“The Spirit Knows No Camps:” Message given to NEYM Sessions, 8-5-12

Excerpt from a message given by Jocelyn Burnell, Britain Yearly meeting, to the World Conference of Friends in Nakuru, Kenya:

“In the Old Testament there is only a little talk of personal salvation and a lot of concern about the salvation of the community—the Tribes of Israel—the salvation of people collectively . . . Once a year the High Priest, in fear and trembling, entered the Holy of Holies to ask for absolution for the sins of his tribe. He was not sure he was going to come out alive, and nobody else could enter the Holy of Holies to help him. So he left a corner of his shawl trailing out through the door, so that if he died his body could be retrieved by people outside the Holy of Holies pulling on that corner of the shawl.

He usually did come out alive, and then as described in Leviticus (16, verses 21–22:) “And Aaron [who was the High priest] shall lay both his hands on the head of the live goat, and confess over it all the iniquities of the people of Israel, and all their transgressions, all their sins. And he shall put them on the head of the goat and send it away into the wilderness by the hand of a man who is in readiness. And the goat shall bear all their iniquities on itself to a remote area, and he shall let the goat go free in the wilderness.” . . .

. . . Being able to get rid of sins like that sounds great, but I wonder . . . just as I have learnt (along with others in the West) that you cannot throw rubbish away, because there is no away, I wonder if you can erase sin so simply? I suspect it may come back to you! So if the world body of Friends, if our community is saved, what does it mean? And what are the marks of a community that is saved? I think it means the following: We are united with God; we work in God's strength; We listen to God and follow God's promptings; We listen to each other, for God's promptings may come through other people; We respect the diversity amongst us: not everyone has the same gifts or the same callings and we know there are many ways to God.”

I’ve spent a long time thinking about that high priest entering the Holy of Holies alone. How frightening it must have been to encounter God behind the veil, alone, carrying that responsibility for the whole community—and yet what a temptation into pride! How flattering and how exciting, to be the privileged one, the one nearest God. 

Since the World Conference, I have started to think that we, liberal unprogrammed Friends, might be that prideful Levitical priest.

An Acceptable Sacrifice

Home Sweet Ambulance

I can’t accept that I am doing enough to serve God and my neighbors. Everything I do seems like straw when compared to everything I could be doing.

For perspective, so readers might know where I'm coming from, here’s an overview of my schedule for the next little while:

Between now and Tuesday the 31st (that’s three weeks from today), I am working two eight-hour night shifts at hospice, three eight hour day shifts at the hospital, five 12-hour day shifts at the hospital, six 12-hour night shifts on the ambulance (I can sleep if there aren’t any calls, but I stay in-station), and two 12-hour day shifts on the ambulance. If I did my math right, that averages 65 hours per week of service work in health care, some of which I am paid for (hospice and the hospital) and some of which I am not (the ambulance). I didn’t factor in any of my Quaker commitments, but there are a few committee meetings and gatherings thrown into that lot.

It never, ever, feels like enough. All of this time I have given, and it does not feel as if it is an acceptable sacrifice to God.

What is going on here?

Towards a Quaker Theology

I love my Quaker tradition. Most of all, I love our mysticism—how a direct experience of God is more important to us than ‘notions’ about God.

Yet, I worry that we have given up too much by giving up on theology.

I was bothered by this a great deal as we argued about homosexuality in Kenya, at the World Conference. Evangelical  Friends have a very clearly constructed idea of why homosexuality is wrong, and this idea is closely tied to their theology. The Bible is the inspired Word of God; we are meant to read the Bible for the “plain meaning” of the words; Paul says “man should not lie with man as he lies with woman; it is an abomination;” homosexuality is an abomination. Q.E.D.

In response to this, liberal Friends would typically say, “You’re wrong!” and offer an argument from experience.

I am extremely sympathetic to an argument from experience. After all, that’s how I personally came to believe that homosexual relationships are equally blessed by God. When the argument from experience is the only argument we use, though, I have the distinct feeling that we come across as unconvincing—and worse, rather arrogant.

