Do You Believe?

I belong to a faith tradition that highly values action. Drawing on the broad witness of Scripture, Quakers are convinced that the sign of true faith is that it is lived out in daily life. Reciting a creed, affirming a statement of faith, or even reading the Bible, is no guarantee of faithfulness. We can say, “Lord, Lord,” all we want – but if our lives do not demonstrate the content of our faith, our words ring hollow.

For many of us, this begs the question: What is the point of having shared beliefs at all? If the whole point of the gospel is right action, could it be that intellectual beliefs are superfluous at best – and, at worst, even harmful? In a world with numerous competing belief systems, holding firmly to a particular set of beliefs – for example, about who Jesus is – might seem exclusive or narrow-minded. In this environment, why not just focus on loving others as best we can, without all the barriers that belief often seems to present?

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Disciples Beyond the Classroom

By the end of my first semester in college, I was convinced that learning a foreign language was out of my reach. Though I had done alright in high school, my first college-level Spanish course knocked me flat. It got so bad, in fact, that I ended up taking it pass/fail, and I barely squeaked by with credit. Clearly, I was no good at learning languages!

The following year, however, I spent seven months living and studying in Mexico. It was one of the most formative experiences of my life, exposing me to a culture totally distinct from my own. I fell in love with the people, places and heritage of Mexico, and I will always carry them with me.

Not to mention that my Spanish language proficiency improved dramatically. My semester abroad began with several weeks of intensive language instruction to bring me up to a passable conversational level, and for most of my seven months abroad I spoke almost exclusively in Spanish. By the time I returned for the fall semester in Kansas, I was ready to take – and pass! – Spanish literature classes. I realized that I was actually quite good at learning languages!

So what changed? 

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The Last Quaker Standing

Not too long after becoming a Quaker, I remember hearing an inspiring story. I was told that there was once a Friends Meeting that had at once been a vibrant community. The meetinghouse was built to hold several hundred people, and at some point – perhaps a hundred years ago – it had been filled to overflowing.

But times changed. For a variety of reasons, the community shrank dramatically, and by the turn of this century, there were only a few elderly members left. Finally, even these last few members died or moved away to retirement communities, leaving only a single old man as an active member!

Not so inspiring, huh? But wait – there’s more! While most people would have given up and found somewhere else to worship, the last remaining member of this Meeting made a different choice. Rather than joining some other community, he just kept on attending, all by himself. Each week, he drove down to the meetinghouse, opened up the doors and sat for an hour of silent worship. Alone.

Here’s the inspiring part: After a while, things began to change. Week after week, the last elderly member of this Friends Meeting sat alone on the facing bench, holding a silent vigil, but one Sunday morning, a young family arrived. They appreciated the hour of silence, a respite from their busy lives. To the old man’s surprise, the family came back the next week. And the next. Somehow the word seemed to get out about this little meetinghouse and its unique style of silent worship. Soon, there were several families and individuals attending.

The triumphant conclusion of the story, as I remember it, is this: Today, the meeting has thirty or forty attenders, and is an active part of the Yearly Meeting.

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Can Quakerism Become A Mass Movement?

I was talking recently with a friend about the possibilities for growth and outreach at Capitol Hill Friends, and he made a comment that struck me. He said that he did not view Quakerism as having much potential for being a mass movement, since it can be such a demanding, austere path. It was his opinion that many of the core disciplines of the Quaker path – such as silence, waiting, and group discernment – are simply not accessible to most people in our culture.

Is this true?

Without a doubt, the simple commitment to follow Jesus runs counter to many of the assumptions of mainstream society. In many ways, it is a hard thing to be a follower of Jesus and a citizen in Empire. Yet, many churches are growing today; a community of 150 people is not generally considered to be extravagantly large. Being a Christian is deeply challenging, but I know that there are many people in our city who would prefer a purposeful life of challenge to the meaningless rat race of consumer society.

All that being said, there is a certain reality to the claim that the Quaker path is simply not appealing to most people. The truth is, Quakerism has not been a mass movement for centuries. Based in my own personal experience, I would say that most North American Quaker congregations today have fewer than 50 active participants, and many – probably a majority – have far fewer than that.

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Get Out Of The Way!

In the Quaker tradition, knowing when and whether to speak during worship is an important practice. Sometimes, for example, as I wait in silent worship, a good idea comes to me. It might be a great thought, but if it is not something that God is calling on me to share with the group, I need to let it go and leave space for someone else who is inspired by God to speak.

In the old days, Friends called this phenomenon damaging another’s service. The greatest risk in ministry is not that we will say the wrong thing, but instead that we might prevent another person from delivering the inspired, God-breathed message for that particular moment.

We all mess up sometimes, of course, and occasionally a person will rise and speak when they really should have remained silent. Usually, this poorly-discerned contribution in worship is not particularly harmful. A spiritually grounded group of worshipers can handle unhelpful speaking quite well, without it unduly affecting the quality of the worship.

