David Finke writes to Illinois Yearly Meeting Young Friends

In the preamble to this marvelous letter, David addresses those of us who are of his same generation, explaining his "kairos" intuition that led to his writing the letter that follows. Several of us who received it knew instantly that the full letter deserved wide circulation, for which I (and others) obtained his permission. Hopefully you'll see it posted in several places!

--Johan

My fellow-Friends from the 20th Century (!),

Although you might be appalled at the length of what's below, I still wanted you to see what I've just sent to our IYM Adult Young Friends via their list-serve. It builds on various "conversations" I've had with a number of them, in person and/or via this medium.

If I've been writing too much, I can actually blame some of you (grin!) who have been encouraging me, somehow giving me the idea that I have something to say. Time will tell.

All I know is that every once in a while, there's a sense of "kairos," the "fullness of time," "things coming together." Events of this last week in the American political scene constituted that for me... taken in tandem with the historical parallels that some have been suggesting.

So, I thought, "It's time for reflection, for mining historical lessons, for thinking out loud, for sharing what I think I've discovered at this point in my journey." Whether this was the right venue for it or not, I have no assurance -- and yet I keep getting this question of, "What were the '60s like?" So, I thought I should set some of it down in writing while some of us are still around.

Read this only if you want to take the time and have the inclination -- I won't feel bad if you don't. And, if you have commentary, I'll gladly receive it... and it can be completely unvarnished.

Love, -DHF

----------
From: David H. Finke
Date: Fri, 08 Feb 2008 23:10:10 -0600
To: Adult Young Friends - IYM
Cc: Emily Stewart - FGC Youth Program
Subject: Thoughts on Then and Now

Friday, 2-8-08

My dear adult Young Friends in IYM,

You are on my heart so often, and a few of you have given me permission to write you frequently and at some length. In recent days, I've felt moved to share some more reflections with all of you. I do hope I'm not intruding, and of course I welcome any of you getting in touch with me directly if we'd like to pursue these ideas... or discuss them on this listserve.

It occurs to me to quizzically title this, "An Epistle from the 20th Century." The "epistle" part doesn't connote a formal document from a gathered body, but rather has the sense of a personal letter which tries to address some weighty matters that are both contemporary and eternal. I'm not a blogger, but I do love to write letters -- and email makes it so simple. The "20th Century" part simply acknowledges that the bulk of my life will have been spent before this present century and millennium, and yours will be in this one. And, we have the blessing of overlapping and hopefully learning from each other. That, for me, is a rich privilege -- for us to share parts of our lives with each other: us individually, and us corporately in our beloved Religious Society of Friends.

My present reflections are prompted by two dates in this past week (not counting my birthday and our wedding anniversary, both of which were interesting but not earth-shaking.)

One was February 1st. On that date in 1960, my freshman year in college, 4 courageous college students (whose names are remembered by almost no one) took a step which changed American society and contributed to some of what our country can give to the world -- a positive possibility which is seldom seen these days. They went to a Woolworth's lunch counter in Greensboro, NC, sat down and ordered coffee -- after having shopped in other departments of that "dime store" where their money was gladly taken.

The staff was thrown into utter consternation. Blacks, if they wanted a snack, were expected to order it downstairs for take-out, and use a side door. One of the four, whom I heard interviewed on NPR last Friday, said he had never felt so free and whole in his entire life -- before or since -- as when he and his buddies took a seat on those stools... even before they tried to be served. In that moment, he acted not in terms of definitions and expectations of his race, but rather simply as a human being -- someone who wanted a snack and expected his money was as good as the next person's. How obvious!

The "Greensboro Four" were not served that day... nor were they arrested, by a cop who repeatedly walked behind them, mumbling and slapping his nightstick in his palm. Everyone left at the end of the day. Next day, the 4 were back: Same scene. Day after that, 16 college students took seats at that counter. Then 300 came. Then 1000. And that was just in Greensboro. A spark had been lit, and within days those liberating, nonviolent flames swept across the South in what we soon called "The Sit-in Movement." There's so much I could say about that (maybe later). In the meantime I hope you can incorporate study of their vision and methods and personnel and dynamics into your own ongoing education.

My personal connection (I do love to spin out tales from my own "movement history"!) was that we in Oberlin had daily reports from the South -- telephone conversations transcribed and rapidly disseminated throughout campus. (Think what the Internet and cellphones and video could have done. And that's not even counting YouTube, Facebook, IM, texting...) For years there had been an exchange program between our campus and Fisk University in Nashville. So our students there gave us a first-hand feel of what was developing in that town, which in upcoming weeks shared its leadership and inspiration with hundreds of campuses, South and North. Some of this has been preserved in documentary films of that era (every library has them); more can be gotten from books like David Halberstam's "The Children" -- describing students who took on the city's power structure and racist traditions and in a matter of weeks changed them.

It was not accidental that for the whole prior year African-American students in Nashville had been taking training workshops in the theory and practice of Gandhian nonviolent resistance led by a young Methodist minister, Jim Lawson, sponsored by the Fellowship of Reconciliation. When the spark came from Greensboro, the Nashville students were prepared. They were ready to act on their own behalf, but they also shared their skills with others. They became the winds and flames of change that swept the South and gave a sense of purpose and possibility to those of us in the North whose lives up until then had been spent in "The Eisenhower Years" -- times of conformity and smug self-satisfaction as a society.

But those were also times of accelerated militarization in a Cold War that for a decade had us all teetering on the brink of apocalyptic global destruction. We lived in fear of the hair-trigger of "Instant and massive retaliation," the official doctrine of "MAD" -- "Mutual Assured Destruction," fueled by fears of "The Red Menace." The '50s had also been the time of that domestic terror collectively known as "the McCarthy Era." To challenge anything which was unjust though traditional was to risk suspicion or ostracism (if not prosecution) as a "Red," a "communist sympathizer," or a "pinko." Overnight, from one campus town in the South, the shell started to crack.

