Quaker Wisdom for Today

Freedom of expression is the freedom to worship God on your own terms. Value the opportunity to think unguided by the world. Learn what you feel you need to know, let other information pass. No moment of silence is a waste of time.
-- Rachel Needham, British Friend

The Future of Friends

Since I was a bit toward the negative side in my previous post, I thought I should do something positive. Something that shows that I have actually given a good bit of thought about the future of Friends and this thing that I've been calling theologically hospitality. That latter phrase -- "theological hospitality" has come under fire by some people who think it means being wishy-washy or non-committal about faith matters. So I invite you to read my thoughts on it -- and how it could impact the future of Friends and our ability to share God's good news with a hurting, searching world. I gave these thoughts as part of a keynote speech to North Carolina Yearly Meeting (Conservative) earlier this summer.

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Discerning Which Way Now
North Carolina Yearly Meeting – Conservative Lecture
University of North Carolina -- Wilmington
Seventh month 10, 2009

I want this lecture to be both a combination of information and challenge – information about how I see the best of Quaker discernment and how it can be used by Friends to determine “Which way now?’ and a challenge to think about what God is calling us to do with this people in this place at this time.

I want to say something about the second part first – the reason that this topic matters to me. First, besides being a writer and Quaker minister (no longer a hireling for the Society – I have hired out to some Christians who actually pay very well), I spend my days as a congregational consultant. In my role as executive vice president of the Indianapolis Center for Congregations, I see all sorts of congregational dynamics at work – in Indiana congregations large and small, rural and urban, Christian and other. And that includes Friends. I also actually read such journals as the Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion and peruse statistics on The Association of Religion Data Archives.

All of these have a sobering effect. They mostly show that Friends are losing ground. In North Carolina since 1980, Quakers have posted a twenty-seven percent decline, losing almost 3,000 members – though there are fifteen more congregations than in 1980. Nationally, Friends United Meeting has lost 20,000 members in the past thirty years. The Evangelical Friends International has barely stayed even. Only Friends General Conference has increased in numbers.1


That is why a question that was raised recently at the worship group meeting at our farm seems especially relevant. The question was whether Friends would even exist one hundred years from now. I think that is more than a rhetorical question or an interesting mental exercise – it is a real one. But behind it is an even deeper question – should Friends exist in another 100 years?

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To read the rest, visit http://www.ncymc.org/ym2009/Discerning_Which_Way_Now_Brent_Bill_NCYMC%202009.pdf

Sore Losers or Good News?

Sore Losers?

Well, that title may be a bit harsh, but then it seems harshness is the rule of the day for Quakers in this part of Indiana – at least those who have any affiliation with Western Yearly Meeting. And I have resisted writing on this subject hoping that harshness had had its day and was a thing of the past. But something happened yesterday that so disturbed me that I felt I needed to write – even if it’s just for me.

My own affiliation with that body is unofficial (at this time) but long. I am not a member of a Meeting that belongs to Western Yearly Meeting, though I attended one for eight years that is a member of Western Yearly Meeting. I am a former staff member of Western Yearly Meeting and wrote the narrative for the Yearly Meeting 150th anniversary.

As many Friends know, this Yearly Meeting has been the scene of a fair amount of rancor around a certain issue the past few years. It looked as if it would all come to a head at this summer’s Yearly Meeting sessions – which is one reason I decided to attend an arts and faith conference 1,500 miles away. Not because I’m a coward, but frankly because I wanted the geographic distance as an assist to spiritual distance – I wanted space to hold the yearly Meeting in prayer. To pray for people on both sides of the issue, for wisdom for the clerk, for God’s will to be done (not mine), and for Christ’s love to prevail.

James 5:16(b) says, “The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much,” so I was hoping that the fervent prayer of this (not-so-righteous) man might at least avail a little. I received daily reports about the progress of Yearly Meeting from people I trust and admire. And I heard that there was a fair amount of tension and disagreement but that the clerk, by and large, did as fine a job as possible in allowing people to be heard, to hearing what people were saying, and to forming a sense of the Meeting – which, as I understand it, was that there was no unity on this controversial issue and so no action would be taken.

In other words, it sounded like Quaker process – as outlined in Faith and Practice – was followed. The Yearly Meeting met in session, discussed and prayed over this issue, sought God’s will and moved on. Now I understand that some people would not be happy, no matter how this turned out (though they should be if Quaker process was followed) because it meant they “lost” – if you want to put in terms of winning and losing (which I think is ludicrous – who would win in this situation).

I thought the point of Quaker process was partly to trust the wisdom of God being transmitted through those gathered for Meeting for Worship for Business.

Evidently I was wrong. Before Yearly Meting was over someone who, in my opinion, should have known better based on their position in the Yearly Meeting, tried to raise the question on the floor of Yearly Meeting. After the Yearly Meeting had moved on to other issues.

Still, I hoped this issue at last would be put aside and the Yearly Meeting could then get on to doing something really important – such as speaking the Christian Quaker witness to a world that is hungering for Good News – not stories of Quakers wrangling with each other. Is that wrangling what Jesus had in mind as He hung upon the cross? I somehow doubt it.

What finally swayed me to write was the recent Plainfield Friends Church e-newsletter which reported that the Meeting had a approved a minute that said, Plainfield Friends Meeting affirms the Western Yearly Meeting Faith and Practice-2005 Edition, and will continue to faithfully follow it as a description of what we believe and how we are to work together as a meeting and Yearly Meeting.

That is a fine minute. I have no problem with that. But I do have a problem with the statement that proceeds it – “We are concerned that at the 2009 Yearly Meeting Sessions there was an unwillingness to uphold basic principles in our Faith and Practice concerning the deity of Christ and atonement through Christ.

That seems a pretty strong statement. It’s an accusation against other people of good faith, basically saying that other people were unwilling to uphold Faith and Practice. Yikes. That really bothers me. If I said those words I would be saying, “I have the right answers and the right thinking and however faithful you might think you are, you are wrong, your understanding of faith is wrong, your faith is false, and you…” You, you, you… Me, me, me.

Where is God in this? What would Jesus think? Where is the Holy Spirit at work – no fruits of the spirit evident in that statement.

