Tag: Quaker

POINT NOTED

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

Few Friends in unprogrammed (or “silent”) Meetings of our size would admit that we need a pastor. Not for a sermon or vocal prayers, mind you, but simply to provide all the behind-the-scenes counseling and comfort, as well as some administrative oversight. But it’s true.

The job of clerk as envisioned is one of a chairman/moderator. As it turns out is something altogether different. We have no chief administrative executive, and that creates a vacuum, especially if Friends in the meeting fail to step up to do their share of community service.

As one former pastor from another denomination quipped, watching our clerk be besieged by questions in the few minutes before we settled in for worship, “You need an office manager.”

Point noted. That would be a step in a useful direction.

WHO’S THERE?

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

Overhearing a cadence of one of the littlest kids in our otherwise silent worship sounded like “Knock, knock!” – which, the mother confirmed afterward, it was.

In the room, though, the pattern led to my silent echo:

“Knock! Knock!”

“Who’s there?”

“God!”

A pause, with multiple directions:

“God who?”

Or “Go away, I’m busy!”

Or Revelation 3:20 or even Matthew 7:7 or Luke 11:9 and 13:25.

 

ALL IN THE HOLY FAMILY

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 3 Comments

This was written for a Quaker audience, but I suspect it’s applicable to many other communities of faith. Translate it to your own spiritual circle (or beyond) and let me know how it fits.

~*~

Maybe today we would see it as the “extended meeting,” along the lines of an extended family. In earlier times, a few large families could fill a typical meetinghouse. The idea of being part of a Quaker Meeting without one’s spouse – much less grandparents, aunts and uncles, or an array of cousins – was as unthinkable as, well, divorce.

Today, however, Friends who come to worship as couples or families are the exception, rather than the norm, at least in our end of the Quaker spectrum. And that doesn’t begin to take into account the prevalence of singles in American society.

This points to a number of shortcomings among Friends. Foremost, the admission that our form of open worship – contrary to what the original Friends envisioned – does not speak to everyone. (In fairness, we might admit that our “unprogrammed worship” emerged as the “retired meeting,” for those who had received the Truth in those big public preaching sessions where all the quaking and weeping broke out.) Then there’s the recognition that the People of God concept, where faith would be handed down within families, has simply broken down, not that it was ever all that stable. Maybe we’re not even as friendly, welcoming, or fun to be with as we’d like to think.

I’m not proposing that we drag everyone, however reluctantly, into Meeting for Worship or for business. But I do think we need to recognize ways the rest of our families are, however indirectly, part of the Meeting. There may be means to more meaningfully engage them, apart from our worship. What would they find inviting? What would they find nurturing or challenging? What would they find relevant?

I’m open to suggestion – and reflection.

RETURNING TO THE SCENE

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 1 Comment

Just pondering all the people who’ve come through the meetinghouse doors in the three decades I’ve been here. Some have moved on to other parts of the country. Others have become committed parts of the fellowship. But suppose the remainder might eventually come back?

In my own life, too: how many would I greet joyously, with curiosity about how their lives have since progressed? How many others would I curse, or at least address perfunctorily? And how many would feel the same toward me?

OVERLAPPING TIME AND SPACE IN NEW ENGLAND

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

When my private-time writing returned to poetry shortly after relocating to New England three decades ago, my attention turned to this unfamiliar place where I was now living. Quite simply, it felt much different than any of my previous locales, and the spirit of specific locations has always been a central concern in my literary ventures.

My personal writing has often been a way for me to assemble thoughts and impressions. In many ways, it’s the way I work through a problem or gain focus on an issue. So when it came to the exercise of looking at my new environment, I soon envisioned a set of poems along the line of a monthly almanac or even a calendar of words rather than color photographs.

I’ve long had a fondness for those large monthly calendars anyway, and by the time I got serious in pushing the almanac, I had a good selection of images to draw from as additional inspiration. Just what images does the region conjure up, anyway?

That’s when New England’s famed Winged Death headstone engravings came into play, and each month began to compress the overlapping centuries this corner of the United States embodies – more so than other parts of the nation, at least.

Winged Death 1New England also has a strong tradition of authority and dissent. The Puritans, after all, came to these shores in their dissent from the Church of England, and Samuel Gorton, Roger Williams, Anne Hutchinson, and their followers in and around Salem, just north of Boston, were soon challenging the Puritan hegemony before being banished, in waves, to Rhode Island. Early Quaker firebrands were soon adding to that upheaval, and that’s included in my spiritual legacy.

What emerged from all this is a craggy, even Baroque, collage that reflects the evolution of the Yankee character in its landscape of harbors and mountains. It’s now available as a free PDF as my latest Thistle/Flinch edition. To read more, click here.

GUERRILLA CHRISTMAS

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 3 Comments

No other time of the year opposes our testament of simplicity as much as the Holiday Season. Here widespread expectations of generosity and excess counter our Quaker discipline of frugality and moderation. The situation becomes especially complicated for individuals like me who find themselves lacking in gift-giving savvy.