From the perspective of an Evangelical Friend, this is saying that we are putting our own opinion above the revealed Word of God. Changing our perspective and looking at this in a context of race relations rather than theology, this might be taken as saying, “I'm a well-educated white person, and you, a less well-educated black person, are wrong because I say so.”

And honestly? Without a clear theology of what the Inward Light actually is, without an alternative Biblical hermeneutic on offer, without some kind of framework in which to place our religious experiences, I don't think we can effectively argue against that perception.

I read a lot of religious bloggers from different traditions than my own. Particularly, I love reading religious bloggers who are more conservative than I. It makes me think, widens my perspective, and exposes me to some very intellectually impressive scholarship. All that to say, I really enjoyed this post from Roger E. Olson (excerpted below), “What I admire about Calvinists.” (Olson himself is an Arminian.)

“I admire how MOST evangelical Calvinist churches teach theology/doctrine and how to integrate that into everyday spirituality and ordinary life. That kind of integration of theology/doctrine with practice is too rare in non-Calvinist churches . . . They [non-Calvinists] have picked up pieces of this and that (theologies) and pasted them together in ways that seem good to them without any real reflection on the outcome . . . They [Calvinists] always seem to have a ready answer to questions about practical matters such as preaching, praying, worshiping, witnessing, etc., and how those are affected by their Calvinism. . . .”

In the same way, Quakers need to be able to articulate our answers to practical questions such as how to discern whether or not to speak in unprogrammed Meeting for Worship, how to discern whether someone else was truly led during worship or whether they outran their guide (and how to deal with it if they did), how to lift up and nurture ministers, how to support leadings, what we mean when we talk about “holding someone in the light” (is that intercessory prayer?), how to defend same gender marriages, what support and advice to offer people going through difficult times (“my daughter is dying—where is God in this?”), and how those practices and beliefs are grounded in our Quakerism.

Personally, as a liberal Quaker and as a Christian (in my heart I'm a Conservative Friend in a liberal Yearly Meeting), my response to the homosexuality debate is roughly as follows: The Bible is not the Word of God; Christ, who is the Word of God, taught us that to love God and love our neighbor is the first commandment, on which hang all the other laws; we must always interpret the Bible by that commandment; if a verse in the Bible cannot be reconciled with the Love of Christ (which we experience internally as the Inward Light) then between the verse and Christ we must pick Christ.

I'm not saying that liberal Quakers everywhere must become Christian. What I am saying is that unless we engage more deeply in our traditions, and in some serious religious thought, we risk becoming unable to communicate with other faith traditions, with the religious seekers we want so much to welcome, and even with those who think differently in the wider family of Friends. We weaken our ability to be truly Quaker.

Daily Prayer

You know what Quakers are really bad at? Actually talking about our spiritual lives. Kind of at all. Ever.

I remember when I started out in Quakerism, I kept hearing how important it was to have a “daily devotional practice.” I remember having little idea what that even meant, let alone how to implement it, and I had even less idea who to ask for help! It would have been so useful for me to have someone to talk to.

Do we think it’s embarrassing to talk about such things? Too private to discuss? Do we feel inadequate? Perhaps we’re worried about offending each other. I’ve felt all of the above. Yet unless we share our practice and struggles with each other, how can we learn, or support each other in spiritual growth?  I haven’t become an expert in the seven years since my convincement, but I want to set an example. Therefore, I am screwing my courage to the sticking plate and writing this post.

Brief Background:

The ultimate goal of my personal devotional life is to make possible the unceasing prayer and submission so beautifully described in Thomas Kelley’s A Testament of Devotion, Brother Lawrence’s The Practice of the Presence of God, Thomas Merton’s New Seeds of Contemplation, C.S. Lewis’s Mere Christianity . . . etc., etc.

Unceasing prayer is sort of a tall order, and I am nowhere near to it. At the best of times, my awareness of God flickers in and out, like a guttering candle. I set myself up to encourage the flickers, coax them into a flame, abide in them. Each of the specific practices I list below kindles a flicker.

