Stuart Masters of the Woodbrooke Quaker Study Center gave a presentation on this theme to Ireland Yearly Meeting 2023. This post provides a script of Stuart’s presentation.

This is the script for a presentation made by James Nelson (South Belfast Meeting) on 13 April 2023 to Ireland Yearly Meeting 2023, whose theme was “Building Community Together”.

Our theme this year is Building Community and in my short presentation I want to talk about Fostering community through inter-church and inter-faith encounter from a personal perspective. To begin I want to explore some of the reasons for our Quaker involvement in ecumenical and interfaith work and later I will suggest 3 ways we can help to foster community in those kinds of settings.

The anthropologist, Vered Amit, says that the concept of community is ‘good to think with’ and in preparing this talk I have found that to be the case for when I began to consider what I would say about my topic, I first had to wrestle with obvious questions about community.

What or where is this community? And what kinds of relations between different religious groups can contribute to strengthening that community? 

We use the word ‘community’ freely and liberally in many different contexts, ‘local community’, ‘global community’, ‘disadvantaged community’, ‘religious community’ and we employ different metaphors to illustrate the nature of community:  

1. A melting pot. Where the ingredients blend and merge together to form a tasty whole
2. A salad bowl. Where the individual elements don’t lose their shape but combine well to form one attractive dish of distinct parts

I wonder which image you prefer most, especially when you think about being in community with other churches, people with other worldviews or other faiths? 

What is the type of association that we should aspire to in that context? In our Quaker Life and Practice Book (9.15) we are told: ‘Friends have always been open to benefit and learn from the experience of Christians in whatever church they may be in membership. This openness contrasts with the basic lack of interest in the process of church unification.’

So, it would seem in the ecumenical world we’re less melting pot and more salad bowl.

There is more than a sense in the Life and Practice statement that while Quakers can tolerate being in the same bowl they need their boundaries. Quaker kale may bump up against Orthodox olives, or Catholic cucumbers but that’s close enough.

And, interestingly I hear this verbalised by some Irish Quakers who struggle, for example, to attend ecumenical events in churches where women are not awarded full rights of leadership or gay people full rights of membership. They are concerned that participation means endorsement of theologies that are in conflict with quaker testimonies.

So, why is it that we remain faithful to ecumenism, dialogue and interfaith organisations and events? 

Well, it is my view that we engage with others in ecumenical and interfaith work because we are different, not just because we have some shared interests. If we all agreed, there would be no need for interfaith forums or church councils. Most people who participate in interfaith and interchurch work come with mixed feelings. This is common when as humans we cross boundaries. We are caught between the in-group safety of our own community and the risk of indifference, rejection or even hostility with the out-group. We are not the only ones who experience both attraction and aversion to these encounters. So, building community through interchurch and interfaith work is not always straightforward and requires effort.

At this point, I will speak personally. First, I should explain that since 2020 I have been the Quaker representative on the Irish Council of Churches and the Irish Inter-Church Meeting. As a Quaker community we were a founding member of the ICC 100 years ago, when 7 Protestant denominations came together to cultivate friendly relations between the churches and engage in joint work. Since then the Council has doubled in size and now includes Orthodox and Independent churches as well. Similarly, Quakers have supported the Irish Inter-Church Meeting since its inception, the IICM is the ecumenical body where the ICC and the Catholic church come together. As well as this, I’m a member of the Northern Ireland inter-faith forum. And I’m not alone, there are many here with past and present involvement in these kinds of activities and who attend ecumenical Peace Days or interfaith activities. 

So why do we involve ourselves in these activities? Perhaps in response to the Quaker advice to understand other people’s experiences of the light? Yes, but my view is that we also participate because we know that differences can foster division which in turn leaves space for misunderstanding and mistrust to grow, and when perpetuated over weeks, years or generations can give rise to stereotypes, prejudice and discrimination.  

I know this from my own experience. I grew up in an environment where sectarianism was strongly present and I initially accepted what I heard when people of other denominations or religion were demonised in my church, at school etc.  

In my early twenties, opportunities to be involved in educational initiatives aimed at building mutual understanding between our divided community changed me, and I have never forgotten the importance of those events and the power of honest yet supportive relational encounters. And it is for this reason that in my professional life and in my work through the Religious Society of Friends that I remain firmly committed to experiences of encounter and bridge building. For me, fostering community is building relationships with others who may be different in order to find issues of shared purpose that provide sufficient grounds for common action. And I believe interchurch and interfaith activities can provide such opportunities. Taking the Irish Council of Churches, for example, the recent list of topics discussed at the last meeting I attended included racism, social justice, the economics of belonging and peace building. Issues about which I believe are core to Quaker concerns. So, these two elements of building relations and collective work around core values provide a strong foundation for my continued involvement. 

And I think this is similar to other Friends whose interests in building community are fundamentally relational. We eschew centralisation or building super-structures or shared creeds or even common prayers.  In the words of another Quaker, John MacMurray, community is about ‘persons in relation’. Community does not reside in a specific place, a building or an organisation; it is not outside of us but a way of being in relation with others. BYM Advices and Queries speak of engaging with other communities of faith with the purpose of, ‘creating together the bonds of friendship.’ (6). MacMurray’s goes even further, saying:

‘Our human being is our relations to other human beings and our value lies in the quality of these relations. Our relation to God is itself real only as it shows itself in our relation to our neighbours’

 So, we continue our participation, not because we want to agree or endorse all the beliefs of others but because through positive relations we can further the work of peace, reconciliation and care for others and the environment. 

Returning to where I started – what does all of this mean for fostering community in interfaith and interchurch activity?  As I have reflected on this and my own experiences, I have discerned three ways of being that I want to share as my ways of fostering community that may have value for you as we reflect on our Yearly Meeting theme, building community: Be there; Be generous; Be critical. 

1. Be there – Perhaps the most obvious, but also the most important. Unless we put ourselves in a place where we can meet people from diverse traditions there will be no way to build connections. To foster community we must be participants in community activity. But where? Not all of us can be involved in the Irish Council of Churches or Interfaith Forums, but there are many ways to put ourselves in a place of diversity. Encounters can be extremely varied: from highly organised events to chance encounters, from committee work to religious services, from large gatherings to small group conversations. My favourite are those which celebrate diversity in community settings. For example I attended, a musical celebration for the UN Day of Peace in Belfast this year which was organised by an amazing group, Beyond Skin, and involved contributions from Christians, Muslims, Bahai and Jewish communities. Or the Borderlands monthly gathering in the Pavilion Bar in Belfast, an experiment in Public Theology organised by the Corrymeela community and others. Or the 4 Corners festival, again in Belfast, which is organised each year by Rev Steve Stockman and Fr Martin Magill to bring people from different parts of Belfast together. I know some might regard these as tokenistic but, for me they are hugely important for they show leadership and hope. They are also a practical expression of the Quaker insight that there is that of God in everyone – a phrase which is easy to say but which we continually need to practice. When people come together, out of their routine, and with an openness to listen, participate and share, our awareness of the Light in others is sharpened. The writer Victor Turner uses slightly different language, he describes these as moments of communitas(Turner in Amit & Rapport 2012, p.9 ) when people come together, to ‘confront one another not as role players but ‘human totals’ (Turner in Amit & Rapport 2012, p.18). So when we turn up to that shared service, that walk for peace or interreligious celebration it is a way to live out our belief in the inner light in all.

