dust-heap. For some of us, certain options may not be feasible, whether because of costs or disabilities or other obligations. Still, we need to anticipate our needs and speak frankly with our loved ones about health care, death and long-term living arrangements. We need to strengthen our communities’ abilities to care for one another as we age. Seeing the remainder of our lives as an adventure, and taking steps to plan for the challenges that lie ahead, will help us maximize the positive aspects of that adventure.

Claire Gorfinkel is a long-time attender at Orange Grove Meeting. If you would like to attend one of her workshops or schedule one for your Meeting, please contact her at cgorfinkel@earthlink.net. Join Claire and Mary Ann Percy June 1-3 at Ben Lomond Quaker Center for their workshop, “Celebrating Aging and Facing the Inevitable”. Register at quakercenter.org or (831) 336-8333.

“The Society of Friends has never had many members, scarcely more than 200,000 in the entire world, the majority living in the United States and in England. But it is not the number that matters. What counts more is their inner strength and their deeds.”

-Gunnar Jahn, Chairman of the Nobel Committee, 1947

We are collecting stories for a new book from Western Friend, titled
An Inner Strength: Stories of Leadership in the Religious Society of Friends

In his 2011 address at Philadelphia Yearly Meeting, General Secretary Arthur Larrabee described a Quaker leader as someone who, “thinks globally, shares ideas proactively, takes risks, maintains and nurtures a spiritual awareness, honors the role of the community and derives personal satisfaction from the success of the body he or she serves.” He goes on to say Quaker leadership is “taking initiative in relationships.”

Do you know a Friend who might have a story to tell about leadership? It might be a well-known weighty Friend or someone who doesn’t even think they’re a leader!

Please send your nominations to editor@westernfriend.org or mail them to Western Friend, 833 SE Main St. Mailbox #138 Portland OR 97202. Nominations are due June 20th. Nominations will only be considered if they include: the nominee’s full name and contact information (phone/email/address), and a brief description of why you are nominating the person. Is there a story you have in mind, a certain quality? Tell us!

It was in 2003 that I first felt the unmistakable call to work at hospice. As I pursued that leading, I likened my experience to the exhilaration of riding a magic carpet— I felt so uplifted and swept along! It wasn’t until months later that I realized that magic carpets have neither headlights, steering wheels nor brakes.

I have chosen two stories out of dozens from my years of work as a hospice chaplain. I am privileged to accompany people through some of the most difficult days of their lives, as they seek patience, understanding, meaning, forgiveness, and grace. Some are people of deep religious convictions; others find meaning and richness in other ways. End of life is a time of deep vulnerability and profound questions, deep wisdom and universal truths. I have the opportunity to witness and to learn what used to be common knowledge among humans—how we die.

I offer these stories as a reminder to reflect upon what is important, significant, and meaningful in life, and to share those reflections with those we love. This becomes increasingly relevant in terms of what care we do and do not receive as our ability to articulate and voice our own preferences becomes diminished.

Richard
“You’re the chaplain? I definitely want to see you right away!” he said with great urgency. I recalled my initial telephone conversation with my new patient Richard as I stood waiting for him to open the door to his condo for our first visit. Once inside, he led me to the living room, walking slowly and intentionally with a cane, his oxygen tubing dragging behind him. He apologized for the messiness, saying his condo was in foreclosure, and he was physically unable to attend to any cleaning. I admired the interesting objets d’art from around the world, the overflowing bookcases, and looked forward to hearing something about the life of this man.

Richard cut me short. As soon as we had we both sat down, he leaned forward in his chair, and demanded to know, “Do you believe I will go straight to hell if I commit suicide?”

My first thought was, “I am so totally inadequate to be having this conversation!”

I had been working as a hospice chaplain for over seven years, and had many conversations about the powerlessness many people feel at the end of their lives, even discussing any legal options for accelerating their demise. Still, this question was a first.

Richard had told me on the phone that he was a life-long Episcopalian and that he had been attending a “Bible Church” for the past eight to ten months. He was 72 years old, he’d had a successful career as a psychologist and university instructor, and he was now faced with the inevitable and progressive losses related to Lou Gehrig’s Disease. He had been admitted to hospice six days earlier with a prognosis of less than six months to live.

“Well, I don’t believe God wants us to suffer,” was my opening response.
I then asked Richard to tell me more about his experience. Our conversation was wide-ranging, covering the loss of his career and many of his interests and activities due to the effects of his disease, which thus far had left him weak, short of breath, and without the use of his dominant hand.

His friend, (who had been a physician), had recently committed suicide by inhaling helium, rather than face his decline due to metastasized cancer. Richard understood this would be a “painless way to go,” and would leave “no trace, so that my family won’t know what I had done,” he said.

“But for the helium tank beside your dead body!” I exclaimed.

I spoke with him about the spiritual values of integrity, honesty and making sure the feelings of those closest to him would be considered. I asked about how his family would respond—he had several siblings, had been married twice and his youngest children were 21 and 24. He had a good relationship with his second (former) wife, Carol, and had shared his thoughts of suicide with her. She pleaded with him to reconsider—she was worried about the impact it would have on their children, especially their 21 year-old daughter. He took these concerns seriously, though he had not yet come to any conclusions.

We then turned to scripture, a source of great authority for this patient. He told me that he had memorized vast tracts of the New Testament.

“You know when Jesus says (in Matthew 10:39): ‘He who finds his life will lose it, and he who loses his life for My sake will find it.’ What do you think that means?” I asked.

There was a long thoughtful pause, and a rueful smile appeared Richard’s face. “You picked a hard one!” he said. I gently suggested that he take time in the next several weeks to sit with these words, and to consider the many ways he was already “losing his life.”

Finally, we prayed the Lord’s Prayer together, and spoke about what it would mean to live into the oft-repeated words: “Thy will be done,” and the mystery of understanding what that might be—how do we understand God’s will for us?

Richard told me that he felt I had left him with more questions than answers; he nonetheless requested that I return.

I had only two more visits with Richard. At our second visit, he was noticeably weaker, more out of breath, and using a hospital bed. He was still deeply troubled by the prospects of greater physical decline, even as he remained alert, cognitively intact, and aware of the magnitude of his losses. He was struggling to surrender his ego and “who he thought he was” to God, and to let go of his desire for God “to be glorified” by a miraculous cure. He was also moving away from the idea of suicide, in order to spare his family that trauma.