When I first came to Quakerism from Catholicism (via atheism), I thought I had to throw out all the memorized prayers I had once used. I thought there was something inherently un-Quakerly in praying with words, especially memorized words. I no longer feel this way. Words help me slip into an attitude of prayer when I’m not in a prayerful state of mind at all. Memorized words, especially the words of other people, release me from the need to be perfect on my own.

Specific Practices:

I pray every time I hear a siren.

This was the very first prayer practice I took up as a Quaker. The autumn after my convincement, I was living directly across the street from the local hospital, just a few doors down from the ambulance station. There were many sirens!

For years now, I’ve paused when I hear a siren, praying for compassion and wisdom in those going to help, courage and peace in those they will be helping. Sometimes I don’t use words at all, but hold the EMTs (cops, firefighters) in my heart, as well as whomever they are driving towards.

I pray while my morning tea is steeping.

I got this idea from Laurel’s Kitchen, believe it or not. I like my tea strong, but not stewed, and a decade of the rosary (on my fingers) is just about the right time. (That’s an Our Father, ten Hail Marys, and a Glory Be, for all you folks who didn’t grow up Catholic!)

There are prescribed meditations (mysteries) for each day of the week, but I don’t worry about that. Sometimes I pick one, but mostly I just pray. I don’t consider myself “Quatholic,” but I do enjoy this connection to the faith of my childhood.

I pray before meals—when I remember!

Rob, my husband, loves this practice (he's wonderful at gratitude) and is good at reminding me. Usually we hold hands and have a “Quaker moment”—maybe a minute’s grateful silence before we eat. If I’m in a larger group of friends with mixed religious (or irreligious) backgrounds, I get everyone to hold hands, and we smile at each other and say, “Blessings on the meal!”

If I’m alone I close my eyes and offer simple gratitude. If I’m in public it really is only a moment, as I’m shy. Sometimes I mentally recite my childhood grace, the one my family used: “God, we thank you for this food, for rest and home and all things good. For wind and rain and sun above, but most of all for those we love. Amen.” If I forget to offer gratitude before I eat, I offer it afterwards. Sometimes I offer it afterwards anyway.

I pray on my runs.

I reserve my runs for intercessory prayer, an idea I got from Kate Braestrup’s book Beginner’s Grace.  I always start with myself, and I say, “Dear God, please give me love, and health, and my daily bread. Please give me courage, and wisdom, and peace.” I repeat over and over until I feel sated (this is my time for self care), and then I move outward, in widening circles.

Rob is always first. Then I pray for anyone in my daily life who has been annoying me, hurting me, or frustrating me. Then I pray for anyone in my daily life who needs extra love, healing, or help. Then I pray for loved ones, usually one by one, anyone who rises to mind. Then I pray for organizations, nations, the planet.

Ideally daily, but really a few times a week, I have my own Meeting for Worship.

I’m semi-programmed. I almost always start with a book, although I’m very picky about devotional literature. I often use the Bible. New Seeds of Contemplation is an old favorite. A Testament of Devotion is a newer favorite. Linda Chidsey from NYYM introduced me to Elizabeth Yates’s A Book of Hours (sadly out of print), which I cherish. I love the poetry of Rilke, Hopkins, and Donne, and use all three devotionally. As weather allows, I sit outside on our deck.

I read until a line or a verse catches my attention, and then I slip into silent contemplation. If I lose focus, I pick up the book again until I find another starting place. Merton describes my experience exactly:

“If giving up [active prayer] simply means that your mind goes dead and your will gets petrified, and you lean against the wall and spend your half hour of meditation wondering what you are going to get for supper, you had better keep yourself occupied with something definite. . . .

. . . This is where a book may sometimes help you. It is quite normal to use the Bible, or a spiritual book of some kind, to “get started” even in the kind of prayer where you do not do much actual “thinking.” When you find some paragraph or sentence that interests you, stop reading and turn it over in your mind and absorb it and contemplate it and rest in the general, serene, effortless consideration of the thought, not in its details but as a whole, as something held and savored in its entirety: and so pass from this to rest in the quiet expectancy of God. If you find yourself getting distracted, go back to the book, to the same sentence or to another. You can start your mental prayer in this way not only by using a book but also by looking at a picture or a crucifix or best of all in the presence of the Blessed Sacrament, but also out in the woods and under the trees. The sweep and serenity of a landscape, fields and hills, are enough to keep a contemplative riding the quiet interior tide of his peace and his desire for hours at a time.”