The most important reason that we must have discernment when speaking is not the risk that our speaking might upset the group; instead, it is because our poorly-timed words might get in the way of the true message that God wants us to hear. For example, there have been times that I have had a clear message from the Lord to share, yet just as I was about to deliver it, another individual stood up and shared a good idea. Though it was certainly not their intention, they unknowingly blocked the work of the Spirit in the group.

The traditional Quaker meeting for worship is sort of like a spiritual fire drill. It is a rehearsal in discernment, learning when to speak and when to be silent; when to act and when to be still. These same principles of discernment apply in the rest of our lives, in the work that we do out in the world and in the roles and relationships that we live in. Do I take care to be discerning about how both my action and lack of action impacts the life of my community?

Am I damaging another’s service by taking on tasks that are not mine to do? Do I block the work of the Holy Spirit by interjecting my own ideas when it would be better to listen?

God Is More Than A Feeling

Quakers sometimes have a tough time knowing what to do with emotions. For most of our history, we have been highly suspicious of anything resembling emotionalism. Still today, when we make decisions together, the presence of strong emotions is sometimes taken as a signal that we are not yet fully submitted to Christ's will.

Our ingrained reticence towards emotion may seem surprising, since Quakerism is among the more experientially-oriented expressions of the Christian tradition. At the core of the Quaker movement is a conviction that the only solid basis of mature Christian faith is a lived relationship with the Holy Spirit. It is through a direct encounter with the risen presence of Jesus that we come to understand the meaning of the Scriptures and tradition that have been handed down to us from previous generations of disciples. For Friends, to be a Christian is to literally become a follower of Jesus - experiencing him as Teacher in our daily lives.

But what does experience mean? It is easy to imagine that Friends' emphasis on experiential faith would lead to emotionalism. When we talk about having an experience of Jesus, we might mean having an emotional response to a sermon, a Scripture reading, or another - perhaps more mundane - event in our lives. Experience might just a code word for the human emotional response.

But in reality, emotionalism is generally frowned upon in Quaker circles - especially in our decision-making process. When we gather in meetings for worship and business, our goal is to set aside all personal opinions, emotions and desires, and to allow the Holy Spirit to move and guide us.

So how do we experience this presence of the Holy Spirit without emotionalism? Certainly, we can experience God through emotional responses. We can also have an encounter with the Spirit through an intellectual eureka moment. And there are times when we experience the presence of Christ in our very bodies - in a sensation of physical oneness with him that transcends emotions or conscious thought. All of these are ways to encounter the present guidance and love of Jesus.

But to locate God in any of these - thoughts, emotions or sensory experience - would be a mistake. Though we experience God through our emotions, God is not a feeling. We encounter Jesus in our minds, but he is not an intellectual idea. The Holy Spirit is not material, but when we dwell together in love and truth, she finds concrete expression in our bodies.

For centuries, Quakers have been on a trajectory of stripping away everything that is not God, and at this point we tend to be cautious about all outward expressions. We have surrendered emotions, intellect and the sensory experience of the body, all in the pursuit of the essential, spiritual encounter with Jesus - beyond words, beyond feelings, beyond flesh and blood. For 350 years, Friends have pursued the via negativa, saying "not this" countless times.

It may be that we have gone too far. We have discovered that God is not in the wind, not in the earthquake, nor in the fire - but are we alert to the ways in which God speaks to us through body, mind, soul and spirit? Are we receptive to how Christ wants to be enfleshed, re-minded and emotionally felt in our lives? Having walked the path of negation for so long, are we able to embrace the continuing incarnation of Jesus through his Holy Spirit? Are we ready to be his body, with all faculties intact - brain, heart, hands and feet?

Should We Give Up God For Lent?

Note: For the latest in this conversation, check out my reply to Peter Rollins' response to this piece, The Radical Within.

Some people give up chocolate, coffee or movies for Lent, but Peter Rollins has a slightly more radical proposal: Why not try giving up God?

Peter Rollins argues that real spiritual courage involves fully experiencing the absence of God. He warns that, as long as we allow ourselves to believe in a personal God who intervenes in history for the sake of love, we risk constructing a false god in our own image. Far too often, he says, our belief is in a super-hero God who serves as a crutch for our own inability to cope with reality.

As an alternative to this fairy-tale God, Rollins encourages us to embrace Jesus' felt sense of abandonment on the cross, presumably on an ongoing basis. His message seems to be that truly daring and courageous Christians aren't afraid to abandon belief in God and experience the desolation of atheism. To promote this message of radical doubt, Rollins has developed an annual campaign: Atheism For Lent.

I have been following Peter Rollins' ministry for some time now. Many people I respect find his writings deeply inspirational. This has encouraged me to take his message seriously. I have heard him speak in person, read his book and followed his online campaigns over the last couple of years. After extended consideration, I now want to outline some serious problems I see with the gospel he is preaching.

The Mystique of Elitism

As far as I am aware, Rollins has never laid out exactly who his target audience is, but my observation is that most people who are engaging with his message are either seminary trained or have a serious commitment to theological study. This is not surprising, given Peter's language and style of presentation. Of all the popular Christian thinkers I know, Peter Rollins is one of the most avant garde and edgy. His mystique is the promise of something new and unique in the 1st-world Evangelical/Protestant experience.