2. Be generous. Despite what I have just said about the importance of turning up at interfaith and interchurch events I also have to be honest and say that they’re not always a delight. At many ICC meetings, for example, I experience of full range of emotions from frustration and cynicism to collegiality, empathy and a strong sense of shared purpose to our work. It is easy to be distracted by the more negative of these emotions however it is vital to focus on the positives and be generous when faced with the negatives. Being generous means not rushing to judgment. In practice this means, don’t make assumptions, each person may come with a label but they are each unique. As BYM Advices and Queries counsel: ‘Take time to learn about other people’s experiences of the Light.’ (5). One particular way to do this and get beyond labels is to be curious about the inner diversity and the multiple expressions of any religious tradition at the global, national, denominational, individual levels. Asking about how people grew up in a tradition is one way to access this, and as a result, at times it is possible to feel more connected with someone from a very different tradition than it is with some people from your own tradition. That shouldn’t be a surprise but it takes a spirit of generosity and the experience of encounter to combine together to make that magic happen. At the most recent World Council of Churches in 2022, part of the final Message that was agreed by delegates sums up the need to sustain a generous openness to co-working, even with our differences:

Amid all our diversity, we have relearned in our assembly that there is a pilgrimage of justice, reconciliation, and unity to be undertaken together. 

1. Hearing the word of God together, we recognize our common calling; 
2. Listening and talking together, we become closer neighbours; 
3. Lamenting together, we open ourselves to each other’s pain and suffering; 
4. Working together, we consent to common action;
5. Celebrating together, we delight in each other’s joys and hopes;

3. Be critical. Being critical is not to be confused with its near neighbour, cynicism. As we know, critiquing and dissenting are part of our Quaker DNA, and Quakers have consistently adopted a constructively critical approach to ecumenical and interfaith bodies, and we need to continue to play our part in this way. This too is community building, for if these organisations don’t change and evolve they will stagnate and wither away. So, what are the issues on which we can offer a critical voice. There are potentially many but I will mention just two from my experience that have particular relevance in the places I find myself:  

(a) First, in relation to the Irish Council of Churches, is the status of majority and minority churches. In particular, I am thinking of those churches sometimes referred to as migrant churches who may sit at the same table yet not have an equal voice. Those of us with a white western identity must recognize our privilege and how it affords an unearned power. In a constructively critical way, we need to ask how we help to elevate the voices of those from Black or Asian communities, for example, in ecumenical work.  

(b) Second, if we think about our salad bowl, we need to think critically about who is inside and who is outside our inter-church and inter-faith bowl. Many churches and faith groups do not currently participate, often for some of the reasons I have mentioned already in relation to fearing that working with others means fully endorsing their theology. Perhaps we can show by example how it is possible to hold  two aspirations in tension – fostering community with those who are different and maintaining integrity to our own values. And one way to do this is to think critically about the image of the bowl itself, a hard surface designed to offer a hard boundary. Maybe we can suggest another metaphor to help. Tapestry is an art form sometimes associated with the Quaker tradition, and it provides an interesting alternative metaphor. The distinct images, shapes and designs on the surface are created from many interweaving threads. The tapestry has both unique and common elements, and is open to many creative possibilities. As Farhan Samanani has noted in ‘How to live with each other’: 

There is no universal template for community, no one way to be together… [so let’s] not content ourselves with singular visions of togetherness, but let a thousand flowers bloom.

To conclude, I want to thank you for this opportunity and I look forward to the rest of our time together and I hope by the end we will have affirmed the truth of Vered Amit’s claim that the concept of community has been ‘good to think with’.

Rachel Bewley-Bateman of Churchtown Meeting delivered the Public Lecture at Yearly Meeting in The High School, Dublin, on Friday 21st April 2017 on the topic ‘The Way, the Truth and the Life … what does this mean for us today?’

Her wide-ranging lecture encompassed Biblical references, consideration of the Reformation and the influence of the Religious Society of Friends (Quakers) since its inception as well as her own personal spiritual journey.

Rachel talked about how George Fox, the founder of Quakerism, came to realise it was possible to have a direct relationship with God. “Over time seekers became finders and the good news spread rapidly,” she said.

She concluded that “Quaker testimonies are still valid and should challenge us daily – truth, integrity, peace, justice, simplicity, equality, community, the earth and environment …. We can call on God to guide us and give us the strength to undertake what He requires of us.”

You can read the full text of Rachel’s talk here >> IYM PUBLIC LECTURE 2017

 

More than 180 people attended the Public Lecture at this year’s Ireland Yearly Meeting.

Addressing the topic, ‘Who is my Neighbour? What is our Testimony on Inclusion?’, Will Haire of South Belfast Quaker Meeting, called on us to consider how we can include those most in need in our society through a broader social contract, responsible participation in the economy, social service and by leading inclusive personal lives.

“We are challenged to create a counter-culture, challenging the mainstream and consumerism of our society and to argue in what we say, and in what we do, for a different way of life,” said Will.

“We have to argue for a fair tax system, fair pay for all, and for a fair welfare system,” he said, adding that taxes should be progressive, with the weight falling on those who can afford them.

“We have to argue for good, transparent governance of businesses, the economy, the state and indeed all institutions – ourselves included. That fits with our testimony to integrity, to our use of plan language.”

“We have to build better links with those who are experiencing poverty. We have to understand their views, their concerns. We have to include them in the process of our thinking, our action, to create a real dialogue.”

Will concluded: “We have to be the good neighbour, the neighbour to everyone who needs our help.”

You can read the full script of Will’s lecture here – IYM Public Lecture 2016.

 

 

 

 

 

 

To become ‘the People of the Cross’:
Climate Change, Violence and some Meanings of Creation in Our Times
Ireland Yearly Meeting (Quakers) Annual Lecture 2015
Based on the extemporary delivery by Alastair McIntosh
at Dromantine, County Down, 10 April 2015

Please click on the following link:  2015-Ireland-YM-Lecture

On principle, not consequence

A Quaker life in broadcasting

by

Ian Kirk-Smith

On Saturday 4 March 1972 I had lunch with a friend in a restaurant/cafe in Belfast. In the morning we had played hockey for our school team.

We left the restaurant just after two o’clock. Two hours later a bomb exploded in it. Two women were killed.  130 people were horribly injured: mostly women and children.  One young woman – who was about to be married – lost both her legs, her right arm and an eye. The restaurant was The Abercorn.

I was eighteen. Continue reading IYM Public Lecture 2014 →

This is the text of a public lecture delivered by Julia Ryberg at Ireland Yearly Meeting of The Religious Society of Friends (Quakers)  held in Cork, Ireland on the 26th of July 2013

 I was 26, mother of three little children and distraught with complexities of life. It was a summer’s day in the Colorado Rocky Mountains. I stood alone in a grove of mountain birch and wept. I was not yet aware of anything I called God. I called out to someone to help me. And someone answered me.  ‘I am with you. I will help you.’ I don’t know if the words came from within or from without, but a relationship began that day. More than 30 years have passed, and this talk will be about that relationship.