When I last saw him, Richard was confined to a bed in a hospice home, using oxygen and morphine to help with labored breathing and muscle spasticity. He had declined quickly, which was a blessing for him. He awakened to my voice and welcomed a prayer. Though he was too weak to say very much, he let me know that he had come to peace. I thanked him for the privilege of serving him and for all that we had shared. He nodded and closed his eyes.

Juan
“I used to have faith in my doctors and in God,” Juan told me; “then my doctors said there was nothing more they could do for my cancer. So I’ve been praying to God for a cure, for a miracle, but I just keep getting weaker…” his voice trailed off. “So now you’re questioning your faith in God as well?” I asked him.

Juan was a proud man, only 59 years old, a first- generation American; he’d been a successful architectural draftsman until his illness made work impossible. He had a beautiful home, a 38-year marriage, and a large family. He was active with the local Roman Catholic church, yet he was now grasping for spiritual resources to cope with his circumstances.
He told me about his family, his life, his plans and dreams for his retirement, and the short history of his illness. Juan’s cancer was aggressive; he’d been diagnosed just four months earlier. Neither he nor his family had very much time to get their minds or hearts around his diagnosis and prognosis. While Juan was still able to be up and about, his hospice nurse had warned him to get his affairs in order quickly, anticipating a rapid decline.

Juan asked me to pray for a miracle. “You mean a cure, a reversal of your cancer?” I asked. He nodded. “Of course I will do that, Juan,” I replied. “Would it also be okay to pray for another type of miracle?”

Juan and his wife looked puzzled. “If it’s okay with you, I’d also like to pray that you find peace with whatever your health outcome may be.” They agreed—who could refuse an opportunity to find peace?— And so I did.

We then talked about the parallels between the two prayers I had offered and Jesus’ words at Gethsemane: Jesus first said, “Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me,” and then immediately added, “nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.” (Luke 22:42)
I added, “Who among us has not prayed that prayer?! ‘Make this go away! I don’t want to deal with this!’ Though it usually takes we mortals far longer to get to the point, if we ever do, of asking for the grace to accept God’s will.”

It was then that Juan acknowledged out loud that perhaps his prayer was being answered—he noted that he was still able to get out to see his grandchildren, to focus on getting his will and other important documents in order, and he still had the energy to enjoy his garden and short car rides.

Just as I was about to leave, he asked me how to live more fully into God’s peace.

“By noticing it,” I replied. Seeing the question in Juan’s eyes, I asked, “What kind of car do you have?” “A Chevy Silverado.” “When you first bought your Silverado, did you all of a sudden notice all the other Silverados on the road?” He nodded. “ Why is that? They were there all along, but when you bought one yourself, you suddenly noticed how many there were. I think it’s that way with peace and with gratitude—when you begin noticing one or two things you have to be grateful for, you notice more and more, and your peace grows exponentially.”

This was as much an insight for me as it was for Juan.

I saw Juan once more before he died. He was still able to get around his home, but felt weaker. He told me about his strong intuition and how it had served him throughout his life. Again we talked about finding peace with what is, and then he abruptly asked, “Do you think confession is the way to be closer to God?”

I grew up in a church where confession was required before receiving communion, and where there were no “confessionals:” one was face to face with the priest, admitting and acknowledging one’s “sins.” I didn’t like it and I didn’t understand it. It wasn’t until I was in my thirties that I recognized the value of talking about one’s shortcomings and mistakes before a dispassionate witness.

“I think confession is one way to be closer to God. Please tell me more about what you’re thinking.” Juan told me that it had been years since he’d been to confession and had received communion, and the idea of doing so had suddenly come to him, “Though,” he quickly added, “I’m a good person…but you know, everyone does some things in their life that they regret.”

“Well, given what you’ve told me today about your intuition, I would say if you got the idea to go to confession, go, and as soon as possible!” Then I added, “I believe that humbling ourselves, acknowledging the ways we are broken, allows God a way to enter and be with us which is not possible when we’re self-assured and feel as though we have it all together.”

Shortly after Juan died, I spoke with his widow. She told me that he had gone to confession, and was able to find peace in his heart before he lost consciousness and died peacefully with his wife and daughters at his side.
_____________
As death has moved from our homes to the clinical settings of hospitals and nursing homes, and as we seek to distance ourselves from death— how often do I hear “If I die,” rather than “When I die”?— we have lost touch with an essential part of our humanity. For me and for many, death is truly what gives our lives meaning.

I continue to learn so much from my patients and seek to apply their lessons in seeing what’s really important to my own life. The patients in these stories were Christian, and so I used religious texts and examples from their tradition in speaking with them. But the process of forgiveness, letting go, and coming to peace is universal, and there are teachings in every tradition to instruct and assist people in this process. Making peace with ourselves, with the life we have lived, is fundamental to dying with integrity.

Mary Ann Percy is a member of La Jolla Meeting in San Diego. Join her and Claire Gorfinkel June 1-3 at Ben Lomond Quaker Center for the workshop “Celebrating Aging and Facing the Inevitable”. Register at online or (831) 336-8333.

Being a Quaker has only a little bit to do with becoming a member of a Friends meeting. If we stop growing after being accepted into membership, we have missed the message. Being a Quaker means being on a lifetime-long path. It’s a long road and requires us to commit our whole lives.

George Fox said just before his death, “I’m clear, I’m finally clear” — which didn’t mean that he had finally figured something out. It meant that he had not been called to take up any more callings or leadings. So persons who join a Friends meeting should be confident that they are only at the beginning of a long journey. Many religious groups resort to creeds because that makes it easy to get the membership process over with. And, in these groups, once you are confirmed (as they say) the hard work may feel like it’s over. Quaker membership can seem to be even easier because we have no hurdles of belief to memorize. That is not the case. Much more is required of us.

The question I wish to consider here is, how do Friends become aware of the path and the need to keep growing? Most of those now coming to our unprogrammed meetings in the western US are “convinced” Friends and come to the meeting as refugees seeking something different than the theology of religions they have found wanting.