I wonder about the implications of this mystique. When I read Peter Rollins, and when I follow the commenters on his social media offerings, I cannot help but notice a theme of intellectual elitism and a fascination with secret knowledge. Ordinary Christians believe in a fairy-tale God-in-the-sky, but we know the truth. Most believers use God as a crutch, but we see clearly and cast aside our beliefs with courage. Most people who read the Bible think it is a story about God blessing the world, but we know that it is actually a story about radical doubt and abandonment by God.

I encourage my friends who are big fans of Rollins to take a serious look at what attracts them to his teachings. There is good stuff there; I do not deny it. The dark night of the soul can be just what the doctor ordered at certain points in our lives. But how does this special knowledge affect how you look at your fellow Christians who do not share your radical doubt? Do you see their lack of doubt as ignorant? Weak?

Injustice and Intellectualism

Something else I find troubling is how little Peter Rollins speaks about the need for social transformation, peacemaking and justice in our world. Instead, he emphasizes the personal experience and condition of individuals. He preaches individual salvation through an embrace of radical doubt. As Rollins presents it, the way forward is through each individual's decision to embrace a reality in which God is mute and uninvolved with the creation.

This sounds oddly familiar. Despite the fact that Rollins is superficially at odds with mainstream Evangelicalism, his message is one that bears great resemblance to the personal salvation narrative that is so central to Evangelical churches. Whether it is accepting Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior or accepting the godless doubt of existential atheism, the major push is personal transformation via intellectual belief. The very fact that Rollins can ask us to give up God for lent suggests that he thinks that faith in an active, personal God is a preference, a chosen belief system, rather than a conviction that grows out of long experience and relationship with the Holy Spirit.

For those of us who really have experienced a living and powerful God - a God who intervenes in history and shows us God's true character in the life, ministry, death and resurrection of Jesus - these intellectual games do not cut the mustard. Whether offered to us by mainstream Evangelicalism or the avant garde of Peter Rollins, these head trips do not offer the whole wheat bread of life that we need to survive, thrive and bring healing to this broken world.

Safe Games for Comfortable People

I have a friend who spent years in the L'Arche Community, living alongside individuals with severe physical and intellectual disabilities. He is also an erudite and astute theologian, and we got to talking about Rollins' Atheism for Lent campaign. At one point in our conversation he looked at me and said, "I would just like to see Peter Rollins come to L'Arche and talk about this stuff. Let him explain to people suffering from schizophrenia and learning disabilities why they need to stop believing in God."

This statement drove home for me how irrelevant much of Peter Rollins' message is to those who are the most marginalized in our society. To those who are struggling under the burden of grinding poverty, long-term unemployment or broken homes, is atheism the answer? For the defrauded migrant worker, for the dispossessed Palestinian refugee, for those who are imprisoned for conscience - would Rollins prescribe atheism?

In my experience, a godless worldview (whether it takes the form of explicit non-belief or functional atheism) is most attractive to those who enjoy privileged positions in society. Rich and middle class people have the luxury of doubting God. But for those who face oppression, injustice and persecution, the reality of God's leadership and presence is absolutely essential for survival. While Peter Rollins purports to preach a hard-core gospel of existential doubt, he has little to offer those who are daily experiencing the reality of Christ's suffering.

We Really Do Need God

Tearing down false images of God is an important task, but this cannot be the end of the story. God does not leave Job sitting on ashes and picking at his sores. After the night must come the dawn. Unfortunately, Rollins seems unwilling to engage in the process of developing an alternative vision. Rather than offering a positive understanding of who God is, he seems solely interested open-ended deconstruction.

Leading people into darkness and doubt and leaving them there is simply irresponsible. We live in a deeply broken world that is in more need than ever of the redemptive power of God's living Spirit. How can someone ask me to give up God for Lent? I might as well give up breathing! How can we give up God for almost six weeks? How would we sustain our struggle for justice, truth, mercy and genuine love? What could be the possible benefit of denying this healing, life-giving power for forty days? We live in a world desperately in need of God's presence and intervention. Will we dare to believe?

Do You Take The Bible Literally?

...Any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple. - Luke 14:33

As many Christians react to the emotionally tone-deaf excesses of fundamentalism, some of us have come to believe that we should "not take the Bible literally." When I hear folks say this, I generally think I know what they mean - and I think I agree. That is, the Bible is not a science text book, and just because something happened in the Bible does not make it universally applicable and morally pure. Context matters, and when we read the Bible out of its context, we risk not only misunderstanding God's revelation to us, but potentially doing real violence.

The evidence of this is all around us. Instead of focusing all our energies on doing works of justice and mercy, sharing the good news of Christ's Kingdom with the whole world, many of us have spent generations debating whether the earth is 6,000 years old, whether God enjoys a good genocide, or whether women should be allowed to speak in church. In this context, it makes total sense why many of my brothers and sisters refuse to "take the Bible literally." This often seems like short hand for saying, "we would like to focus on things that really matter."