Thank you for this invitation to speak. It gives me an opportunity to remember, take stock and challenge myself. What can I say, today? It feels special to speak here this evening for several  reasons. First, Quaker ancestors on my father’s side emigrated to America from Grange Quaker Meeting in 1741. I have a connection with Ireland—not only a historical one, but also one of being tenderly upheld and welcomed by the body of Irish Friends. Second, Irish Quakers represent a theological spectrum within which my own journey of faith has moved. Your diversity—and how you love each other in it—is important to me. Furthermore, in the audience are guests from other churches, reminding me of significant ecumenical experiences I have had. And finally, in the audience there may be listeners who would call themselves seekers—of a faith, of a faith community—and perhaps something of my experience will speak to your condition. I hope that each of you will hear something that resonates within you. I hope that each of you will allow yourselves to be challenged. I hope that I offend no one. To aid the listening, I will pause for a minute of silent reflection a few times during my talk.

At 26, I identified as Quaker more by heritage than anything else. My family has been actively and influentially Quaker on all sides for many generations. I had a liberal Quaker upbringing that focused more on Quaker practise, pedagogy and peace work than on issues of faith. Some of my relatives were pastoral Quakers, evangelical Quakers…there was an ‘otherness’ about them that made me a bit uncomfortable. My knowledge of the Christian tradition was very sketchy. At Quaker boarding school ten years earlier, there had been a wave of Christian revival that I experienced as arrogant, divisive and exclusive. If anything, being Christian was something that gave me negative associations. Until I was 26, issues of faith were really not on my radar screen.

Things changed suddenly with this first spiritual opening. I felt as if I had been caught up in a net, rescued from drowning in my life drama. I was infatuated with, pre-occupied with whomever it was that had spoken. I called it God and I somehow associated it with Jesus. A Catholic friend guided me to the writings of Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross. I read hungrily. I read Brother Lawrence and Thomas Kelly. I felt Jesus close to me and longed for his total presence in me. Perhaps the infatuation was an escape from the challenges in my life at that time. Whatever the case, the condition lasted for a number of years. It filled me and helped me. It also embarrassed me. I did not talk much about it. I did not want to be a ‘Jesus freak’. Ambivalence found me turning the Jesus button off and on. Ambivalence has been a significant part of these 30 years and is probably what this talk is actually about.

I had married into a Swedish Quaker family and moved to Sweden at 20. My father-in-law was a charismatic wordsmith. However, I could only appreciate his writings years after his death. The day after his funeral in 1986, five years after my first spiritual opening, I travelled to a two-week ecumenical Bible course that he had encouraged me to attend. He had equipped me with a beautiful gilded Bible. I hadn’t the vaguest notion of how to use it. I was the only Quaker at the course. There was a lot of praise singing, speaking in tongues, laying on of hands, vocal prayer and hours of Bible study. What I mostly remember is the crucifix on the wall of my bedroom. It bothered me. I wanted Jesus, but I didn’t want the crucifix. I debated whether to take it down. It stayed on the wall, but it burned in me every time I looked at it. I also remember feeling excited and comforted by the religious expression of the other course participants, although I could not join in with the praise singing and remain true to myself. I explained, and the others respected my Quaker silence. The singing and praise washed through me and over me. Prayerful hands were laid on me. It was rich and real. This was another turning point.

The early 1990s found me teaching languages and social studies at the local men’s prison. I was expecting our youngest child during that period. It seemed that having a pregnant teacher somehow softened and deepened the discourse in class. The inmates’ conversation often turned to the meaning of life, to matters of faith, of having missed the mark in their roles as fathers, of hopes to do better. It seemed that my faith, diffuse as it was, was entering my professional life and that I needed to do something intentional about it. This coincided with Swedish Friends asking me to serve the Yearly Meeting. I have worked for Quakers since then. Since then, when anyone has asked about what I do for a living, I have needed to say something about my community of faith and my understanding of faith, and the questions ‘Where do I belong?’ and ‘What do I believe?’ keep needing to be answered.

In 1995 there was a dramatic turn of events. I had been feeling a bit restless for some months, perhaps a bit dry and doubtful about the whole God-thing. Unexpectedly on August 1, when I was in a meditative state, I suddenly experienced a bright and powerful light moving from outside me and coursing through my body from head to toe. It was overwhelming. It did not involve any religious language, images or emotions. It was simply an overwhelming and awe-filled experience of a powerful light. My immediate response has remained since that day: ‘Now I know that God is real, active, transcendent and immanent. I do not have to wonder ever again. I need no more proof. This is no longer about belief. It is about knowing.’ Now, you might think, things would be smooth sailing after that. On the contrary, it put me on a new and challenging course.

The experience of light, free as it was from any religious elements, was universal in nature. I understood that similar experiences are recounted in many faith traditions and outside faith traditions. Yet for me, it was the ultimate proof of the existence of God. It seemed that no sooner had God become thoroughly real for me than Jesus began nagging at me: ‘Hey, what about me? Who do you say I am?’  Now it seemed that the abstract was asking to be clothed, to be made particular, to become embodied. I found myself less concerned with the nature of God and more focused on the phenomenon of Jesus Christ. How was he connected with the experience of the light that had affected me so fundamentally?

The experience fuelled my life for many years. It held me under the arms when I served the local Lutheran church as chairperson of the parish board for five years. There was a painful conflict around a controversial vicar, and I had been given a political mandate to remove him from his position. I became deeply involved in the structures, the culture and the liturgy of the Lutheran Church of Sweden. That is when my Christian education really began, and the questions that arose during that time have continued to engage me. Working actively to remove a vicar proved to be a trial by fire. As chairperson, I had to use worldly tools of lobbying and majority rule—so different from Quaker decision making! As a woman and Quaker, I was controversial in challenging an ordained clergyman’s appropriateness for his office. I remember attending mass one Sunday. The vicar was calling the congregation to come forward for communion. ‘Come, all is ready.’ But I was in conflict with him. How could I rise and go forward? Yet not taking part seemed an act of betrayal. In deep distress I called out inwardly to Jesus. ‘Help me! What would you do?’ Immediately, I was brought to my feet. Beyond all worldly conflict between our roles and views, the vicar and I shared a common humanity and we were there to honour the memory of Jesus. The five years of service were a significant piece of spiritual and personal development for me.

The August 1 experience had other far-reaching implications. I made some life-changing choices. Among others, I followed a calling to study. I considered, very briefly, studying for the Lutheran clergy, but how could I leave my Quaker context? How could I serve under a formulated creed?  I wanted to learn about Quakerism, Christianity, church history. I wanted to study the Bible. I wanted to gain some understanding of what my future ministry might be. The result was seven years with Earlham School of Religion, the Quaker seminary in the USA, in a combination of on-site and online studies. Sweden Yearly Meeting supported me throughout the process.

