From the Heart: The wellspring to action

Last Sunday in silent Quaker worship, I was obsessed by a “monkey mind” dominated by this absurdist presidential campaign.

Finally, I concluded, I simply had to let go. But how?

Then I realized the chaos was in my mind.

What if I moved all of that “stuff” to my heart?

It was surprisingly easy. I simply refocused on my heart.

I immediately felt peace move to my chest and then wash over me.

My mental churning vanished.

The hard turmoil in my mind had melted to a balm in my heart.

The energy was still there, but I was different.

Everything had changed.

                  •  •  •

Could it be that we sometimes are “using” the wrong part of ourselves as we face life’s challenges?

Do some things require heart while others call on reason? Or is there a sequence of heart/mind or, more often, mind/heart that we should follow.

Quakers speak of “leadings.” Being led, almost compelled, to act. In the past, Friends have been led to women’s suffrage, the emancipation of slaves, civil rights, conscientious objection, prison reform. The list is long.

Thinking about those leadings, I see they have taken shape in both mind and heart, but ultimately heart spurs us to action.

The wellspring of leadings is in the heart.

A Matter of Identity

In the hours after Britain’s vote to leave the European Union, I received e-mails from English friends who said they were in shock. My requests for them to share their feelings were rejected.

Their feelings were too raw to write about, they wrote. In essence I was being insensitive to their pain.

It was as though there had been a death in the family. I needed to allow a respectable amount of time pass before seeking a post mortem.

If Donald Trump becomes this nation’s next president (as may well happen), I’m sure I will ask for the same respect from my friends abroad.

The reaction to the vote to leave the European Union reminds me of a brief encounter I had with a young man while I was in Italy a few years ago. It turns out he was Dutchman living in Venice, working for a multinational sports apparel company, but when I asked him his nationality he answered without hesitation and with considerable pride, “I’m a European.”

The European Union had literally changed his identity.

Reflecting on this and those e-mails from England, I’ve pondered the phenomenon of identity.

What would a Trump victory do to my sense of identity as an American? The answer for many is found in a vow to move to Canada. America under Trump would be a country many could no longer identify with.

For many Americans, it already is. Trump is Exhibit A.

Trump’s personality, behavior and values are simply antithetical what we believe. “My nation right or wrong” no longer cuts it. We have a loyalty to and responsibility for so much more, including the fate of the planet.

A nation that would elect a Trump is a pariah state.

Now the people of Scotland and Northern Ireland are feeling the same way about being tethered to or even identified with a Europe-exiting Britain.

I think many of us have struggled with our identities for years. I have found myself uncomfortably lumped together with others who happen to share the same label, but with whom I have deep disagreements. My response has been to shed the label rather than to be forced to explain.

Perhaps the most striking example is the label “Christian.”  The more I learn about the history of Christians and Christendom, the more I witness the behavior of avowed "Christians," the less I want to be known as a Christian. (An aside: today’s news tells us that James Dobson, one of numerous “professional Christians” who have made millions off their alleged religious belief, is asserting that Trump is now a “born again” Christian.

Give us a break.

Of course Dobson and Trump are just the most recent in a long series of “Christians” using belief and fear of damnation as levers to power and profit.

Fortunately, they haven’t yet besmirch the historical Jesus (forget the “Christ” part, and no, that wasn’t his last name, nor did he take it upon himself). By claiming to be Christians, the "professionally self-righteous" drive millions away from the religion. Moreover, they have obviously ignored Jesus’ message. Dobson and Trump might start with “it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.” The Beatitudes are worth a review as well. “Blessed are the meek etc.”

Now I’m even grappling with my own “Quaker” affiliation. I have profound disagreements with most Quakers world-wide. The majority in the denomination are fundamentalists and they oppose gay marriage. They are, as we say, “unwelcoming.”  Surprising to many, the majority of Quakers are East Africans who are deeply homophobic, not unlike "The Christian" James Dobson himself.

Is it time to lose my “Quaker” identity, which I’ve had for more than 50 years? Or can I, should I, distinguish myself from other Quakers by qualifying my membership as that of a “liberal Quaker.” Does that somehow clear me of association by name?

Obviously many Jews and Muslims have similar "identity" problems.

Or how can I live in Portland, Oregon and be a “Portlander” without being pigeon-holed into some weird media stereotype from the TV series “Portlandia”?

Then there are the racial, ethnic, class, age, regional and gender identities. As a friend pointed out recently, many identities we can do nothing about . We can’t just drop them through voting this way or that. Or emigrating somewhere else.

And so we have racial profiling; white male privilege, class “bubbles,” and a host of unavoidable prejudices we both harbor and are afflicted with.

It strikes me that the only time we can truly be free of identities we’ve assumed, been assigned, or are born with, is in death. Of course our identities will still survive among the living, but they will be post-humous. Our identities become posterity’s problems; not ours.

As I think of my friends in England, I’m inclined to tell them that once their period of mourning is over, the legalities of their relationship to Europe may have changed, but they haven’t changed their own identities regarding the continent or the world. If anything, they should more loudly and visibly proclaim their oneness with their neighbors. (Is that not is what Jesus, among others, taught?)

Don’t let your identity be defined by politicians, nations, global capitalists, the media and advertising, or anyone else.

Be yourself. Your true identity may just push aside all the others.

Political discernment using Quaker testimonies

As a Quaker, I am helped in turbulent times by considering the five Quaker “testimonies.”

The testimonies are: Simplicity, Peace, Integrity, Community and Equality. (You can remember them with the mnemonic “SPICE”)

Recently I’ve weighed the three major presidential candidates against the testimonies and tried to assign grades to them. ABCDF.

I found it difficult because media reporting on the candidates often fails to provide necessary information to make a judgment on these topics.

Then again, much of the news coverage is relevant and helpful.

I also realized that I first needed to revisit the “SPICE”s for myself, particularly with regard to politics and public life.