One of the privileges of my life was to have been in a college environment precisely when the example of nonviolent social change through disciplined and joyous direct action -- starting with those mobilized black Southern students and their Northern allies -- showed possibilities and set the stage for a host of other movements which, in retrospect, we lump together as "The '60s." If and as you want, I can trace through some of the pluses and minuses of that time, lessons experienced and learned. For me, the opportunities both for doing voter registration work (before federal Civil Rights legislation had been accomplished) and working against the nuclear arms race (especially above-ground nuclear testing) were distinctly inspired by what started February 1st, 1960. Students did it; we too could do it.

The other significant date of this past week was "Super Tuesday," the time of the largest collection of Presidential primaries this nation has yet seen. Among the barrage of post-election analysis I've heard frequent allusions to the feel and spirit of the time of John F. Kennedy -- his election, his administration, and the sense of promise popularly associated with that. There is certainly truth in that comparison, though I urge a deeper analysis.

To confess: I voted for Barack Obama, with the single deciding factor being his early opposition to the war in Iraq. It's true that other votes in my family (for Sen. Clinton) canceled out my vote: We in Missouri -- as a State and as a family -- split exactly 50/50. Also, as in our Society of Friends, we respect the personal choices which may take Friends to different conclusions. I add in passing -- but earnestly -- that we should never confuse Quakerism (or our version of it) with a particular faction of the Democratic Party.

So this last Tuesday evening after the polls closed I was at a "watch party" (also hopefully tagged as a "victory party") downtown here in Columbia with other Obama folks. Quite similar to what happened at the same location a year ago when we elected Senator Claire McCaskill, the hall was filled with excited, fresh, committed, enthusiastic young people mostly of college and grad-school age. I could feel our age difference melt away.

They had clearly been the "shock troops" of leafletting, phoning, door-to-door canvassing, getting out the vote. Most were white, but one of the major coordinators was black. And all of them were under, I would say, 25... or 30 years old at the most. Their efforts had largely been campus-based, but it helped double the usual turnout numbers for this county. Very few old-time party regulars were there; They have been quite cautious before committing to one or the other of the remaining Democratic Presidential candidates. Always looking to see "which way the wind is blowing" !

If you've never gotten involved in politics at the precinct/ward/ community level, I urge you give it a try sometime, to get a feel of the spiritedness and vision, the camaraderie and just plain fun... and often a lot of free sandwiches or donuts! There's a sense that at the grassroots, democracy has a chance and we can make a difference. And one gets to know some new friends.

But was what I experienced this past Tuesday "like the '60s"? Yes and no.

The "Yes" part was the huge resonance with Barack's message of hope, of possibility, of looking forward rather than backward, of banking on change rather than fear, of trusting and listening to "the little people" rather than the Fat Cats. The shouts and chanting -- in the hall where I was and in the televised venue in Chicago where Obama was speaking -- were highly reminiscent of civil rights rallies that I've been at in the '60s. Some of the cadences of Barak's speech were similar to what I've heard in black churches where I've spent time. There was clearly manifested an Energy -- indeed, youthful energy that sets a pace of work which others of us may have to struggle to keep up with. It got my juices going.

We also heard a lot about the parallel between Barack's relative youthfulness (42, I think) and JFK's -- about 44 when he was elected. The sense of a hopeful future in each case was in contrast to a past (indeed a present) which had been viewed with impatience if not disgust. In both cases there was the conviction that "We can do BETTER that this..." whether the "this" was racial injustice or cultural stagnation or limited vision or alienation from the world... or, in the present, the agony of endless war in Iraq, the erosion of civil liberties, the increasingly despised role of America in the world.

But what about the "No"? That is more complex. Bear with me, please. Obama is, I think, being seen as a potential agent of change, who will bring both a fresh content, a fresh style, and a fresh constituency to politics, who will try to bridge partisan divides. (Remember his speech in 2004 to the Democratic Convention: "There are neither Red states nor Blue states, only the United States.")

JFK, on the other hand, I can assure you was NOT in himself a social change agent. Whereas Obama's previous experience has been as a community organizer (on Chicago's South Side, from which we first elected him to the Illinois State Senate -- I was a constituent!), Kennedy's background was rooted in privilege and comfort. His Dad was a classic Democratic Party wheeler/dealer, part of the "kingmaker" in-group, as ruthless and unprincipled as when (I think I'm right) he made his first fortune in the Prohibition-era bootleg traffic. Joe was out to buy the Presidency for his son, the way that Bush Sr. did for Bush Jr.

Although this seldom comes across in easy journalistic phrases characterizing -- or caricaturing -- the '60s, those of us doing actual social change and justice work (nonviolent direct action for Civil Rights, or opposing the nuclear arms race) saw Kennedy and the Democratic Party establishment as "part of the problem rather than part of the solution." If you study the origins of SDS (about which I could comment first-hand) and read the "Port Huron Statement," you will get a feel for this. It took the "Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party" demonstrations at the '64 Democratic Convention (Atlantic City) to begin to break the stranglehold that the "Dixiecrats" had on the party. That struggle was not easy nor was the outcome a foregone conclusion. Kennedy's choice of Lyndon Johnson as a running mate was part of an old ritual of "balancing the ticket" to keep on board the segregationists who, in 1948, had bolted the party rather than support Truman, who had integrated the armed forces.

The popular image is of JFK, in all his youthfulness with his storybook wife and the "Camelot" myth, giving the nation a vision of getting to the moon, and "asking not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country." The truth, though, is that he was a committed Cold Warrior: He allowed the "Bay of Pigs" CIA-led invasion of Cuba, and his later showdown over missiles in Cuba brought us as close as (we believe) we've ever come to World War III. He crusaded against an alleged "missile gap." In no way did he challenge American Imperialism.

In terms of Civil Rights, it is true that Kennedy made a well-timed phone call to the King family when MLK was in jail... and for some of us, it had "opportunism" written all over it. Eisenhower/Nixon had taken a "hands-off" "local-issue" approach to integration. (The exception being that when a federal court order was defied in Little Rock, Ike sent in the Airborne troops... which Bob Wixom can tell you about in the first-person.)