During seminary, I became acquainted with the life of Swedish Quaker Emilia Fogelklou. She was born in 1878. She writes about a lesson in Christianity, when she was around 8 years of age. The teacher was talking about George Fox, the founder of Quakerism, who was under the delusion that he could be guided by an ‘inner light’ that was within each person. Little Emilia piped up: ‘I am suffering from that same delusion.’ She became a writer, mystic, educator, peace worker during two world wars, women’s rights advocate, and one of the ‘mothers’ of Sweden Yearly Meeting when it was founded in 1936. Although I never met her, Emilia’s words and life story have helped me grapple with the Christian tradition. When she was 23, and deeply depressed, Emilia had a transformative experience she called her Revelation of Reality. In order to understand what had happened to her, she studied theology and became the first woman in Sweden to take a degree in theology, in 1909.  She describes her transformative experience in the third person: But one bright day of spring – the 29th of May 1902 – when she sat preparing a lesson amongst the trees behind Föreningsgatan 6, there occurred quite silently, invisibly, the central event of her whole life. Without sight or sound of speech or human touch, she experienced in a state of exceptionally clear consciousness the great releasing inner wonder. It was as though the ’empty shell’ broke. All burden and anguish, the whole sense of unreality melted away. She felt living goodness, joy, light like an irradiatingly clear, uplifting, enfolding unquestionable reality from deep within. The first words that came to her – after a long time – were: this is the great Mercy, this is God. Nothing is as real as this….Within herself she knew, without priest or book, how God finds a person and bestows life and freedom and light. The New Testament opened up from within. She understood that what had happened to her was possible for everyone.  It was part of human life. She recognized glimpses of it in the churches and the sects, but for herself she did not require so much ‘wrapping paper around God,’ not so many repetitions of the same thoughts and words, as if God were deaf or forgetful or reluctant to listen.

Because the August 1 experience was so universal in nature, I felt at liberty to image and relate to God in ways that were meaningful to me. I rejoice at the words of another early Swedish Quaker, Elin Wägner, as she expresses a similar sense of liberty. I have written and said, innumerable times, that Quakers maintain that God dwells in each person. A long time ago it suddenly occurred to me that, in that case, he also dwells in me. But now I knew what I had done with him. Tied his hands and feet, put him on a starvation diet, refused to speak to the prisoner while throwing into the astronomers’ universe a cry of desperation and doubt to some strangely distant and apathetic God. But now he had become free, made himself free or perhaps I had set him free. And then he was able to answer, that poor gagged God.

During the years of seminary study, the framework of the Christian faith became clearer. I understood that there were certain beliefs and doctrines that were central to Christianity, without which one could hardly be a ‘proper’ Christian. You might think that I could have simply not worried about it, given myself a quasi-Christian, or perhaps a universalist Quaker identity and gotten on with life. This was not possible, because—as I said earlier—Jesus was simply not letting me alone.

I struggled with the resurrection, with the exclusive claims of Christianity, with the notion of the Trinity, with the creeds, with the incarnation, with the concept of sin, with how the historical Jesus is related to the Christ of faith. I struggled with the violence and patriarchy of the Old Testament—did I need to relate to those writings at all? I haven’t even begun to struggle with the atonement. How could I possibly call myself a Christian, given that I had trouble with pretty much all of it? And did it really matter? Couldn’t I simply be a committed Quaker without coming to terms with all of the above? Many of my Quaker Friends had just let the whole Christianity thing go…as too laden with history and baggage. I could certainly identify with that! I couldn’t let it go.

It then dawned on me that there are many ways of being Christian, just as there are many ways of being Muslim and Jewish and Hindu and Buddhist. There are many ways of being Universalist. And I have seen the Christ-like life modelled in many people of other faith traditions and none. I had a growing sense, and a growing frustration, that others—an undefined mass called mainstream Christians—seemed to have reserved the right to define what it is to be Christian. I was not prepared to answer ‘No’ to the question whether I was a Christian, but I was not prepared to answer ‘Yes’ without understanding what kind of a Christian I was. It was not going to be an easy or neat journey.

I remember reading a book for seminary studies. It was a history of the different roles that Jesus has been assigned through the centuries—almost as if he had been a paper doll and given different costumes in order to serve cultural, political, social and economic purposes. What a revelation! Which Jesus was I relating to? How have the many manifestations of Jesus affected me, a 21st century Swedish-American Quaker woman? I felt drawn to find the naked, unadorned Jesus, the one behind all the costumes and roles assigned him. Who was he? What did he say? Emilia’s words again: Poor Jesus. If we would only worship him a little less and listen to him a little more.

Finding him, listening to him, means reading the Gospels. I wanted to know the true version. I wanted to know what he really said, and wondered if I couldn’t simply cut and paste the words of Jesus—printed red in so many Bibles—into one document and skip the rest that seemed so inconsistent. I learned about the Jesus Seminar in this context, about the theologians who were studying the Gospels to determine degrees of likelihood that words attributed to Jesus really were uttered by him. And it was both distressing and liberating to me to fully understand that the red texts are not direct quotes and that factual truth is hard to find. I began to understand at a deep level that the Gospels—and indeed all the books of the Bible— are themselves human attempts to make sense of a mystery. The fact that there needs to be several inconsistent versions of the Gospel is not a weakness but attests to the mysterious nature of events that have continued to engage, challenge, nourish people for over 2000 years. It is the same story told through several different lenses—remembered, edited, translated and interpreted throughout the centuries in a rich and often bitter  brew of language, culture and politics.

I continued reading one of the Jesus Seminar theologians, Marcus Borg. His writings, and meeting him in Stockholm last November, have helped me considerably. His book Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time was enlightening, and the title intrigued me. Seeing again, for the first time, suggests that we can return with new eyes, new insight, to something—or someone—precious to us, challenging or disturbing to us and see that something, or someone, in a new light. I understood that  I could re-visit my understandings thus far of the Christian tradition. I became aware of the baggage that I had, even though I had not been given an explicitly Christian upbringing. I had quite a bit of baggage simply by virtue of living in a culture that is based on Christian values—although I believe it has distorted what it is to be a person of faith and a follower of Jesus. And I do not need to let the distortions define my faith!

I came to realize that I was probably being a faithful Quaker. Throughout the centuries, Quakers have questioned outer authority in the light of firsthand experience. I felt a growing confidence in my messy, inconsistent seeking after a way to identify as a Christian with my integrity and intelligence intact. Early Quakers had re-discovered primitive Christianity, and the word ‘primitive’ here doesn’t mean a less refined version. It means the version that existed before too many people began messing too much with a good idea—and using it to gain power over others. So, although Quakers are prepared to question outer authority, we also consistently test firsthand experience in the light of tradition. In other words, there is the understanding that continuing revelation will not be inconsistent with a living tradition. This begs the question, What continues to be life-giving in our tradition—both the Quaker and the Christian? And what, on the other hand, might we be holding onto that needs reviewing? The origin of the word ‘tradition’  means both a passing on of something and a betrayal of something. Tradition can be something that grounds us and gives us sustenance. It can also be something that keeps us stuck and betrays the life-giving wellspring. Tradition is not something to be used as an argument for the status quo. It is something that should help us keep our eyes open, that opens us to the past, the present and the future all at once.

Emilia warned us about getting stuck: Systems of faith are like a gauge reading of what has been experienced, and as such they are greatly justified. But we must not get stuck in the past, but in every new situation wait for the current of life  from the one who said  ‘See, I am making all things new’. If Quakers do not do that, we are the poorest of all communities.