It was a humbling experience. The “grade” I gave myself was, at best, a “gentleman’s C.”

Here are some of the questions I pondered.

Do I measure “simplicity” guided by my spirituality or do I surrender to cultural/political norms?

Am I at peace with myself? Am I at peace with paying taxes to support American military involvement (which includes atrocities)? Am I at peace with our system of "justice"?

Do I understand the word “integrity” in all its meanings, “strength” being one of them?

What community, or communities, am I part of? What are my responsibilities to them. What are my responsibilities to other communities beyond my own?

Do I truly believe we are equal? If so, how?

Now to the presidential candidates....

How do the testimonies apply to being president of the United States? It's easier to answer for some ("integrity" for instance) than others ("simplicity"?) Or are the testimonies simply important as measurements of personal character? Should we consider the "personal" and "presidential" as one? Are presidents forced to make decisions they would never want to make as individuals? Decisions about life and death, for instance. What does personal/presidential bifurcation say about "integrity"?

In an earlier draft of this little essay, I actually assigned “testimony” grades to the three leading candidates. Now I realize that my assessment is helpful only to me. It is filtered through my unique experiences, values and discernment.

What’s most important to you is yours.

So have at it. Take your time….

Donald Trump

Simplicity?
Peace?
Integrity?
Community?
Equality?

Hillary Clinton

Simplicity?
Peace?
Integrity?
Community?
Equality?

Bernie Sanders

Simplicity?
Peace?
Integrity?
Community?
Equality?

Jesus on the Gridiron

Last week at Beaverton’s Washington Square Mall, I spotted a young man wearing a football jersey that prominently displayed the name of…not of Marcus Mariota, Russell Wilson or, heaven forbid, Tom Brady… but of Jesus Christ.

To be exact, the black jersey read in bold, white letters...

           Jesus
               1

No team affiliation was indicated put I presume it was broadly Christian.

I’m not a Christian although I am a Quaker, and like all Quakers, I take the historical Jesus seriously.

I should quickly add that most of my fellow Quakers consider themselves Christians and accept the Jesus of Christianity and of the Bible. Therein, Jesus is number one, or 1 ... and the Son of God.

I also believe that the words of theology, including those of Christianity, should not separate us. We are of the same spirit. It resides beyond words. It resides in silence.

So here I am in the Washington Square Mall, a vast cathedral of consumption, and my attention lingers on the young man sporting his “Jesus 1” football jersey.

Long after he passed by,  I couldn’t let go of the image of him, his jersey and the vision of Jesus playing football.

On the gridiron, Jesus had to be a quarterback. (Team doctors, servants of the injured, don’t have numbered jerseys.)

I assumed that if Jesus wasn’t calling the signals himself, they were being signaled in from the sidelines from his coach. Presumably that would be God, The Father.

Bear with me but I should add here another theological aside. I’m a “non-theistic” Quaker…I’ve dropped traditional notions of “God” (including "God the Father") from my spiritual life. Because of my experience with “God” (and, yes, my own Father, and myself as Father) these notions distance me from what we share.

I have come to call this shared oneness “spirit” though no word does it justice. It is beyond words and borders and…goal posts.

Back on the field, Jesus, our first-string, starting quarterback, is huddling with his team and about to call the play.

Set on victory, the fist-waving crowd yells and screams. The stadium rocks. It resounds. A few — many mothers of the players — pray.

All wonder… “What will Jesus call? What will Jesus do? What is God’s command?”

The young Jewish rabbi in the huddle pauses, looks each of his mates square in the eye and says: “This game is dangerous. It is hurtful. It breeds false values. It is devoid of love beyond the love of fame and temporal victory.” He pauses and adds, “Blessed are the meek.Their names shall not be emblazoned on football jerseys.”

Then he calls the play: “Cast off your protective gear! Head for the exits! Leave the stadium. Do good work!”

And so they race off the field leaving jerseys, helmets, shoulder pads and athletic “scholarships” behind them.

Among the jerseys on the field is one that reads “Jesus 1.” Someone sees it, picks it up and sells it to a young man in Beaverton.

The New Yorker's Quaker moments

This summer, in a rare event, two consecutive issue of the New Yorker magazine made passing reference to Quakers.

As a Quaker, I found it strange to see them and yet, in context they seemed to provide a snippet of tantalizing, off-hand insight about Quakers for New Yorker readers.

The first reference was in a piece about Radical Feminists and their exclusion of transgender females as not really being women. The Quaker reference happened to be to action taken by my own Quaker meeting here in Portland. Our meeting at first agreed to rent our meeting house to the Rad-Fems group, but after transgender members of our meeting objected, the meeting decided to cancel the rental, stating that to rent to the Radical Feminists would be hurtful to our trans members.

From my knowledge about how the decision was reached I know that an entire article could have explored the Quaker decision-making process and how inadequate it can sometimes be even as it seeks to be “spirit-led.” For an excellent book on the subject, see “Beyond Majority Rule” by Michael J. Sheeran, who happens to be a Jesuit priest.

The second reference was more remote, but more profound, though terse. It was a sweeping statement by Malcolm Gladwell in an article (“The Crooked Ladder” in the August 11 & 18 issue) about how Mafia families over generations strive for respectability and ultimately leave their illicit histories behind.

The Mafia may seem a long way from Quakers and their "Godfather" George Fox (see portrait to the right), but here’s the passage that caught my eye:

“Six decades ago, Robert K. Merton argued that there was a series of ways in which Americans responded to the extraordinary cultural emphasis that their societies placed on getting ahead. The most common was “conformity”: accept the social goal (the American dream) and also accept the means by which it should be pursued (work hard and obey the law). The second strategy was “ritualism”: accept the means (work hard and obey the law) but reject the goal. That’s the approach of the Quakers or the Amish or of any other religious group that substitutes its own moral agenda for that of the broader society…”

I suppose all spiritual groups (I hesitate to call Quakers a religion) feel misunderstood. Many, like the Quakers themselves, are diverse in how they follow their spiritual paths. One could fairly ask whether they understand themselves in their entirety. Without going into detail, I’ve adopted the saying that “If you have talked to one Quaker about the Quaker Way, you have only talked to one Quaker.” There are others, so many others, with so many other ways to describe what it means to be a Quaker.