Yet, for myself, I cannot escape the feeling that this retreat from "literalism" frequently becomes a renunciation of taking the Bible as seriously as we ought. The dangers of blind fundamentalism are clear - but what of the risks of syncretistic individualism? How can we avoid our innate human tendency to wiggle out of the deeply challenging message of the Bible if we refuse to be held accountable to it?

Is it possible that we have simply been taking the wrong parts of the Bible literally? What if, instead of trying to turn the Book of Revelation into a master plan for World War III or contorting Jesus' few statements about marriage into a hardly-convincing argument against gay relationships, we resolved to take literally the Sermon on the Mount? What if we literalistically applied Jesus' radical call to economic justice, healing and reconciliation? What if we were willing to bear the literal consequences of his call to renounce everything and follow him?

I think that few of us - regardless of where our theology falls on the Evangelical/Progressive spectrum - do a very good job of this. These are hard parts of the Bible to take at face value. It is relatively easy to condemn gays, silence women or affirm the idea that God created the world in six literal days. And it is equally easy to abandon the witness of Scripture and cobble together our own narcissistic path. What would it look like if we had the courage to refuse either temptation?

Without a doubt, this is the most fearsome path we can embark on. When we take seriously the wild-eyed Gardener who demands that our lives be pruned from top to bottom, it is a full frontal assault on our whole way of life. The narrow path of Jesus involves giving up any semblance of self-importance and control. Yet Scripture assures us - and we come to know from experience - that this deeply challenging way of Jesus is worth dying for.

How can we embrace the Bible with all seriousness - falling neither into fundamentalist faux-rationalism, nor the blind skepticism that offers itself as an alternative? What effect does it have when we joyfully receive the revelation of God through the witness of Scripture? How has your life been changed by taking seriously the example and teachings of the prophets, the apostles and Jesus?

We Must Swim

A debate has erupted in the online Quaker world: How is God calling us to relate to the rich heritage of the Quaker movement? In a sharp essay for Quaker Life Magazine, David Johns argues that the purpose of our life together is not to be Quakers, but to live in the Spirit that gave rise to Quakerism in the first place. I followed David's lead, arguing that Being Quaker Is Not The Point. This was followed by responses from Susanne Kromberg and Brent Bill, who shared their own perspectives on what the point is - or should be. There have also been many comments, on the posts and on Facebook.

I'm really grateful to everyone who has contributed to this conversation so far. Whether or not we share the same perspective, the very fact that we are willing to engage in this dialogue shows how serious many of us take the question of who we are called to be as Friends of Jesus. I hope to continue in that spirit.

Paul's Shipwreck

I was recently reading in the Book of Acts, where Paul has been imprisoned and is being transported by sea to Rome. During the course of his journey, the ship that Paul is on gets caught in a hurricane-force storm, which ultimately destroys the vessel and forces everyone to swim ashore on a nearby island.

I had read this story many times before, and it had always been an exciting tale. A death-defying escape from a shipwreck in the middle of a storm - very cinematic! But this time around, I felt the text opening up to me in a fresh way. No longer is this simply an account of Paul's survival at sea: It is an allegory for the challenge that we face today as communities gathered in Jesus.

The story goes something like this:

When the storm begins to overwhelm the ship, the crewmembers start throwing things overboard. First, they ditch their cargo. Next, in desperation, they toss the ship's tackle into the sea. Still, the storm continues, and the crew loses all hope of being saved.

Finally, when all of their hopes are gone, Paul gives them good news: God has revealed to him that everyone is going to survive. The ship, however, will be lost - forced to run aground on some island.

Paul tells everyone to eat. They had all been fasting, but they will need all of their strength to survive. Once everyone has eaten their fill, the last of the ship's cargo - their entire food supply - is thrown overboard.

Finally, the moment comes: The ship runs aground off an island. The vessel cannot be saved, but Paul promises that every person aboard will survive if they trust in God's command: It is time for them to swim.

Facing Our Own Shipwreck

I believe that we - the North American Church in general, and the Quaker community in particular - are facing just such a moment of decision. The christendom ship that we have been sailing in for so long can carry us no further. In our desperation, we have tried throwing cargo overboard, ditching the tackle and trying creative tricks with our sea anchors. Despite all our efforts, however, the Lord has spoken: This old boat will not make it.

But this is not the end of the story. There is good news! The destruction of the ship - the loss of our old ways of being the Church - does not have to mean the destruction of the crew. Many of our institutions, structures, traditions and ways of viewing the world have run aground on the rocks of postmodern America. But there is hope. There is an island nearby - a fresh frontier with new people, new challenges - and yes, new boats. Are we ready to swim for it?

Good Food for Swimming

For me, personally, the most powerful image of this story from the Book of Acts is that of the ship's crew breaking bread together amidst the storm. They filled themselves with the good grain that was available to them in the ship's hold. They ate as much of it as they could, knowing that this nourishment would give them the strength they needed to make it to land.

The good grain of the Quaker tradition is essential for me as I prepare to plunge into the water. It is this wholesome bread, kneaded and baked by my spiritual ancestors, that is going to sustain my aching muscles as I swim for shore. Everything that comes next - new lands, new foods, new boats - all of it depends on the goodness that I receive in this holy meal.