It is true that Kennedy launched the Peace Corp during his term. It is also true that there was already a genuine grass-roots inter-campus movement growing for such an entity: The design for a "Youth Service Corps" was written by the father of my roommate's girlfriend, and that roommate at Oberlin organized a conference which brought together student leaders to learn about and boost such a concept! Kennedy -- seeing the enthusiasm already building -- told his brother-in-law Sargent Shriver to go make it happen. And, it did.

Lest I sound like a tired old radical for whom liberals can never do anything original or trustworthy or good, let me try to clarify and focus on my point: And that is, the dynamic for the significant social changes that started in the early 1960s did NOT begin with government, or those aspiring to political leadership. It began with ordinary folks, doing things that in retrospect looked extraordinary, but which -- with a sense of vision and solidarity and indeed joy and a whole lot of singing -- became possible.

This was the lesson that people should have learned from the Montgomery Bus Boycott half a decade earlier. Martin Luther King didn't start it or bring it to its successful conclusion -- as much as I respect and honor him. It started with a well-trained youth activist (Rosa Parks headed the youth branch of the NAACP in Montgomery, and had been to Highlander Folk School in Tennessee for nonviolence training). She worked with a Sleeping Car Porters' union official (E.D. Nixon) who sensed that Dr. King -- the newest black preacher in town, serving the most conservative parish -- could be a spokesperson-- not only because he was eloquent, but strategically because he was not already identified with the various traditional factions in the black community.

And then, what really made it happen was the thousands of oppressed black citizens who month after month stopped cooperating with the indignities of a segregated transportation system, and who were willing to stand up to a brutal police/court system and overwhelm it with their numbers and staying power. (A Quaker f/Friend of mine, Steve Chase, who teaches environmental activism at Antioch University, has written a paper on this, which I'll be glad to send to anyone.)

Am I putting Kennedy down? I hope not too much. It's a commonplace now that whatever civil rights advocacy he had could not get through Congress; that happened only with the arm-twisting of his Texan Vice-President who succeeded him -- and after several more years of demonstrations, and the martyrdom of many more who were working for voting rights and public accommodation.

Politicians respond; they seldom actually lead. I must admit that, in my viewing of "the Kennedy legacy," I cannot forget that JFK put American troops ("advisors") into Vietnam, quite unchallenging of the role that Eisenhower had picked up after the French left in defeat. It was, in my view, a mixed heritage at best. AND, the fact of his assassination elevated him to near-sainthood in the minds of many... of which I did not count myself.

So does this mean I think we should never trust politicians to carry out our visions, or work for their election if they advocate principals with which we agree? Not at all! I've lost count of how many campaigns for which I rang doorbells (in Chicago and now here in Columbia,) because I wanted to be part of the pressures on the candidate for advancing progressive change rather than upholding the status quo. I will always treasure the experience of having worked for the election of Chicago's first black mayor, Harold Washington -- and remember the thrill (if not disbelief) of his actually winning, and then seeing him get to work shaking things up from top to bottom.

The moneyed nature of politics means that we can usually always count on those with privilege and influence, "the vested interests," "the Establishment," to have the ear of those in public office to whom they contribute. Others of us simply have to get attention by helping politicians get elected and/or re-elected... for which they need us as much as they need those with money. If we've been in their campaigns, we have a better chance of their listening to us when they're in office.

It's a balancing act, contending as it were for the "soul" of a candidate/official. It's a calculated move... and not necessarily the calling of everyone, even of "progressives." Even the best of politicians will have their failings, their blind spots, giving us occasional disappointment. An expectation of perfection in human institutions only sets one up for disillusionment. And yet, a cynical expectation of venality and duplicity can simply take one off the playing field, leaving it to others.

Parenthetically: I got a lesson in politics early in my freshman year from a visiting speaker who had helped organize the United Auto Workers in the 1930s. Kermit Eby was his name, and he was a minister in the Church of the Brethren (as well as the only professor at the University of Chicago not to have a PhD.) I followed him back to his room to talk longer after his speech; very fortunate! He said, "If you 'Let George do it,' George WILL do it... but in George's own way, not yours." In other words, if you want to have an effect, you've got to get personally involved, and not be a perennial spectator.



Part Two.

OK, now what about a Quaker perspective? What I've said so far could simply be standard stuff you'd get in a history or poli-sci class. Maybe interesting, but not the real reason I'm writing you, my dear Fellow Friends.

The first thing to remind us of is that Quakers have had a somewhat different view toward government than our cousins from the other Historic Peace Churches, the Anabaptists, Mennonites, and Brethren. Especially given that The State was murderously out to eradicate them -- the one thing that Catholic, Lutheran, and Calvinist governments agreed upon. These "sectarian" Bible-believing Christians saw government as part of "Babylon," the world under control of Evil rather than what Jesus taught, what God calls us to.

At best, they might concede (along with St. Paul, himself a political prisoner) that government had a role in suppressing crime, but they as Christians would have no part of it: the True Church's calling was to the Kingdom of Heaven -- working for a peace "not as the world giveth." It was inconceivable that they would contend for public office, or have any political stake in that which was "worldly." The impulse was to separate from "the world" and live righteous lives in distinct, committed Christian communities that would be a light of example to the rest of the world. And in large parts of Quaker history, we shared much of that perspective with them -- especially as to withdrawing from support of or participation in war (which is, after all, a major business of national governments!).

However, starting with William Penn (and with some earlier expectations for success of social justice in the Cromwellian Revolution,) Quakers generally were willing to invest themselves in the Body Politic, and hold it accountable to standards of equity and justice. In that first generation they even set up a kind of FCNL lobbying group in a coffee house near Parliament to plead for their concerns.

This (as I've argued in a talk I gave at IYM a few years ago, and could send you) was a motif of engagement rather than withdrawal. This was what Penn called his "Holy Experiment" of Pennsylvania, his "frame of government." And, for a number of decades it seemed to work -- until new non-Quaker immigrants outnumbered the Quakers and wanted tax dollars to go for military defense against Indians. Then, rather than vote war taxes and appropriations, Quakers as a body withdrew from the colonial legislature -- and from then on (in America) had a suspicious view even of working with others politically for various social justice causes. An interesting development... slowly changing as we got toward the 20th century.

