Think about the image the public holds of Quakers these days, and you may have to admit most folks have no idea we still exist. Quakers? Puritans? Amish? Even the oatmeal box man has largely lost any context. Even in the seacoast region, where we were once numerous, we’re largely invisible.

Part of it is our own fault, a consequence of dropping Plain dress and speech (not that we’d return to living under the strictures of old Quaker discipline). Another part of it was a consequence of the Hicksite and Gurneyite separations, which blunted the Quaker mission and message. For the record, the oatmeal company’s founders were so impressed by the reputation of Quakers that they appropriated our name; no Friends were involved. But all that was a long time ago.

Those who do have an image of us are likely to identify Quakers as either protesters, for obvious reasons, or as do-gooder philanthropists (probably in part through the Hicksite legacy and in part from the era when Friends produced a number of wealthy industrialists and financiers). Our most visible witness, the American Friends Service Committee, has contributed to both the demonstrator and charitable impressions.

Noble as that work is, the ultimate challenge we face in restoring public awareness of the Society of Friends is in voicing the spiritual foundation for our actions – the unique faith and practice we treasure. At its core, this means extending an invitation to join us in our remarkable worship. So how do we project a semblance of radiant silence? Makes for a more interesting challenge, doesn’t it?

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For related poems and more, click here.

Because many of my blog pieces on Quaker practice originated as monthly reflections for our Meeting newsletter, it’s natural that they would address some seasonal concerns, especially regarding what’s come to be known as the Holidays.

Over the course of these postings on Quakers and spiritual practice, I’ve touched on the interplay between the deeply personal inward search each Friend conducts and the discipleship we extend to one another. Sometimes this meant encouraging us to turn to the journals of earlier Quakers or their practices; sometimes it has meant looking to other branches of the Society of Friends and other denominations for differences or parallels; sometimes it has suggested we rethink our responses to the larger society or the demands of maintaining our own household and its wealth of talent. These days, as I look at Dover’s committee structure, I find myself seeing it recast as “ministries” – where each of us may grow and blossom through service. Ideally, then, the inward and outward would come together.

Living in northern climates, however, seems to amplify one’s awareness of seasonal change. The dark and cold of winter solstice, and the stretch that comes afterward, present their own lessons. Especially as we appreciate the Light as it enters our lives.

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For more on my reflections, click here.

There is a tendency in many silent-worship Quaker meetings to turn the clerk into a de facto pastor. This is curious when we consider the widespread resistance in the same meetings to recognize ministers, elders, and overseers – historic roles a modern clerk becomes expected to fill, at least in part. This is something I had observed long before agreeing to serve as clerk of our meeting.

To be fair, one of the difficulties facing modern pastors is that congregations expect them to assume all three of the historic Quaker offices – to be ministers, elders, and overseers – while few individuals are gifted in more than one. Somebody who’s great in the pulpit may be lousy in hospital visits or in coping with children. Add to that expectations as administrator or chief executive officer, or even as a major fundraiser or organizational planner, and you can imagine the stresses and burnout that result. The fact that “programmed” Friends have both a pastor and a clerk should be a healthy reminder.

The message for quietist Friends like us is that the central job of the clerk is to moderate our business sessions. Yes, by extension, the clerk typically becomes a Public Friend empowered to speak on behalf of the congregation. At Dover, we usually expect our clerk to sit at the head of Meeting for Worship (and, as a consequence, to have nearly perfect attendance), although that has not always been the case. Other expectations may creep in, almost unseen – as the Most Visible Friend is sought out to solve Meeting problems left and right. No, this one will rarely solve the problem. Our strength is that we ALL have active roles in this faith community. Making the service and talents of each Friend more visible is a worthwhile accomplishment – and a sign of health, too. Please stand up and take a bow for the ways you contribute, even as I steer someone in your direction. Especially those of you serving as clerk of your committee-ministry.

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For more of my reflections, click here.