But my father-in-law, Sven Ryberg, warned us about abuse of freedom: The Society of Friends has an obliging history, but it is easy to take advantage of spiritual greatness of the past. We have no priests, no confessors, no dogmas or sacraments, nothing that can take us by the collar and hold us under our arms when we begun being sucked into the abyss. We are instead dangerously close to hubris, to self-indulgence, to snobbishness with our freedom, to spiritual sloth and to many, many excuses. We do not notice when we have sunk back from the the glimpse of reality, of truth that we once saw. Quaker freedom is a disastrous pitfall if it is not reclaimed every day from within.

It seems we must navigate between the extremes of getting stuck and losing our bearings.

In the past few years, God has become wider for me. God has become process more than an entity, more verb than noun. I learned of the concept, actually from Celtic spirituality, of ‘thin places’. These are the places, events, encounters, texts and music, where the membrane, the veil, between our everyday reality and the ultimate reality, God, seems to become very thin and we sense that the two realities become one. This resonates with the Quaker understanding that all of life is sacramental. As God became increasingly both more abstract and more present, I found it harder to relate to God. I began to wonder if I was becoming a non-theist—at least I could understand those who are unable to relate to God as a ‘he—up there’, an absent parent, a distant judge. It wasn’t that kind of distance from God that I was experiencing. It was more like God simply becoming synonymous with life itself. How does a fish describe the water?

I was troubled recently by an example of the prevalent notion of God being a ‘he—up there’. Two little granddaughters were visiting and asked me about my work. I said I work for God. They looked at me in disbelief. The elder one asked, ‘You mean him, up there?’ pointing vaguely to the sky. ‘Do you really believe in him, Grandmother?’ I tried to find words for the thinness of life, the  sense of being permeated and loved by something very close to me. I asked if they understood, and they nodded in recognition. The younger child asked if I believed in Jesus, if I believed that he had climbed up to heaven to be with God after he had died. Again, I tried to express a sense of belonging to rather than believing in, of not knowing what actually happened back then, but knowing that there is deep truth in it all; of the fact that people can still be very much alive within us even though they have died—like the memory we have of great grandmother who is no longer with us. I asked if they understood, and they nodded in recognition. I was saddened that, already, these secularised little ones have not been given a working relationship between the awesome wonder of life and a living faith tradition. Emilia wrote:  God may no longer be held captive in heaven, like in a beautiful blue stone to create legends about. It wants to be released alive out of this prison, whose walls people have perhaps needed for their great fear. It wants to descend from heaven as quality in the life of the world.

As God seemed to become more diffuse, Jesus came again into sharper focus. But I realized that my struggles with doctrine had subsided. Like Emilia, I do not need so much ‘wrapping paper around God.’ Or around Jesus.  I have finally claimed the right to call myself Christian, in my way. I feel empowered and at liberty to interpret Christian doctrine and Scripture in ways that help me navigate my life. If we had time, I could tell you what the resurrection and the Trinity mean to me, and I could tell you how I understand John 14:6 (where Jesus says that no one comes to God but through him) in a way that makes perfect sense to me—without suggesting any exclusive Christian claim to enlightenment or connection with God. You might think that things would be smooth sailing at last. Not a chance. Jesus is not letting me alone.

Perhaps it was the enlightening and disturbing study tour, organised by the Quaker Council for European Affairs, to Palestine and Israel. Perhaps it was being challenged and excited during the World Conference last year by all that other Quakers are doing to help mend the world. Perhaps it was closely following the American presidential race and realizing how much was at stake. Perhaps it was listening to Marcus Borg speak in Stockholm about the Kingdom of God—saying that the message of Jesus is about opening our hearts to embrace and work for God’s dream for a world of compassion and justice. Quakers have always maintained that heaven is here and now, but still waiting to come. But had I not become a bit complacent, thriving in my little plot of heaven, leading retreats and serving Friends in various ministries? Could I honestly say that I am living the radical message of Jesus, actively working to build the Kingdom of God? And to what extent is my faith community living the radical message of Jesus, regardless of how we as individuals understand and relate to him? Emilia reminds us that the inner light is not a possession. Perhaps we have only have an empty candlestick left. We do not notice that our journey no longer follows the light of life, but has become the holy legacy of a whitewashed tomb.

Looking back, my relationship with God has been relatively uncomplicated. My relationship with Jesus has been more complex. I have gone from ignoring him to being in love with him to trying to figure him out and now to saying, ‘OK. I’m yours. What can I help you with?’ While obsessing over this talk, trying to make sense of these 30 years, it occurred to me that perhaps I am not as much the initiator of this relationship as I had thought. Perhaps I have been claimed by God, by the Spirit, by the light of life, by the Living Christ that was fully present in Jesus. I think of the story of Jesus beginning his ministry by creating a community around him. He found some ordinary guys to follow him. Maybe I am an ordinary gal that has been found to follow him.  And I am re-claimed, over and over, as I stumble and fall and forget. I am lifted up by God. I am lifted up by God through the body that is my faith community.

My father-in-law told of an elderly British Friend who wrote to him: Christianity is not a theory to discuss or a problem to solve. It is a life to live, a person to love.’ Perhaps the Christian message is not some words that we agree, or disagree, about. Perhaps it is we, as individuals and faith communities, who are called to be the message—called to witness to the Light of life with our lives. Perhaps the incarnation is about the Word becoming flesh in us, claiming us and using us as instruments of compassion, justice, peace. I no longer want to be asked ‘How are you doing?’ but rather ‘How are you growing?’ I no longer want the first question about my Quaker Meeting to be how many members it has, but rather how Truth is prospering among us and how well we love each other.

I want to belong to Jesus in my messy, inconsistent way. I want my way to be his way. I want my story to resonate with his. I want my vision to be the one he was passionate about—which is not a vision that is exclusively Christian.  It isn’t his fault that people tend to get stuck in the wrapping paper. Even if it turns out the the whole story is fiction, it is still powerful enough to change the world—and our lives.

Thank you for listening to my story. I wish I could listen to each of yours. God is at work in each of us in diverse and unique ways. We grow by sharing with each other.

 

 

Called to be Friends

 

Traditionally called the ‘Public Lecture, the text of the Ireland Yearly Meeting Address 2011 follows.  It was presented by W Ross Chapman who lives in Newry and is a member of Bessbrook Meeting
 

Before entering into the topic chosen for this evening, here is a preamble about this annual event that we have practised at our Yearly Meetings for 80 or so years. It was officially commenced in 1926 and the minute which gave authority to its setting-up reads as follows:
‘The Yearly Meetings Committee is directed to arrange for an address or lecture dealing with some aspect of Quaker teaching or history to be given annually before or during the Yearly Meeting’. Of the addresses or lectures which have been given in accordance with that minute, about 30 of the speakers have been Irish, and about 40 from England, with a few from America and other parts. It tends to be the best attended event of the Yearly Meeting but I wonder sometimes about the title.
Have you come this evening to be lectured to? The title ‘public lecture’ brings up some ideas of attentive students receiving information from a person of greater knowledge, a form of instruction, a sermon, a dissertation. This room, as you can see, is a lecture room. An address seems more suitable on this occasion; like a letter addressed to you.

Is it public ?
 
