Learning in the Stillness - Part 1
A friend said the other day that a good meeting is one where something inside her has changed, perhaps a new understanding comes to her or that she is somehow transformed. We may come with questions or worries and in the collective stillness we may well find answers or the beginnings of answers. We may find an inner peace, where we feel aligned or whole, present with ourselves and our surroundings even when our lives seem chaotic. With practice, maybe we will discover a way of being that we can embody and return to during the week.
As I explained in an earlier piece on Coming to Stillness, many Quakers settle into meeting with a simple meditation practice or prayers. When the silence works through us, our ordinary thinking gives way to a centred openness where thoughts soften and reshape themselves. Staying present with ourselves, we may see things in the round from different angles or a new idea may come seemingly from nowhere. Sometimes we think about our to-do-list or our worries and plans for the week. Worries might unsettle us. There are usually books on the table that we can choose from and more than likely there will be some spoken ministry. We are not alone because on some level we are all connected.
One of those books on the table will be Quaker Faith & Practice, which is an anthology of writings updated every 50 years or so to reflect the continuing developments in Quaker discoveries and insights in the light of our collective experiences. Originally Quakers called themselves Friends of the Truth because they saw themselves as explorers, seeking the deepest truths about being human in a challenging world. In the stillness of a meeting, we meet with our inner guide, which we often describe as the inner light, the seed within or ‘that of God in each person’. This inward guide is more than conscience; it comes from a deeper place of wisdom that is ‘of God’ or ‘the universe’ or ‘the Spirit’. Quakers use many words to describe this state; on the whole, we accept one another’s attempts to define an experience which is ultimately beyond words. In a spiritual or universal sense, human beings are all connected, all precious and all equal, each of us with a potential for goodness and compassion. From this understanding spring the Quaker testimonies to peace, simplicity, equality, sustainability and truth which are not rules to obey, but rather a framework or guide to live by.
As I write, violence continues to engulf the people of Palestine and Israel. My grief extends to the whole of the Middle East and indeed the whole world. In the stillness of meeting, my belief in ‘that of God’ in each person is a bit like a tight bud, longing to open up. I feel angry, frustrated and disappointed that humans still believe war will lead to peace, that people are willing to kill children and women because they believe they are right and the others are wrong. At the deepest level of my being, I cannot take sides because I know that both Israelis and Palestinians are suffering the trauma of displacement and annihilation. My mother was a Jewish refugee from Vienna and her grandmother was a refugee from Prague, so I know something of trauma in my own ancestry. In the end we are all connected, with our shared suffering and longings. Each of us has a story to tell if only we can hear it. This takes me to the heart of the peace testimony. Meanwhile the cycle of violence repeats itself seemingly forever. More and more money and expertise is poured into preparation for war instead of peace-making.
When Quakers explain the peace testimony, you will hear different personal interpretations. I say I am a pacifist because I believe we need to turn the machinery of war around and ‘make ploughshares out of weapons’. However, if someone were to point a gun at a child, I would probably want to kill them if I could. Peace is not an absolute state to be held on to at all costs. It is a process, an activity to engage in and a way of being and relating. How we act is at least as important as what we do. When we are very angry and threatening, we are probably closing a door to any understanding. When we approach people with empathy, we are offering the possibility of an open door. When we are alongside someone, rather than opposite them, we are offering connection, rather than a challenge. Instead of ‘othering’ we are acknowledging all our fears and longings, our common humanity. In the stillness of a Quaker meeting I hold my anger and fear in one hand and compassion in the other, knowing that in this connection lies the potential for a greater peace.
Ruth Tod - Henley Quaker Meeting