Even when Friends formed a sizeable community, they found standing apart from the surrounding society on these activities became impossible over time. Quakers eventually yielded to giving the children an orange or two the day after “the day the world calls Christmas.” We can see similar struggles among Jews regarding Chanukah, where its essential message from 1st and 2nd Maccabbees – to withstand pagan demands, no matter the cost – instead begins to mirror the activities of the general populace. Add to it our mixed families, coming from many different traditions, and any distinctive witness falls by the wayside. In my case, having a wife with a German mother, I’ve learned just how much compromise is required in these decisions.

Actually, she’s taught me a lot about ways to wage a Guerrilla Christmas. Yes, there’s the battle with consumerism, but most of us – and most of the people we know – don’t need more “things.” We have enough clutter already, thank you. So preference is given to gifts that can be used up – food or tickets to an upcoming cultural event or a promised action on behalf of the recipient. Whenever possible, small local enterprises are favored over “big box” retailers. Some of you know about our family tradition of making gingerbread houses, a bit of silliness that accompanies our observation of Advent. As for Advent itself, when you remember that the Twelve Days of Christmas begin the day the advertising ends, you’re liberated to enjoy a less frenetic round of being with those you love.

It’s not what earlier Quakers would have expected from us, but it’s still a witness. Maybe it’s also a way for us to expand our understanding of simplicity and joyfulness, too.

So here’s to the First Day of Christmas. Remember, the season runs all the way to January 6, so enjoy.

TEACHING OR PREACHING

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 2 Comments

One of the criticisms that Evangelical Friends level at quietist Meetings like ours is that we are short on teaching. “Silent worship, for those who are well-instructed in divine truth, has real benefits,” they write, before cautioning: “upon those who have neither read the Bible nor hear it expounded the effect may be very different.” The passage I quote continues: “As a result, the Friends Church became victim to a group of erroneous teachers, among whom Elias Hicks was most prominent.” The section also points to some very deep misunderstandings among Friends, including Job Scott’s decision to remain silent in sessions called on his behalf during his traveling ministry; he sensed too many people had come with “itchy ears” primed for novelty rather than an open heart.

Ideally, vocal ministry arises as a prophetic voice, as William Taber describes in his Pendle Hill pamphlet, The Prophetic Stream. From this perspective, pastoral sermons can be criticized as arising too much as a matter of teaching and too little as an outpouring of the Holy Spirit.

Walter Wangerin Jr.’s novel, Miz Lil and the Chronicles of Grace, also addresses this, though from a different perspective. There, the young Lutheran pastor realizes that in greeting parishioners after the service, he cannot tell whether one woman is telling him he offered good teaching or good preaching on any given morning. One Sunday, however, it becomes quite clear she has been making a distinction: “’Pastor?’ All at once, Miz Lillian Leander. She took my hand and we exchanged a handshake, and I let go, but she did not. … Her voice was both soft and civil. It was the sweetness that pierced me. I think its tones reached me alone, so that it produced a casement of silence around us … there was Miz Lil, gazing up at me. There was her shrewd eye, soft and sorry.

“’You preached today,’ she said, and I thought of our past conversation. ‘God was in this place,’ she said, keeping my hand in hers. I almost smiled for pride at the compliment. But Miz Lil said, ‘He was not smiling.’ Neither was she. Nor would she let me go. … The old woman spoke in velvet and severity, and I began to be afraid.” Then she gently rebukes her pastor for unintentional consequences, after he has prided himself for being frugal by cutting off the water to an outdoor faucet.

“’God was in your preaching,’ she whispered. “Did you hear him, Pastor? It was powerful. Powerful. You preach a mightier stroke than you know. Oh, God was bending his black brow down on our little church today, and yesterday, and many a day before. Watching. ‘Cause brother Jesus – he was in that child Marie, begging a drink of water from my pastor.”

I love the way that passage illustrates how the prophetic voice flowing through an individual can be larger than its vessel. “Did you hear him, Pastor?” I love, too, the way it illustrates an elder laboring with a minister: “Miz Lillian Leander fell silent then. But she did not smile. And she would not let me go. For a lifetime, for a Sunday and a season the woman remained immovable. She held my hand in a steadfast grip, and she did not let it go.”

POTLUCK HITS

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 3 Comments

Quaker circles seem to be big on potluck dinners, which are humorously called a “meeting for eating” rather than the traditional Meeting for Worship or Meeting for Business. I know we’re not alone in enjoying this kind of gathering – in some locales, they’re called a “covered dish supper,” and I suppose other terms are used elsewhere in the world. And I still have fond memories of the Mennonite versions.

Still, trying to decide what to prepare and take can be baffling, as I found back when I was single. Many people lean toward soups, which I find difficult to handle in any setting that means mingling rather than sitting down at a table. Ditto for salads. There’s also the temptation to present purely showoff dishes, which in reality are usually overlooked in the array on the buffet.