A second question is, is it public? It is called a public lecture and is advertised as such. However, down the years I would say it has largely failed in that endeavour. Certainly the public are warmly invited and welcomed here but it is a matter of some interest to me that we have this event, a so-called ‘public’ lecture. When do you think was the first public lecture given by Friends in Dublin? It seems to me that it was in 1655. Two women Elizabeth Smith and Elizabeth Fletcher stood up in St. Audoen’s church just beyond Christ Church cathedral, it’s there still. They probably faced a hostile and amazed congregation. After the priest had finished his liturgy, they took their stand and preached or gave our first public lecture. Probably they got some heckling and jeering. Yes, they preached good news. Had they, and others, not done so, would we be meeting here this evening?

A further point about this Yearly Meeting Address as I prefer to call it, is that it is, for those who are new to the Society of Friends, a misleading introduction. One person is authorised to speak from a script for maybe an hour and no one else is permitted to add anything. It’s preposterous, yet these are the fetters with which we have shackled ourselves, in the interests of good order. We fear it would be too much of a risk to throw the topic open and have an invited speaker criticised or questioned. And so we have decided that it is best to let the lecturer go ahead without challenge or without having the topic deepened and augmented. I would suggest that it might be a good idea that we have a shorter address and then an appointed Friend, having seen the text in advance, to be the opener, as it is called. Or the chairman might give a more expanded and broader view on the topic, rather than leaving it all to one individual. It is out of line with Friends’ ways for one person to deliver a long, prepared text and everyone else told to be silent.

You are my friends
Having got that off my chest, now we may go ahead with the talk. It is as you know from John’s gospel: ‘You are my friends; I call you not servants but friends. You are my friends if you do what I ask you’.
The word ‘friend’ is the topic this evening. Do you remember the radio game where a speaker had to talk without hesitation, deviation or repetition? I will be guilty of all three flaws in an effort to cover the subject. It is a delight every time I hear the word ‘friend’, and it’s better said than written because it allows a happy ambivalence. Has it a capital F or not, you ask? Aha.

This lovely word implies fellowship, camaraderie, concord, fraternity, warm-heartedness, shaking hands, holding out the olive branch. As I look at the word in other languages I think we can learn something. Maybe the first phrase we should learn in any language should be ‘My friend’. I’m no linguist but I do like the address in Irish, A Chara or French, mes Amis or German, meine Freunde. We have been called friends, that was the word that Jesus gave to those close to him. We have inherited those words and by extension, we are called to be friends and continue to be called to be friends. It is our ongoing destiny.

The mark of the Christ
Who is calling us? My theology is weak. I couldn’t win an argument in catechetics, I can hardly say the word. My theology was shaped somewhat in Dublin 1950 or so, attending Churchtown meeting now and again, listening to a little bearded 90-year-old man, William Wigham. The messages that he passed on I can hear them yet. ‘Do you ever look closely at a donkey?’, he did say, ‘Did you ever notice the cross on his back? Do we show the mark of the Christ as we go about day by day?’ Also a similar message he gave about a robin getting its red breast from wiping away the bleeding from the brow of the One who wore a crown of thorns. Are we bearing the mark of the Christ in our lives? Here is my little bit of theology this evening. My feeling is that ‘the Christ’ is an accurate name for that spirit that is eternal; the link stretching from Ruth and Samuel and Daniel, then shown in the light of the world that blazed in Jesus, and continues evident in lives ever since. It inspires and is revealed in human beings today and tomorrow. We are called to be friends of the Christ .

There are now, in Ireland, two threats to this calling. The first is to insist on articles of belief within the Society of Friends. Since Robert Barclay there have been attempts to formulate a Quakerism argued out, point by point. How we have survived without a systematic man-made construction of doctrine gives pause for thought; and thankfulness. The second challenge is a more seductive blind alley which is being offered today. It is to ditch our Christian basis; to abandon our relationship with the Divine; to offer ethical humanism as the alternative way for us to travel along.

Quaker service
We are called to be friends. Not so much servants, as the text of scripture says. A servant implies a lord. If we accept this offer of being a friend, does it replace the lord/servant relationship? What place should that favoured word ‘service’ have amongst us? Frequently used and treasured, Quaker service, our service for others. It’s the old tension between Martha and Mary.
Not so much followers or disciples, though I like those words, they imply a guru, a teacher.
It’s like an apprentice learning under a skilled craftsman, under a discipline and a system of rules. Yet to be called to be a friend is a quite different relationship. A follower is a position many of us adopt. It implies a leader. It is a rather passive position.
 
When we think of friend, another word comes to mind, enemy; the opposite of friend; a relationship which we have to endure and manage somehow. The Christian commandment, Love your enemies, in human terms it’s impossible, by definition. We members of the Society of Friends tend to want people to like us. After all, don’t we like everyone? We try to be pleasing. In preparing for this talk the devil’s whisper tempted me, ‘Say things that they will like to hear. Say things that will go down well with the audience’. Then the truer word came through, ‘Woe unto you when all men think well of you’. In Aesop’s fable of the man, his son and the donkey the folly of agreeing with everyone is shown up. I have had my enemies, some in my working life, some even in the Society of Friends. It’s a disturbing, unsettling and destructive part of the human condition. John Wesley aimed to be the friend of all and the enemy of none, so do we all here, I think. But honesty compels me to say that how we cope with enemies is a defining feature of every friend.

Friendliness to strangers
Another word is ‘stranger’. One thought on friendship which is in scripture and has eternal quality about it is: ‘I was a stranger and you invited me in, etc. Inasmuch as you did it unto one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it unto me’. Our calling is to unite with the Christ within that stranger. From The breastplate of Patrick, he calls us to find the Christ in mouth of friend and stranger. A hallmark of Ireland is friendliness to the stranger. Those of our Society have often done the befriending, the spiritually strong being the subject rather than the object. It’s good sometimes that we are in the position of need, of receiving the touch of a good Samaritan.
 
When I think of previous Yearly Meeting lectures the ones that stand out in my mind are the ones which were upsetting. Thirty years ago, Gerald Priestland, a BBC radio religious affairs correspondent, came with the title, ‘Quakers and sin’. He was a brave man. Our local experts in that topic were dismayed at his offering on the subject, and wanted to have some redress, though by then he had flown back to the safety of England. Some years later John Tod in Waterford gave a lively address ‘Life is an adventure’ which was disturbing to several of those attending. His generalisations about missionary work in Africa were too sweeping so a meeting was hastily arranged next day to allow time to talk it over with him. I intend being here tomorrow should the occasion arise.
The purpose of this address is to provide food for thought; not that you must agree with me, or must disagree but chew it over and after rumination see what comes of it.

It has been said that the two words, Quaker and Friend are synonymous. I’m not so sure. There are shades of meaning and implications; there are contrasting emphases. So, not so much a Quaker as being more of a Friend. Over recent years within the Society of Friends I notice the demise of the word ‘Friend’. It is being eroded from our vocabulary. The word ‘Quaker’ has taken over. Looking at the titles of previous lectures, and of the 80, 25 have included the word Quaker, only 4 have included the word ‘Friend’.