So Gladwell is on shaky ground, and, on one point, dead wrong. Quakers are well known for NOT obeying the law when they find laws unjust. Civil disobedience is part of their arsenal in the “Lamb’s War” for peace and justice. Some Friends resisted war taxes, some sat-in in the South in the ‘60s, many have been conscientious objectors, some illegally assisted runaway slaves in the mid 19th Century. The list is long.

Still, Gladwell shares an underlying truth, which is visibly evident in the way the Amish live their lives, and less so in “The Quaker Way.” Each does indeed have its “own moral agenda.” The “American dream,” as generally understood (materialistic, individualistic, nationalistic), is counter to the Quaker “testimonies” of simplicity, peace, integrity, community and equality.

As interesting as the article about the transformation of crime families was, it seems to me that a more compelling story is that of groups that choose to follow their “own moral agenda.”

Both New Yorker stories hint that Quakers (and Amish) go about doing just that. The broader American culture could use more than hints.

The Parable of the Turnbuckle

Last weekend I joined Santa Barbara Quakers in worship. Before settling into the silence, I gazed around the meeting room with its gracefully arching windows and two skylights. As my eyes swept across the ceiling, they rested on two parallel stay cables poking out of the ceiling. Each had been tightened by its own turnbuckle.

The modest fixtures were essential to holding the building together.

I stopped to ponder the turnbuckles to consider just how they did their job.

Because Quaker meetings often are trying to shore up this or that, I sought to apply to Friends the simple mechanics of the turnbuckle.

The key to the operation of a turnbuckle is that it is tightened by rotating a collar that is threaded on both ends to fit attached threaded screws, which are, in turn, hooked to the cables.

The telling point is this: the threads at one end go in the REVERSE direction as those on the other.

Without the reversal, the turnbuckle wouldn’t pull inward to tighten the cables. Of course the collar needs to be turned in the “right” direction. Turning it the other way loosens the cables.

Friends are notoriously, but thankfully, “threaded” in opposite directions (MANY opposite directions!). If we were all threaded the same way, neither tightening (nor loosening) would happen. We’d just unscrew ourselves, as it were.

So, like the turnbuckle, we are stronger for our “oppositional” threading, just as long as we learn to agree which way to twist our collars.

Sometimes learning requires loosening first before we discover which way to turn to make ourselves stronger, but in the end, together, we get it right.

All of which may sound familiar to those familiar with the old hymn "Simple Gifts"...

"...To turn, turn 'twill be our delight,
Till by turning, turning we come round right."

On starting to remember....

If you search on-line the words “Tell me about God. I’m starting to forget,” you will encounter a brief story attributed to several sources.

Never mind the sources. It’s the story that matters.

Even as the story has changed with retelling, its essence remains the same.

Here’s one version:

A four-year-old boy couldn't wait for his new baby sister to come home from the hospital. He was eager to be alone with her. But his parents were reluctant to leave a four-year-old alone the infant.  Still, he kept begging, so one night his parents relented. The boy tiptoed into his sister’s room and stood next to her crib in the half-light.

The parents cracked the door, watched and listened as their son whispered,"Tell me about God - I'm starting to forget."
 
Not being a child, I was too self-conscious to ask the question of my new-born granddaughter 15 months ago, but, thanks to the story, the thought of doing so was with me. I found that just being in her presence “told” me about “God” (who is, for me, a verb and silence and is-ness and love. No single word can capture the eternal presence. No word can explain this gift of existence and life, be it old or new or in-between or eternal).

That’s what I’m discovering as I age. If I once “forgot 'God',” I am beginning to remember and re-experience "God," as I grow ever nearer to death.

Perhaps one day as I lay dying, my teen or adult granddaughter will ask to be left alone with me. Perhaps she will knell at my bed and whisper, “Tell me about God. I want to remember.”

She will “hear” my response in the depths of my “spoken” silence, in the eternal presence that enfolds us.

The Parable of the Table

Ten of us worshiped in the stillness. We had gathered in a close circle in the small library in a neighborhood Friends church.

It was early, 8 a.m.

A much larger congregation would be meeting later in the church sanctuary proper for singing, a short reading from the Bible, a pastor’s sermon, a period of silent worship and ministry and announcements from pews.

But in the little library, our small group practiced what Quakers call “unprogramed” worship, so called because it has no program of worship. Nearly all of our time together is spent in silence. Or as Quakers say, “in expectant waiting.”

In the silence I felt unusually attuned of our numbers. This was only the second time we had met.

I saw our new worship group as an experiment planned to last only three Sundays – the first Sundays of October, November and December. After that, we would decide whether to meet again, and, if so, where and when. 

To me, the little Quaker gathering, if it continued, would serve Friends in our immediate part of Portland: Hillsdale, Multnomah Village, Bridlemile, Hayhurst and Maplewood. The latter is where the church – West Hills Friends Church – is.

The first month, there had been five of us. So our numbers had doubled. The little library was nearly full.

In the middle, someone from the Church had placed a small table. Some of our knees nearly touched it.

Tables in the middle of a Quaker place of unprogramed worship are not unfamiliar in many meeting houses. In England they are almost a given. They usually bear  a single flower or a flickering candle. In some congregations, they hold Bibles. But here in the Western United States, I’ve rarely seen such a table. Quaker worship is an interior waiting, a ‘listening’ for the spirit that resides within us all. The deepening silence is what we share. The certerpiece is within. Occasionally, sometimes, someone will be moved to speak.