And I found the next part of the newsletter even more upsetting. Titled “Looking for a Way Forward in Western Yearly Meeting” it says “There are a number of meetings and individuals in Western Yearly Meeting who are concerned that we failed to follow Faith and Practice in some of the actions at Yearly Meeting this year. Some even see a loss of integrity and authority seriously damaging the Yearly Meeting….People are looking for ways forward in what has become a divisive situation.”

It then announces a meeting to discuss this need for a way forward. A way forward to what? It’s not a way forward as a Yearly Meeting to my thinking – it’s a way forward of a particular way of thinking theologically, to the exclusion of those who think differently. The clue is that phrase “that we failed to follow Faith and Practice in some of the actions at Yearly Meeting this year.” It seems to me that Faith and Practice was followed – at least so far as Quaker process is concerned. And just because my way or your way wasn’t the way things turned out, doesn’t mean the process wasn’t followed. Indeed a meeting such as the one that is being held does more, in my opinion to harm the integrity and authority of Yearly Meeting. The Yearly Meeting is not the staff. It is not a few leaders. It is the people called Quakers of the various constituent Meetings gathering under Faith and Practice, following its procedures for how to conduct business, and seeking God’s will together. The authority and integrity of the Yearly Meeting is not threatened by actions taken together in a Meeting for Worship for Business as part of the annual sessions. It is threatened when those who disagree with an outcome raise a hue and cry about needing a “way forward” for their way of believing.

I find this all very sad. Very sad. It misses the point of our mission as Friends in this world – one that was well articulated by Friend Edgar Dunstan –

The early Friends were fully assured that they had a message for all men – not merely that one or other of their testimonies was specially relevant to their own time, but that message in its totality, in its wholeness, was God’s good news for all sorts and conditions of men...’Have you anything to declare?’ is a vital challenge to which every one of us is personally called to respond and is also a challenge that every meeting should consider of primary importance. It should lead us to define, with such clarity as we can reach, precisely what it is that Friends of this generation have to say that is not, as we believe, being said effectively by others. What, indeed, have we to declare to this generation that is of sufficient importance to justify our separate existence as part of the Christian fellowship? …Have we ‘good news’ for them?

Have we good news for them? Not at this rate. Who wants news of Quakers – peaceable Friends of all people – fighting amongst themselves.

To quote the Quaker theologian Homer Simpson, “Bah. Meh.”

-- Brent

Quaker Wisdom for Today

In silence which is active, the Inner Light begins to glow - a tiny spark. For the flame to be kindled and to grow, subtle argument and the clamour of our emotions must be stilled. It is by an attention full of love that we enable the Inner Light to blaze and illuminate our dwelling and to make of our whole being a source from which this Light may shine out.
-- Pierre Lacout

Pierre Lacout was born in 1923 in the south of France. He was a priest of the Carmelite Order before becoming a Quaker in 1964. The above is translated from his book God Is Silence (Dieu est Silence).

Quaker Wisdom for Today

Eternal God, let thy spirit inspire and guide us. Thy will be done. Give us the strength to fulfill our task without selfishness, slothfulness, or cowardice. . . . Eternal God, we will listen to thy call and obey it in order that we may hear it ever more clearly. Give us the honesty to examine our own acts and thoughts as scrupulously and severely as those of other people. . . . Give us the quiet courage needed in all circumstances and natural to whoever has consecrated his life to thee. . . . Do not let any defeat, any fall . . . separate us from thee; in the midst of all our weakness let thy love take hold of us and little by little lift us up to thee.
-- Pierre Cérésole

Pierre Cérésole (1879-1945) of Switzerland was the founder International Voluntary Service for Peace. A conscientious objector, he found himself in prison for that stand. He joined Friends in 1936. He wrote this prayer shortly before his death.

Quaker Wisdom for Today

I ask for daily bread, but not for wealth, lest I forget the poor.
I ask for strength, but not for power, lest I despise the meek.
I ask for wisdom, but not for learning, lest I scorn the simple.
I ask for a clean name, but not for fame, lest I contemn the lowly.
I ask for peace of mind, but not for idle hours, lest I fail to hearken to the call of duty.

--Inazo Nitobe, 1909

Rooted and Grounded

I am back home. Home, for me, is the Midwest. In general. Specifically, it's Ohio and Indiana. Ohio is where I grew up and it is still home to me in a way that is very spiritual and yet somehow undefinable. I have been gone from there now more years (barely) than I lived there, but whenever I cross the Ohio-Indiana line and see the arch proclaiming "Welcome to Ohio" or hear Karin Berqquist sing "Ohio" ("I know Ohio like the back of my hand") a sense of melancholy homecoming settles over me.

Just as real, but less melancholic, was the feeling I had flying into Indianapolis yesterday after almost 12 days in Colorado and New Mexico.

Those were glorious days -- vistas that can barely be imagined. In Colorado, I visited my sister Julie and her husband Dave who now live in Montrose. Julie has wanted to live in Colorado ever since she and I were there at Young Life's Silver Cliff Ranch in the late 70s (she as a kid and me as a leader). She says (and I have no reason to doubt her -- knowing both my younger and older self) that as my youngest sister I made her go. But she loved it. And now she and Dave live there. We visited Black Canyon, Ridgway, Ouray and other fascinating places. I took a ton of photographs.

Likewise in Santa Fe and Chimayo. Skies wide open, wispy cloud formations, amazingly colorful desert flowers. What great light.

But. But in the same way that St. Paul tells us that we are to be "rooted and grounded" in [Christ's] love so that we might be filled with the fullness of God, I find that I am rooted and grounded in the Midwestern soil. It speaks to my soul with its lush greenness, multiplicity of flowers and grasses, tall trees, and manageable vistas.

Likewise its people -- generally polite, often understated (if asked how something was, we'll say "Pretty good" or "Not bad" as a high compliment), deeply spiritual -- even if we disagree about what it means to be spiritual. These people, like the land at its best, reflect the goodness of God's love. At our worst, we are like a wicked tornado, shredding everything in our path (and some of that has gone on, I hear, among a gathering of -- of all people -- Quakers this week. I am glad I was in New Mexico for that!).

Regardless. These are my people. This is my home. This is my vision of Heaven -- both here on earth and in Eternity. Good hearted women and men rejoicing (though subtly) in the blessings of God, land abundant and fertile, life a wee bit slower (when I allow it to be), and God feeling near.

I am rooted and grounded in this place.

I hope you feel that way about your place. God be praised. And it's good to be home.

