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Quaking before the Lord

Jude Simpson

While down at the Brighton Festival a few weekends ago I went to a Quaker meeting. I've always wanted to try Quakering. The charismatic in me is a sucker for being literally moved by the Spirit. The antisocial me likes the idea of sitting in a room full of strangers and not having to answer their questions, or think up good ones in return.

Forty people. One room. Fifteen minutes of perfect silence. There was a warmth, a sense of acceptance, a feeling of genuine fellowship which deeply impressed me. I checked myself. Yes, I really was sitting in the same room as 39 other people and feeling comprehensively well-disposed towards all of them. At the corners of my mouth I detected the start of a beatific smile.

Then they started talking.

As people stood up to make contributions, my head suddenly rushed with feelings and opinion. Was that man honestly inspired by the Holy Spirit to extract spiritual lessons from yesterday's supermarket shop? Did that woman really need ten minutes to remind us that God loves unconditionally? And why would the Lord ever reveal anything to a man wearing peach-coloured socks with green crocs?

At the door, I'd picked up a leaflet, 'Your First Quaker Meeting.' It was beautifully written in gentle, diplomatic acknowledgement of judgmental human dynamics. 'You may find yourself questioning the validity of someone's testimony, but remember, different things will be received in different ways. It may be that God is speaking to someone else.' I hung my head.

The truth is, people are easier to get on with when you're not interacting with them.

For some time I've had a vague desire to experience life in a community. I like the idea of living off the land together, creating a microcosm of shared selfless society... In more lucid moments I realise that when I say, 'community,' what I'm actually envisaging is a place where people I like live in the way I think they should live, and where I'm in charge. Funnily enough, though I've offered this exciting opportunity to a number of people, no one has yet signed the membership forms…

To experience the true joy of human relationships, we have at some point to relinquish control, resign ourselves to the possibility of messiness and trust each other, regardless of dress sense.

Jesus seemed to understand his own mission fairly well, and could probably have discharged it effectively without too many people's help. But he chose to share his life with a bunch of raggedy and inconstant best friends. It was to these friends, and their unpredictable success rates, that he entrusted such crucial jobs as preaching the good news, casting out demons, and looking after the keys of the Kingdom. You can't help thinking he would have done it better by himself. Or maybe with a few more people a bit more like me.

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