I think my own fundamental view about government and Quakers crystallized in the early months that I was working for American Friends Service Committee in the peace-education program of the Chicago office (1967-73.) Those were times when many anti-war folks demonstrated an intense hatred for President Johnson and the war that he kept escalating. With Nixon's election in 1968, that venomous contempt and a willingness to derail the war "by any means necessary" transferred to the new administration. The anti-Vietnam-War movement was, in many of its manifestations, anything but a "peace movement" as Quakers and most pacifists would have understood it. Part of my job, which I understood with great relish, was -- where we could -- to provide a different "tone," examples of creative nonviolence rather than raw rage, models of social change for which people took personal responsibility and around which they experienced Community.

It was in this setting that I -- all of 26 years old! -- was shown a particular passage (printed in the Philadelphia YM's "Faith and Practice") written by young Edward Burrough in 1659. (Just now I see that he, too, was 26 years old.) Burrough entitled his remarks "To the present distracted and broken nation" -- certainly my sense of where America was in the late '60s. (I think that the political and social turmoil at the time of Fox and his colleagues was surely more daunting than whatever we've had in the U.S.) Our executive secretary Kale Williams -- a committed Quaker who was always teaching me things -- quoted what I soon committed to memory:

Burrough wrote:

"We are not for names, nor men, nor titles of Government, nor are we for this party or against the other... But we are for justice and mercy and truth and peace and true freedom, that these may be exalted in our nation, and that goodness, righteousness, meekness, temperance, peace and unity with God, and with one another, that these things may abound."

What an amazing and for me liberating alternative perspective! How different this was from the highly partisan, vitriolic, and often manipulative "peace politics" into the middle of which I was plunged, struggling to find my way through the labyrinths of various coalition efforts.

The question then for me, as a Quaker peace activist, became not so much what was the correct program for forcing our government to get out of Vietnam. Rather, it became what positive, creative contribution could we make -- as either members or agents of the Society of Friendsi -- in terms of the social struggles of our day? Where could we relieve suffering? Where could we witness for Truth?

Our job wasn't to pick the right candidate and make sure he got into office, or compel the adoption of a particular plank in a party's platform. Nor was our job to overthrow a particular economic system. Rightly understood, we had the opportunity to show the "Fruits of the Spirit" -- nicely outlined in Paul's letter to the Galatians (5:22-23)... and certainly on Burroughs' mind as he wrote. We weren't in the business of converting people to Quakerism (though a remarkable number like myself stuck around and joined Friends at worship after first meeting us on vigil lines or in draft counseling.) But we could find and give mutual encouragement to like-minded peacemakers, regardless of label. Those possibilities are never-ending.

The peace movement already had a lesson in the relative failure of placing all our hope in one candidate, when concerned if not terrified "peace people" across the land flocked to the support of LBJ in 1964 against Barry Goldwater, who if elected (so the thinking went) would surely get us into war. And guess what we got with Johnson, after the Tonkin Gulf fabricated episode? For a full decade right after I got out of college the political landscape was irretrievably distorted and sullied by the War in Vietnam, and my generation still suffers from it. My lesson? Never put all your political eggs (energy, expectation) in one basket. No candidate has or shall be The Messiah. There's another one to whom I give that title and allegiance.

I think that even if some of us as Quakers find ourselves understandably drawn to electoral politics, it serves us well to remember several larger thoughts:

(1) "Politics" isn't just about going through electoral rituals every few years. It has to do with ongoing relations between the government and the governed, holding our public servants accountable, and being able & willing to replace them when they fail to serve The Public Good. Being an active "constituent" is every bit as important as being a campaign worker.

(2) We can have significant impact in helping to define the issues, putting matters of peace and social justice onto the public agenda, giving effort to learning for ourselves and then helping others discover what are the "pressing issues of the day."

Politics itself can be -- as it has been for a number of generations of students since my time -- a huge turnoff. But getting involved in issues like global trade equity, workers rights, food supplies and nutrition, health care, combatting poverty, advancing education, upholding human rights of all kinds, opposing militarism, addressing overarching environmental concerns in which life on earth as we know it could be radically altered --- that kind of activism helps shape the landscape to which candidates must either address themselves or find themselves irrelevant and out of a job. "Politics" can simply mean being a responsible part of the "polis," the whole society, of which "politicians" are only one (though a highly-visible) part.

(3) Our inner spiritual life, that which sustains us and gives us vision and strength, must be central rather than tangential to our political expression. I know that you in Illinois Yearly Meeting -- and probably with your young adult Quaker colleagues from across the nation and the theological spectrum -- are on to something when you want to examine "Spirit-led activism." To the extent that you delve into this and share your discoveries and your insights, and show your examples, you will be a vital part of the renewal of our Religious Society. You can remind some in my generation -- who came to Quakers because we knew they were anti-war -- that there are things we are FOR rather than just what we're against.

A person need not necessarily engage in "religious talk" in order to be making a witness to one's religious convictions. You can -- as so many of your are doing -- "Let your lives speak." Your movement as it has coalesced and come to older Friends' attention in recent years has reminded us that our calling is not to persuade each other but to love each other. Something of God's Spirit is moving among you in a powerful way. It reminds me that the phrase occurring most often in George Fox's writing was not about "that of God in every one" but rather that "The Power of the Lord was over all."

Stay centered in that Power. God is blessing you, and the rest of us through you.

With all my love, -DHF

How not to prepare for worship

As in many other Palm Sunday celebrations, our Reedwood children entered the meetingroom waving palms and leading us in song. After a moving series of hymns, including "When I survey the wondrous cross on which the Prince of Glory died," we listened carefully to Ken's sermon and entered into the spaciousness of open worship.

The problem was, I hadn't prepared well. We had stayed up late the night before working on our taxes, searching high and low for various bits of paper. This is probably not what was meant by the Friendly advice on coming to worship with heart and mind prepared.