-- Brent

The Art of Faith: Awkening Your Senses to the Wonder of God

If your faith has flat-lined, if you're bored with church, if you're weary of words -- then come and recharge your spirit by participating in The Art of Faith workshop that Beth Booram and I are co-leading this fall in Indianapolis.

Using a creative blend of artistic elements, contemplative exercises, and interactive activities, The Art of Faith will breathe fresh life into your soul and awaken all your senses to the wonder of God!

The Art of Faith workshop helps people of faith learn how to experience a daily round of beauty through their five senses and the fine arts. Its purpose is to enlarge our souls in a way that cannot happen merely through participating in a weekly worship service. The workshop's aim is to introduce participants to experiences of the God who created us soul and body – and to see our bodies as transmitters of spiritual wisdom and experience.

This is a workshop where participants don't just talk about meeting God, instead they experience the Divine in ways that are sensory and participatory, using various artistic mediums to help them encounter God. The content and presentation are highly creative, utilizing artistic elements, contemplative exercises, and engaging interaction.

The first "Art of Faith" workshop will be held Saturday, October 3, 2009 from 9:00am - 3:00 pm at Trinity Church (6151 N. Central in Indianapolis, IN).

Sessions include:

• I. Sensual Spirituality: Awakening All Five Senses to the Wonder of God
  Activity: Touching, Smelling, Seeing, Hearing and Tasting the Divine
  
• II. Picturing the Face of Jesus, The Face of Welcome
  Activity: Art Contemplation and Imagining Prayer
  
• III. Paying Attention in Love
  Activity: Interactive stations
  
• IV. Picturing the Face of Jesus, The Face of Compassion
  Activity: Collaborative art

The Art of Faith costs $35 if you register before September 26. The cost rises to $45 after September 26.The registration fee includes snacks, lunch, materials, and four workshop sessions. Online registration will begin soon and space is limited.

For those of you who don't know Beth, she's is an exceptional communicator who has authored a number of excellent works, including The Wide Open Spaces of God and Picturing the Face of Jesus: Encountering Christ Through Art.

I hope you'll join us on October 3!

-- Brent

PS We hope to take this "show" on the road -- so if you know somebody or someplace you think would be interested in hosting "The Art of Faith" please let me know!

Tom Mullen: In Memoriam

I received the first of a string of bad news phone calls yesterday afternoon. The first was that Tom Mullen, former dean of Earlham School of Religion and beloved Quaker minister, had been life-lined via helicopter from Richmond to Methodist Hospital in Indianapols. My friend who called said, "I doesn't look good." In updates from other friends throughout the afternoon and evening, it became apparent how bad it was -- cerebral bleeding, a stoke, in a deep coma, on life support. It was hoped he would survive until his family could gather.

He did, but not much longer. I got the call this morning that he had died.

A true loss.

I first met Tom on a rainy autumn day in 1978. I was visiting Earlham School of Religion, thanks to constant phone calls from Keith Esch, and thinking about transferring there. When I came downstairs after visiting with the man who would be my advisor, there on the floor sat a fellow in blue jeans and not-new shirt, playing with my 3 year old son. Benji, as he was known back then, was vastly entertained by this fellow -- his ready laugh, silly expressions, and willingness to play with a little kid. As we gathered Benji up to head home, and loaded him and us into the car, I asked my wife, "Who was that?" "Tom Mullen," she said. "One of the professors." Well, Tom didn't look like one of the professors -- at least my image of what they should look like. And yet he, probably among all the instructors I had there, influenced my life and ministry the most.

One of my next encounters with Tom was after transferring to Earlham School of Religion. It was while playing basketball with the ESR "team" -- "Yahweh's Warriors" (good name for a bunch of Quaker-types, eh?). I remember a good outside jumpshot, sharp elbows, a passion for the game, and more than a few fouls that never seemed to be called. I endeavored to make sure I was on his team everthereafter.

I read Tom's books and laughed out loud -- as did most every Christian who read them. At least those of us who note the absurdity of life sometimes and silliness of our earnestly making our way through them. Most of his books were funny, but they had a depth and spiritual nuance that too many readers (and critics!) missed. They saw the stories, but failed to notice the spiritual layering that anchored them.

I took Tom's "Writing for the Religious Market" class, which, in a very big way launched my writing career. While arguing with him one day over lunch about whether there was any value in rock and roll music (he was agin' it), he said that while my arguments did not convince him, he thought they were interesting and would make a good book. If I'd write, he said, he'd see that some editors saw it. So I did and he did and one of them bought it and Rock and Roll: Proceed with Caution became one of my biggest selling books.

One of the things I so loved about Tom was his sense of fun -- from telling jokes to just having fun. He taught me how to use humor wisely and well. And didn't seemed too bothered that I was sort of a smart ass. Indeed, he even seemed to appreciate that part of me and didn't act like it detracted from the possibility that I might be an effective pastor and writer. He encouraged me to find that part of my writing voice that had humor in it. When I wrote my third book, Lunch Is My Favorite Subject, I made the setting the fictional Mullenville High School in honor of Tom (a dubious honor, I know) and tried out my humor voice. One which I've kept for many years, in varying degrees, depending on the book.

Tom quickly became my writing coach, my mentor, and my friend. He always instructed me wisely and well -- and kindly, too. Even when I messed up -- which was often -- I could count on his counsel to be true, but caring.

I often joked that I modeled my life after Tom's -- Tom wrote, so I wrote. Tom married a woman (actually 2!) named Nancy, so I married a woman named Nancy. He had diabetes, so I got diabetes. He gave humorous after dinners speeches, I gave after dinner speeches. He taught writing at Earlham School of Religion, I taught writing at Earlham School of Religion. When he got Crohn's Disease though, I told him I was done imitating him.

And while my life has not really been an imitation of Tom Mullen's, I could have done far worse than imitating him. His kindness, ready wit, caring, love of his family, generous Christian faith, and so much more make him a hero of the faith to me. The kind of man that I hope to grow into.

I have a ton of wonderful Tom Mullen memories -- as does everybody who knew Tom. And today I am beset with a grief that is deep and profound. I loved Tom. I love Tom. I will miss him in this life. The thought of not seeing him at Earlham School of Religion or Yearly Meeting or some other Quaker gathering fills me with a huge sadness. No more hearing the same old jokes, but told with a brand new enthusiasm and twinkle in his eye. Not in this life.