I didn’t wake up one morning and begin all these practices at once. I added them one at a time, letting each become a comfortable habit (I do often forget to pray before meals, for whatever reason), then adding another. Daily contemplation is my newest habit (I had thought it should be my first, but found I couldn't sustain it without all the smaller habits I listed), which is why I still only manage it a few times a week!

So what is your practice?

Women's Speaking Justified: A Guest Post by Margaret Fell

Margaret Fell (1614–1702) is often considered the “mother of Quakerism.” She was one of George Fox's earliest converts to the new denomination (eventually marrying him), and she was a powerful minister in her own right, speaking and preaching passionately for the Religious Society of Friends. She was a member of the gentry and often used her influence to help other members of the Society, but that did not fully protect her from several rounds of imprisonment for her religious practices, including a refusal to take oaths and holding Quaker Meetings in her house. While in prison, she wrote prolifically, including her most famous (1666) work, “Women's Speaking Justified, Proved, and Allowed of by the Scriptures, All such as speak by the Spirit and Power of the Lord Jesus: And how Women were the first that Preached the Tidings of the Resurrection of Jesus, and were sent by Christ's own Command, before he Ascended to the Father.”

My denomination doesn't always get things right. We have our heads in a mess about all sorts of issues. I can't even say that we are a paradisal haven of gender equality; we are not exempt from the modern world's lingering patriarchy. But always, from the very beginning of our movement, we have been perfectly clear that the Power and Spirit of Christ speaks through women's preaching and ministry just as strongly as it speaks through men's. Margaret Fell literally wrote the book on this subject.

I have reworked Fell's essay (including its 1667 coda) into contemporary English. In places I have stayed very close to her original language, but in other places I have gone farther, restructuring entire paragraphs to make clearer logical sense, and occasionally going out on a limb and inserting a clarifying meaning. For example, it's not immediately apparent to many modern readers that the "Seed of Woman" in Genesis was once commonly understood to mean Christ, and may also in Margaret Fell's mind have referred to the Seed of Christ within all, as in the Quaker doctrine of the Inward Light. Therefore I admit I tinkered with that paragraph heavily in order to make both readings possible to the modern understanding.

Mark Baker-Wright has also rewritten this pamphlet into modern English. His is probably much more scholarly than mine, and it's certainly more word-for-word. His version is the NASB — mine's the NLT! Either way, his version was very useful to me for finding exactly which verse Fell was referencing (her own citations are very unreliable), so thank you, Mark!

This is a rough draft. I've wanted to dig deeper into foundational Quaker texts for some time, and was finally inspired to do this by Rachel Held Evans's call for a “synchroblog” on the topic of women's equality in the Church. I therefore rushed a little to get it in at the right time. I know there are some irregularities and rough spots which further editing would refine.

Finally, Margaret Fell was English, and therefore, although I am an American, where spellings vary I used the British standard. I apologize for any Americanisms that slipped through; I'm told my diction sounds very American, but diction is much harder to change at will!

Despite all of this, I hope I have stayed true to the spirit of the original. What I have not done is to alter the text's original fire. If it sounds fierce or beautiful, insulting or provocative—that's just Margaret Fell.

Women's Speaking Justified, Proved, and Allowed of by the Scriptures (All such as speak by the Spirit and Power of the Lord Jesus): And how Women were the first that Preached the Tidings of the Resurrection of Jesus, and were sent by Christ's own Command, before he Ascended to the Father (John 20:17) 

Lessons from the World Conference: One thing is necessary

Worship at the World Conference was a challenge for me.

