Church Experiment #16: Quaker Community

In 2000, I became a Christian at the age of 23. Two years later, I was working at one of the largest churches in the country. After two more years, I left that job to help start a brand new church. Four years later, I stopped attending church. So...no church, to attending church, to working in a church, to starting a church, to leaving the church - all in less than eight years. Now, I am visiting 52 churches in 52 weeks in order to redefine my faith. This is reflection 16 of 52.

I knew almost nothing about Quakers until I met one a few months ago. Maybe I assumed Quakers were a lot like Mormons (and maybe some are), but her explanation of the religion was way off from my expectations. So, it seemed like a good stop for the Church Experiment.

Plus, I love their oats. (Oh, thank God...I have been dying to write that joke all week. It felt sooo good! That is comedy, my friends. That's the good stuff.)

After visiting several churches way outside of my comfort zone, I don't experience much nervousness on my way to each week's destination. But, Sunday, when I pulled up to the Quaker Community Friends building, I realized it was just a big house in the middle of a neighborhood. That had me worried. I have realized over the past sixteen weeks that, the smaller the venue, the more nerve-wracking the experience is for newcomers.

I was greeted at the door by a couple of nice gentlemen, and then walked inside their "living room" to find my seat. Yes, it was literally a living room with about fifty chairs - thirty of them were filled. Everyone was white and I was clearly the youngest person in the room (I'm 32). Most were over fifty years old, and a large percentage seemed to be hippie-types. There was a palpable "free love" vibe in the air.

What caught my attention right away is that no one spoke. Everyone in the room was sitting in silence. Some had books, a few had Bibles, and one woman was journaling. Many just sat with their eyes closed, but no voices. And definitely no direction. Luckily, my Quaker friend mentioned this happens because her church is "unstructured." (Other Quaker services are structured, and I plan to visit one of those along the way). I just can't imagine walking in with no background knowledge and not freaking out a little bit. I mean, there were literally no words spoken until about forty minutes into the service.

But there were sounds - a woman blowing her nose, stomachs growling (thank God I didn't eat any gassy foods for breakfast), someone snoring, crickets chirping, paint drying, grass growing...

Silence is maddening.

But in the quiet, I got to thinking - why is silence so frustrating? Why do we fill every waking moment with noise and distractions? Why do we crave so much input? (Johnny Five, anyone?)

Need input! Need input!

Even after giving up cable and the Internet, I still find a way to fill my life with background noise. I have been renting DVDs from Netflix and watching old movies from my personal collection. I am considering buying a radio. I have been reading more, which is good, but even books can be a distraction.

Do we not hear God because he isn't speaking, or because we aren't listening? Maybe all the prophets and apostles heard God because there was nothing else to do back then. Maybe it is just too "loud" for God these days. I wonder what a "noise fast" would look like - no television, movies, Internet, radio, and books for a week.

Based on the Quaker experience, it would be hell - like solitary confinement, but surrounded by people. But don't take that the wrong way - the Quaker service itself was perfectly fine; I am the one that is screwed up.

More input! More input!

Time stood still as we sat there in silence. Five minutes felt like an hour. Going in, I had no idea how long the service lasted. What if it was three hours? What if I would never be able to speak again? After 35 minutes, I thought I was going to crack - maybe make a run for it. (I should have brought a book, but even that would be interrupting the silence.) Thankfully, around the time I started my mental breakdown, a man stood up and shared an experience he had on Friday. Something about a six-hour walk in nature, and turtles sunning themselves, and an open field, and the beauty and mystery of the spiritual. I have no idea what he was talking about, but it sounded peaceful.

Still, I had no idea what was actually happening. Was he the speaker? Were people supposed to randomly share thoughts and experiences? Again, no direction for newcomers.

Those questions were answered when other people randomly stood to speak. A different guy quoted from the book he was reading. Then a woman shared something about playing the organ while on a trip to Europe.

Other people shared, and then the group moved into a time of praying for people "to be held in the light." Even though one guy did pray for plants (I personally think plants are doing ok without our prayers), most people shared some really meaningful requests.

The sharing of "joys" was next, and this was probably my favorite part of the service. After so much silence, people became highly energized. (I think the snorer even woke up.) Some of the joys were huge (like a woman being cancer-free for two years) and some were more tame (like the woman who had her first homegrown garden salad of the season), but the positive energy was welcomed. Interesting to see people celebrating even the smallest of joys instead of complaining about life. I wonder how many Facebook status updates celebrate life's joys, and how many whine and complain about life going wrong? It has to be a 10-1 ratio. Maybe a more positive attitude could benefit all of us. Maybe more time reflecting on life's blessings and less time obsessing over life's struggles. Of course, that is always easier said than done.

Overall, the Quaker service was nice - friendly people, positive energy, relaxed atmosphere - but it was completely out of my comfort zone. I realized something Sunday - I am a planner and a doer, not a person who likes to sit around and talk about walking in meadows and watching turtles sunbathe. I appreciate God in nature, but in my world, God is a CEO - he values hard work and results, not hours of (seemingly) pointless meditation. During the 35 minutes of silence, I wrote this:

My value is quantifiable to God: How much scripture have you read? How little have you touched your girlfriend? How much money do you give? How many spiritual conversations do you have? How many people read your blog? How big is your church?

I was mortified. I still think God is keeping score. As though my value will somehow increase if I give away an extra hundred dollars this month. Or decrease if I forget to read my Bible today. Or your value somehow increases if you lead a megachurch. Or decreases if you hit a ground rule double with your girlfriend (which is way better than a regular double). I'm pretty sure the thrones in Heaven aren't handed out based on blog readership. It has something to do with how much porn you watch, right?

Maybe one day I'll live my life as an overflow of God's love, not as some desperate attempt to earn his love.

The service lasted about 90 minutes, closing with fifteen minutes worth of announcements. They did ask newcomers to introduce themselves, which I did. That's always a little awkward to be singled out, but everyone was incredibly friendly and welcoming. There was also no collection plate passed and absolutely no reference to an offering. That's the first time in sixteen weeks money has not been referenced.

Finally, one reason I have given for participating in this experiment is to discover God in unlikely places. If God is everywhere, then he is present in every church service, no matter what your doctrine, right?

I believe God spoke to me at the Quaker meeting. He helped me realize how performance-driven I continue to be, and how much I distract myself with noise in order to avoid hearing his voice. It was an important lesson, and I thank my new Quaker friends for the opportunity to learn it.

One final thought: The Quakers seemed like really great people with huge hearts for one another and their community. But, I think the danger of this type of faith (from what I could tell from one church meeting), is the tendency to make God into who we want him to be, not who he actually is. There was no mention of Jesus (or any specific deities for that matter), just a generic God that seemed to care as much about maple trees as human beings. I just don't know if making God into an amorphous spirit blob is healthy.

In an attempt to combat the angry God that starts wars, and hates gay people, and wants you to stop drinking beer, some people have created an imaginary God that is remarkably similar to...themselves. Go figure. But what if there is a real God out there that isn't angry, but also isn't an imaginary friend? What if people have just done a terrible job telling God's story with their words and actions?

Ok, so speaking of stepping outside my comfort zone, next week I desperately want to find a snake-handling church somewhere in Northern Kentucky. (Not kidding.) Any suggestions?

Post or Read Comments