Meanings: Quakers and Friends
Quaker, I would suggest stands for something that is different from its original meaning. Then, there was a physical trembling in the presence of God in a powerful way caused by the presence in which they lived. Friends quickly accepted the term. William Penn used the word in a pamphlet he published in the 1670’s. But never till this present generation has the word ‘Quaker’ been so widespread as to supplant the word ‘Friend’. I know the reason why. It is said to be misleading to use the word ‘Friend’, people don’t understand when you say Society of Friends whereas the word Quaker is distinctive. My address this evening is a call to re-instate the word ‘Friend’ and encourage its use; to grasp its underlying significance and its precious beauty.
There has been a thread running through our history, the Quaker thread, which causes trouble, is argumentative, condemnatory, insulting, discourteous, all in the interests of Truth. Just as a quake causes earth tremors, so a Quaker set about to upset the status quo, whether in the steeple-houses of Dublin in 1655, or on the streets in recent times, or in newspapers denouncing the government, lobbying the powers that be, and using that phrase, speaking truth to power. It is rather presumptuous for a group which comprises 0.005% of the population; it’s like rejection of the ballot box. The Quaker thread appeals to the political activist, impatient for a revolution and re-alignment of the wider community. This Quaker trend wants to be noticed and courts publicity, it enjoys being guilty of conduct liable to lead to a breach of the peace. Yes, Jesus did it. George Fox etc did it and it has been an enduring aspect of our Religious Society. But, it is different from being a Friend.
A friend is fallible and imperfect
A friend is fallible and imperfect. Friendship does not expect or imply a perfect companion.
Jesus said to Judas at the time of his betrayal, ‘Friend, wherefore art thou come?’
And on another tack, when John’s gospel says ‘I have called you friends’ there is a group, a plurality there, a society. We are in an era of stressing the importance of the individual—- I’ll do it my way – not in tune with the ways and practices of Friends down the years. Do we hear the voice, calling us together to be Friends, calling us to be friends together?

To be a friend is a mutual relationship. Can you be friends with someone who does not respond or reciprocate? I don’t think so. It takes two or more to create trust and understanding. It is a mutual, bilateral and multilateral relationship.
 
Another aspect is that offering friendship does not ensure that we will be liked. Looking for the best in everyone, a key practice of our Society, expecting a warm response to our offer of friendship; some accept it, some reject it, reject us, see our failings, or see our self-confident pride and run a mile. ‘Woe unto you when all men like you.’ You’ve heard of the book ‘How to win friends and influence people’. It was a best-seller. Are we wanting to ‘win’ friends? That sounds a bit of a selfish agenda. To be friends is more what we are about.
 
The idea of the ‘friend’ which Jesus used and which we have embraced is portrayed in the picture of the Christ at the door, knocking, and if the door is opened the divine visitor is welcomed, and in a colloquial translation we might say, ‘Come on in for a drop of tea and a while’s crack’. In turn this divine friendship inspires a similar type of friendship in our daily encounters with all sorts of the human race and with other creatures too.

Faithful are the wounds of a friend. Only a sincere friend can make a wise criticism or correction. Human weakness, blindness, arrogance and self-interest make correction from outside ourselves necessary. Who is going to do that correcting? The current wisdom in some quarters of Quakerism is that we must be non-judgmental. It is expounded as a worthy ideal, but a faithful friend should and will make timely and wise criticism in the best interests of one’s friends. A friend needs to be sincere enough to speak unpalatable truth. A faithful friend is the medicine of life.

Meeting
So, we are called to be friends, to practice this friendship with the Christ, the spiritual source, and meet together. Another word closely related to friend is ‘meeting’. Wherever you have Friends you have meetings. Our worship times and our business times are called meetings. Other branches of the church conduct services, implying the other idea of a leader or master and servant or follower. Friends meet together in meeting; the presence, the Christ, is in the midst.

Is there any danger or weakness in this analogy? Maybe. Remember every one of our attempts to grasp the divine are imperfect. When we see the Christ as a friend is that to trivialise the relationship? Today’s trend is towards informality, wisecracks, flippancy; all tending to diminish the sense of reverence, wonder and respect in worship.

Mother Teresa knew a thing or two about being a friend of the Christ. She was asked ‘When you pray what do you say? I say nothing. And what does the Christ say to you? Nothing. We just gaze at one another.’ She lived in the presence. She knew about being called to be a friend, on the banks of the Ganges or in Ballymurphy. Her life showed us there need be no choosing between either Martha or Mary; let’s include them both.
 
Who is my neighbour ?

When Jesus used the word ‘ neighbour’, the pernickety, pedantic lawyer asked, ‘But who is my neighbour?’ Instead of giving any definition, a story was used as illustration. Rather than me trying to analyse any more it is better to gives examples of those who are beacons of what it is to be a friend. Some belonged to our Society, some did not but all were called to be friends. None of them looked for publicity.

Arthur Kelly

   1.      Ireland 300 years ago was a harsh place. ‘In the County Tyrone near the town of    Dungannon’ as the song says ‘There’s many’s the ruction meself had a hand in’. A place of    distrust and intolerance. A young fellow called Arthur Kelly grew up in that area and went   abroad to train as a priest, it being the time of the Penal Laws against Catholics. When he     returned his functions were greatly curtailed but he travelled around offering in secret places             the sacraments in the manner of that branch of the Christian church. Priest-hunters were paid        to catch anyone like young Kelly. The authorities gave rewards for help towards his arrest.             There were not many safe houses where he could find a haven. But, in his home townland of Syerla there were several members of Grange meeting living nearby. They had grown up    with Arthur, maybe cut turf together, maybe they had saved hay together as neighbours            would. So they provided safe shelter for him. Friendship can be risky; if caught they would have suffered along with him. Maybe their friendship would be misinterpreted by some of            the Monthly Meeting who would accuse them of condoning popish practices. Their calling      to be friends made them follow the right course. Faithful friends are a sturdy shelter.

Catherine McAuley

1. In the early 1800’s in Dublin a young orphaned teenage girl was fostered by a wealthy childless couple. Her name was Catherine McAuley. She says her foster-mother was a Quaker and that the bonds between them were strong. So much so that when the couple died they left all to Catherine. She founded the Order of the Sisters of Mercy and with the money set up the premises in Baggot St which remain to this day. Her life-story is too long to unfold but her practical attention to detail is inspiring. In times past a person’s dying words were often recalled and respected as being of eternal significance. Maybe they are still. On the afternoon of Catherine McAuley’s death some guests had arrived after a long tedious journey, of which she was quite aware, so from her death-bed her final words were ‘See that those sisters get a cup of tea’.

 

Friendship can be costly

1. There’s another instance of friendship that I want to salute. It comes from the Ulster poet, John Hewitt, and he tells how his great-Granny, we’ll call her Hannah Hewitt, was living not far from Richhill. If she wasn’t a member of the meeting she was an adherent because many had been disowned for marrying someone, not according to Friends regulations of that time. John Hewitt tells us that it was the time of the Famine and after it there were many tramps on the roads. One cold morning a man came by and leaned over the half-door and says ‘ Any chance of a drink of water, ma’am?’ Hannah Hewitt was after baking a few farls on the griddle; she had churned that morning so she said ‘Come on in, pull your chair up to the fire. I’ll get you a cut of bread and a mug of buttermilk’. And he told her he’d been walking for days, sleeping rough trying to get to Belfast or somewhere away from the terrible pestilence. As he talked he had a dreadful hoarseness in his voice. He didn’t stay long. He got up after gobbling down the home-made food. He called all the blessings of God and his saints upon her and her family. But he left her something more. Within a week, Hannah had sickened and died of the famine fever. Friendship can be costly.