Oddly, in this circle of 10, I felt an eleventh presence. I was moved to acknowledge it “out of the silence.”

Some must have thought I was going to recognize God’s presence. But  “God,” the word, for me, is a barrier. I rarely use it. At best I refer to ‘the spirit’ knowing full well that my words fail. “Is-ness” or silence is the best I can come up with for the ineffable.

No, the eleventh presence I felt in the room was the small, bare table.

My eyes kept opening and going to its surface. I described my attraction to the table top in my short ministry. The table seemed to invite me to empty my spiritual pockets and place joys and concerns there. It asked me to be free of life’s attachments and to simply “hold them in the Light.”

Perhaps the little table was inviting others to do the same. I suggested as much before I fell back into stillness. No one else spoke.

Slowly in the silence, I felt the table fill.

*********   *********    ********   ********

There’s a post-script to this little “parable of the table.”

At the close of our silent worship, we wondered what this table was doing in the middle of an already cramped library. One member of our group, a part of the church’s congregation, said she had never seen the table in the library before.

The explanation of its presence turned out to be simple and far from mystical.

A pipe had broken in the Church the day before and someone moved the table to get it out of the way of the mopping up.

It was where it didn’t belong.

Or was it? 

    How often “where something doesn’t belong,” is exactly where it needs to be.

A Parable from the Duck Pond

My friend and fellow Quaker Josh von Kuster has written a parable directed toward Quakers, but it speaks to us all.

Once, ducks migrated all over, flying south every year in the winter, and north again in the summer. Their squawking as they flew  brought cool weather with them South and warm weather with them North. They went all over, looking for a peaceful pond where they could be free to stay year-round and the weather would be just right.  Finally, they found such a place., and settled. The migration stopped.

As the generations went by, the ducks taught each other of their forebearers’ travels. How they brought the weather with them when they squawked and flew.

One day, a little duckling didn't want just to learn about traveling and squawking. This curious duckling decided to live out its curiosity.

It wanted to actually travel and squawk.

The flock encouraged the duckling, such behavior being unfamiliar but exciting to them. So off it flew.

As the years went by, the flock kept teaching each other about the migrators. They found new and exciting ways to teach each other about their elders. They didn't notice the weather changing on their pond, they grew comfortable with the heat in the summer and the cold in the winter.

One day, the duckling was invited to come home. The duckling was missed by its friends so they asked the curious duckling to come and talk about migrating. Setting travels and squawking aside for a while, the curious duckling, now full-grown, came back to the pond. The curious duck told them of all it had seen, and how great the weather can be and how nasty. The duckling was brimming with knowledge and experience and wisdom and spoke of the wider world.

But the flock was not gathered only to hear the curious duck. It was so much fun talking about their elders and how things used to be far away in the past. It was even more fun coming up with new and exciting ways to teach each other about their proud traditions in the future. They were so busy talking about techniques and pedagogy they never took the time to ask the duckling what could be done to migrate again.

Finding Unity: Beyond Majority Rule

On this election day, I’m thinking about “Beyond Majority Rule,” Michael Sheeran's classic about the vote-less Quaker decision-making process.

Today’s voting, if it is conclusive, presumably will assert the will of the majority. Of course, the vagrancies of our anachronistic Electoral College may get in the way of that. And there is always the possibility of multiple recounts and legal determinations of legitimate ballots and voters etc.

Sooner or later there will be winners and losers.

That's a problem for the nation. Moreover, the winners will inherit a losing, divided system of governance. In a sense they will lose to the system. The winners in one branch of government will be the losers in the other.

Some call this "balance" of power "brilliant," but in these challenging times and from my own experience with Quaker decision-making, I'm finding it increasingly absurd and even dangerous.

The Quaker process is refreshingly different and simple. It forbids voting per se because the unity of the Quaker meeting is far more valuable than deciding winners and losers.

In secular terms, the Quaker process calls for reaching consensus. But that doesn’t capture the essence of how Friends decide what to do.

The decision is an amalgam of views that emerge in the course of finding common ground and then articulating it in the form of a motion for action. An action "minute" is read. If someone disagrees, that person is asked to explain and suggest alternative language that will address the concern. Once that is offered, Friends are asked again whether they are “in agreement.” The process continues until agreement is reached by all.

(There is a spiritual side to this as well. Indeed, Friends, as Quakers call themselves, often settle into  meditative silence to seek the solution to the issue at hand. If all goes well, they are “spirit-led” to "finding unity.")

After much discussion and contemplation, some Friends may choose to “stand aside,” an acknowledgement that a “sense of the meeting” has been reached even though those stepping aside may not fully agree with it. They realize that the decision is the meeting's, not that of a collection of individuals.

Could this process work in the governance of a nation — in choosing a president and Congress as we will do today?

For starters, polarized, hardened partisan politics seems antithetical to the Quaker approach. To reform our present system, parties would have to be abolished. More likely, they would simply be made irrelevant. If the object is no longer to win an election but to find agreement for the greater good, non-partisanship seems the only alternative.

Likewise, the process is not about politicians but about ideas and actions. Those ideas and actions shouldn’t be voted on but forged in public by those valuing the public interest first and foremost. Paid lobbyists for private interests, whose views would be heard and weighed, would be barred from deliberations as their motives clearly would be compromised by money.

The executive branch, in our case the presidency, would have the sole function of executing the agreed-upon results of the deliberations. A president would be chosen by an independent group skilled at assessing administrative skills. That body also would arrive at its choice by consensus. There would be no majority or minority view. All would be winners; none would lose.

The composition of the independent selection group would be determined using the same process. Any slate offered to the community must be approved in its entirety. No need to single out those opposed. The whole slate would be rejected and then a new one brought forward for consideration. Without comment, some of the previous names might appear, some might not. In all cases, reputations are respected and protected.