But preparation cannot last forever. Whether swimming freestyle or using a piece of the ship for a flotation device, we must make it to shore. Whatever that new land looks like, whatever challenges await, it is there that Christ will continue to provide for us and guide us into the next steps we must take together.

Being Quaker Is Not The Point

Quaker Life Magazine just published an excellent article by David Johns, entitled Moving Forward, or Circling the Wagons? In his essay, David challenges the tendency of modern Friends to make Quakerism the center and focus of our faith. He writes:

All along the spectrum of Quakerism, from evangelical to liberal to everything in between and beyond, there is a dangerous conservative impulse at work which is crushing the movement. This has nothing to do with the old dichotomy of conservative verses liberal because even the most liberal Friends are conservative in this sense.

As a community, we Friends have a tendency to get bogged down, evaluating whether we are sufficiently Quaker instead of centering our lives in the ongoing revelation of Jesus Christ and his good news. In too many cases, preserving the distinctive traits of our 350-year-old tradition has become more important than listening to the living voice of the Spirit in our midst. Far too often, we demonstrate more concern with addressing the theological and organizational divisions within our denominational family than we do for expressing the love of Jesus in the world.

It does not have to be this way. What if, instead of endless squabbles over interpretations of George Fox, our center of gravity was in the ongoing work of God in our midst? What if, instead of posing the question, "Are we Quaker," we asked instead, "Are we being faithful to the direction of the Lord among us, right now?" Again, David writes:

When we ask the question “What is God calling us to do and to be?” it ought to come from a deep engagement in the world and from knowing the joy and pain it holds. The question ought to emerge as a result of our mission, not as an exasperated effort to hold together an unraveling movement.

Quakerism is not going to save Quakers. Only obedience to the guidance of the Holy Spirit can do that. If we cannot embrace a mission that transcends the preservation of our own community and traditions, then the Religious Society of Friends has lost its vital purpose and is doomed to wither away. If we continue much longer this way, trapped in an endless cycle of morbid self-fascination, we will soon find ourselves without conversation partners.

As long as our primary questions revolve around how to be Quaker, how to practice Quakerism and how to preserve authentic Quaker teaching, we risk being no better than the scribes and Pharisees whom Jesus lambasted. By favoring human memorials to past revelation over the living Word that is being spoken to us today, we risk missing the point altogether. Are we ready to loosen our grip on Quakerism so that the living faith of Abraham and Isaac, Jacob and Mary, Paul and George Fox can live again in us?

The point of our life together as Friends of Jesus is to embody the living presence of his Spirit. Tradition certainly has a part to play in this mission. The rich heritage of our spiritual ancestors can serve as a helpful instruction in our walk of faith. The witness of those who have gone before us is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness. But tradition is not the God whom we serve. As David so eloquently puts it, "Quaker-ism as a thing we possess or a thing we are must die if the faith of Quakers is to live."

Are we ready to die to Quakerism so that the gospel that Friends proclaim may find fullest expression? Are we prepared to lay everything on the table so that we may be faithful to the continuing revelation of Jesus? Are we ready to move forward together in faith?

Ambiguity And The Attitude Of The Knife

In his 1965 masterpiece, DUNE, Frank Hebert imagines a desert world in which water is the most precious substance and life is a constant struggle to survive. The indigenous inhabitants of this world, the Fremen, are a people totally adapted to scarcity. They are a people accustomed to hard decisions and brutal efficiency for the sake of the tribe.

Herbert explains that the desert planet "teaches the attitude of the knife - chopping off what's incomplete and saying: 'now it's complete, because it's ended here.'" In their relentless struggle for survival, the people of Dune have no room for sentimental feelings, nor do they have the luxury of risk-taking and experimentation. The Fremen are a most deeply conservative society, a people who follow their traditions to the death - because disobedience could mean destruction for the entire tribe.

These fictional desert people are an extreme vision of what a scarcity culture looks like. In their almost cartoonish need for order, control and clarity, they are driven by the fear of losing everything. The Fremen are saturated with the awareness that any false step could lead them off the razor's edge, from poverty to annihilation. In this society of generational survival instincts, the rules are black and white. There is no room for ambiguity.

I have a soft spot in my heart for the Fremen. Like them, I prefer black-and-white certainties to the squishy ambiguity of change. I am often tempted to practice the attitude of the knife - severing projects, relationships and processes too quickly, before they have had a chance to play out completely. I want a clear answer, not the muddled groundlessness of transition.

But while Herbert's fictional desert people have good reasons for their rigidity and conservatism, mine are mostly psychological. Despite my nervousness, I live in an abundant universe. There is so much love, beauty and goodness to share, and my relationship with Jesus gives me real security. If I choose to trust in the love and abundance of the world that God has made, I am freed from the shackles of scarcity thinking and the attitude of the knife.

The Holy Spirit invites me to live a fearless life. Grounded in the certainty of God's love, presence and provision, I am released from the need to chop off that which is incomplete. Instead, I am given power to sit with the broken, painful and ambiguous parts of my life. I am given courage to look adversity in the face, rather than cutting and running at the first hint of conflict. When I know who I am in Christ, I am freed from the attitude of the knife.