Then on Sunday morning, before meeting, I saw that Sean's Russia Blog had posted a new item, "The stamp of Guantanamo." Sean's post was prompted by a Human Rights Watch report "detailing how the USA sent seven 'enemy combatants' held at Guantanamo Bay to Russia. The result was all seven, Rustam Akhmiarov, Ravil Gumarov, Timur Ishmuratov, Shamil Khazhiev, Rasul Kudaev, Ruslan Odizhev, and Airat Vakhitov, were repeatedly tortured and brutalized by Russian police and security forces."

Sean's post haunted me in open worship. I thought about Aleksei Tolstoy's trilogy, The Road to Calvary, whose Russian title translated literally is "The Torture Walk." You probably already know where this is going--how our tax money was used to send seven souls on a torture walk to Russia, and this awkward truth was hitting me on the week we commemorate the death and resurrection of our tortured Savior.

I spoke a few words along these lines. A little later another Friend got up and recalled an earlier Easter season meeting for worship during which a previous pastor had preached on the theme of the spiritual, "Were you there when they crucified my Lord?" Her sermon had been amplified by a visiting Catholic priest, who said that part of the power of the Holy Week experience was to understand that we had not only been there but that by our disobedience and passivity we had participated in the execution. Having meditated on this dimension of the Passion, however, we would come to Easter and receive the forgiveness and restoration offered freely by God. Our Friend finished his recollection by saying that, as a Quaker, he wasn't entirely sure of this theology, but felt that it included an important insight.

I don't know how many of those present made the connection between the Guantanamo "torture walk" and the Road to Calvary, but the Middle School leader for our Sunday School told me later that a discussion about torture had taken up half the class time. Good! There's no more beautiful way to honor Holy Week than to spread the news: We Christians, disciples of a young man whom the worldly powers tried to humiliate and crush, are fed up with the torture of those created in God's image. We don't want to condone it, vote for those who condone it, pay for it, or obtain "safety" through it.

The Human Rights Watch report says that the worst torture in this case was not done by Americans, but by Russians. It is a meaningless distinction and a foul place to hide. How far do we postpone reform in Russia (as well as here) by signaling that, whatever our public democratic pretensions, we're actually glad that the Russian torturers are available for our use? The worldly-wise will tell us condescendingly that we are blissfully ignorant of the things they must do on our behalf to protect us. But how can they protect us from the corrosion of our souls that results from the acid drip of their cynicism?

Thus might I hide my blushing face
while his dear cross appears;
dissolve my heart in thankfulness,
and melt mine eyes to tears.

(Isaac Watts)

The golden age of evangelism, part two: Alan Rutherford

Shortly after I posted last week's comments, Alan Rutherford and I had lunch together and we talked about some of the points I raised. Alan has given dedicated service over many years to Reedwood Friends Church, but these days he and his family are worshipping elsewhere. He talked about his search for integrity in evangelism and in worship. I encouraged him to contribute his thoughts to this blog, and offered to help by asking some specific questions. Here are my questions (in italics) and his responses.

Johan: 1. From the post itself: What are some of the features of postmodern society that may make it a more promising arena for evangelism? And, ... 2. What are the specific requirements for effective evangelism imposed by postmodern society?

Alan: (I'll respond to these two questions together.) Whenever we can unearth common ground between our biblical story and the prevailing world view, we can use it as a starting point for sharing. For example, Christians were skeptical about modernity's myths of progress (peace, prosperity, and salvation for all), or should have been. The same skepticism has become widespread in postmodern society. Look at the way NT Wright describes it: "postmodernity has come along and basically blown a raspberry at modernity and said, you know, all your righteousness is as filthy rags... you’ve just been building the tower of Babel, and God is coming down to have a little giggle at it and to confuse your languages."

We can also frame the Christian story as an alternative to the mythology of empire. Actually, it is already expressed that way throughout the New Testament. This should resonate with people who've had it with up-to-here with empty promises of salvation, peace, and prosperity from the "war on terror," global capitalism, the religious Right, or irresistible forces such as the media or Walmart.

I'm not sure that evangelism is getting easier, however. I am reminded of Rebecca Manley Pippert's account of the history of Investigative Bible Discussions, which she helped InterVarsity develop back in the 60s or 70s at Reed College. She recalls that discussions were pretty lively back in the day. Most students receiving a liberal education were unreceptive to the gospel, if not openly hostile. Fast forward to today: Pippert reports that Bible discussions at Reed are much more serene. You'd think that Generation Y postmoderns would condemn the Christian story as oppressive, but she reports that they politely listen, as they are inclined to listen to other peoples' perspectives, especially about spirituality. Instead of regarding one's faith in God as something to investigate (like a fact in a test tube), it is seen as one's perspective.

I confess that I'm not much different. I regard the faith of my Buddhist next-door neighbor, the one across the street, or the Hare Krishna couple two doors down, with respect; I don't believe they're on the right path, but it's their path and I feel reluctant or unable to steer them toward mine. Besides, I know they've heard the Christian story plenty of times, because they grew up in Christian homes and societies. And I don't have much faith in my own ability to retell it effectively enough to convert them back to Christ. Our effort (as a family) goes into living lives with integrity and lots of interaction with our neighbors, who know we're the Christians on the block and the ones who throw most of the neighborhood parties. When I was young, I was taught that apologetics was the key to converting those from other faiths. I just can't imagine that working now. When we discover that our faith in Yahweh is more than just an objective fact in a test-tube, but a story, a relationship, a covenant, and a community, then we are thinking in terms which will resonate with our contemporaries.

Johan: 3. What role does worship and the worshipping community play in evangelism?