Our meetings may be open and welcoming, but a large task still faces us. How do we let seekers know that they are only at the start of a spiritual journey, and how do we guide them on that journey? Those seekers who come to us often project onto the meeting a variety of mistaken assumptions they have brought with them, and it frequently takes a long immersion in our processes before the path becomes more clear. More than a few get discouraged with groping their way forward and leave us or become inactive. Even experienced Friends may sometimes lose sight of where we have been and where we are going. How do we know we are making personal progress?

I suspect that our membership committees and clearness committees rarely ask an applicant what his/her condition is or how they are dealing with it. Nevertheless this word, condition, is at the foundation of our faith. Before we can gather the strength to undertake a genuine spiritual path, we must be aware of the condition that has been keeping us from finding our way forward. This is not easy because the condition that confines us is so close that it is hard to see.

Many of us have sought an escape from oppressive religious practices that aimed to frighten us into accepting a belief by painting us as blackened sinners. We may have been threatened with images of eternal suffering and damnation. Coming away from this, we may like to think of ourselves as having progressed to an elevated level of development where we really don’t need to waste time worrying about antiquated ideas like sin. Nevertheless, without an acute awareness of our selves as being in a condition requiring change, we will not be able to even begin the journey of our faith.

George Fox’s described his condition thusly: “I did discern my own thoughts, groans and sighs, and what it was that did veil me… and could not give up self to die by the Cross, the power of God…”

For Fox, the Divine reality he hoped to encounter was veiled or hidden by self. This is not a condition unique to George Fox. It is the condition all of us fall into. We develop a self or an ego that we mistake as being the core of who we are. The deceptions of self keep us lost in our own notions and certainties.
Only when we know this to be our condition can we begin to suppress the false authority of our ego and open ourselves to an experience of the Divine. Make no mistake – the “still small voice” of Divine reality won’t be heard until and unless we first surrender the authority of the voice we have given our egos.
Elias Hicks speaks eloquently to the dangers of not doing so:

“In these (meetings) my mind was largely opened in gospel communication, tending to expose the man of sin and son of perdition, manifesting that he was nothing but self in man, and showing that, in his mysterious workings, in leading man to endeavor to imitate God, in doing good and performing acts under the show of religion and religious worship, but all done in his own will and time, the whole mystery of iniquity is comprehended. For in man’s thus turning away from God and the inspirings of his holy spirit, consists his fall, as he takes upon himself an independent state, and assumes the right of self government, and becomes his own director; therefore, his salvation wholly consists in surrendering up this self-ability, letting it die on the cross and returning into a state of full submission to the leading and sole guidance of the inspiring spirit of God.”

In other words, if you’re in charge, you’re in trouble. Notice that Hicks recognizes that even “doing good” can be a part of the wrong path.


If we think that our upbringing and the miasma of the culture that surrounds us hasn’t affected us, we haven’t explored our condition thoroughly enough. Let’s use our imagination for a moment. However kind and gentle our parents, teachers, peers, and priests may have been, they almost certainly taught us to place ourselves in charge of running our life. From all sides we were given stories and lectures from which we were to build and defend our moral character, self importance and public persona. When we reached adulthood we were given a choice of roles and images for our ego to use. “Hard worker”, “loving spouse”, “good parent”, “nice person”, “tough guy”, “smart” – these are just some of what gets stuffed into us for us to keep acting out.


But following these roles and images alone won’t lead to a life of the Spirit. Where do we find the meaning of our life? How are we connected to the Eternal? We can persist blinded by the fog of culture or we can get in touch with that within which allows us to live in authentic relation to what is. Becoming a Quaker presents us with this choice.


Experiencing the Divine Reality

An experience of Divine reality can change us from fearful, wounded, and lost people into a safe, healing and compassionate people on a meaningful journey. With this experience we can come to know we are at home in the world and at peace. It isn’t good enough to think we’ve found the path, or to believe we have found the path, or to hope we have found the path. We have to find the path and stay on it. And, to have this experience we have to stop and wait and be silent, inside as well as outside. Or, as George Fox and Isaac Pennington put it:

“Stand still in that which is pure, after you see yourselves, and then Mercy comes in. After you see your thoughts and temptations, do not think but submit. Then the Power comes. Stand still in the light and submit to it, and the other will be hushed and gone. Then contentment comes. When temptations and troubles appear, sink down in that which is pure, and all will be hushed and fly away. Your strength is to stand still…” -George Fox

The main thing in religion is to receive a principle of life from God, whereby the mind may be changed, and the heart made able to understand the mysteries of his kingdom, and to see and walk in the way of life; and this is the travail of the souls of the righteous, that they may abide, grow up, and walk with the Lord in this principle; and that others also, who breathe after him, may be gathered into, and feel the virtue of, the same principle. -Issac Pennington

One of the great obstacles for many in coming to this experience is that it is ineffable. There is a powerful thread in our culture that says, “If it isn’t material or I can’t capture this experience in words (or other media) so that it is rationally or scientifically explainable, then it doesn’t exist.” This statement in itself is a faith statement—those who speak it cannot prove it true by their own standards—though those who follow it don’t often recognize that fact. It is also a defensive position. A follower of this faith will say, “You can’t prove to my satisfaction that your inner experience is real” and they will be right. Is that a sufficient argument? Consider that you may have had a thought of a deceased relative this morning. You can’t prove that. Does that mean it didn’t happen?


The inner experience you need will never be provable by verbal argument. You need not worry if your experience is not able to satisfy everyone’s assumption of what constitutes proof. The person who is steadfast in a determination not to admit of the possibility of spiritual experience may indeed never have this experience, but that might only prove their determination.


We are a part of a reality that includes but is greater than us. As a part we can never comprehend the whole. What we can do is let go of our notional life and quietly open and be. If we do that we will find that we have a guide and that we need not fear. Our life will be grounded and we will own it while we have it.


A second great obstacle to spiritual experience is the notion that it can be taught. I do not mean to disparage learning in its place. But most teaching and learning take place in the head and it is the heart that has to know and be sure. Naomi Remen said it well: “Spiritual experience is not taught: it is found, uncovered, discovered, recovered.” (My Grandfather’s Blessings) What we all need is found within, uncovered from its load of self-deception, discovered to be our rightful inheritance and recovered from where we left it as children. This is the reason Jesus said, “I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” (Mt. 18-3) The Light is within. You can look anywhere and everywhere outward and never find it.