When we as communities are able to live in trust and awareness of Jesus Christ in our midst, we are released from the need to quash uncertainty, ambiguity and change. We are encouraged to be innovative, risk-taking and experimental. When we open ourselves to the presence of the Holy Spirit guiding us as Christ's body, our grip on life loosens, and we are given renewed minds and hearts, able to see and feel in striking new ways. In contrast to the callous defensiveness of the attitude of the knife, Jesus' presence opens us from the inside out and sensitizes us to one another.

Where are the areas in your life where you are gripping tightly? What are the situations, relationships and dilemmas that you are tempted to cut off? What might it be like to sit in the tension with Jesus, allowing those relationships and situations to come to maturity in his presence, in his time? What does it feel like to live a life of creativity, fearlessness and abundance in the face of an unpredictable and changing world? Can you feel where your deepest certainty lies?

Are We A Book Club, Or A Church?

But be doers of the word, and not merely hearers who deceive themselves. - James 1:22

I was raised in a family that prized education. Growing up, I viewed learning as an end unto itself, and my parents encouraged me to explore a wide range of subjects. I immersed myself in history, philosophy, vocal music and foreign languages. Later, I sang opera, studied abroad in Mexico and learned what it meant to be a historian. I graduated from college with a solid liberal arts education, steeped in the intellectual heritage of Western civilization.

While I am grateful for the training I received in my youth, it had certain weaknesses. Though I received a balanced and well-rounded education, I soon discovered that my liberal arts degree had not prepared me for any career in particular. If I wanted to become a historian, I would need to go back for a doctorate. If I wanted to teach Spanish, I would need to get an education degree. Most anything I could imagine doing would require more study.

Though I received a stellar education from grade school through seminary, I learned mostly theory rather than application. My training consisted mostly of learning how to do school rather than how to do life. At the end of the day, most of my practical knowledge came from outside the classroom.

My experience of religious education is similar. As a child, I learned Bible stories and heard sermons. Later, I was encouraged to read devotional pamphlets and books about Quaker history and theology. There was a Pendle Hill Pamphlet for every occasion. In retrospect, I can see that my formative religious experience mirrored closely the assumptions of the schools and universities that I attended.

This makes sense. In the Quaker church, many of us have spent most of our lives immersed in the wider educational system. Most of us have spent far more time in the classroom than we have in Christian fellowship. It should not be surprising that our assumptions about what constitutes knowledge, expertise, and experience bear great similarity to those of the schools and universities we have attended.

At worst, we have come to treat religion as yet another subject to become proficient in. Far too often, our faith becomes abstracted into a series of maxims - "there is that of God in everyone" - or behavioral codes - "we do not speak in the first fifteen minutes of meeting for worship" - that fit better into standardized testing than into the off-script, rough-and-tumble of everyday life. No wonder our faith is so often confined to an hour on Sunday morning! No wonder we often act like one person "at Meeting" and a different person at home, school or work: We have become trapped in a religious system that is only relevant at "test time."

How can we develop faith that has relevance beyond the Sunday-morning Quiz? How can our time together become occasions of mutual support and practical equipping for the work of the Kingdom in daily life? How might we as Friends adopt a more earthy, practical spirituality? When our fellowships often resemble book clubs more than a radical movement for peace and justice, how can we start applying the radical message of Jesus?

Advent And The Empire Of This World

Sunday marked the beginning of Advent, a time of remembrance and preparation for the coming of Jesus into the world. Especially for those of us who do not attend liturgical worship services, it is easy to forget about this special period of hope and expectancy in the midst of darkness. Advent is mostly obscured by the Holiday Season that is so vigorously promoted by the profit-driven society in which we reside. Our practice of remembering the coming of Jesus groans under the weight of the prosperity cult that has emerged as our unifying national religion.

In the face of this consumerist onslaught, Advent stands as a mark of radical resistance to the Empire of this world. Together, we remember how God has entered into our world in the person of Jesus Christ, and we confess that it is only in his Empire (his Kingdom) that we may find true peace and fulfillment.

It is easy to forget how radical this season is meant to be. Advent is not about egg nog, Christmas carols and sleigh rides - it is an act of shared recognition that the true Lord and Love of our lives has entered into the world and has unmasked the powers that hold us in bondage. Joy to the world, the Savior reigns! He is here to unmask and put an end to the evil of sex trafficking, political corruption, environmental devastation and the dehumanizing attitudes that have infected every human heart. The Empire of this world is become the Empire of our Lord, and of his Messiah!

His coming is like a refiner's fire, which purifies and strips down everything that stands in the way of the abundant life that the Spirit is calling us into. Who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when Jesus himself appears in our midst? As we endure this world's "Holiday Season," God calls us away from our selfish consumption and comforting rituals. Instead, we are invited to become agents of Christ's work of unmasking the powers and bringing healing to our broken society.