Alan: Worship's primary role is not evangelism. Worship can only be done by those who recognize the worthiness of God. It is directed toward God, rather than the congregation or unbelievers. Theologians from more liturgical traditions talk about worship's ability to form us as a community. Here are some interesting quotes: Stanley Hauerwas: "One learns through common practices like the liturgy. Practices and rituals help the story of one's life take shape. One learns that as a Christian one is here to be a glorifier of God; one's whole life depends upon that." NT Wright: "Christian worship is humbly adoring the Creator God and thereby being renewed in his image." Marva Dawn: "Worship is a subtle but strong formative agent... To focus the worship on evangelistic introduction deprives our children and ourselves of the deeper nurturing they and we need to live as Church and deprives God of the intimate worship due his name." Samuel Wells: "Through story, sacrament, and Spirit, God has given his people all that they ned to live with him. The church's creative energies are largely concerned with preparing its members to be able to respond by habit to unforseeable turns of events." This last quote, from his wonderful book Improvisation: The drama of Christian ethics, reflects Sam Wells's view that rituals are an opportunity to practice, with our bodies, the Christian disciplines. (See here for comments on this book.)

I would like to see churches intentionally equip themselves for evangelism, especially those communities who emphasize social justice, because they are usually allergic to it and never get around to it. That's too bad, because they could learn to do it with such integrity, I think.

Johan: 4. How do Christians provide for different temperaments, different ways of understanding the relationship between symbol and reality?

Alan: Clearly, different Christian denominations represent different temperaments and ways of thinking. It's easy to see how this came about. Each one came about in a unique time and place, shaping its personality, how it pictures God, its doctrine, its language, its liturgy, etc. These differences do not necessarily fade over time, either, because of natural processes of assimilation: communities attract and keep people who feel at home, and gradually lose those who don't.

Should we rely solely on denominations to achieve the diversity in the Body of Christ that Paul calls for in I Corinthians 12? Surely not. Worship ought to bring a diversity of temperaments and understandings together around Christ's story. If it doesn't, 'communion' has no meaning at all.

I'm not saying that all denominations should be abolished. After all, if we believe that Christ came for the whole world, we should expect to see numerous different cultural manifestations of the Church, and enjoy it for its rich diversity and for the message that it sends: that dead white guys didn't think up the Church, Christ did.

Pastors and leaders should constantly ask themselves, are we providing enough variety in our messages, worship, and programs, to accommodate different gifts, temperaments and understandings of God?

I'd like to take a look at Robert Stephen Reid's The Four Voices of Preaching. Brazos Press's blurb says this new book identifies four distinct voices that preachers gravitate toward: teaching, encouraging, sage, and testifying. Reid encourages preachers to claim their voice rather than embracing a one-size-fits-all approach. I wonder if this could be used as a tool for serving the different needs in a community.

Johan: 5. What challenges might you specifically address to Quakers, based on your inside knowledge of our myths, conceits, and valid insights?

Alan: Postmodern society is impatient with many familiar categories such as high class/low class, new/old, left/right, east/west. We all know that distinctions also abound within the Church, as I was just mentioning. There are three main branches, Protestant/Catholic/Orthodox, and more punctilious distinctions within Protestantism too numerous to mention. Each denomination is defined in part by its own liturgy, that is, what form does its worship take. Recently, worship leaders from many traditions have begun using ancient forms of worship, borrowing from other traditions, creating new forms, and mixing them together in surprising ways--to the consternation of many. This has not, however, come as a surprise to those who are familiar with Postmodern forms of creative expression. Architecture, literature, music (especially hip-hop), video, and fashion all have an eclectic, cut-and-paste quality, sometimes known as pastiche. They all express the impatience with the strictness of Modern categorization that I was talking about. In light of this, Quakers find themselves at a unique disadvantage since their liturgy excludes many forms of expression. What is a Quaker to do if they discover that reciting creeds or performing certain rituals can be a powerful, meaningful response to God?

Another challenge I have is, what do you do with those have never enjoyed a direct, first-hand experience of God? This describes a lot of Christians, including me. I joined the Friends church because of its ethical teachings that come right out of the Bible (but that many had forgotten): plain speech, simple living, and the peace testimony. What got to me was the emphasis on experience. I'm not saying experience was used over and against scripture by Evangelical Friends, as it is in the unprogrammed meetings I've attended. But Evangelical Friends give experience roughly equal status to scripture. This has its dangers: it leads to doubt in those who never sense God; it gives more authority to those who sense God than to those who don't; it fragments the community because experience is often very personal; and it often rests on the fallacious idea that if one simply checks their leading with scripture, and finds no conflict, then it's from God. What I'm suggesting here iss that it's quite possible for one's personal leading to be in harmony with scripture, nothing wrong with it whatsoever, but it's not necessarily a message from God. How can one know?

When someone rises in open worship, and says something somewhere between half-baked and ridiculous, I have a problem calling that worship. I may have spent the week reading scripture or Christian writings by diligent thinkers, or listening to Bach chorales. I find it hard to come into a meeting where anyone who feels they are led by the Holy Spirit is invited to speak. How can one know? I've been told one could "feel" it, both by those who said appropriate things and by those who spoke rubbish. Perhaps the good stuff was from God, but I don't believe the rubbish is. Probably nobody does. At this point in my life, I would rather participate in beautifully crafted, time-tested, Biblically-rooted liturgy--even if it's empty for some of the people in the room--than to be lectured from someone who's about to be eldered.

Johan: 6. What are some intriguing features of other Christian communities you've been visiting or hearing about?

Alan: We attended a Holy Communion service with some Lutheran friends of ours this summer. One of the steps in preparation for communion is sharing the Peace, in which worshipers turn to each other and offer the greetings of peace that Jesus spoke on the first Easter. When this moment came, my friend Wayne made a beeline for my son Henry, extended his hand to him and said his name and some kind words. They had been "butting heads" throughout the day, and this was an offer of reconciliation. To me it was like an acting out of Matthew 5:23..."when you are offering your gift at the altar, if you remember that your brother or sister has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go; first be reconciled..." Liturgy can give worshipers a template and opportunity to practice the gospel story.

---

Johan's PS:

In an earlier post, I touched on the subject of worship and the dilemmas it raises for those of us who, like the Reedwood Friend I quoted there (not Alan, by the way), resist any symbolism in a worship context. That Friend asserted that we do not need symbols to get in the way of our communion with God. We do not need artful props to simulate or represent the divine encounter, we need the divine encounter itself, and anything else is vain ornamentation.