A wise prophet once wrote, "He is worthy of Paradise who makes his companions laugh." If that's the case, then, if I get there, I'd like my room next to Tom's, please."

Godspeed, Tom. Blessings on your new adventure. I look forward to hearing some new stories from you when I arrive.

Love, Brent

PS Yes, Tom, I know that you and Zinnsser would say there's too much "clutter" in this piece (and some misspellings) -- deal with it.

Just As I Am: A Bad Christian's Confessions on Faith

I am Pavlov’s Fundamentalist. I grew in a very theologically conservative Quaker congregation where altar calls were more prominent than the Friends peace testimony. To this day if I hear more than one verse of “Just As I Am” (“with every head bowed and every eye closed, as the organist plays softly through just one more time … just in case, just in case the Spirit is working on some soul’s heart. Let’s tarry here for that poor sinner.”), I have this almost uncontrollable urge to go forward and get re-saved. Or is that re-re-re-re-saved? I told you, I heard lots of altar calls as kid and teenager. Feelings of guilt and unworthiness sweep through and over me.

I don’t. Go forward that is. But “Just As I Am” (and other altar call songs such as “There’s Room at the Cross,” “Pass Me Not, O Gentle Savior,” and the like) still send a shiver of sin through me. Literally. I tend to shiver, like a cold wind just blew through the room. And, in light of my upbringing, I’m happy it’s a cold wind and not the hot breath of Hell-fire.

Which is not a bad thing, I guess. I need to be reminded from time to time that, in spite of feeling like the character in Todd Snider’s song “I’m An Alright Guy,” that I am not an alright guy. True, like the fellow in the song, I don’t have a “lotta bodies in my trunk,” but I still know in my soul that there are plenty of times that I don’t live up to the faith I profess.

Too much of my life is like the chorus from the song, too –
“I know I aint perfect but God knows I try
I think I'm an alright guy
I think I'm alright”

Yep, I try to be an alright guy – but I rely too much on my own efforts in doing so. And the harder I try, sometimes, the more I realize that being an alright guy is difficult work that is best done when empowered by the Spirit. It is a surrender – as in “I Surrender All.”

So I am thankful when I hear those old songs. They remind me to cast myself upon the ocean of light and life (as George Fox says) that covers the ocean of darkness and death. To remember, that as we used to mis-sing, “There’s a wildness in God’s mercy/ like the wildness of the sea.”

“Just As I Am” – indeed. A not alright guy who is loved by God more than I can imagine. Thank you, Jesus.

-- Brent

Straight Lines

Have you ever taken a ride out in country and looked at the straight rows of crops and marveled at just how perfectly spaced they are? Yeah, me neither. At least until about 20 years ago. That's when I married Nancy and thereby married into a family of farmers. So I started noticing things like straight even rows -- especially when I watched them plow or plant or harvest.

Still, I didn't think much about how they did it. Until I started taking care of the land at Ploughshares when began our stewardship here about 5 years ago. Trying to mow in straight lines so as not to mow down the trees we planted (especially since many were 6" seedlings and almost invisible from tractor seat height) was difficult.

There must be some secret to it, I figured. And here's what I've discovered -- yes, there are a variety of techniques for creating straight rows -- including giant planters equipped with GPS. But I've also come to realize that none of them seem to work for me (well, I haven't tried putting GPS on my golf cart with it's pull behind sprayer!). I can't go straight to save my life.

Today, as I sit and look at my office window, I can see my tracks through the prairie where I was out spraying for thistles. The first two rows look pretty straight -- I must have gotten off to a good start. And then the cart tracks start to wiggle and crisscross even. Yikes! I knew I was getting off track (though I didn't know how far off until I looked out of my second floor office) so I decided to go back to my tried, if not completely true method, of picking a point on the horizon and steering the golf cart toward it. The rows after I remembered to do that are somewhat less wavy than those before. Not perfectly straight mind you, but somewhat less wavy.

As I was steering toward my point horizon, I began to think (which is probably how the other lines got too wavy -- thinking too much and paying too little attention to driving) how similar this was to how I now try to live out my faith life. For many years, I looked down at where I was going -- trying to avoid that or hoping to keep in the right track or... Well, you get the idea. And my life, like most lives, was pretty wavy, bumpy. And I was dissatisfied with the results.

Now, with what little wisdom I've gained with age, I have quit watching the row immediately below me and have begun focusing on the horizon -- in this case the love and care of God. I try (and don't always succeed) to keep my spiritual vision up and out -- looking to God.

My life's rows are still wavy. But I think they're less so when I remember to steer this way. I find myself relaxing into the tasks before me more, too, instead of worrying whether or not they are perfectly done. I notice life around me and the scenery that surrounds me.

Now, if I can just remember to always keep my eyes on God.

-- Brent

I'll Go Where You Want Me To Go, Dear Lord -- Well, Probably Not: A Bad Christian's Confessions on Faith

I grew up dreading missionary conferences at our church. Long hours (some lasting 70-80 minutes at least!) sitting in the Fellowship Hall listening to the good missionary families drone on and on about their work in India, or Formosa, or Kenya. Endless series of slides of people with unpronounceable names (at least to my Midwest tongue/ear). The pleas for money and more missionaries -- "who out there in the congregation is feeling God's call?" It wasn't me! And then chop suey. Yes, chop suey -- no matter if the missionaries were from Kenya, India, or Formosa -- where even they didn't eat chop suey. I still hate chop suey.

Then, as things were winding down, we'd sign that old missionary hymn, "I'll Go Where You Want Me to Go, Dear Lord."

I’ll go where You want me to go, dear Lord,

O’er mountain, or plain, or sea;

I’ll say what You want me to say, dear Lord,

I’ll be what You want me to be.

Except I'd always sing it under my breath like this:

I’ll go where You want me to go, dear Lord,

Let's skip the mountain, or plain, or sea;

I'm happy right here in Ohio, dear Lord,

Africa is for others -- not me.

Yep, even as an adolescent I was a bad Christian, I guess, even though I wanted to be good. Sort of. Following God's call halfway sounded about as far as I honestly wanted to to go. My biggest fear as a kid was that somehow I would hear "the call" to Africa. Terrified me. All I knew about the "Dark Continent" came from missionary meetings and Tarzan on TV, but it was enough to know that it didn't appeal to me. So I was pretty sure that's where God would call me. The Lord and his mysterious ways, you know? God seemed like the sort of chap (and back then, God was male) who would send me right where I didn't want to go.