As the passage below shows, first published in 1662, Friends understood from the beginning that teaching depended on words, but that words by themselves were not adequate to lead to a spiritual life.

In fine, this light in every man is the means to come to the knowledge of God. And seeing all external signs must needs presuppose this knowledge, therefore itself must need be immediate, without any external sign: that signs must presuppose such a knowledge, is undeniable; for these signs must either be words or effects… If words, we see at first an impossibility in the thing itself: for words are created and finite, and God who should make known himself by them, uncreated and infinite: and therefore here is so infinite a difference, that here is no manner of agreement, nor any thing in the words by which they might be capable to do it. (from The History of the Rise, Increase and Progress of the Christian People Called Quakers, Vol. II, by William Sewell)

Early Friends spoke of being “convinced.” What did they mean by that? Convincing, or being convinced, or convincement (as it was often expressed) sounds like the outcome of a debate or an argument before a jury leading to the acceptance of a doctrine. This understanding doesn’t make much sense, for we know that a key part of the spiritual life of early Friends was the avoidance of creeds or formal doctrines.


What happened to early Friends was something entirely different. They were convinced first that they were in a condition that needed to be changed and second by the power and force of their own experience of the Inward Light. They were shaken, moved to tears, and, yes, quaked. It was this experience that caused them to be convinced, not the intellectual absorption of a doctrine.


Only experience provides Spiritual Knowledge. Only experience in which we put our faith and trust in the Inward Light and do it over and over can strengthen our life of the Spirit. We can make Knowledge our friend and daily companion, and let Belief be a distant cousin we only visit if we must. The proof of our knowledge will only lie in the life led. As Jesus said, “By their fruits you will know them.” Many before us have found their way to this experience of the Light and it is as available now as it was in Fox’s time. We can’t afford to stop short of this experience of the Spirit. If we have not had or had only vague intimations of this experience, we must be patient and wait open until it comes. We have nothing better to do.


Discipline and Practice

Staying on the narrow path takes discipline. We live in an environment where we are constantly bombarded by the message that our job in life is to watch the passing stream of life and pick out of it the things we like – the things that make us feel good. No discipline is needed or desired in a consumer culture.
Sometimes we do spread our shopping habits to the field of religion. I see many Friends shopping for the small fruits of other religions rather than going deeper into their own. These may not be bad fruits in themselves. A little Wicca, a little Buddhist practice, a Native American sweat, an observance of Ramadan, a little yoga practice – these probably won’t do us much harm and they can help us with our appreciation of the faith struggles of others. But they may also lead us to believe we can avoid the disciplines we need to grow as Friends. Digging deeper to obtain an understanding of Friends’ faith requires patience and hard work. We need to read and reread the epistles of George Fox as well as the writings of James Naylor, Steven Crisp, Isaac Pennington, William Sewell, Margaret Fell, Elizabeth Bathurst, Elias Hicks, and John Woolman, to name a few early Friends. These will all prove to be a strong counter to the cacophony that is the culture that surrounds us.


Discipline is not discipline unless there is practice. There is a notion abroad in the world that the important job is thinking things through and reaching a decision, then adhering to it. This is not so. A little thinking is fine but unless we have the experience of following a discipline we won’t even begin to have the tools we need for useful thinking.


Learning to be a Quaker is not about making a few choices. Being a Quaker is more like learning a craft or a skill. This is why the books that Friends have written to guide their practice have been called “disciplines.” Quaker disciplinary practices have been forged in the depths of personal experience and tested in the fire of persecution. Unless we personally learn by practicing these disciplines ourselves, we will never get beyond the level of liking the Quaker faith as a good idea.


The discipline needed is the discipline of Quaker practice known as ‘good order’ or ‘Gospel order”. There are two kinds of discipline needed – personal discipline and group discipline. Our outrageous aim as Quakers is to discern the Truth of the universe – Reality – and align ourselves with that Truth. We won’t come close to that goal without discipline. Many religions have disciplines that they require of their adherents, from the recitation of creeds to ritual bathing. Most of these things are not bad practices in themselves. But they are easily corrupted into empty forms. I can take an attitude toward them that puts me back in the driver’s seat. And pride can creep in. “I did it, I fasted for a whole day, I said my fifteen ‘Our Fathers’, I bowed five times toward Mecca, I went to meeting this week.”


Friends have tried to avoid these forms in favor of the discipline of silent Presence. Silence helps us let go of that ‘I’ wisdom that keeps us from Divine wisdom. Listen again to Isaac Pennington:

Therefore take heed of the fleshly wisdom; take heed of thine own understanding; take heed of thy reasoning or disputing; for these are the weapons wherewith the witness is slain. That wisdom must be destroyed, and that understanding brought to naught, and thou become a child, and learn as a child if ever thou know the things of God.

Do we daily retire into silence and quiet the turmoil of our minds? Do we study the words of those Friends who have left a record of trials they faced and the gains they made? Do we really know in our hearts what the gospels have to tell us when they are opened by the Spirit? Do we encourage other Friends to question us about our inner life and the trajectory our life is taking? If we can’t answer these queries positively, our personal discipline may be slipping.


Early Friends spoke of nurturing the Seed within. We might better think of our spiritual disciplines as tending the soil of a garden where we want something good to grow. Unless we add nutrients to that soil by reading the words of those who have gone before us and water that soil by having serious discussions with other Friends, the Seed may fail to bring forth fruit. The Light within us is a blessing but we have to keep that Light shining on all aspects of our lives or it will fade.


Group discipline is especially hard for us Western Friends. As I said earlier, most of us are refugees and so we tend to suspect any instituted uniform practice. Perhaps unconsciously we have come to suspect that any such practice must contain a hidden but questionable authority that wants to rule us or use us. But Friends have worked out practices that can help us and we need to submit to them even when our understanding of the spiritual ground they spring from is limited. I will mention two of these disciplines – service to the monthly meeting and listening.


Friends don’t just get to be Sunday worshipers. If you are just coming to worship on Sunday and steadfastly declining an office or committee work you are avoiding a key element that will let you grow as a Quaker. The meeting needs to have the service of all members. If you sit back and let others take on the work of the meeting or just grab the ‘easy jobs’ (for none of the jobs are easy if taken seriously), you will miss the discipline of working spiritually with others. Your spiritual growth will be stunted. All of us have many demands on our time and energies. But busyness by itself isn’t a virtue and it isn’t an excuse for not sharing the work of the meeting community.