In my conversation with Alan Rutherford, he brought up an interesting point: Friends may advocate for Quaker worship as allowing the freedom to respond directly to the Holy Spirit, but we often seem unaware of the ways other Christians have addressed and met this desire. My own observations back Alan up: we sometimes seem smug and insular in our criticisms of other Christians, rather than actively involved in an ecumenical discussion where we actually compare our ideals and traditions.

Without that kind of active exchange, I fear that what we Friends are doing is using vague rhetorical shortcuts to bless a way of worship that actually suits the particular temperaments of those of us who show up for Quaker worship. I believe our goal should be universal access (note: that's not the same as universal acceptance), not pious feathers for our own cozy little nest while we preach lifechanging evangelism and radical hospitality.

It doesn't need to be this way. There are sound underpinnings to the Quaker way of worship, including its hybrid forms--programmed meetings with one or more times of open worship--but we need to do the important work of engaging each other and the ecumenical world to test, explain, and refine those underpinnings. (Great example.) If the cost is granting that some other traditions also have sound underpinnings, is that so bad?

---

Righteous links:

Two of the churches that are getting noticed in our area for their worship and evangelism are The Bridge and Imago Dei. I've not been to either, but other Friends have given me favorable reports.

"Evangelism Plus": John Stott reflects on where we've been and where we're going. "The Gospel of Green" by Bill McKibben of OnEarth Magazine. Sorry for the sour note but see the comments for documentation of the anti-Christian mood among many progressives.

Christianity Today: Contemporary reflections on whether we should stand with or against culture?

Finally: Some sobering words in Quaker Life from Santosh J. Chandy, "Quakerism: does it work now?"

Good questions

I gave a talk on Russian-American relations this morning. Among the topics I included were "the myth of 'strategic partnership'" and American interpretive frameworks that help explain how we see Russia.

After I was done, several students had questions and comments. For example:

"I think that it is not possible to be friends and rivals at the same time."

As we probed this theme, I asked whether a girl could have two boyfriends at the same time. One person said, "No, it's not possible," but from another table, several women said, "Of course it's possible." The first woman said, "Well, maybe, but she will only love one."

I asked parenthetically whether the USA could love both India and Pakistan equally, but soon we were back at the level of interpersonal relations:

"You can have only one love, but you can have several friends and partners."

I asked how these friendships and partnerships could be maintained, made sustainable.

"Love and friendship require more than words," said one student. "There must be communication, actions, mutual trust, mutual support." This opened the theme of the work that friendship requires. I mentioned the stereotypical situation of the wife who asks whether her husband loves her, and the reluctantly muttered response, "Twenty years ago I said I did; isn't that enough?" (NOTE: Nobody I know is like this!) We talked about how we can put genuine effort into our friendships and loves ... and international relations.

We also talked about healthy patriotism and a healthy understanding of power. As I looked at these energetic and intelligent people, I said, "Maybe some of you want to be powerful people, and some of you know that you do not want to be, but everyone needs to think about the right uses of power and the wrong uses of power." That led into a discussion of the mobilization of social resources. ("Does it ever really happen?" asked one student. "I never see it." We discussed the government's role in social mobilization, exemplified here in Elektrostal by the mayor's push for beautification that has transformed the city) and the government's interest in holding a monopoly on coercive force. Finally, we had just enough time to mention transparency, due process, and checks and balances as aspects of a healthy understanding of power.

Maybe you can see why I love talking with students here.

---

It's easy to leap to a discussion of differences between Russians and Americans, but in my talk, I proposed a list of some traits that Russians and Americans have in common. Here are some starters, including several traits that are contradictory:

• a sweeping sense of national geography
• expansive and maximalist mentalities
• distrust of elites (which doesn't prevent us from sometimes being fascinated by celebrities)
• pragmatism (Americans are famous pragmatists, but if I want to know the shortest path between A and B, I will not go wrong to ask a Russian)
• messiah complexes (exceptionalism)
• idealism (an apparent contradiction to pragmatism, but I defy you to prove me wrong in either case!)

A more challenging line of discussion might be to list those dysfunctions and complexes, whether shared or distinct, that keep our countries at an unhelpful arm's length. For example, each country has its own version of a sort of victim mentality, which makes it easy for that country to look suspiciously at the other.

---

Mushrooms: I was invited on a mushroom hunt a couple of days ago. We visited a forest north of Noginsk. My companions kept finding champion mushrooms, but, despite the apparent evidence of this staged photo, I was absolutely hopeless at finding any good ones at all. I did find many mushrooms that were either too old or poisonous. However, once the mushrooms were fried up with potatoes and onions, I was an expert at consuming them.

Elektrostal seems to be rapidly adopting Western-style consumer culture, with an impressive Home Depot-like Chistie Materiali (Pure Materials) store near where I'm staying, along with handsome new grocery stores associated with the SPAR and Sedmoi Kontinent chains. It is really not for me to comment on what this means for Elektrostal and its more traditional commercial sector, but all the same I am glad that people here still love to find their own mushrooms ... and to share them with the mushroom-challenged.

---

Righteous links: Good News Associates has published a paper by John Braun, "Do We See the Poor through God's Lens?" (PDF format), addressing the role of business in a biblical confrontation with poverty.

"9/11 in a Movie-Made World." Strange to go to my e-mail this afternoon and open an item from Tomdispatch.com with this title, after a student asked me this afternoon, "Why are there so many films about 9/11?" (One such film was shown on a major network here just a few days ago.) Tom Engelhardt makes a good contribution towards an answer to the student.