I thought that because I am a Christian and a former Catholic I would not have issues at a conference where most of the worship would be programmed and Evangelical. I was wrong. I certainly enjoyed the worship we shared each morning. I liked singing, I liked hearing prepared messages, and I liked the chance to stand up and sit down! The problem occurred once worship was over, because no matter how much I had enjoyed it—I felt as if I hadn’t worshiped at all.

I admit I have never worn a tuxedo.
Photo thanks to Stan Shebs.

As an unprogrammed Quaker, I often feel like I am swimming in and out of the silence as if it was water, as if I was a spiritual penguin. Like the penguin, if I am floating in the living water I can find grace. On dry land, I quickly become clumsy.

At the World Conference, I quickly became clumsy. Sometimes this was literal. On one memorable day, I scraped raw the back of one ankle, skinned the same knee, bruised the other knee, grazed both palms, and opened a knuckle. Sometimes this was inner. On a different day, I felt as if I couldn’t be properly present to the people I was with. I started spending quiet prayer time in the chapel every day.

I have always known—with my mind—how vital a daily practice of contemplative prayer is for my spiritual life. At the World Conference, I finally learned this with my heart. Without prayer, I can’t live my life in the faithfulness I yearn for. With prayer, at least I can make a start.

A Buddhist meditation group meets every weekday morning at the Meetinghouse where I worship. I am often free on weekday mornings, and have long thought I should attend. This morning, for the first time, I finally did. The heart-knowledge I gained from the World Conference lent me the resolution.
I love the moment when a Biblical passage ‘opens’ for me: the moment I finally find clarity (or new light) in something that had been opaque. In Kenya, this passage opened for me:

“Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a village. And a woman named Martha welcomed him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to his teaching. But Martha was distracted by much serving. And she went up to him and said, ‘Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me.’ But the Lord answered her, ‘Martha, Martha, you are anxious about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.”

Lessons from the 6th World Conference of Friends: Spiritual Humility, Spiritual Gifts

Let me tell you about the Young Friends Epistle. The Epistle That Wasn't. The Zombie Epistle (there was substance, but no life).

The Young Friends at the World Conference (Young Adult Friends, for you NEYMers) were invited by the larger gathering to write an epistle. In response, we formed a small committee to write the thing and bring it back to our business meeting for revision and approval. I offered to record for that business session. When the epistle arrived, it was clear that the meeting wanted something more substantial than the letter we had been presented with. During the first business session we sat for four hours. There was some real worship with moving ministry arising out of it, and we felt we were very close to unity. 

Young (Adult) Friends at the
World Conference

During the second session we sat for two hours and fell apart. We were not in worship; we argued; at the last minute (when I thought we were close to approval despite it all) there was a sudden wall of resistance and we agreed not to have an epistle at all (I can't say we were "clear," because at that point there was not any gathered sense of the meeting). 

Those are the facts, more or less.

After it was obvious that we were Done Writing An Epistle, I felt all sorts of things. Relief, primarily: recording can be arduous at the best of times, and this was some of the most difficult recording I have ever done. Then, sadness. Pain. A sense of "What-could-I-have-done-better?" A desire to move on, accept that it wasn't going to happen,  let it go --- and simultaneously, a desire to hold on, to not let all of that work and worship and striving be wasted.

After that last painful business session, part of me wanted to scream, but my task was to say, "I was faithful to the Spirit; this much I know is true. Now my role is done; now I must step away."

On the last epistle I was exercised to help write, we had come to an easy unity. Therefore I had not noticed how I stepped away. I had done so seamlessly, painlessly, because the work came to its natural fulfillment. On this epistle, the work was cut off. Stepping away was hard and painful and I didn't do it perfectly --- but I did it. Because it was hard, I noticed it. Because I noticed it, I have been able to see my struggle of letting go as part of the ministry --- not a sad, amputated stump.

The exercise of many gifts --- of any creative gift --- requires an act of stepping away. Learning to step away is what releases the poem or the painting or the epistle into the world, to have life independently of its creator. Quakers talk about "laying down" a ministry. I've learned that each act of ministry must be "laid down," or it never takes root. 