My solution was potato chips, and these were often the first thing to disappear, especially if children were around.

Since then, we (meaning wife and daughters) have found several simple-to-make sure-fire hits, though:

  • Deviled eggs: Always the first plate to be emptied. The downside is they must be refrigerated and can be difficult to make if large quantities are required. Still …
  • “Tater tots for grownups”: We’ve been playing with several variations on this, essentially savory garlic potatoes that are squished for a flatter shape and then baked or roasted. Google the phrase and you’ll have no shortage of recipes. The one we’re working from is found here. http://www.epicurious.com/recipes/food/views/Potato-Bites-15806
  • Lemon squares, cheesecake bars, brownies, or a torte: Desserts like these prove popular, and since they can be delivered in serving-size portions, you avoid the mess of cutting and plating at the event. Nifty.
  • Mudslide truffle: My elder daughter proclaims this a guaranteed crowd-stopper. It’s a multilayered sin typically made from Cool Whip (she uses whipped cream), chocolate or vanilla pudding, crushed brownies, and Kahlua or Bailey’s Irish Cream. A Google search will deliver a lot of variations, including almonds. Yes, this one does require both hands for eating, but it also travels well, she says, and looks very impressive when delivered in clear glass showing all the layers. The Kahlua or Bailey’s rules it out for church events, so the search for a suitable substitute is under way.

So that’s for starters. Apart from the tater tots or the torte, though, there’s nothing for vegans. So what would you suggest for the list? It is a potluck, after all, and the table’s open.

ENGAGING THE POWERS AND PRINCIPALITIES

~ Jnana Hodson ~ 8 Comments

Like it or not, practicing an art means wrestling with power, including, in St. Paul’s phrase, the “powers and principalities.” Powers of destruction, on one hand, and sustenance, on the other. Destruction that can, as we’ve seen too many times, include the artist. Hence, the fascination with Faust. With madness. Alcoholism. And on. Self-absorption and inflated self-importance rather than humble service.

We hazard much, often without the slightest awareness of the risks afoot. For the Christian, these involve Satan’s dominion over “the world,” which includes the realm of the arts; in Asian teachings, we can turn to the traps of Maya, that spider web of worldly attraction and deadly illusion. Either way, cause to be wary. Need for disciplined faith. Yes, let’s introduce something we’ll call Satan, just to thicken the drama.

Which raises an ancient point of conflict for a Christian artist: I’m not at all sure art is a proper activity for a Quaker. Through much of Friends’ history, most of the arts were considered superfluous and dishonest engagements taking our attention away from true worship. “We Quakers only read true things” is the way one expressed it while returning an unread novel to a neighbor.

Yes, “we Quakers read only true things,” or used to. The exclusion of not just fiction but theater and paintings and sports as distractions from worship. Traps of the flesh?

And yet: discipline is essential in spiritual growth. Self-discipline, route to true freedom. And where is the mind without imagination? I continue to read and write fiction and poetry. I love symphonies, string quartets, and opera. I’m a baritone or occasional tenor in four-part a cappella singing. When I practice my art, I am fed by this love/compulsion/infusion.

So we’re back to the ways and spirit in which we engage the powers and principalities, and the ways we order our lives.

A LITTLE HOLY CONFESSION

~ Jnana Hodson ~ Leave a comment

Coming, as most of us modern Quakers do, from other faith traditions, it’s fair to ask ourselves just what we carry with us into the Quaker circle.

My own family, for instance, was quite active in the Evangelical United Brethren denomination, now merged into the United Methodists. Despite the many Sunday mornings spent listening to quarter-hour sermons, however, I find myself remembering very little. There was one telling us not to waste time (because time was a gift from God), another about our bodies being temples that should not be abused by smoking or drinking, another about non-conformity as a Protestant duty (this back in the gray-flannel ‘50s!), as well as the annual money sermon, reduced to a plea for financial support. Surprisingly, I recall no Bible stories. The senior pastor, a quiet and bookish man, quoted many volumes along the way, yet my sense is that he was likely much more effective in his hospital visits and pastoral counsel than he was in the pulpit. The youth pastor, meanwhile, taught me more about organizing and managing successful political campaigns and establishments than about matters of the Holy Spirit.

More influential, I suspect, were the short trailside vespers of our Scout troop. One boy, a preacher’s kid, even spoke of the church being the people, along the lines of the Quaker argument I’ve previously presented. And then there was the twilight circle of rowboats and candles when we camped at Lake Vesuvius – that awe of the stilling day and waters reflecting something of our current worship.

It all seems so long ago, and so far back. Yet a few turns later, emerging from a yoga ashram, I encountered a circle of Friends who began opening the Scriptures to me, and then a few Mennonites who restored the hymn legacy, and something from that past took shape, in a new way. Maybe the last laugh, though, belongs to those EUB officials of my youth who tried to steer me into their ministry – and a faith I soon rejected fully. After all, it opened the way that landed me into free Gospel ministry here.