Creative discontent

Martin Kelley, Quaker Ranter, is at it again. He's stirring up ideas, modeling candor, asking awkward questions that perhaps ought to be left alone (if we are to continue our peaceful Quaker fadeout into oblivion). A quick index of examples:

Martin's blog, a collection of distress signals (but also much more than that) and a space to discuss openly our thoughts and feelings about the gaps between ideals and realities among Friends.
His article, "The Witness of Our Lost Twenty-Somethings." (diagnosis)
His blog archive article, "It's My Language Now: Thinking About Youth Ministry." (diagnosis and some tools for recovery)

In Martin's May 16 posting, which links to the two articles above and sets a context for them, he asks, "If we could get a message out to larger Quakerdom, what we want it to be?" I read with great appreciation the responses that have been accumulating as comments to that May 16 item. I am happy that important issues are being raised by Martin and the readers of his blog. I am happy that I don't know most of these people (beyond their familiarity to me as a reader of Martin's blog/forum for over a year) -- this means that a whole new generation of prophetic and creative voices is in the Friends movement, no thanks to previous generations, whose lack of vision and encouragement is frightening. And I am shocked at how many of the diagnoses articulated by these Friends and ex-Friends have arisen in my generation and earlier, remaining unaddressed.

Source.  

Some of the reflects that arise for me in view of all this:

• Haunting comments from over forty years ago: Albert Fowler in his Pendle Hill Pamphlet, Two Trends in Modern Quaker Thought, said:

  Members of the Society of Friends are increasingly disturbed by the comment that Quaker Meeting is a fine place for seeking, but one must go elsewhere if one’s object is finding. (page 12)
  
  Paul Lacey tells of people he has talked with who have found the Society of Friends a kind of incubator where they can develop just enough to realize that the real conditions of life and worship lie outside it. Many of these people, having looked to the Quaker Meeting as a source of inspiration and deepened faith, pass beyond it to find fuller meaning elsewhere. (page 19)

• The tendency to hush up awkward issues (in fairness, not unique to Friends, but we do have an ideal of plain speaking!) has been wreaking havoc for a long time. I remember when a group of us had difficulty recruiting panelists for a 1978 panel discussion on the topic, "Is the Unspoken Message of Friends Racist?" Another incident that is vivid in my memory is the time a meeting responded to a Yearly Meeting query about men's and women's equality with a response along the lines of the following: "This is not a problem in our meeting and we felt it would be a divisive topic."
• I have seen co-dependence to unhealed people - refugees who come to us from oppressive spiritual contexts and are granted veto power over any expressions that might remind them of their past - quench the spirit of several meetings. Over and over, I (and others) have warned: we can and must offer healing and hospitality without losing the distinction between host and guest, and without losing the teaching voice of our church.

I've known many Friends who have promoted a vision of youth ministry, have advanced the concepts of spiritual gifts and Gospel order, have created great syntheses of biblical faithfulness and social justice, have promoted collaboration between mystics and prophets, between stewards and elders; and what do we have to show for it all?

Before I admit that this is a shameless rhetorical question, I ought to answer it straightforwardly: we have thousands of Friends congregations worldwide who, despite all differences, seem to be animated by a wonderful blend of biblical faith and grace, and whose very presence in a community is a precious witness.

We also, however, have a cluster of self-defeating behaviors that may combine with external forces to marginalize and dilute our witness even more than it already is. My message to "larger Quakerdom" would be simply this: confront these issues openly, creatively, publicly, undefensively, or prepare to see the fadeout continue.

Here are some of the internal and external factors:

• elitism ... too many Friends and their meetings are content with being isolated little islands of spiritual adepts of one kind or another, rather than a movement that understands the true universality of the Gospel invitation
• a shockingly casual attitude toward Jesus Christ - content either to relegate him to the status of wise teacher of the past, which is a complete betrayal of our founding insights into the ongoing reality of apostolic Christianity, or to turn him into combination of lucky rabbit's foot and theological trump card, useful for personal reassurance and for trouncing liberals but not for true headship of our church; both problems often compounded in the Western church by the twin poisons of individualism and affluence
• the cult of quakerishness and its in-group language, a self-sufficient enclosed system, sort of like the Pokemon universe or Magic the Gathering, that blinds us to the reality that the discipleship expected by early Friends is now often better exemplified outside Friends
• the demise of denominational structures, replaced in the best cases by functional organizations with clear missions and communicable identities that earn their way by merit; and the parallel demise of denominational loyalties
• weird and unnecessary dysfunctions in our relationship with leaders

Would an end to the Friends movement represent a world crisis? I doubt it; God's Holy Spirit will continue to form and animate communities of disciples. However, the urgency of a call to larger Quakerdom is really a call to integrity: have we been faithful to a vision and heritage of discipleship that once had liberating power, and might still? What is the proper stewardship of the network of relationships and promises that remains of that heritage?

Instead of fixating on the future of that network, or its lack, should we focus on cultivating the discernment and commitment that will help those we influence to find the best spiritual communities for their gifts, inside or outside Friends? To favor a concern for faithful discernment over a concern for survival might be our best chance for survival.

Ask your young people some questions

I grew up in an atheist family and never experienced Christian education until after my adulthood conversion. So it is hard for me to judge what makes for effective Christian education for children and young people, despite the fact that one of my life passions concerns communicating faith.

To write about Christian education for Quaker Life magazine, I sent the following list of questions to our children, one 17 and the other 19. Their totally fascinating answers will appear elsewhere, if they choose, but here I simply wanted to suggest these questions. I was very impressed by our kids' answers, and amazed by the fact that Judy and I were permitted to have so much influence on their spiritual development; I imagine that other parents will also have an eye-opening experience.

Do you identify yourself as a Friend?

If you do, or ever did, can you remember when you became conscious of it? If you don't identify yourself as a Friend, do you have any memory of "dropping out"?

Can you remember times when Sunday school or Christian education generally helped you be more clear about being a Friend (or not being a Friend) and can you remember times when it was more confusing than helpful? If you can remember an incident or two, that would be great!

How much of what the Sunday school teachers and youth leaders presented was based on secondhand materials - Bible, curriculum, books, etc. - and how much was based on their firsthand experiences, stories from their own lives, and how much was based on what was said by others in the class? If you could have, would you have changed these proportions?

If YOU were a Sunday school leader or youth leader, what would YOU emphasize about being a Friend? What things would you do differently from what was done by the teachers and leaders you had growing up?

Do you picture yourself being involved with Friends ten years from now? When/if you have children, will you encourage them to be in the Quaker community?