Bulmer Hobson
4. Among the renegade Friends that have been in our Society in Ireland but could not comply with our principles is one, Bulmer Hobson. His involvement with Irish republican gun-running and similar activities was more than Friends could tolerate. As a boy he had attended Friends School at Lisburn and carried memories of events there to his dying day. As an old blind man living in Connemara he was asked to give his memories of his time at Lisburn 70 or more years earlier. As happens at schools, he had been punished for some misdemeanour which was not his doing. Remarkably, a couple of days later Charles Benington, the strict but fair master involved, came and said ‘Bulmer, I punished you unfairly. I am sorry.’ The old man recalled the incident clearly and with wonderment, ‘Just think, that he should apologise to me, a mere slip of a lad. You know, you learn things at school, things you never forget.’

Androcles and the lion
5. This world is a place of wonder. Human beings are not its only inhabitants. We share this globe with other creatures who can teach us lessons of friendship.
In the time of the Roman Empire a man was trekking in a remote part of Africa when he heard a pitiful meowing and moaning. It was a mighty lion struck down by a painful thorn jagging into his paw. The man was in two minds whether to go closer or not, when the lion held up the swollen paw as much as to say, ‘Can you help me? I’m in a desperate state.’ So this brave man sucked the thorn out and the lion licked his hand in gratitude.
Some years later the man, Androcles by name, was taken captive and dragged to Rome. To give amusement for the high and mighty ones he was thrown into the arena at the Coliseum to face a lion which had been starved so as to be keen and ready for the kill. The lion bounded up to the poor slave but the audience were aghast when the beast got a whiff of his scent and purred and rubbed up against the terrified Androcles. Friendship is stronger than the base appetites.
Another story of a faithful four-legged friend concerns a member of Grange meeting, Isaac Edward Haydock. He was a bachelor farmer and as such relied much on his collie dog. The dog was his right-hand man on the farm, and also his constant companion in later life. When Isaac Edward died and the hearse slowly covered the few miles to Grange for burial, the dog padded alongside. After the burial, the dog lay on the grave and would not move till a week later some neighbours came and dragged it away. There is that of God in every dog.

Preparing for worship

6. Sometimes a newcomer to our meetings asks how we prepare for our time of worship. A woman Friend in the 1950’s had this practice. She would arrive for Sunday meeting quite early and seat herself where she could see everyone as they came into the room. Then as each one entered she flashed a quick wordless prayer towards them, invoking a blessing on them individually, whether she knew them or not, that they would be liberated to join in the time of united worship. This woman lived out her calling to be a friend by her unassuming concern for those meeting with her. She was Isabel Douglas.

Reconciliation
7. Coming to more recent times in my home town of Newry, I think of a time in the 1970’s two young men in their teens were sent with a bomb to carry into a pub in the town on the morning of Christmas Eve. They walked in with this bomb and at the same time another 18 year old lad walks to look for his father. The bomb went off prematurely and the two IRA volunteers along with the other fellow, Aubrey Harshaw, were all blown to bits. Only one of the numerous tragedies that happened but what makes this one memorable was that young Harshaw had two uncles who in their sorrow and distress went to their Methodist minister, an austere and forbidding figure, George Watson, and said to him, ‘Would you come with us up to the houses where the two IRA fellows lived and speak to their parents?’
George Watson and the two uncles went up to find where these two families were mourning.
They were received very warmly. They were called to be friends and responded to the call.
We don’t know what words were said, but the action spoke louder than any words could utter. There was no publicity and few now know of this uniting in grief which was done without any underlying agenda.

Quiet friendship
8. At the Yearly Meeting in Dublin about 20 years ago there were two appointed representatives from Germany, Gerd and Christel Wieding. They came a few days early and expressed a wish to meet a variety of political opinions. So that was arranged for them. Among those they met was a republican activist who after chatting with them for an hour, asked a favour of them.
‘There is a young woman in prison in Germany from this town. She is being held on remand accused of a bombing of army barracks in Germany. She has no one to visit her. Would you do this for us, for me? Would you go and see her?’ They could not promise but said they would see what might be done. They did visit her and through their visit doors were opened back here. And hearts and minds were opened too.
As a contrast to that act of quiet friendship let us picture a peace march in this city in those troubled times. Some hundreds gathered by special train from north and south in righteous indignation to condemn the actions of the leading paramilitary organisation. The march with placards and banners had as its destination the headquarters in Kevin Street where we intended to deliver a letter of protest and hold a rally. The confrontation, shouting and heckling meant that no one listened. The protest only got backs up that caused resentment and bad feeling. The action of Gerd and Christel Wieding in being a friend was far more productive and in keeping with the best that we have to offer.

9. It is as well to remember that sometimes an offer of friendship is not welcomed or reciprocated. Not every story has a happy ending. In the time of the hunger strikes in 1981 an Ulster Friend wanted to express her concern for the bereaved family after their son had ended his life in such an appalling fashion. Eithne Doran was a fearless and hugely optimistic Friend, so she went alone to the home to say what? Who knows? She was called to be a friend in that situation but was not well received. Perhaps it was her cultivated accent. Perhaps the family were still too raw and bitter. Perhaps her action did have some good result later when emotions had simmered down.

All these nourished their friendship with the Christ within and that led to friendship becoming a way of life . These human friendships in turn nourished their friendship with the Christ. One nourishes the other.

The breath of kindness
Maybe next week someone will ask you, ‘Did you go to the Yearly Meeting lecture? What was it about?’ Your reply might be, ‘I can’t remember much of it. But do you know who I saw there? It was good making up with her again after that dust-up we had. And there was tea afterwards when I met a young fellow who put new heart in me and gave me hope for the future. No, those long talks are not for me. I think it was about friendship.’
If that is the result of to-night’s encounter, it is enough.

I have come here with a good deal of old baggage. What else can you expect from an 80-year-old Ulsterman? If we don’t like someone or what they stand for, it’s easy to diminish them by saying ‘They carry too much baggage’ . On the other hand if we like them, then we say, ‘Oh yes, a friend of vast and profound experience.’ I come with a good deal of old baggage and now I rest my case.

A friend is one to whom one may pour out all the contents of one’s heart, chaff and grain together, knowing that the gentlest of hands will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping and with the breath of kindness blow the rest away.

Ross Chapman   29-4-2011

The Public Lecture is a regular feature of Ireland Yearly Meeting and is usually presented as an evening session in the course of the meeting.  The lecture in 2010 was given by ANNE BENNETT

LIVING THE VISION – BUILDING PEACE – A PERSONAL JOURNEY

INTRODUCTION
I should like to thank Ireland Yearly Meeting for giving me this opportunity to give the Public Lecture for 2010.  I was asked to talk about building peace through my work at Quaker House Belfast and elsewhere.  This is not an academic exploration of the issues.  It’s about my experiences and stories of some of the people I have met during my work who have taught me so much. Towards the end of my talk I will explore some of the issues facing us today and in the future – the challenges for Quakers.

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