After all, He had a long history of doing that. Ask Jonah.

I was glad when I reached the age that my parents quit making me go to the missionary meetings. I had escaped without hearing the call.

Of course, I did sorta hear a call to other "missionary" work -- with high school kids in Young Life and various church related youth groups, as pastor in local congregations, and so on. But still, they didn't involve any huge move. Nice and safe in the Midwest. And very spiritually enriching.

But I still harbor the fear that the call will come to Africa. And I wonder what my response will be? I'm clinging to the wisdom (as I perceive it) of what the great writer and theologian Frederick Buechner said -- “The vocation for you is the one in which your deep gladness and the world’s deep need meet—something that not only makes you happy but that the world needs to have done.”

I'm trusting that God knows that I do want to go where "he wants me to go." Just, please, "dear Lord," not Africa!*

-- Brent

*of course, I know, that somehow I will end up in Africa before the end of my life. I once said, after a miserable night in a cheap hotel in a small city in Indiana (when I was from civilized Ohio) that I'd never been so glad to leave a town and would never, ever, under any circumstances return. Only to have God laugh and say, about 15 years later, "Oh yeah?" I ended up moving to New Castle and spending some of the happiest years of my life there. Hmmmmm....

On Being a Gentleman Farmer

When I was being introduced before giving a speech recently, the fellow doing the introduction said this -- "Brent is a gentleman farmer. He lives on 50 acres being reclaimed into prairie and woodlands. That mean he raises grass and trees. Now, as I understand it, grass grows on its own. And trees do, too. So he gets to sit and watch them and read books and think deep thoughts. My thought is -- 'That's the kind of farmer I want to be!'"

Everybody chuckled, of course, including me. It was a witty introduction. But part of it nagged at me a bit and I remembered that part whilst working -- that's right, "working" -- the farm this weekend.

Yes, I do fit the stereotype of the city gentleman farmer -- sort of Eddy Albert's Oliver Wendell Douglas character come to life. I grew up in the city and lived mostly in cities or towns until about 5 years ago. Now I still work weekdays in downtown Indianapolis and take care of the farm chores in the evenings and on weekends. I do own a tractor (modern -- not at all like Douglas's antique on "Green Acres") and various implements that get used on it. A flail mower, log splitter, bucket loader, box scraper, and more. And there are the various other implements -- chain saws of various sizes, chains for pulling logs and stumps, a spray tank, a pickup truck, and on and on.

And they all get used -- which is what made me think of that introduction. Yes, the 6,000 trees that have been planted over the last 3 years will grow on their own -- so long as Nancy and I keep them free of weed entanglement and damage from deers who like to munch on tender young shoots or rub the bark of young trees. That means weeding, mowing, and tying strips of dryer fabric softener sheets on each one (the deer hate the scent as much as I do). Let me tell you, that's a lot of cutting and tying.

It also means controlling invasive species -- like bush honeysuckles which takes over a woods and chokes out all new growth and the understory (wildflowers, etc). Hence the chain, chainsaws, and -- gasp -- bush killer herbicide.

The prairie has to be burned to kill off the woody growth and destroy weeds. Some, though, don't seem to mind the fire. So the bazillion thistle rosettes (that's a baby thistle, I've learned) that sprouted after the fire, have to be dealt with. So I've had to learn about herbicides and the effects and choose the most environmentally friendly ones I could find. Thistle is an invasive species in this part of civilized county, so if I don't control it, the county will -- and probably in a way that is less safe than what I use.

All this is to say, that this weekend has been a reflection (driving around spraying weeds or mowing with the tractor gives one a lot of time to think while doing) about the wonders humankind has wrought. One hundred and fifty years ago this land was prairie and woods. Then it became farmland and it's taking a powerful amount of work to restore it to the pristine way it was when God had charge of it. There was no bush honeysuckle here -- humans brought it in because it was pretty. There was no creek erosion on the scale we have now (the West Branch of the White Like Creek that goes though our land has washed out 1/2 acre at minimum of trees and carved itself a new creek bed) because there were no subdivisions with all their rainwater runoff.

I've appreciated, as Earth Day approaches, how many of us are more conscious of ecological stewardship than in the past. But know how much still has to be done. And how much work it is.

Gentleman farmer? Bah. I may not raise money making (or losing) crops -- but I'm working the land God gave us in hopes of being a good steward. And in hopes of spotting a few more wood ducks, deer, bunnies, and even the occasional coyote.

Excuse me now. I've got to pull on my boots and fire up the John Deere -- time to pull some more honeysuckle. "Green Acres is the place to be..."

-- Brent

Sweet Hour of Prayer -- Not! A Bad Christian's Thoughts on Faith

One reason that I am a bad Christian is that I am a bad pray-er. I know that St. Paul says that I should "Pray without ceasing" but I'm more likely to cease without praying. The idea of spending an hour on my knees sends a shiver down my soul -- and probably Jesus's, too. He must know that he'd hear the same thing over and over again. Either, "Thanks, thanks, thanks" or "Please, please, please" or "snore, snore, snore."

I've tried praying the hours. That works so long as I am in a community that is praying the hours and is expecting me to be there. I've tried getting up early (like Luther) or staying up late(like my wife), but neither much works for me. It's not that I don't care for prayer -- it's just that the usual proscribed forms don't work for me.

I known I have much to learn about prayer. Sometimes I feel that my prayers are hitting the ceiling above me and bouncing back down. At other times, I feel that my prayers bring me close to God and feel enfolded in his ever-loving, everliving arms.

What, I wonder, makes the difference? Why is it so easy to connect one time and the next it seems as if all the lines are down? Why can’t prayer be easier? At least for me.

Perhaps it has something to do with how sporadic my prayer life often is. Perhaps it’s because I pray when I feel like it or need something. Perhaps I need to become more intentional in drawing close to the heart of God.

I know that an active prayer life feeds and nourishes my interior life. An active prayer life helps keep my “on the straight and narrow.” As Brother Lawrence wrote 400 hundred years ago, “when we are faithful in keeping ourselves in His holy presence, keeping Him always before us, this … prevents our offending him or doing something displeasing in his sight (at least willfully).”
But an active prayer life does more than keep me from going astray (which I have to admit, I have a tendency to do). For Brother Lawrence continues his thought, saying “[prayer] also brings to us a holy freedom, and if I may say so, a familiarity with God wherein we may ask and receive the graces we are so desperately in need of.”