How very alien this is to the exercise we will participate in tomorrow. How far this is from what will happen over the next four years.

Obviously this short essay doesn’t begin to address all the relevant questions, but it may suggest a new way of thinking about governance and government. It begins to address to offer a desperate need in our nation: finding unity.

That's what Quakers have, more of less, managed to do for 350 years.

The New Law of Nature

The truth is palpable, overwhelming, scorching, toxic and virulent.

In the 2006 documentary, Al Gore, in a calculated understatement, called it “inconvenient.”

Today is it undeniable to the vast majority. Tomorrow it will be undeniable even to today’s deniers.

Chief among the deniers are our two major presidential candidates, both of whom depend on contributors addicted to carbon-fuel-derived profit and greed. Mitt Romney and Barack Obama, coupled with Congress and the majority of congressional candidates, lack any political incentive to act. They are focused on November and money.

They need to be focused on NOW and muster the will to speak and act now. Imagine them standing together on the same podium, united in word and action.

It would take courage; it won’t happen.

The political problem goes beyond money and greed. To bring about needed change, the political establishments (here AND abroad) must demand that each of us change radically. The laws required would be draconian. Forget “personal freedom,” at least as we know it.

Here in America, we don’t do draconian, at least not on ourselves. We do draconian in Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan and Africa — any place the oil or coal or uranium is. Sometimes— because the resources are hidden away — our draconian measures are done here at home, in the aquifers of the Great Plains or the watersheds of Appalachia or the Gulf Coast or the Alaska wilderness.

The victims are the poor and nature.

The Climate Change we are coming to know results from another, countervailing draconian law — a New Law of Nature. It can’t be ruled unconstitutional. It can't be amended. There will be no filibusters or cloture.

It will force change on us whether we or our leaders like it or not.

Many are already thirsty and starving. Soon the effects will hit and further shrink the middle class. Eventually it will strike even the plutocrats and oligarchs. It will burst their bubbles of isolation and privilege.  It will breach their security gates and go undetected by their surveillance cameras. There will be no new mansions to flee to. The greedy will be stranded on a dying planet of dust, drought and desolation.

Is there nothing we can do? Elections won’t help (see above.) There are changes that each of us can make as individuals, and many are. Most of us aren’t doing enough, not nearly enough. And the hour is late.

We have in our Quaker congregation a group that calls itself “The Global Coolers.” Others rightly can call themselves by that name, but the large majority of us are “Global Warmers,” or, worse, “Global Kool-Aiders.”

The Coolers, and others, try to raise our awareness. Some ride bikes. Some eat less. Their food  comes from nearby. They switch off lights and appliances. They install solar panels.

They are too few in number. But they may be the saved among the human species, for the survivors will be those willing and able to live with the least.

It all sounds vaguely, and profoundly, biblical.

NEXT: Cracking the political nut....

Mixing journalism and religion

For the past two years I've been the clerk of our Quaker congregation or "meeting."

For those unfamiliar with "Quakerish," our often quaint and mysterious Quaker language, you need to know that being clerk, to the extent possible in a profoundly egalitarian group of 150, means I've been more or less responsible for the Meeting.

My training and skills are in journalism. Curiously, and surprisingly, a journalist has many skills needed to lead a Quaker Meeting. Only a few notable journalistic traits seem disconnected from and even at odds with clerking.

First, here are desirable shared qualities in both:

Listening — carefully — clarifying and making sure you understand in a way that you can communicate accurately to others.

Putting aside one’s own opinions. Easier said than done. We all suffer from subjectivity. When we simply can’t be objective, clerks and journalists need to step aside.

Respecting and accepting the will of others. In the case of journalists, the others are editors; in the case of clerks the others are the Meeting.

Seeking and continually asking what’s most important. Quakers call this discerning, journalists call it distilling the story.

Stating the essence clearly, concisely and accurately.

Being mindful of what others don’t know...but what they will want to know, what they MUST know. Asking and being able to answer why and how

Protecting people’s privacy and reputations. Being fair. Knowing what NOT to say or write.

If possible and appropriate, entertain.

Clerks (and Quakers) and journalists seek the Truth, although Quakers capitalize it and consider it divinely/spiritually inspired. When both have find it, they seek to express it forcefully.

Foremost, together we seek to create a better world.

****

So how do the two differ?

Journalists live by deadlines; Quakers and clerks, well, not so much

Clerks and Quakers often find Truth in silence, in putting words aside; journalists, not at all. For journalists, the answer is more words...another interview, reading more documents

Quaker meetings and their clerks are led by the Spirit; journalists are led by editors, publishers and, alas, the whims of the public.

****

My conclusion:  Forty-five years in journalism enriched my two years as clerk. Who would have thought?

Alice in QuakerLand

“Why doesn’t one of us in this room take in a foster child?” asked a member of our Quaker discussion group. "There are so many of them in need."

About 12 of us meet in a circle early Sunday mornings, and while the discussion is lively, and at times intense, it can become vague and philosophical.

But the question posed by the Friend was refreshingly, and troublingly, concrete.

But it wasn’t concrete enough for me. I decided to put the question in the middle of the room.

“Right there is a little girl,” I said pointing to the empty carpeted patch before us. “She was there when we came in this morning,” I explained. “We found a note pinned to her, introducing her as two-year-old ‘Alice.’ She has been left with us to deal with. We’ve been chosen, the note said, because we are ‘good people.' At the end of our meeting, the note continued, Alice will have no one to look after her but us."

At first a couple of people tried to ignore “Alice,” but a few of us felt compelled to acknowledge her imaginary presence. At one point, I suggested that Alice might be understanding what we were saying about her and her uncertain future. "We might keep that in mind." At another point I felt the need to address her directly and reassure her imaginary presence of our love for her and our feeling responsible for her safety and well being.