The coming weeks are a time for revolutionary boldness. Now is the time to remember that the true Light that enlightens everyone is coming into the world. This is a moment to radically reorient our lives and turn towards the the upside-down Kingdom. We are being offered an opportunity to (re)affirm our commitment to the loving Empire of Jesus, and to renounce the death-dealing Empire that so often seems unassailable.

For we know that Jesus has already overcome the world. What would it look like for us to participate in his victory? How might we change our whole orientation, seeing clearly the way that God is re-making the whole of creation? Are we ready to turn away from the darkness and confusion of this world and turn towards the light that we find in the face of Jesus? Are we prepared to tear away the veil of confusion and embrace the radical implications of the message that simmers just under the surface of the Holiday Season?

Should Quakers Be Laying On Hands?

Now when the apostles at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had accepted the word of God, they sent Peter and John to them. The two went down and prayed for them that they might receive the Holy Spirit (for as yet the Spirit had not come upon any of them; they had only been baptized in the name of the Lord Jesus). Then Peter and John laid their hands on them, and they received the Holy Spirit. - Acts 8:14-17

Have you received the Holy Spirit?

The Book of Acts describes how the first disciples in Jerusalem experienced the coming of the Spirit, and this outpouring quickly spread to thousands of others. It was not long before the Church in Jerusalem was scattered by persecution, but this just spread the gospel message more widely.

One of these scattered disciples, Philip, shared the good news in Samaria. The Samaritans were the red-headed stepchildren of the Jewish family. They were outsiders par excellence, widely considered untouchable heretics by their Jewish neighbors. Yet, perhaps because of their shunned status, Samaritans were eager to embrace the news about Jesus. They heard the message and accepted it.

The new believers in Samaria took the first step, being baptized with water as a symbol of their whole-hearted embrace of the message that Philip had shared with them. But there was still something missing. The leaders of the Church in Jerusalem knew in their bones that the people of Samaria needed more than human belief in the message about Jesus: They needed to experience Jesus for themselves. They needed to taste his very Spirit.

What does that even mean? Why weren't the apostles satisfied with the fact that the Samaritans had become "orthodox Christians"? What compelled some of the apostles in Jerusalem to venture out to Samaria and lay their hands on the new believers? And why did the Holy Spirit wait for the apostles' touch before indwelling the new church? If the Spirit blows where it will, what need is there of human intervention?

There is a reason that our spiritual ancestors used such rich, diverse language to describe the Spirit: A dove descending from the sky, rushing wind, tongues of fire, living water, the sound of silence. All of these words offer a window into the mystery of the Holy Spirit, the source of a Life and Power so magnificent that our faith is incomplete until we receive it.

It is my experience that the Spirit is beautifully mysterious and unpredictable. Any attempt to pin her down and force her to obey human regulations will fail. And yet, this story of human involvement in the work of the Holy Spirit rings true to me. It fits with my own experience of receiving the Holy Spirit into my life.

When I first became a Quaker in 2004, I did so because I was convinced at a very deep level, far beyond simple intellectual assent, that the testimonies of Friends were true. I could sense that there was a ground of truth that was solid and immovable. I sensed that God was real, and that my life needed to conform to that Truth. Yet, there was something missing. While I had begun to accept Friends principles and could sense God's hidden presence, I did not experience God as an actor in my life. In reality, I was still in the driver's seat. I was "exploring God," like the famous old blind men who could each feel a different part of the elephant.

But when the Holy Spirit came on me, it was as if that elephant reached out and grabbed me with her trunk! No longer was God an object of my personal study; I came face-to-face with a divine Presence and Personality that had plans for me, and who would guide me if I opened myself. I was shown, in a deeply personal way that can never be fully explained, that God is not an "it," but rather a "thou."

And how did I come to have this experience? What was the catalyst for this encounter with the divine Thou? While for me there was not a literal laying on of hands, the circumstances surrounding my reception of the Holy Spirit bore great similarities to the experience of the Samaritan church.

I was at the World Gathering of Young Friends, in Lancaster, England, together with hundreds of other young Quakers from around the world. During the gathering, we heard sermons from a variety of ministers. One of these, a fiery preacher from Philadelphia, challenged us to know who we were and to accept the mantle of prophecy that the Spirit was calling us into. Early on in her sermon she warned us, "you didn't ask me, but I'm about to give you a double portion of what I have." At one point - referencing the words of Jesus in John 15 - the minister exclaimed, "you're cleansed!" She spontaneously grabbed a container of water that was sitting up at the podium and began sprinkling those of us sitting closer to the front.

The sermon was riveting. It was the most explosive, powerful vocal ministry I had ever encountered. She spoke directly to our condition that evening, and the Spirit was palpably present in the room - though I was not consciously aware of it at the time.

It was later in the evening that it happened. I was sitting on a bench with another young Quaker, and we spontaneously fell into silent worship together. Suddenly, the Holy Spirit was upon us, bathing us with wave upon wave of light, power, love and tender mercy. There simply are no words. But every true word I have spoken since that night has flowed from this Source.

I am convinced that the presence of apostolic authority and blessing that night were instrumental in the work of the Holy Spirit. The faithfulness of this minister from Philadelphia played the same role for me as Peter and John did for the new believers in Samaria. It is enough to make me wonder whether we Quakers should put more emphasis on the importance of human participation in the gift of the Holy Spirit.