You see, prayer opens me to the hiddenness within where I become aware of who God is and who I am. Prayer gives me time to focus our thoughts on the important things of life and faith and helps me connect with God.

When I think of that way, I see prayer as a glorious invitation -- an invitation from God to meet with Him. This meeting is not scheduled to take place in a high temple or on a holy hill. Rather it is an invitation to meet God close to his heart.

This is an invitation I often take too lightly. I disregard it because of the busy-ness of my life (and mine is full, to be sure). And there is grave danger in that. As Henri Nouwen said, “it is clear that we are surrounded by so much outer noise that it is hard to truly hear our God when he is speaking to us. We have often become deaf, unable to know when God calls us…”

Communicating is more than keeping the lines open. I may have a phone line that has a telephone answering machine, a fax machine and a modem all in working order. Yet, if I do not use it to call people or send them e-mail to them, I shouldn’t wonder why, when I come home at night, there are no messages waiting for me. I have to reach out and touch someone.
Richard Foster, in his book Prayer, tells his readers that is not the case. Foster says “God has graciously allowed me to catch a glimpse into his heart ... Today the heart of God is an open wound of love. He aches over our distance and preoccupation. He mourns that we do not draw near to him. He grieves that we have forgotten him. He weeps over our obsession with muchness and manyness. He longs for our presence.”

I would do well to remember this as I think about prayer as an invitation. It is first and foremost an invitation to God’s heart. I am called, by faith, not to a life of rules and regulations, but to a relationship with the lover of my soul. A relationship with One who wants me to share with him and who wants to share with me the joyousness of life in the Spirit. Why is it easy to neglect the key to this relationship when I see the obvious peril of doing so in our other relationships?

I have a choice. I can spend time with God in prayer or not. If I do not, I do not just deprive myself of the joy of the life of the Spirit, I also deprive God of joy from spending time with me.

Perhaps that hour of prayer is sweet after all.

-- Brent

Association of Bad Christians

Well, I was outed recently. Actually, I guess I outed myself. I picked up a copy of Diana Butler Bass's new book A People's History of Christianity: The Other Side of the Story and, while reading along, found this "'When someone asks me what kind of Christian I am,' says Brent Bill, a Quaker writer, 'I say I'm a bad one.' He goes on to say, 'I've got the belief part down pretty well, I think. It's in the practice of my belief in everyday life where I often miss the mark.'"

While it's probably not the smartest thing for guy who writes books on spirituality to admit, the above quotation is accurate. I am a bad Christian. By bad, I mean, just not very good at it. In spite of just shy of 60 years of attending Sunday School, worship services, summer camps, revivals, prayer meetings, religious colleges, seminary, being a pastor, reading books, memorizing Bible verses.

I mean, I know what a good Christian should look like -- she or he exhibits the fruits of the spirit:

• Love
• Joy
• Peace
• Long-suffering
• Kindness
• Goodness
• Faithfulness
• Gentleness
• Self-control

But often, when I look in the mirror (even if it is looking through a glass dimly to quote St. Paul), I see a man who believes those things but doesn't always live them out very well. I want to be loving, joyful, peaceful, long-suffering, kind, good, faith, gentle and full of self-control. But I am just not any of those things nearly enough of the time.

Which, in the past, has been awfully discouraging. Every day in every way I am not getting better and better. Or am I?

That's what I've been thinking about these past few days. As I told Diana when she interviewed me for her book, "I see myself as a pilgrim -- traveling the faith path to the destination of being a good Christian -- and into the eternal presence of God." Since today is Easter, I decided that, instead of the faithful women who went to the tomb and heard the GOOD NEWS, I would have been one of the fellows on the road to Emmaus, heading away and thinking about all the happened. It takes Jesus to come walk alongside me and instruct me before I get it anywhere close to right. And I don't think I'm the only one.

A number of us, even on Easter (or maybe especially on Easter) recognize that we are bad Christians. We want to be like Jesus, we try to live in the way of Jesus, we know that we believe in Jesus -- but we mess up a lot.

So perhaps we need to band together and support each other on this pilgrimage together (less for protection from bandits and baddies who would attack us on our way, than from "good" Christians who like to take potshots at us for not being good enough). So I propose forming an "Association of Bad Christians" -- A group for folks who are just not very good at being Christian -- who don't always do do what Jesus would do and aren't always peacemakers, humble, kind, loving, truthful, ... and know it. But who wish they were.

Members must self-nominate. After all, part of being bad is recognizing one's badness. Denominations, theologians (Calvin, Luther, or anybody dead or alive), judicatories, local congregations and their officials are not allowed to name prospective members.

In fact, I've set up a group on facebook for anybody who is interested. Perhaps we'll have a membership card and motto (in Latin? Greek? Hebrew?). An official Bible verse? Who knows? The only thing for certain is that a bad Christian knows he or she wants "to be a Christian inna my heart" -- and does so only by the grace of God. On Easter or any other day.

He is risen. Risen indeed!

-- Brent

Pure-It-Tree or Orchard or Garden: A Parable

"I've been thinking, Jesus, of trying my hand at parables." So said the follower who thought himself one of the few true apostles and very wise and close to understanding everything Jesus said. Jesus sighed and settled himself on the most comfortable rock around. His hopes were not high.

"The kingdom of God is like a fruit tree," said the would-be parablist. "The only one of its kind, it grows straight and true. It produces one kind of fruit -- uniform in texture, appearance, color, and taste. And it must be pruned hourly lest any unsightly, un-uniform fruit appear."

He smiled at the wisdom of his parable.

Jesus thought for a moment and then asked. "So the kingdom of God is like a fruit tree? Singular."

"Yes," replied the would-be disciple.

"Then how does it produce fruit? Can a solitary tree produce fruit?"

"Hmmm, I hadn't thought of it quite that way before," said the story-teller. "Okay, let me try again. The kingdom of God is like an orchard with only one kind of tree. The trees all grow straight and true and produce one kind of fruit -- uniform in texture, appearance, color and taste. And they must be pruned hourly lest any unsightly, un-uniform fruit appear." He smiled again. Thanks to his deep understanding of what Jesus was getting at, he knew he had come up with a great parable.

"One kind of fruit, eh?" asked Jesus.

"Indeed. All alike in every regard."

"Which fruit is it?"

"Ah, I'm not sure I get your meaning, Jesus. Fruit -- it's just a metaphor."

"That's not what the apostle Paul says. As I recall, my friend Paul said that there were all kinds of fruits of the kingdom -- 'But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.' "

"And," continued Jesus, "I don't think God created an orchard. As I recall, it was a garden, somewhere over east of Eden. 'And the LORD God made all kinds of trees grow out of the ground—trees that were pleasing to the eye and good for food.' Perhaps your parable needs a bit of work."

The parablist said, "Nope, I think it works pretty well as it is. And I think somebody needs to get work pruning -- I've been discerning some unsightly and un-uniform fruit popping up. Fruit that doesn't suit my taste, I mean the criteria, as I understand it, for what is good fruit and what isn't."

Jesus sighed. Loudly this time. He hauled himself up off the rock and climbed back on the cross.

-- Brent

The Association of Bad Friends

"So you're a Quaker?" I get that question a lot since I travel a good bit schlepping my books. People always seem a bit intrigued -- as if surprised any of us still exist. I usually answer, "Yes, a bad Quaker." Eyebrows generally raise at that. Then I go on to explain that, though I have been a member of the Religious Society of Friends all my life, I'm just not very good at being a Quaker. I find that I frequently fail to live up to the ideals of our Religious Society -- I'm not always peaceable, humble, truthful, ... well that's enough confession. While confession might be good for the soul, too much is enough to send a depressive like me into an emotional tailspin. But now you know why I say I am a "bad Quaker."

I have been comforted to find that I'm not the only one. Indeed, there are a number of us out there. Not that I'm going to name any. As I've discovered in my 58 years of Friendship, those who some people consider bad Quakers are often quite good Friends and some quite bad Friends are considered good Quakers.

So, other than obvious exceptions (like John Dillinger above), I think "bad Quaker" needs to be a form of self-nomination. One has to name one's-own-self a bad Quaker -- no one else can do it for thee.

I was thinking about this for lots of reasons (for one, there's a good deal of talk around these parts of Indiana about who's a good Quaker -- as defined by a certain Yearly Meeting's book of Faith and Practice -- and who's not), but mostly because one of my favorite self-named "bad Quakers" by the name of Jacob Stone sent me an email containing the following questions -- "Should we form the Association of Bad Friends??? Or Rogue Quakers of America???"

Whilst RQA has a certain ring to it (and slightly parallels the RSF), I think I'd go with the Association of Bad Friends (ABF). I've never thought of myself as a rogue -- I do like to heckle the herd from within, not lead it off into a new direction. And I think "of America" is a little too parochial. There are bad Quakers across the globe, aren't there?

So, I am hereby feeling led to begin the first local chapter of the here-to-fore non-existent Association of Bad Friends. You can only self-nominate. If you'd like to join, just reply to this blog or send me an email at brentbil@brentbill.com.

Non-Friends are eligible to join the Friends of the Association of Bad Friends (FABF) -- so long as they would consider themselves bad Friends were they actually Quakers.

I'll be designing membership cards shortly.

-- Brent

P.S. As Jacob also noted -- "When I think about being a recalcitrant Quaker I am always reminded of a line from Rumi's poetry: 'Your sweet blasphemy is the truest devotion.'" Indeed.

Discerning Questions

I just returned from Memphis, Tennessee where I was presenting a series of workshops on "The Sacred Compass: The Way of Spiritual Discernment" at the Baptist College of Health Sciences. BCHS has about 900 students and focuses on undergraduate health care education. Karen Smith, the Director of Campus Ministries, did a wonderful job putting the program together and she and the students, faculty, and staff made me feel very welcome.

I ended each session by offering a "Query" for the students and staff to ponder -- based on the Quaker tradition of using questions for reflection and as spiritual exercises. The final session was titled "Discerning Questions" and I offered a whole host of queries that they could use as part of their discernment processes. And I offered them the opportunity to ask questions of me about spiritual discernment. Now, by and large, they were a pretty quiet group (I joked a time or two that I had done the impossible -- turned Baptists into Quakers -- that's how silent they were), so during the "Discerning Questions" session, I asked them to write their questions, which I would then try to answer. I hoped to get one or two really good ones and end our time together by answering things close to their hearts and souls.

I got more than one or two. And the time ran out before I could answer more than one or two. I didn't get a chance to read them all until after I got home, but when I did, I decided they were too good not to share. So here they are -- no answers, just the questions (well, most of them -- there were a couple along the lines of "Is it God's will for the Memphis Tigers to have a #1 seed in the NCAA basketball tourney?" That's just silly -- everyone knows God is Buckeye's fan).

The questions:

• What do you think is the most important tool or tools to carry with you on your journey through life toward God's will?
• In my prayers I include "Let God's will be done," but how do I know it's God's will?
• What is God's will?
• What should you do if you feel called to do more than one thing, or maybe many things. Okay, maybe so many things you don't know how you will do them all in a life span?
• What is spiritual discernment?
• Is it wrong to ask for a sign from God?
• How, after make so many journeys that have failed, do you know what direction to go?
• Why is it so much easier (or seem to be) for folks to discern God's will/plan for other people?
• It seems easier to see God's involvement through "the rear view mirror." How do we discern where God is moving ahead?
• What if you think you are going in the right direction but don't like it or feel empty about it?
• How can you effectively listen to God related to the direction one might be going?
• Should I always seek God's approval before I make any life choices?
• How do I listen and hear what God wants for me in my life?
• I feel like I'm being used to do God's work. But recently I have been feeling disconnected from God. How do I reclaim my connection to God -- to follow his plans for me?

Really good questions. Thoughtful. Important. Questions we all need to wrestle with.

As the session ended on Friday, I had time for one more question and one more PowerPoint slide (I gave a lot of my presentation on PowerPoint). The question was "How do you figure out what God's will is for you versus what you think your purpose in life is?" The final slide I had prepared to share was this, "The vocation for you is the one in which your deep gladness and the world’s deep need meet—something that not only makes you happy but that the world needs to have done. --Frederick Buechner."

