The Mystery of Christ (2)

In the previous post, I discussed the comprehensiveness of Catholic liturgy, and the progression of Christian worship forms from outer to inner, from mediated to more direct. This may help explain my attraction to Quaker worship and spirituality, alongside being part of a more “liturgical church” community.

But it’s not true to say, as some do, that Quakers aren’t liturgical. Quaker worship follows basic rules or guidelines. Seating is arranged, usually in a circle or square, so that everyone can see each other’s face. Silence begins when ‘two or three are gathered’. There is often a table in the middle of the room, with some flowers, a Bible, and a copy of Quaker Faith and Practice on it. Often, there is a piano in the room. “Members” and “attenders” practice silent ‘waiting on the spirit’, and only stand and speak (or read from the Bible, or play the piano, or smell the flowers, or cry, mourn, etc.) when they receive and discern a clear “leading” from the spirit. 

These basic rules, when followed or adapted, constitute a powerful, albeit minimal, form of “liturgy”. Moreover, like Catholic sacramental theology, there is an emphasis on the divine presence within and among us (and a rejection of purely “memorial” understandings). 

Christ is received more powerfully, for many, due to the clearing away of prescribed words, ‘fervour’, and thought:

…in 1872, I first found myself within reach of a Friends’ meeting, and, somewhat to my surprise, cordially made welcome to attend it. The invitation came at a moment of need, for I was beginning to feel with dismay that I might not much longer be able conscientiously to continue to join the Church of England service; not for want of appreciation of its unrivalled richness and beauty, but from doubts of the truth of its doctrines, combined with a growing recognition that to me it meant the armour of Saul in its elaboration and in the sustained pitch of religious fervour for which is was meant to provide an utterance… (1)

This is a woman called Caroline Stephen, aunt to Virginia Woolf, writing in 1890. I read her account some years ago when I first began my Quaker journey.

I found myself one of a small company of silent worshippers, who were content to sit down together without words, that each one might feel after and draw near to the Divine Presence, unhindered at least, if not helped, by any human utterance. Utterance I knew was free, should the words be given; and before the meeting was over, a sentence or two were uttered in great simplicity by an old and apparently untaught man, rising in his place amongst the rest of us. I did not pay much attention to the words he spoke, and have no recollection of their purport. My whole soul was filled with the unutterable peace of the undisturbed opportunity for communion with God, with the sense that I had at last found a place where I might, without the faintest suspicion of insincerity, join with others in simply seeking His presence…in feeding upon the bread of life… (2)

When I first went along to Quakers, I would sometimes bring my children. Children, if there are enough of them, go out for a special children’s meeting, then come back in for the last five or ten minutes of silent worship. I have a special memory of my kids coming back into the room, walking over to me, and cuddling. The whole room was full of velvet-silence-love. 

To sit down in silence could at least pledge me nothing; it might open to me (as it did that morning) the very gate of heaven. (3)

This morning I got up at five for undisturbed opportunity for communion with God . It was very cold. I could see many stars above the hillside from my little studio.  I tried to meditate, like I did many years ago, in a more classical, contemplative style. But in the end, I found myself drifting back to a simple ‘waiting on the spirit’, which felt more natural and free.

While I have found an easy and exciting home in Quaker spirituality and theology, some other aspects of modern Quakerism give me concern. Despite, or alongside, my fondness for Catholic liturgy, I have found a way of understanding and even embracing the particular Quaker approach to sacraments and ‘outward’ forms. I am ok, I think, with being part of a very small, peripheral religious group, with rather unique views within the wider Christian world, knowing that

However valid and vital outward sacraments are for others, they are not, in our experience, necessary for the operation of God’s grace. We believe we hold this witness in trust for the whole church. (4)

I realize how far I have travelled - some would say strayed - from a more conventional Catholic position, though remaining faithful to my ecumenical roots and centre, when I find myself warmly agreeing with the British Quaker, Gerald K. Hibbert:

We do not say that to observe the sacraments is wrong, but that such observance is not essential to wholehearted Christian discipleship. We do not judge our fellow Christians to whom the outward sacraments mean so much. Rather we do wish, by prayerful fellowship with them, to be led unitedly to a deeper understanding of what underlies those sacraments, and so share a richer experience of the mind of Christ. (5)

But my critical reflection is this: Catholic liturgy (broadly conceived) has richly fed and formed me, especially as a youth and child. It continues to feed and form me, now, and in ways that are still surprising. As I don’t think of myself as being particularly ‘evangelical’, I am surprised at how often I am moved and touched by hearing this or that passage of scripture being read in public, and how significantly different this is, or can be, from reading the Bible on one’s own. I am still moved by how inclusive and generous “the liturgy” can be: that I meet with people - parts of “the Body of Christ” - I would never otherwise encounter.

The early Quakers - like George Fox, Isaac Penington, William Penn, James Nayler, and Margaret Fell, etc. - were all fed and formed by ‘Catholic liturgy’, too, as well as the new Protestant spirit, and grew up in a Christian-soaked world (which, of course, had other significant limitations and drawbacks). George Fox, for example, had a comprehensive and intimate knowledge of the Bible, and grew up in a deeply pious Church of England family. The same is true for many ‘modern Quakers’ whose writings have been formative for me, such as Caroline Stephen (above), who was raised in a devout, evangelical Anglican home.

This deep grounding in Christian text, tradition, and history, and its subsequent distillation in Quaker spirituality and worship, can no longer be assumed. Many Quakers, these days, in the liberal tradition at least, grow up in a world that is thinly rooted. Unless Quakers collectively can hold this as a concern, and members independently engage in more study and education in this area, Quaker worship and spirituality may lose contact with the depth of its tradition, including the depth and richness of Christian scripture, and become significantly more impoverished as a result (as well as less able to contend with uses of scripture that are deeply contrary to its values and testimony). 

Gerald Hibbert’s desire, in fellowship with other Christians, and now, we might say, with a world more curious about traditional religious forms, to develop a deeper understanding of what underlies those sacraments, and so share a richer experience of the mind of Christ, seems further off than it perhaps did in 1941 (when Hibbert was writing). Yet if a new interest in traditional religion persists, as secularism continues to grow and persist, too, the distinctive Quaker witness - ‘held in trust’ for the wider church and world  - will remain highly valuable, and needed. 

The Quaker witness is both to the essence of the outward sacraments, and to the sacrament of the world beyond:

To Fox and early Friends the whole of life seemed sacramental, and they refused to mark off any one particular practice or observance as more sacred than the others …They were ‘alive unto God’ and sensed God everywhere. (6)

Which is the larger, cosmic mystery of Christ.

References:

(1) Caroline Stephen, Quaker Strongholds, (1890, revised edition 1939), p. 2.

(2) Stephen, p.3-4.

(3) As above.

(4) London Yearly Meeting, 1986, in Quaker Faith and Practice (fifth edition, 2013), 27.38.

(5) Gerald K. Hibbert, 1941, in Quaker Faith and Practice (fifth edition, 2013), 27.39.

(6) Hibbert, as above.