When we work with other Friends we learn that some of the certainties (we might call them notions or prejudices) we have been carrying with us need to be examined. Other Friends have Lights that shine in corners different from us, and when we work with them that Light may illuminate a dark corner in ourselves that we had not noticed. And we may discover that we have gifts to bring to them in the same way. These may be gifts we never knew we had. Sharing work teaches us to bring our love, courage and patience to our service. These lessons do not take root in us by our thinking about them or wishing for them. They become our humble strength by practice.


Listening is a discipline that must be cultivated. Our culture encourages speaking but not listening, or worse, listening only to make a quick and snappy reply. You have not truly listened if all you have heard are the words. Intellectual understanding is a fine thing, but it is not sufficient. To build the trust needed for us to work together we need to cultivate a heart that can hear and eyes that can see all that is said or not said. There is a message in words, there is a message in tone of voice, and there is a message from the body and from the face when anyone speaks. Are you getting all of those messages? Do you wait patiently for all of those messages to register before you reply? When Jesus pointed out that not everyone had ears to hear he was pointing to this discipline.


In your meetings for worship for business do you insist on pauses between speakers? Do you refrain from speaking because you have heard someone else speak close to what you wanted to say? Does your clerk insert pauses so that no one speaks until recognized so that the message of the previous speaker is fully heard? If these disciplines are not being practiced you will be producing a false unity and weak support for the meeting.


As Friends we are required to learn the discipline of listening compassionately and to do that we must practice doing it fully. To improve your listening skills you should volunteer frequently for service on clearness committees. In these committees you will have to learn to listen closely and you will witness others hearing things you missed but should have heard. No doubt the primary benefit of clearness committees accrues to the person who has requested the committee, but, the secondary benefits accruing to all those who serve are vital for the spiritual growth of the community.


If we practice our disciplines faithfully we will be led to the process of discernment.


Discernment
What happens when modern Friends have not undertaken the necessary disciplines, and thus lack the confidence needed to trust those disciplines to lead them to discernment? We become stuck. Unless we have practiced the disciplines of patience and humility we can lay no claim to discernment. Modern Friends have often been infected by superficial notions such as “I’m OK, you’re OK” and that all individuals somehow have equal measures of the Truth. This is a misunderstanding of our testimony on equality.


If (and this is a BIG if) we have undertaken the discipline of turning away from the false authority of our own egos and have waited in silence for an experience of Divine reality we often come away with something. It is sometimes possible for that something to be a measure of the Truth. But it will likely not be the whole Truth. As Barry Morley has said, “…though each of us is possessed of light, there is only one Light.” Until we submit our measure to be aligned with the measure of others who are undertaking the same discipline, we will not have done what it takes to be a Friend. We will not be part of a discerning community.


Discernment requires that our leadings, callings, prophecies, proposed actions, ministries, service, witnessing all be subjected to a discernment process with others. Notice that Fox in the following epistle uses the plural ‘minds”.

“So when… minds are turned with the Light and Spirit of God towards God, then with it they shall know something of revelation and inspiration, as they are turned by that of God from the evil. Emptied of that, then there will be some room in them for something of God to be revealed and inspired into them… in which they will see the Covenant, through which they will come to have Peace with God. “(Epistle 208, The Power of the Lord Is Over All, T. Canby Jones, Ed., page 163)

It is together with others that we engage for discernment. It is together with others that ‘some room’ can be made for ‘something of God to be revealed.’
However much we may think we have grown in faith, we must still be on our guard. This applies even to those regarded as “weighty” Friends. The wiles of the ego are legion and subtle and the wiles of others can also place us at risk of following a false authority. They can nudge us or nibble at our resolve and hit us when our energy is low. As Fox said, we need to “…keep in discerning that you may not be ensnared nor made a prey upon…” (Epistle 17)


It is important for us as Friends to embrace discernment within the group as part of our progress. In doing this we expose ourselves to the counsel of other Friends who are on the path with us. And, we learn to listen to others and withhold judgment until the ground of Divine reality manifests itself and we can stand on it together. This requires patience to avoid what Fox called, ‘running out before your Guide’. Because we know this, we submit our leadings, etc. to the discernment of a group of those who are also committed to finding Truth. Without making the effort to align our understanding with other Friends, we are not Friends but only Quaker ‘fellow travelers’. We like the ideas to the degree that they fit our ideas but we are unwilling to trust the process. We want to be saints but recoil from the personal submission needed to get there.
I have to say that I have often found liberal Friends to be not very trusting of one another. We don’t much share our inner struggles and doubts. We much prefer to put forward an impression of competence and assurance. I include myself in this description. This process keeps us safely in a bubble where other Friends do not know us and cannot help us grow. Until we can expose ourselves to the risks and challenges that can come from other Friends, our discernment will be slight and shallow. And, we certainly will not be prepared to bring Friends’ testimonies to bear on the world outside of meeting.


Discernment requires trust – trust in other Friends and trust that Divine truth is accessible to us. We know it doesn’t matter that 99% of us agree on something with our heads. We wait until our humble hearts tell us that we are, as early Friends said, “staying within our measure” or “dwelling in truth”. Notice the word dwelling. Truth is not a place to visit; it is a place to live. Discernment requires us to put down those hasty spirits within that nudge us to press forward before our hearts have been brought together. Discernment requires us to let go of those fearful and anxious spirits that cause us to hold back from joining our hearts with others. To gain trust we must be trustworthy. We must be slow to judgment and gentle in our demeanor.


Moving into a condition beyond membership and continuing to grow in our faith and our life as Quakers is not a simple task. It requires a readiness and openness to Divine experience, the discipline to seek it, and discernment with other Seekers to keep our egos in check as we endeavor to live within Divine truth. I close with a remonstrance from George Fox:

You must come into a patience above all the world…
You must come into a moderation above all the world…
You must come into a Wisdom above all the world…
You must come into a Knowledge above all the world…
You must come into an understanding above all the world.
And all Friends, you must come into a sobriety, gravity and a seasoned state above all the world.
(George Fox, Epistle 179)

Robert Griswold is a member of Mountain View Meeting in Denver, Colorado. This article is an edited excerpt from a forthcoming pamphlet titled, “The Quaker Pilgrim’s Progress: Seven Key Words, Plus One”, to be published this spring by Western Friend. Robert is also the author of the pamphlet, “Quaker Peace Testimony in Times of Terrorism”, published by Western Friend in 2005 and available at http://westernfriend.org/shop/books.