Someone said that, in the manner of Quakers, of course we would form a committee to decide what to do. It might take weeks.  A couple of others said we had a responsibility — indeed a legal obligation — to hand Alice over to the child welfare authorities.

I suggested that we might take turns looking after her until we could develop a plan. I offered to take her the first week. “Imagine what a wonderful group of parents we’d all make,” I exuded.

But another person said that having such a large group look after Alice would be the worse thing we could do. “She needs a family; everyone knows that.”

One young, single man, who desperately wants a family, said he would be happy to take Alice, but his offer went nowhere in the swirl of differing ideas.

As our hour and a half together ended, our focus seemed less on Alice and more on our own reactions to her. Someone said we should continue the discussion next Sunday.

As it turned out, we all took “Alice” home with us for the week. Next week, at 8:30 a.m. at our meetinghouse, I hope we all bring her back. She has much to teach us.

So many books...

An elderly friend died recently. He lived alone in an assisted living facility, surrounded by memorabilia and books, hundreds of books.

His friends were left to dispose of his possessions and, of course, the books. More than 400 of them.

I thought of my own books as I sorted through his. Many, many, were unread, like my own. They and their selection spoke of his wide-ranging interests. Germany after the great 20th Century wars, wars’ victims, the agonizing state of Palestine and Palestinians, the great ancient lost cities. He had four Bibles.  He had subscribed to the Folio Book Club. Many of those tomes had arrived in the mail and never been opened. Cellophane still enclosed them.

Boxed books, massive art books, several mysteries, biographies. Most unread.

He was a gentle, unassumingly erudite man. He would, when asked, recall his past and his struggles for human rights and dignity for all. He was gay. In his eighties when I met him, he never mentioned being gay. There seemed no reason to. He was at peace with his life and his world.

His library bespoke him: his fascinations, his passions, his curiosities. His library spoke, yes, volumes, of the privilege it was to know him and the honor to be bequeathed responsibility for these books.

He was a member of our Quaker congregation, and it was clear from his bequest that he wanted us to have and to see that his library was put in good hands. And so we sold them cheaply to Quaker Friends and neighbors. I bought five or six. Among them were a boxed Folio edition of Thomas Paine’s “The Rights of Man,” Calvin Trillin’s warm, evocative “Messages from My Father,” and Jimmy Carter’s impassioned “Palestine. Peace not Apartheid.” I also bought the massive “An Incomplete Education, 3684 things you should have learned but probably didn’t.”

I don’t know whether my friend read any of them. They were clearly well cared for. How many of those 3684 “things” did he absorb? What of the “Rights of Man”? The spines were uncreased except for the Bibles, which may have been handed down for generations, as Bibles often are. The pristine books might have been read. He no doubt cared for his books as he did for all who knew him. As I have said, above all, he was a gentle, deeply caring soul.

Now that I’ve turned seventy, I’ve looked at what I will leave when I die, and what I will have left undone and, yes, unread. I have at least as many books on my shelves. Who will take them, what do they say of me, will they ever be read — by me or anyone else?

Does it matter?

Yes, no and maybe. Especially maybe... You, friends, will decide.

"Let us then try what love will do."

A recent trip to Philadelphia and a deepening interest in Quaker history has left me intrigued by an aphorism from William Penn (1644 – 1718).

In his book “The Fruits of Solitude,” Penn, an early Quaker and the founder of colonial Pennsylvania, wrote:

Let us then try what love will do.

In these times of strife of all kinds (economic, political, military), Penn’s suggestion about “trying” love speaks to our condition as much as it did to the turbulent state of Penn’s world.

The word at the core of the quote is, of course, “love,” but for me, it's “then” that is most telling.

Let us ... then ... try what love will do.

It suggests that because we have tried everything else and failed, let’s “then” give love a last-gasp chance. (John Lennon invoked similar words regarding peace. “All we are saying is give peace a chance”).

Penn’s insertion of “then” is also more understandable when the aphorism is placed in context. Here’s where the sentence appears in “The Fruits of Solitude.”

“We are too ready to retaliate, rather than forgive, or gain by Love and Information. And yet we could hurt no Man that we believe loves us. Let us then try what Love will do: For if Men did once see we Love them, we should soon find they would not harm us. Force may subdue, but Love gains....”

The next time you watch a political ad, or hear news from Syria or the West Bank, or witness poverty and strife here, consider Penn’s words:

Let us then try what love will do.


A final note: Penn’s Philadelphia was named, and the city today remains known as, “The City of Brotherly Love.” The name is derived from the Greek words for love and brother.

The story of love’s successes and failures in Philadelphia is a parable worth studying.

The photos here are of the Quaker Arch Street Meetinghouse in Philadelphia.

Solitude and Spirituality

Our topic of “loneliness and solitude” at last Sunday’s early morning Quaker discussion group led me, predictably, to Thoreau. A whole chapter of “Walden” is devoted to solitude and bears the very word as its title.

The line that stick with me is “I love to be alone. I never found the companion so companionable as solitude.”

Thoreau, our most celebrated recluse, goes on from there, anticipating much of what we talked about on Sunday.

Oddly much of Sunday’s discussion centered around whether one feels lonely at a loud dance party. (The consensus seemed to be that if you go with friends, you have some kind of entree),

Not having been to such a party for, oh, 40 years, I couldn’t comment, but I do know that social occasions often heighten my feeling of alienation. The banter, the posturing, the superficiality numb the spirit.

I did share with the group that I have found that creativity goes with my own solitude. Some bit of writing, a sketch, an insight. Or to put Thoreau’s twist on it, I’ve never found creativity so creative as in solitude.”

Someone suggested that loneliness is often what drives us to not be lonely. The pain of it leads us to seek out others — and that’s to the good. I imagine the pain itself forces us to open our hearts to others. But it can also lead us to plumb our being and search our own souls.

Sadly, there are those who simply surrender to loneliness...and despair. It is irrefutable that we are ultimately here alone, and will leave life in either loneliness or solitude — or peace.

