Waiting with the Quakers

Last week, I traveled to Pendle Hill, a Quaker retreat center near Philadelphia, to interview with the Unitarian Universalist Association's South/East Regional Sub-Committee on Candidacy (SERSCC). I am so happy that the interviews were held in this lovely, peaceful setting instead of in some generic hotel conference room. I decided to make a weekend of it, staying 3 nights and attending daily morning and evening worship services.

Photo by Tisha Moore

I'd not attended a Quaker meeting before, and, although I knew some basics about Quakerism, I never really understood unprogrammed corporate worship until experiencing it in person. There's something very moving about non-directed shared silence. As I sat with the others, I became aware that, although I had no idea what particulars were running through everyone's minds, we were really sharing something quite special.

In fact, it's only in shared silence that we achieve anything like perfect understanding--because the moment we open our mouths is when misunderstanding begins. So, at least for the time while we sit quietly together, there is an absolute absence of misinterpretation, an absence of misconstruance, miscommunication and inattention. In their place is, instead, an abundance of possibility and a sense of waiting patiently for something important.

What that "something" might be is so difficult to articulate that perhaps only silence can do it justice. God? Peace? Love? Yes, all those and more. But how much more profoundly these things are expressed in shared silence than in thousands of pages of theological ramblings. And how much more bonding a time of quiet can be than mere chatter. Half an hour of silent communal discernment can accomplish so much more, I think, than many hours of heated debate.

There's a very appealing intimacy about this particular kind of group-oriented direct experience of the divine. In the absence of anything explicitly stated, what we seem to be waiting for is whatever happens. And what else is there for us to revere but this moment and the next? For this moment is the container that holds all of life like a gentle, giant hand. In it, we are supported, caressed, held close.

I am grateful for the good people at Pendle Hill, who were kind enough to include us in their circle, holding us in the light and love of the moment.