During World War II it became the first of ten “relocation centers”, imprisoning 10,000 of the 120,000 residents of Japanese ancestry then living on the West Coast, 70% of whom were US citizens. The remaining 30% were aliens from Japan who were denied the opportunity to become citizens. Manzanar became a city one mile square, enclosed by barbed wire and guarded from towers by military police with search lights and guns pointed inward.

The last weekend of April 2010, I joined approximately seventy people from Sacramento on the fifth annual pilgrimage to the Manzanar camp, sponsored by the Florin Japanese American Citizens’ League.

This is where I was incarcerated with my family almost seventy years ago. I remember the heartache and loss which my parents and others experienced, having been forced to get rid of or store all of their worldly goods in a matter of a few days or weeks. Things we sold received poor prices, but internees could take only what they could carry—  to a forced “extended campout” in a location still unknown to them.

When we arrived, we were distressed to see the flimsy barracks made of 1/4-inch plywood and covered only with tar paper, with dust seeping through the knotholes and cracks. We were to sleep on metal cots, and we filled our mattresses with straw. This was painful for my mother, suffering the beginning stages of poly-arthritis. We ate in a mess hall, and had to go outside our apartments to go to the latrine, shower, and do our laundry, even when the weather was rainy or snowy—  and the dust blew the rest of the time.

Since there was a shortage of teachers at first, I was unable to continue high school, so I found a job as a typist. I earned $12 a month. Then I was hired as a crafts teacher. As a “professional”, I earned $19 a month.

After about a year and a half of internment, in September 1943 I was allowed to leave the camp to attend Western Michigan College in Kalamazoo, Michigan. Quakers and others helped free me. But after my first year of school, I was unable to get a job due to discrimination. My brother, then in Minnesota, suggested I join him there. I was able to get a job, and was accepted into the nursing program at the University of Minnesota.

My parents remained in Manzanar for three and a half years. When they were freed, they were given $25 and transportation to Los Angeles. My mother had to be placed in a nursing home. My father found work as a “houseboy”, starting all over again at age 59. Just three months after being released from the camp, he was hit and killed by someone driving a truck.

I was grateful to participate in the pilgrimage to Manzanar, which hopes to raise public awareness of what happened to one ethnic group—  and to make every effort to prevent the violation of the Constitutional rights of others. What happened to those of Arab descent after 9/11, some of which continues today, is a case in point for vigilance.

We must never stop asking, “Could Manzanar happen again?”

Grace Ito Coan is a member of Sacramento Friends Meeting. Learn more about this year’s pilgrimage at http://www.manzanarcommittee.org/.

March crossword puzzle

March puzzle key

In 1990, I was a graduate student in Boulder, Colorado, participating in the planning of International Women’s Week. I was within a year of coming out as a lesbian. The planning committee was a diverse group varying along dimensions of age, race, ethnicity, sexual preference, gender identity and class.

In one planning meeting a Latina turned to me, a white woman, and observed that I was bringing a privileged perspective to the evening’s discussion. I remember feeling confused and becoming defensive. I felt threatened, shocked. She didn’t know me! I thought, “We are all women here. What is she talking about?”

At that point in my life I felt I had arrived at a complete understanding of the real differences between my white middle class existence and that of my friends of color. My studies and activism were influenced by a range of strong feminist anti-racist writers: bell hooks, Gloria Anzaldua, Barbara Smith, Angela Davis. And yet my strong passion for social justice— for racial justice, for women’s liberation— peacefully coexisted alongside a deeply entrenched ignorance around the ways skin privilege operated in my life. I simply didn’t see it.

Moreover, I wasn’t ready or able to see how racialized attitudes and gut responses had been deeply ingrained in me— let alone how these ingrained notions of race, when summed up across groups and communities, led to a brokenness that deeply impacts white people and our ability to engage with open and true hearts across color lines. Years later I heard the phrase “socialized without my consent.” It resonated.

I remained stuck in a confused, painful and defensive mindset around privilege for quite some time. But the experiences during that period of my life created an opening that grew in breadth and depth over years of big and small challenging interactions — some sought out intentionally and others brought on by my own ignorance. The early feelings of overwhelming fear have been joined by a deep yearning for racial healing and wholeness. It was that yearning that brought me to the White Privilege Conference in 2011, and will bring me to Albuquerque in March for the 2012 conference.

What does racial healing require of me?
The journey to my present commitment to racial healing sprouted from a hard lesson in allyship. I was actively involved in LGBTQ activism around a series of proposed bills and constitutional amendments intended to limit “special rights” for LGBTQ Coloradans. At the time we had very few straight allies, and with our community estimated to be at about 10% of the population, I didn’t see a tipping point anywhere in sight. In despair, I stepped away from it all. I realized we wouldn’t get anywhere until they get that this is about ALL of us. It’s about our collective dignity as human beings.

What was that thought? We won’t get anywhere until they get that this is about all of us. It’s about our collective dignity as human beings. A light went on for me.

After a period of working through my own feelings of anger, abandonment and disappointment, I began the tender process of learning to see through the lens of what the collective healing process—defined as broadly as our humanity needs it to be-—requires of each one of us. I am able to (but don’t always choose to) set aside the lens through which I focus on what hurts me personally as a woman or as a lesbian. I am clear: racial healing is not possible without the active participation of large numbers of white people. It requires a critical mass that I believe we have not yet reached.

My Whiteness
One of the most impactful undertakings along this journey has been the practice of considering how my whiteness has influenced my experiences and interactions in the world. The first few of these realizations were hard in coming. Now I see them almost every day. I seek to become aware of these not for the pure sport of it, but because the process helps me understand how my experiences contribute to my interpretations of the world around me.

My biweekly trip to the neighborhood grocery store provides a routine example. Not once have I given a care to whether I was dressed well enough to avoid being considered a thief. I have not been routinely suspected of shoplifting or followed by staff. I have not noticed another shopper respond to my presence by clutching their purse closer to their body or moving their cart closer. I have noticed my own deeply ingrained gut-level fear responses to people of color around me. I was trained to react in this way during my childhood. My spiritual commitment, as an adult, is to bring my body’s gut responses into alignment with my heart’s truth: no person deserves to be judged or feared because of the color of their skin.

I find another example of white privilege in my family’s past, long before I was born. My dad was raised on a small farm in central Michigan. He and his siblings endured many hardships, from the impoverished circumstances of farm life during the Great Depression to their family’s personal challenges with a patriarch who abused alcohol to treat a chronic mental health condition.

Each sibling worked hard to pave a way out of that life. My father enlisted in the Army and served in WWII. The benefits of the G.I. Bill turned out to be my father’s pathway from poverty to our family’s middle class position years later. I am the first person on my father’s side of the family to complete a college degree. My tuition was paid for with a home equity loan on my family’s house. That home was purchased with proceeds from the sale of my parents’ first home, and that first home was possible only through the benefits of the G.I. Bill.

If you are familiar with housing practices in the 1940’s and 50’s, you know that Latino, African American and Native American men who served in WWII did not come home to the same pathway to middle class life that my white father did. So while I can say that my father worked hard (and he DID!) to make his way out of poverty, I also know that skin color was no a small factor in leading to outcomes that were good for him and his family—and terrible for many others.

Together we now inhabit a world descended from these—and countless other—unjust outcomes.

I wonder if you agree. Do white people, generally, have a hard time talking about race? I came to a place in my striving to understand racism and white privilege where there was an intense readiness stirring deep within—and very few safe spaces in which to explore it openly with others. How did I get here? How did we get here? How did talking about race become so difficult?

The Religious Society of Friends inherited a priceless treasure in the publication of the book Fit for Freedom, Not for Friendship and in the labors of Vanessa Julye and Donna McDaniel to bring discussion of that work to many places where F/friends gather. When I have encountered spaces where F/friends are sharing, questioning, struggling, venting, exploring or learning together around white privilege and racism, I have noticed 1) there is a tenderness and often deep pain flowing for each of us from a wide range of racialized experiences in the world, and 2) there is a deep longing to move forward—to heal—both personally and as a community.

I pray for our community of seekers that our intense longing for racial justice and racial healing carries us in love through all that exists between where we are today and the wholeness calling out to us.

Quakers and the 2011 White Privilege Conference
Last year’s WPC was a deeply transformative experience for me. The space and the people were warm and welcoming; there was an energy that felt like a community preparing to experience something significant together. It was a feeling not unlike the anticipation that comes for me with yearly meeting: What will I learn? How will I be changed? What does God have in store for me? Who will be my guides and companions?

There was an overwhelming number of workshop choices, intermingled with keynote talks that were inspiring, informative and provocative. Despite the emotional and mental exhaustion at the end of each day’s workshops, I found myself at every evening film screening. I shared many heart-filled conversations with a friend & conference roommate from my monthly meeting; we attended the exact same conference and some of the same sessions, and yet our experiences were not at all the same!

I loved that sessions were rated “beginning, intermediate or advanced”, and I appreciated that many sessions, while addressing white privilege head-on, also honored the ways in which race dimensions of privilege and oppression intersect with dimensions of class, sex, gender and more. I found my “edges.” The conference was a blessing that has stayed with me throughout the year. I notice that I am more courageous in talking about race in settings where it feels awkward—and I take my commitment to the work of racial healing and racial justice more seriously than ever.

I would not have attended WPC had it not been for the commitment of F/friends to experience it together. And as significant of an accomplishment as it was to assemble 60+ of us there in Minneapolis last March, it strikes me as just one step in a much longer journey. I hope to see you there.

Kathryn White lives in Denver, Colorado, with her partner, Sue, and their children, Grace & Mateo. She receives much spiritual nourishment from Mountain View Friends Meeting and Intermountain Yearly Meeting.

For the past fifteen years, I have been both a Quaker and a Sacred Harp singer. I have found the two practices to be consonant and mutually enriching, each enlarging and sustaining the other. Considering each through the lens of the other has helped me to learn and understand things about both of them. I have come to see Sacred Harp singing as representing an independent discovery and application of some of the truths experienced and professed by Quakers.

The Sacred Harp, first published in Georgia in 1844, was one of hundreds of “shape-note” hymnals circulated in the 19th century. In “shape-note” notation, an inspired pedagogical innovation dating from around 1790, the musical note heads are printed in shapes corresponding to the degrees of the scale, which makes reading music and singing harmony easier by linking visual cues to musical intervals. The notation system and rudiments of music theory were taught to thousands of people in singing schools conducted by semiprofessional, sometimes-itinerant singing masters. Like many of the other shape-note hymnals, its repertoire drew on folk hymn tunes and spirituals in oral circulation and on earlier American and European religious music. The hymnal preserved, and in later editions developed, a distinctive style, termed “dispersed harmony” by its practitioners- an unaccompanied three- and four-part folk polyphony.</>

The Sacred Harp survived where so many other shape-note hymnals did not, preserving a living oral tradition with an ongoing meaning and purpose in the present day. Its survival was due in large part to its editor, B.F. White, who created a structure to promote the use of the book: he established conventions – associations or gatherings for the purpose of singing, not affiliated with any particular denomination or religious organization – which used The Sacred Harp as their songbook. Two conventions founded in the 1850’s are still meeting annually, and Sacred Harp singing has been an important part of family and community life in (mostly rural) areas of Georgia, Alabama, and Texas for generations. In the last 35 years it has spread around the country, particularly to urban centers in the Northeast and Midwest and on the West Coast.</>

We Quakers in the liberal western Yearly Meetings refer to our central spiritual practice as “unprogrammed” worship. If I were to attempt to sum up what goes on at a Sacred Harp convention for those familiar with the Quaker term, I would call it “unprogrammed singing.” Similarly, I have found it possible to explain Meeting for Worship to other Sacred Harp singers by comparing it to a Sacred Harp singing convention. Sacred Harp singing is a form of worship for many of its participants, often not the only one they engage in, and could accurately be called another form of unprogrammed worship despite its boisterous activity. Describing the non-hierarchical, non-performative practice of Sacred Harp singing to those unfamiliar with the tradition can be as difficult as explaining to non-Quakers what we do in worship in the absence of a priest, liturgy, or sermon.</>