Thoreau never felt lonely because he put himself at one with surrounding nature. Nature was his companion and, I dare say, it can be ours. If you are lonely, go for a walk in the park. Take it in — literally.

Because Sunday’s discussion took place in a Quaker setting, I was mindful of the spiritual side of the topic. It seemed to me that loneliness is largely about ego; solitude is about spirit. The “self” that feels deprived in loneliness is the ego. The being that feels enriched and blessed in solitude is the spirit—the divine spirit if you choose to invoke it.

Loneliness is a prison, a trap; solitude is liberation and transcendence.

'Diversity of Tactics' anyone?

As our Quaker meeting reassesses its support of the Portland Occupy movement, Occupy's pondering the term “diversity of tactics” has found its way into our discussions.

George Orwell would have had a field day with this one. (See his classic essay, "Politics and the English Language" in which he asserts, "In our time, political speech and writing are largely the defense of the indefensible.")

The term means to suggest that Occupy should employ a full range of actions, from violent to non-violent. But some have seen through the phrase and labeled it a euphemism for “anything goes.” For instance, the definition of violence has been left vague. Tactical nuclear weapons anyone?

Others say the term is a cover for young anarchists simply acting out their anger. Still others hint darkly that the proposed policy is the work of agent provocateurs trying to destroy the movement.

Whoever or whatever is behind it, I see "diversity of tactics" as Orwellian “double speak.”

Start with “diversity,” a term that carries positive connotations in our multi-cultural, increasingly diverse society. To not recognize (some would say "celebrate") diversity is a form of ignorance at best and prejudice at worst.

So those using the phrase “diversity of tactics” are off to an appealing start.

How about “tactics”? The suggestion here is that “tactics” are a proven way to a goal, presumably a common, shared one. Tactics implies that tacticians — experts knowledgeable in tactics — are in control.

There’s a “trust us” aspect to the phrase.

Again, this is all sounds good, but is it?

Will using “a diversity of tactics” in fact help Occupy achieve its goals?

Of course Occupy has never been explicit in stating its goals, just as it has never offered an identifiable public leadership. Still, the movement’s single most prominent goal would seem to be ending inequity — in education, justice, opportunity etc.

Will a “diversity of tactics,” including violence, move our society toward less inequality?

No way. In a media-defined world portrayed by carefully selected compelling images, conflict is the predominant public narrative. Visual violence attracts attention to itself, not the issues that have sparked it.

Moreover, if violence actually did serve Occupy’s stated ends, the movement would then rely on violence in the future. It’s the old story of violence breeding violence.

And make no mistake, those advocating a “diversity of tactics” are condoning violence, unwittingly misdirecting public attention and opinion, and undercutting their own cause.

It is time for the Occupy movement state unequivocally its opposition to all forms of violence and disassociate the movement from those who practice i.

The diversity that the movement needs is a diversity of non-violent tactics. Fortunately, thanks to successful liberation and rights movements, there is no shortage of them.

The Guest in the Tree

Some of you may know that I hold the position of clerk of our Quaker meeting. It’s a two-year term, the job gets passed around, and in our egalitarian spiritual community, no one makes much of it.

But on occasion I’m reminded that, whether I like it or not, I’m the go-to guy.

Like last night when I got the phone call from Officer Gilbert of the Portland Police department.

“Mr. Seifert, I understand you are the person responsible for the Quaker meeting house here on Stark Street? Is that right?”

“Yes, I am the person responsible,” I conceded with a hint of hesitation and foreboding. “Tell me what this is about, officer,” I invited as visions of disaster bubbled up in my brain.

“Well, is the name Tre Arrow familiar to you?”

“Vaguely, isn’t he that environmental activist who camped up on a downtown building’s ledge for a few days several years ago?”

“That’s the one. Now he’s here in the fir tree in the backyard of your Quaker building. He’s yelling from up there. There’s a crowd here, some Occupy folks are shouting encouragement and the fire department has a ladder truck in place. We have the street blocked off.”

I could hear distant hollering in the background. A group chanted “Occupy the Tree! Occupy the tree!”

I heard myself say, “I’ll be right over, officer.”

It takes about 20 minutes to get from my house to the meetinghouse. That was enough time to gather my thoughts and run scenarios through my mind.

What if we have this guy in our tree for days? What if the crowd grows and “Occupies” our backyard? What if the chanting and yelling continue disturbing the neighbors in what the media would call a “normally quiet residential neighborhood.”

When I arrived I found pretty much what I imagined. It was a vision from the evening news. Flashing police lights. Squawk box commands. Barricades.

It was also an arcade for a media carnival complete with earnest correspondents and trucks equipped to broadcast “LIVE on the scene!” “Up-to-the-minute Action News.”

Before going to the backyard to assess the situation, I huddled with the police sergeant in charge. As we stood on the center line of the barricaded street, he calmly suggested that his officers and the fire department leave. There was really nothing they could do except attract unwanted attention. Wrestling Tre Arrow from his sylvan perch 60 feet above ground could lead to disaster.

I readily accepted the sergeant’s assessment and advice, and thanked him. The police and firefighters departed.

I was left to whatever might happen next, yet somehow a calmness descended on me.

As I went through the gate to our backyard, I had already decided to treat Tre not as a trespasser or intruder but as some kind of “guest.”

An uninvited guest, but a guest none-the-less. “Unexpected,” someone suggested later.

Precisely, an unexpected guest.

But who were these other folks standing around staring into the boughs above? I set about introducing myself, inquiring to whom we Quakers had the pleasure.

Peering up into the tree were the reporters with accompanying camera crews. Their lights sought out a shadowy figure who was heard far more clearly than he was seen. The silhouetted figure filled the evening with righteous ranting about the "rape of Mother Earth."

Also at the base of the tree was a small, surprisingly somber contingent from Occupy Portland.