I have sometimes thought that spiritual humility required downplaying my ministry. I have been wrong; that is a form of pride. Acknowledging one has a gift, faithfully using it, laying it down as called, and being clear that the fruits of that gift are not from oneself, but from God --- that takes much more humility than downplaying a gift or keeping it under a bushel.  Granted, if one does the latter, one never has to grapple with these issues!

(My favorite bit ever written about spiritual pride comes from The Screwtape Letters, where one demon is giving advice to another demon on temptation: "Your patient has become humble; have you drawn his attention to the fact? All virtues are less formidable to us once the man is aware that he has them, but this is specially true of humility.  Catch him at the moment when he is really poor in spirit and smuggle into his mind the gratifying reflection, 'By jove! I'm being humble,' and almost immediately pride --- pride at his own humility --- will appear.  If he awakes to the danger and tries to smother this new form of pride, make him proud of the attempt --- and so on, through as many stages as you please.  But don't try this too long, for fear you awake his sense of humour and proportion, in which case he will merely laugh at you and go to bed.")

Another thing.

Honestly, in my struggle to be humble (which plays out very much like the scenario above!), I tell myself all sorts of really crazy things.  Here's one of my favorites: "This is not you, but God through you.  Therefore, you shouldn't feel pleasure when things go well or pain when they don't. That's just ego." 

You have no idea.  Just read it. 

Oh, dear.  Other than the first sentence, it's not true, of course, but it's an easy pit to fall into. (Another Screwtape quote, while I'm at it: "[God] wants to bring the man to a state of mind in which he could design the best cathedral in the world, and know it to be the best, and rejoice in the fact, without being any more (or less) or otherwise glad at having done it than he would be if it had been done by another. [God] wants him, in the end, to be so free from any bias in his own favour that he can rejoice in his own talents as frankly and gratefully as in his neighbour's talents - or in a sunrise, an elephant, or a waterfall. He wants each man, in the long run, to be able to recognise all creatures (even himself) as glorious and excellent things.") 

After the business with the YF epistle, I was scolding myself along those lines.  I stopped only when a helpful friend said words to this effect: "Of course it's all right to feel pain when a gift is thwarted; it's God's will that our gifts be used. We humans refuse to do God's will all the time, in worse ways than this --- how do you think God feels?"

Right. That's the whole point of the parable of the talents, isn't it? (Matthew 25:14-30)

“For it will be like a man going on a journey, who called his servants and entrusted to them his property. To one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability. Then he went away. He who had received the five talents went at once and traded with them, and he made five talents more. So also he who had the two talents made two talents more. But he who had received the one talent went and dug in the ground and hid his master's money.  Now after a long time the master of those servants came and settled accounts with them.  And he who had received the five talents came forward, bringing five talents more, saying, ‘Master, you delivered to me five talents; here I have made five talents more.’  His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master.’  And he also who had the two talents came forward, saying, ‘Master, you delivered to me two talents; here I have made two talents more.’  His master said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master.’  He also who had received the one talent came forward, saying, ‘Master, I knew you to be a hard man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you scattered no seed,  so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here you have what is yours.’  But his master answered him, ‘You wicked and slothful servant! You knew that I reap where I have not sown and gather where I scattered no seed?  Then you ought to have invested my money with the bankers, and at my coming I should have received what was my own with interest.' "

Lesson learned. It was acceptable for me to feel pain. And yet. Ultimately, at bottom --- forget the talents, the gifts, the ministry, the service --- our one task is humble obedience.  

I leave you with Milton.  As he went blind, he had to consider that he might be forever unable to exercise his formidable talents (such was not the case). 

When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodg'd with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?"
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: "God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.

Lessons from the 6th World Conference of Friends: Community

Two weeks ago, I returned from the 6th World Conference of Friends in Nakuru, Kenya. Many other people have written beautifully summing up the experience as a whole. I don't feel up for something quite as comprehensive as what John, Ashley, and Adrian have written (linked above), so I thought I might write about the lessons I've taken away from this expedition, and how they have changed me.

NEYM. Kenya.  A banner proving it. And a palm tree.