Today’s Sacred Harp conventions last for one or both days of a weekend. Officers approved by the convention in a brief formal business session perform various tasks to ensure the smooth functioning of the singing. Prayers are offered to open and close each day and at other significant times. Local singers provide a potluck-style meal at the noon hour (traditionally called “dinner on the grounds”) for all present. Apart from this repast, and occasional short recesses, the assembled “class” sings almost continuously, one song after another, from morning to mid-afternoon. Any singer who wishes may, in turn, lead a song (“lesson”) of his or her choosing. </>

Like Quaker worship, a Sacred Harp convention, though without programming, is not without forms; it has such forms as have proved, through long experience, to serve “not as an end, but as a means toward the attainment of the end, which is communication with God, and fellowship with one another” (North Pacific Yearly Meeting Faith and Practice) – to facilitate a direct experience, both individual and shared, of the Spirit. Each convention, like each Meeting for Worship, despite being outwardly identical in form (especially insofar as selections are limited to songs from the one book), takes on its own character and shape based on the participants present, their unspoken interaction with each other, and their sensitivity to the needs of the assembled group and the workings of the Spirit. </>

In the absence of an audience or a choir director, Sacred Harp singers sing for themselves, each other, and God, each contributing his or her own peculiar individual voice to a singing the way each worshipper contributes his or her silent listening or spoken ministry to a Quaker Meeting. At a large singing, the overall effect – rather than the smooth, impersonal blend favored in other forms of choral music – is of a massive, vibrant wall of sound in which numerous individual voices may be distinguished from the texture at any given moment. While singing, the singers sit in a hollow square with one voice part on each side, facing inwards. This spatial arrangement abolishes performer/audience or choir director/choir divisions just as Quaker worship spaces abolish the altar/congregation or pulpit/congregation divisions of other religious traditions, just as Quaker belief and practice abolished the clergy/laity division. </>

The aesthetic values of Sacred Harp are different from those associated with forms of music based on performance to an audience. Each singer retains and shares aesthetic authority, as Quaker worshippers share spiritual/ministerial authority. All singers feel the musical or poetical content of a song on a personal level, while trying to help all others present get the best and fullest experience of each song, and sharing each other’s joy in collaborative music-making and fellowship. In an experience of being made tender in corporate worship, God’s love is felt on an individual level, in response to a deep personal need, yet seems to be expressed or channeled through one’s fellow worshippers. Sacred Harp singing, like Quaker worship, is “a corporate experience which, at the same time, allows a maximum freedom to its individual members” and “a strong, sustaining, group experience, coupled with individual freedom” (George Gorman, The Amazing Fact of Quaker Worship). At the best moments, literal harmony, in the musical sense, becomes an outward token of metaphorical harmony (spiritual unity). The result is a deep fellowship which “lets you see that ye are written in one another’s Heart” (George Fox, Epistle 24). </>
Sacred Harp singings confirm the truth articulated by Quakers, the basis of our belief in corporate worship and the source of its mystery, that the fullest knowledge of the Spirit is one that is not only shared with, but experienced through others – that “The sense of union with God and the sense of union with our neighbors are so closely related that one is best realized when felt in conjunction with the other” (Howard Brinton, Friends for 300 Years). </>

This experience inevitably binds Sacred Harp singers into a community. Singers in both the traditional and “diaspora” areas frequently travel to other people’s singings, extend hospitality to guests at their own home singings, and consider themselves to be part of a single nationwide Sacred Harp community. Many singers grow to cherish the personal connections with other singers – the friendships that develop over the years and the chance to renew acquaintanceships or meet new people at singings – even more than the music itself.</>

Quakerism is often described as an “experiential” faith. The Sacred Harp arose from the camp-meeting revivals of the early 19th century, which fostered a direct individual experience of the Spirit as a component of conversion and personal salvation. A significant body of new religious poetry was produced in this milieu and partially preserved in The Sacred Harp, a certain strain of which treated religion experientially – striving to articulate the individual experience of faith, of conversion, of self-doubt, of the fruits of the Spirit, or some aspect of the life of the religious community. The personal nature of these texts strengthens the emotional grip of the singing. The “experience songs” show that our core beliefs as Friends about the possibility and importance of direct personal knowledge of the Spirit are truthful enough to have been rediscovered or rearticulated independently in religious history.</>

Sacred Harp singing is beautiful, social, and an outlet for my gifts. I also find that it gives me a sense of continuity with the past, a form of community that encompasses the past and future as well as the present. Knowing that others have sung these songs for so many years, I feel a sense of perpetuating an extant sound-world of perhaps considerable antiquity. The human experience preserved in the poetry of the lyrics reawakens my sense of empathy with others, across hundreds of years. Above all, I appreciate the sense that I am participating in the work of carrying on a tradition, something that people in the past carefully kept alive for those who came after them, having found it through experience to be of value. </>

While Quakerism, with its rich history and written record, also offers an opportunity for this feeling of continuity with the past, it seems to be something that Sacred Harp singers “do” better than modern-day Quakers, on the whole. Sacred Harp singers tend to place strong conscious emphasis on preserving the distinctive features of their unique tradition and honoring those who handed it down. Our emphasis on what the Spirit is saying to us here and now, while important, can perhaps cause us to neglect to develop a relationship with our history – to treat our inheritance lightly.</>

I experience Meeting for Worship and Sacred Harp singing as each complete in itself, so that I have no desire for music in Meeting for Worship, or for silence at a Sacred Harp singing. Yet for me they are utterly complementary. I feel in no way divided between two spiritual homes – rather, the correspondences between them appear to me as tangible signs of God’s love, and workings of the Power that lies over all things.</>

David Wright grew up in Mountain View Meeting in Denver, and is now a part of University Friends Meeting in Seattle, Washington.</>

A quick search on You Tube for shape note singing and Sacred Harp turns up hundreds of clips of singing. Your local library may also have a copy of the recent documentary about Sacred Harp singing, titled, “Awake, My Soul”.
Sacred Harp singings are free (an offering may be collected) and open to the public. Two-day annual conventions in the Western U.S. include the All-California in January, the Washington State in February, the Rocky Mountain (alternates between Colorado and New Mexico) in September, and the Oregon State in October. For more information about Sacred Harp singing, and listings of annual conventions and local monthly singings throughout the United States, visit http://www.fasola.org