I decided to invite the media to leave our backyard. As a journalist, I know that such requests are honored. Tre might be a “guest” but unwanted reporters and crews with cameras to be “played to” can be construed as trespassers. So the media quietly, and professionally, retreated.

As for the Occupy folks, I told them that our meeting had formally supported the Occupy movement and that I, in fact, was a member of Occupy's “Faith/Spirit” Spoke (or committee) They seemed duly impressed.

They were also impressed, and probably surprised, that I told them it was fine for them to stay. Perhaps they saw the absurdity of the “Occupy” movement's occupying part of itself.

And then there was a young woman who came up to me and quietly introduced herself as “Tre’s friend.” A friend concerned about Tre’s clearly agitated state. We quietly introduced ourselves and talked. She filled me in. She thought that once people left, her friend would come down. Indeed after the camera crews and reporters established a public safe haven on the distant sidewalk, Tre began to work his way down the tree to the ground.

I greeted him as he lowered himself from the fence at the base of the tree. I shared with him that Multnomah Friends Meeting considered him a guest.

“Thank you, thank you. You Quakers are so great,” he said as we shook hands.

I guess that was a bonding of sorts. Barefooted and a little worse for wear from his climb up and down the tree, he made his way to the media waiting at our gate. There, from our side of the fence, he proceeded to lecture the reporters on the state of the planet. It went on and on...such is the state of the planet.

Finally his quiet companion whispered in my ear, “You are going to have to stop him or he will just keep going.”

“How is he with people placing limits on him?” I asked

“Not so good.”

Great, I thought. “Let me see what I can do,” I whispered back.

When it was clear to everyone (perhaps even to Tre) that Tre’s lecture was looping back on itself, I put my hand on his shoulder and said, “I think it’s time to wind down.”

He seemed almost grateful for my interruption. He turned and we shook hands. “You’ve been very understanding,” he said. “Thank you.”

Then he led the media gaggle across the street where he resumed his sermon until, at last, everyone lost interest and wandered off into the cloudless winter night.

As more than one person noted, the moon was full.

I later joked with other Friends that there is nothing about dealing with tree protests in the clerk’s job description. But, I was reminded, there are references to being “open to the spirit” and “finding one’s center.” If not exactly a job description, the Quakerly words provided the guidance I needed Sunday night — that we all needed in this little tableau from our times.

For a news clip of what happened go HERE. Yes, that’s me in the baseball cap with our “guest.”

More still than "still"

Four options surfaced in the silence of today’s worship at our Quaker meetinghouse.

First a definition:

“What is,” as used here, is “the All,” “God,” “Spirit,” “The One.”

"What is" has many, many names, none of which does, nor can do, “what is” justice.

Consider: It even includes "what is NOT."

The options:

• We — you and I — are part of “what is,” part of “God,” “Spirit” etc. We are not separate. Our egos, while useful in our brief lives, are a small and insignificant part of “what is.”

• “What is” is within us ... and everything else. As Quakers say, “There is that of God within each of us.” Question: is ego essential to this option?

• Both 1. and 2 are true. Can we hold these two options as one or are they contradictory? Can a contradiction also be true? Is it simply part of "what is"?

• "What is" is beyond words. It resides in silence....beyond “wholes” and “parts” ... beyond “within” and “with-out” — beyond “us” and the words “what is.”

Be still, I said in the silence — even more still than “still.”

Leaping over a language barrier

All religious groups (and really all groups) suffer from unintended “language barriers.”

The problem goes beyond nuisance jargon and its resulting confusion — language “barriers” confine our thinking and our very being.

Take language barriers created by Quakers, for instance, a religious group I belong to.

Our language barriers for newcomers are considerable and even laughable. I’ll briefly share examples without trying to explain them.

What’s a “clerk”? Why is this Quaker meeting, which meets weekly, called a “monthly meeting”? Why do some Friends seem to shy away from the very word “God”? Does “Spirit” suffice? How do I learn “the manner of Friends”? What’s this business about quaking, anyway?

The list goes on and on.

More troubling are the barriers that our Quaker language creates for our own spiritual awareness and evolution.

Recently I’ve explored the problem as I’ve been preparing a presentation on the topic of “Quaker Language Barriers.” That preparation and a chance reading has led me to consider, or reconsider, a frequently cited tenet for Quakers:

“There is that of God (or the Spirit) in everyone.”

How often we Friends find ourselves turning to that core belief for clarity, understanding and grace. For me it has stood next to the testimonies (simplicity, peace, integrity, community and equality) as fundamental.

It is at the heart of “love thy enemy.” “That of God in all” is where love begins.

Sure, I’ve stumbled over the “that of” part which doesn’t translate smoothly into modern English. Does “that of” mean “a part of”? I don’t think so. I take the entire sentence to mean that “God, or the Spirit, resides in us all.” The idea is similar to the notion that we are all God’s children. We human beings are inheritors of the divine spark.

And yet, with our “language barrier” in mind, I’ve been pondering and meditating over another quite different conception of who we are in relationship to Spirit and God. Rather than “that of God” being within you and me as individuals, suppose WE reside within Spirit or God. Or to take it one more step, what if “we” are parts of everything and “we” ARE Spirit? As Willigis Jäger writes in his book “Mysticism for Modern Times,” we are “representations of the whole” and “everything that happens to an individual part has an effect on the whole.”

Jäger speaks in terms of the “old paradigm,” which sounds not unlike our Quaker belief about “that of God" within us. The old paradigm, he says, has us “experiencing God within” us.

The new paradigm is that we ARE Spirit. “We are spiritual beings who have a human experience.”

There’s clearly much, much more to say about this, but now, for me, this is enough. I am trying to inhabit this paradigm, to feel myself as pure spirit that has happened to take human form.

As might be imagined, the silence of Quaker worship, like other forms of meditation, helps with my leap over the language barrier.