I traveled to Kenya alone and then spent three days in Nairobi on my own, but I knew that when I arrived at the conference, I would find familiar faces.  Most larger Yearly Meetings sent multiple representatives.  Mine, New England Yearly Meeting (NEYM) sent almost 20 people. Before attending the conference I knew most of them by sight and I was more closely acquainted with a smaller group.

The first few days of the conference were a whirlwind.  I was lucky: all of my luggage had come with me, I hadn't forgotten my sunscreen, my water bottle, or my Bible (three necessities!), and my body adapts easily to travel.  In addition, it turned out that Kristna, a friend from NEYM, was my room-mate, so we each had a familiar face to come home to.

Each morning a different region of the world led the conference in worship. North America's turn was on the second full day; we (that's a general we; I wasn't personally involved) had planned a combination of silent worship and a prepared message from Noah (please read his message to find out more; it was wonderful, but I'm not intending to talk about the message per se).  Noah's from my Monthly Meeting, Putney, so along with others from New England and elsewhere, I was invited to sit on the facing bench during his ministry.

At NEYM sessions last August, Steve Chase, also of Putney Meeting, gave the plenary address while everyone else from Putney sat on the facing bench in order to hold Steve, his message, and the entire assembly in gathered worship and prayer. That one hour defined my experience of last summer's Sessions. Offering the same service in Kenya, I expected, would be much the same.

It was and it wasn't, of course. The messages and the place were very different. The people were different.  I was different.  Last summer I was physically with the gathered body of my community.  Praying in Kenya I was thousands of miles away, but with this one act I unexpectedly felt transported into their midst.

Through both experiences, I felt the same open tenderness, the same uplifting love, the same sensation of being used by the Spirit. Praying for other people is like that. Praying for myself is well and good and I'm always trying to do more of it, or rather, to do it constantly: "Please, God, not my will but thine."  Praying for others at any length is transformative; doing so brings us very close to God's will. In both Kenya and New England this hour of prayer for a message, a messenger, and a gathering defined the rest of my time there: everything I saw, felt, or did was filtered through an experience of  transcendent community.

In Kenya, I was regularly used by the Spirit to provide pastoral care.  One conversation was particularly challenging.  I felt very tender towards the person I was with, and was I concerned that she find all the support that she needed.  We had only just met. I asked whether there was anyone at the conference from her Yearly Meeting, any elder or minister she could turn to.  There wasn't.  She was alone.  When I took her concern (with permission) to one of my friends and ministers, he said what I was thinking: "They sent her alone?"

At several points, I badly needed some pastoral care myself. There were a few rough spots in the conference that touched me closely.  It was, in the main (there were exceptions!), members of my Yearly Meeting who lifted me up, eldered me as needed, were the familiar face to come home to, shielded me when I was vulnerable, helped me see where I was being faithful and where I had faltered, and kept me laughing (at perfectly inappropriate moments) through it all.

It's not that the other ministers, pastors, and elders at the gathering couldn't have provided care --- to me, or to the people who had come alone.  It's not as if anyone was truly alone in this conference filled with Friends. But it's the people we work with and worship with year in and year out who can support and uplift us most consistently --- and who we can best support and uplift in turn. It's easy to forget in a conference like this, but the relationships we have with those closest to us truly are --- literally are --- the most central. These things I knew in my head, but in Kenya I learned them with my heart.

At the celebration on the final night of the conference, I was feeling a rush of emotions --- a giddy happiness at the dancing, a lingering tenderness from some tears earlier in the day, and a sense of sadness that I was leaving it all. Throughout the conference I had tried to sit with as many different people as I could, but on this last night I needed something else.  I sat next to Eden and Frederick, and in a perfectly unbiased way, we decided that our meeting was the best Yearly Meeting in the whole world.  It was the end of the conference; we should know, right?

I hope everyone that went to the conference came away knowing the same thing we did. I hope that everyone was able to come home joyfully, not sadly, feeling renewed by the great Spirit that was so gathered in Kenya and also ready for the central work of living and worshiping that is only done at home.