Has this happened to you? Has someone laid hands on you - literally or figuratively? Have you received a blessing from another person that has allowed you to plunge far deeper into relationship with God than you ever had before? What do you think the role of human agency is in the ministry of the Holy Spirit? Could it be that we Quakers need to be more open to sharing the gift of the Spirit by the laying on of hands?

Why Quakers Should Celebrate Thanksgiving

One of the core teachings of the Quaker movement is that Christ is inwardly present in all times and all places. In seventeenth-century England, when holiness was restricted the tightly controlled religious rituals of an elite clergy, Friends made the bold claim that the real presence of Jesus was not to be found in the hocus pocus of wafers and wine. Instead, they testified that Jesus is risen in the very bodies of those women and men who follow him in spirit and in truth.

In a culture where religious ritual and narrow sacramentality was used to dominate common people, Friends insisted that Jesus is radically present in the lives of all people. Despite intense persecution by the religious and civil authorities, Friends clung to their conviction that God's power and mercy spills beyond the walls of the cathedral, and that the baptizing power of the Spirit is not dependent on water poured by human hands.

Along with other radical groups in their day (such as the Puritans), Friends denounced many of the customs that those around them took for granted. Because the names of the days and months were derived from pagan deities (Thor's Day, for example), Friends began using numbers instead (e.g. Today is Fifth Day, 11th Month 22nd, 2012). Friends also rejected holidays such as Easter and Christmas. This was not because they did not honor the spiritual significance of Christ's birth and resurrection; rather, they believed that they could best experience Christ's resurrected presence by following him each day. Every day should be Christmas. Every day should be Easter.

I feel that I understand why early Friends made these choices. They lived in an age where religious ritual had been largely co-opted by the civil and religious authorities. Christmas, Easter and saint's days; water baptism and priestly rites; bread and wafers treated as the literal body and blood of Christ - all these things had become tools of control and oppression by the elites. Rather than encouraging their flock to follow Jesus, the priests and the rulers abused their positions, putting themselves in Christ's place! In such circumstances, it was probably right for the early Friends to strip religion down to the bare bones and start from scratch.

But it has been three hundred and fifty years. Times have changed dramatically. Virtually our entire public consciousness, including our holidays and religious rituals, have been co-opted by the new empire of this world - unrestrained corporate capitalism. For most Americans today, Christmas is about Santa Claus and consumer electronics. Easter is about bunnies and brunches. And even Thanksgiving, long the least commercialized major holiday, is under siege by the "holiday shopping season." This year, Black Friday has become "Black Thanksgiving."

Ironically - but not accidentally - this wave of consumerism is rising precisely at the time that ordinary Americans are experiencing a crescendo of economic hardship and stress. With so many of us struggling to find meaningful employment at a living wage, it is difficult to resist the siren's call of consumer goods. Just as many people suffering from depression struggle with uncontrolled eating habits, our nation's frantic search for "the next best thing" is revealing. We are hurting so badly!

How is the Holy Spirit calling us to respond to the insatiable hunger, despair and emptiness that our culture is experiencing? What does it look like for us to challenge the systems of death that not only eat us alive, but seduce us into joining the feast?

Some Quakers might argue that our best option is to opt out of the "holiday season" entirely. Indeed, in light of the ways that corporate America has infested our holy seasons with glorified addiction, a strong argument can be made for total withdrawal. By refusing to participate in the wider culture's holidays, we might gain some protection from the corroding influence of the consumer cult. We might even be able to encourage others to opt out, strengthening the base of resistance.

While the case for withdrawal is strong, I am convinced that there is a better response. Rather than ceding the major holidays to corporate America, I believe that it is time to reclaim them. Starting with Thanksgiving.

We are a nation that is over-worked to the point of exhaustion. We are a people desperately in need of Sabbath. Sunday was once widely reserved as a time of rest and worship, but now it is considered fair game by many employers. Even those of us who are privileged enough to be exempted from working weekends have largely lost the rest that our ancestors once knew. If we do not spend our weekends putting in extra hours on our electronic devices, we are out shopping, chauffeuring kids around, and generally catching up on all the unpaid work that we had to defer during the week.

Might there be an opening for us to celebrate Thanksgiving, not as the fear-driven ritual of consumption that is it morphing into, but rather as a Grand Sabbath? Thanksgiving, at its best, is an opportunity to be still and know that God is faithful in providing for our needs. It is a time to focus on demonstrating our love and thankfulness for those with whom God has called us into relationship. Thanksgiving can be a time of rest from our labors, a time of gratitude for the gift of simply being.

While this sense of rest, thankfulness and belonging should extend out into our whole lives, celebrating Thanksgiving provides a special opportunity to concentrate on our intention to live this way in the world. It serves as a reminder of how life can be when we are resting in the loving arms of Christ our Savior.

If that is not radical, I do not know what is.

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• For another Quaker perspective on this, check out Jon Watts' Thanksgiving post.

• Are you longing for Thanksgiving music as much as I am? Here's a good candidate: