Unitarian And Quaker Service

This morning I attended a Unitarian Universalist service. The people wore their bright, friendly faces, the sun beamed in, livening the fresh, white walls, and flowers stood colorfully in vases on the window sills beneath a vaulted ceiling. As I took my seat, the sound of small-talk filled the air like a chirping of excited birds. The community was buzzing, anxious to make their "hellos" and catch up on the week's business.

In sharp fits and starts, the piano player was warming up, while the choir shuffled the pages of their hymnals and also made their "hellos". During the service, everyone sang as directed and listened to the tender, noble sentiments of the smiling minister. Afterwards, the buzzing again; smiles and hand-shaking and more small-talk.

I must admit to both the uneasiness I felt through much of the service, as well as the slight, warm feeling of fellowship which came over me towards the end. It seemed to me that this was a fine social gathering, where lofty sentiments could be freely expressed, but that there was nothing particularly deep or spiritual about the event.

There was some mention of "centering", but not a moment of silence in which to accomplish such a thing. There was talk of connectedness, compassion, and joy, but no clear allusion made to the still, small source within, from which such experiences arise in earnest, and by which they may be maintained. No hush came over the crowd. No true, abiding sense of calm, stillness, or peace descended to lift us into an altogether different, more authentic state of being. It was a social event, and a kind of wholesome entertainment, but not a spiritual event, as I understand it.

To a casual observor, it would appear that everyone but myself was uplifted and inspired by the meeting. My own expression must seem rather dour, clouded, less attuned to celestial movements, while their happier faces would appear to be proof of the authentic spiritual connection taking place within them. But how easy it is to smile and chirp and buzz about, when nothing much is required of oneself, and no challenge, no stretching, no settling down is being effected deep within. How simple, when the time set apart for prayer and worship takes on the same busy, superficial character of our more careless hours.

To me, it seemed as if a kind of spell had been cast, and the congregation had been made to believe that some spiritual encounter had taken place, and something more of the divine life had really taken root within. I could not help thinking these people had been fooled somehow into imagining that the love and connection they sought was actually accomplished simply by hearing and giving their approval to a philosophy of love and connectedness. True, we were encouraged to call these beautiful things to mind, but did that mean they had actually been anchored in our depths? Hardly. Rather, we had again found ourselves praising things like purity, love, and devotion, without being given the tools, or shown the way, to acquire these gifts.

Having attended a number of Quaker services (or Meetings, as they are called), the discrepancy between this busy, artificial spirituality, and a sincere encounter with one's spiritual core was fairly undeniable.

The priority accorded to the inward and authentically spiritual life is immediately apparent even on the surface. Quaker meeting houses are invariably modest, unadorned buildings, just as Quakers themselves do not tend to exhibit much in the way of expensive jewelry or dress. This unambiguously reflects the fact that we prefer, whenever possible, to remove our attention from the physical realm. While donations are not solicited, a box is set out for those who wish to contribute, secure in the knowledge that only a small percentage of the funds will be used to maintain the building, that none of the money will be spent on elaborate carvings, brass candelabras, silver goblets, gilded icons, or even the salary of a minister, -- but that the majority will be used to provide food, water, medicine, and shelter to desperately needy people around the world.

Upon entering a Quaker Meeting, one is met with an atmosphere of silence, stillness, peace, and calm. This is true whether one is the first or the last to enter.

Such an atmosphere does not cater to our more habitual attitudes of unconscious reactivity. It stands apart from the bussle; from all the desensitizing and oversensitizing hours spent in worldy pursuits, mundane conversations, or in front of the television. It invites us into another realm of being, and gently requires us to relinquish our scattered energies, if we would enter therein. There is no mistaking this occassion; that it is indeed a time of more profound reflection and centering.

There, having taken our seats in respectful silence, we begin to enter, by degrees, more and more deeply into a spirit of true inward contemplation. We are reminded, at every moment, that we "live and move and have our being" in the very presence of God, for it is impossible to be still without humbling oneself and patiently submitting oneself to the bare will of God as it is revealed.

We are brought to see clearly that it is God, and no mere minister, who is working upon us, and providing us with precisely those reflections and experiences which are needed by each individual at that very moment. God, who speaks only from the depths, is allowed to speak, and we are allowed to listen; to deeply listen.

There, every member of the congregation is a kind of minister who may stand and address the others if and when a genuine message is aroused from within. Nothing is prepared in advance, but the Spirit alone is permitted to speak, if it will, as it will. Often, an entire hour is passed without any voice daring to breach the holy silence -- so deep is our commitment to speak only when prompted by God.

When, at last, we rise, and make our greetings, and step out into the open air, we find a world transfigured, and we ourselves transfigured along with it. The sun is warmer, brighter, the air is cooler, sweeter on our skin, and there is nothing remotely small about our conversation. All things stand renewed before us, wider, clearer, and more immediately real. A calm pervades our souls as we look upon the world, at once removed and yet more intimately interwoven with it. A quiet dignity embraces us and all creation. Around us, within us, and bubbling up through us, the presence of God manifests.

I thank him for leading me to the Unitarian Universalist service today, for the experience has worked marvelously to confirm me in my calling as a Quaker, and to remove any lingering doubts or reservations I may have had. How perfect is the will of God! Even by detours, he leads us back, and back, to the straight and narrow path.