I think that says it all. God brought it all together -- six sessions, caring staff and students, wise questions, and an answer that fits the Sacred Compass and its leading us to the face of our loving God.

-- Brent

Here They Go Again -- and So Here I Go Again

Well, it's been an interesting day. I was invited to give the morning sermon at a lovely little Meeting just around the corner from the farm. That went pretty well (considering the quality of the preacher) and we had a nice visit over lunch with a couple of F(f)riends from there. As we ate lunch at a local eatery, another Friends pastor walked in -- one who has had some controversy about him. One of the friends we were with is clerk of the Yearly Meeting committee that has been charged with (hmmmm, will try to choose my words wisely here) um, "visiting" with this Friend to ascertain his "fitness" for continuing as a Quaker minister.

Hogwash. The fellow in question's congregation is growing, people are coming to hear about God and faithful living, he is growing spiritually and certain factions want to quibble about nuances of theology? Which, frankly, Quakers have never had as their long-suit. Just try to pin down George Fox or William Penn or Mary Dyer about the subtleties of theological belief. Can't be done.

But anyhoo, I soon learned that this was a big topic of discussion at the local Yearly Meeting's board meetings yesterday. And I was reminded of a response to a post I had made concerning Quakers and the Pastoral System.

In part, the writer said, "Also, the pastoral system itself, of having a paid staff member, seems to tend to cause a Yearly Meeting to move more toward typical Protestant ways. ... In my experience and reading, it would seem that the pastoral system usually leads Yearly Meetings to move away from the testimonies and toward typical Protestant forms, theology and ethical views. And though Friends pastors are called recorded ministers and are supposed to be different from ordained clergy, in day-to-day relations with the members of the Meeting I couldn't see any difference from the ordained ministers in other denominations.I don't think it has to be this way, but a paid staff does seem to lead to such changes."

Well, this seemed a little harsh at the time to me, but after conversations today, I'm beginning to think, regretfully, that perhaps this is too true. Especially at the Yearly Meeting that is located closest to me.

The setting up of a pastoral system is fraught with the potential for abuse and power-grabbing, unless the pastors are wise and able. And the setting up of Yearly Meeting staff (he says, as a former Yearly Meeting staff person) is even more fraught. If, as the conservative Friends warned over 100 years ago that the pastoral system would lead (gasp!) to a seminary, then Yearly Meeting staff could lead to a Pope. Well, at least a Bishop. Or people who think they are bishops and somehow appointed to protect the purity of ... Of what? Does God need protecting? Does thinking about God and how God works in this world and with God's people need parameters placed around it to keep bad theology (as decided by us) out and good theology nice and safe? Do we need protection from the Holy Spirit moving among Friends and possibly calling us to actually live the Gospel message?

The nation and world is in the midst of one of the darkest times in human history. Economics are a mess. Terrorists, in the name of religion, abound. War is everywhere. Incivility is rampant. And many people are calling for Good News -- hmmm, Gospel?

What will they get from us? Assurance that we have, via the Quaker Inquisition, rid ourselves of heretics who claim that God loves everybody as much as God loves us? Is that what they are asking for? Or are they instead hoping to hear a voice, shorn of theological hairsplitting, that is
that of Jesus, softly and tenderly calling, "Come Home."

Would that we would dare move from righteous wrangling to actually being the people of God that Quakers are called to be.

-- Brent

Indulge Me, Please

It seems I'm always hanging around the wrong people. My grandmother worried that I did that too much when I was a teenager. If she were still alive, I doubt that she'd be pleased that I am still hanging around the wrong people.

By wrong, she meant people who were prone to getting into trouble, didn't share the exact same faith as we did (the TRUE Evangelical Quaker faith -- not the more LIBERAL Evangelical Quaker faith as practiced in Oregon or Kansas or other places), and were, well, smart-asses.

Now few of my friends ever got into *real* trouble, but some held different beliefs (Catholics, fer instance), and a great many were smart-asses. Which I found one of their more endearing qualities.

"How will you ever be a minister with that smart-aleck bent you have?" she'd ask. I mostly murmured or mumbled an answer, but if I'd had a bit more chutzpah, I'd have suggested that a little bit of smart-assness helps the pastoral life go down. And that it was really needed if once was going to succeed as a pastor -- especially in the mixed up Quaker pastoral system, which is neither fish nor fowl, dairy or meat. It just ain't kosher. (But that's a whole 'nother blog. To see some of my thoughts on that, check out http://friendsinfellowship.blogspot.com/2007/10/neither-ceo-nor-slave-paradox-of-quaker.html)

But back to hanging around the wrong people. I recently returned from northern California where I got to spend some time with Gretta and Jacob Stone, directors of Quaker Center in Ben Lomond. Now they're the right kind of people in my book, but Grandmother Bill would probably see it different. For one, they believe much differently than I do (which in her book would make them "wrong"). And Jacob especially has this wacky humourous side that edges on smart-assness. Which meant we got along famously.

One night he was sharing one of his fundraising ideas. After all, many Friends groups are struggling for funds, so perhaps it was time for something new -- tithes and offerings and appeal letters don't seem to be working. How about, he suggested, the selling of Quaker indulgences?

Here's how it could work (with apologies, somewhat to Jacob for stealing his idea and going completely wild with it). Let's say you're like me -- a bad Quaker. I don't mean evil, I just mean, not very good at it. And as a bad Quaker someone has really ticked you off and you'd just love to smack some sense into them. Under the Quaker Indulgences Plan, you could donate $500 (in addition to your regular giving) to your favorite Friendly organization and in return they would issue you an one day indulgence from the Peace Testimony. Then you could skip calling your Lutheran brother-in-law, and just go slap the offender silly yourownself.

Or let's say you need to buy a new car. For $100 you could spend a day not looking at hybrids or 10 year old Volvos with millions of miles on them and head directly to the Audi dealer and try out a new S8 -- all 10 cylinders of it. A day off from the Simplicity testimony.

Maybe for $50 you could get an indulgence from taking oaths -- like, say, if you got called for jury duty. "Do you swear" -- and everybody else says "Yes" and you stand there silently while everybody wonders what kind of doofus you are for not raising your right hand and swearing along with the rest of them. The embarrassment saving factor is worth $50.

Well, I could go on -- but I hear Grandmother tsk, tsking in my inner ear. Or was that the Inner Light? They couldn't be in cahoots, could they?

-- Brent