Skip to main content

A Ministry of Brokenness

A few weeks ago, a Friend in my meeting approached me, and in the gentlest and tenderest way possible, suggested that some of what I had spoken in meeting for worship was less Spirit-led ministry and more a need to seek and receive support for personal burdens.*

I am still holding this Friend's concern close to me.  For those who don't already know: messages in a Quaker meeting are, at least in theory, prompted not by our personal lives, however keenly felt, nor by our own thoughts and ideas, but by Spirit.  Friends describe a variety of discernment tools for gauging which promptings are rooted in Spirit, and which are not, and, having attended a few "meetings for good ideas," I can say with no question that I prefer meeting for worship.

It is a painful thought, that I might have spoken from any root but a leading of Spirit.  I am trying to respond neither with defensiveness and a hasty denial that I might do such thing, nor a wash of shame and an immediate acceptance that the Friend's suggestion must be correct simply because it was made at all.

The truth is, I do speak often in meeting for worship, and I do speak often from the sometimes painful edges of my personal experience.  On the other hand,  I'm confident that I do not generally turn to speaking in meeting as a substitute for other forms of support and discernment in my life--because I know I have good support for my emotional needs. 

However, it is true that I speak easily and freely, and that I don't have a lot of shyness around public speaking to hold me back.  What's more, I am not one of those Quakers who feels great reluctance to speak in meeting; when Spirit does move me to stand and share a message, I love the feeling of it--not for the attention I garner, but for the deep joy flowing through me with the nearness of Spirit.

That's not a problem... but it is reason to be wary of speaking too freely and too often.  I may do that.  I need to be open to that possibility, and go carefully.

However, I've heard it said that  genuine vocal ministry will avoid the words I, me, or my.  This, I think, is untrue.

It's a fact that the writings of early Quakers--including their memoirs--seem oddly impersonal by the standards of a modern reader, and I'm certainly not implying they were "doing it wrong."  But perhaps the place of the Bible in the early Quaker movement, much more familiar than it is in modern Quaker meetings, allowed for personal identification with the characters of that book.  In the stories of the struggles of figures like Job, or Moses, or Saul and David, I suspect early Quakers were able to see their own struggles reflected, and that what today seem like fleeting and indirect mentions of this passage or that would bring up whole stories and states of mind for early Friends.

I don't think that Biblical allusions accomplish that in modern meetings, even where all Friends present might be Christian.

Partly for that reason, I think that there is a place for the personal, the experiential, the subjective, and the real in vocal (or written) ministry today: for I, me, and my.

I know that such ministry is often what touches me the most, whether from a Friend in my meeting, or a Quaker or Pagan blogger, or a published mainstream author,  like Anne Lamott.  I respond best to spiritual witness that is personal, real, and vulnerable.

I am aware that I have made such messages something of a stock in trade, here as well as in worship.  I've come to think of it, in fact, as a ministry of brokenness.

It's not that I'm reluctant to share my joys too, but I think that my best writing often comes out of my fear and pain--my weakness, and not my strength.  I think I just sense the nearness of Spirit more clearly when I am afraid--and I think Spirit speaks through me best when I allow that sense of vulnerability and brokenness to be visible, not safely tucked away.

I often speak and write from that place.

A number of us at my meeting have begun exploring something going under the name "Spiritual Accountability Groups."  The idea of spiritual accountability is that, in a religious practice that is grounded in community as well as in Spirit, we owe one another a duty to help each other discern how best to be faithful to that Spirit--to give and receive what corporate (in the old-time Quaker sense of "the body" of a church community, not in the newer sense of CEOs) help we can.

This is a touchy notion in a society as individualistic as that of modern America, even in the context of the Religious Society of Friends, a group with 350 years of practice in corporate spiritual techniques.   It can be hard to speak in any language of things as inchoate and personal as leadings and gifts.  (I know it is for me--far more than speaking of my struggles and faults!)

And it can be frightening to name these stirrings to others if we are not sure they know how to listen deeply before rushing to judgment.

This is tender work,  and real pain could result either from an accountability group deteriorating into advice-giving, condemning, or even flattering or praising without really understanding a leading being shared.

On the part of a listener, there's a need to move slowly and listen deeply, and to stay low while we do so.  And on the part of a sharer, there's a need to be courageous, and to speak the truth as clearly and with as little gloss as we can manage, holding all things up for clear-eyed examination together in Spirit.

I was speaking with another Quaker engaging in this process, who is beginning to feel the stirrings of a newly-named gift, and contemplating contacting others who are said to have similar gifts.  She spoke of her fear and her hesitancy in doing so.  (I very much had the sense that her naming her fear was not in order to be reassured, but for the same reason a Buddhist names a powerful emotional state: in order to see it clearly and not be controlled by it.)

We sat with that for a bit--I have no doubt she will make those calls if and when it is right for her to do so, for she is a remarkably courageous woman.

Then I commented that, when I feel what seems to me to be a similar fear, I write about it.  And then I publish it on the World Wide Web.

She laughed, with a sudden, ringing laugh.  It sounded like a laugh of startlement, even a laugh of recognition--though it might have been recognition of difference as much as similarity.

It is pretty funny, when I think about it.

But this is how I name my demons.  I mean, once you've put them onto the Internet, for everyone who knows you, including your mother, to see, well, what is left to be afraid of after that, right?

I do not mean to imply that simply being publicly vulnerable is the same thing as vocal ministry.  I am told--though it was well before my time--that there was a bit of a fad during the 1970's for using meeting for worship as if it was an encounter group, with lots of personal confessions that were... well, personal.  TMI--too much information.  I don't want to contribute to that, and I don't want to be guilty of that--though in truth, I don't want to be guilty of speaking what is not a Spirit-prompted message in worship ever, at all.

I want to be faithful.

And for me, part of what keeps me faithful is my willingness to be thoroughly visible, warts and all.  I'm not advocating exhibitionism.  Radical plainness of presence, maybe? 

I'm not actually strong enough to allow the whole world to be my spiritual accountability committee.  I know that: I flare up in instantaneous anger around some people, and there are ways of communicating I find so alienating that I'm almost unable to listen beneath them to the heart of the person who is using them.

But allowing the world to step forward and tell me when I put my foot wrong has been very useful to me in developing a kind of 24/7 Quaker practice.  I would not say that I feel the Presence of the Light of Peace every minute of every day, nor anything like it.  But I do feel it a lot, and especially when I'm writing.

That doesn't make everything I write a message.  But my willingness to be open and vulnerable, and my sense of the nearness of Spirit as I write... does make some of what I am writing here a kind of ministry.

Sometimes I do write about my brokenness and my struggles because I trust you, my readers, to help shine light on my dark places.

But also, very often, I write them because I know that not only is this what so often speaks to me in the words of others, but because I know that my words do often speak to others in that same way.

I know because you have told me so.  But even more importantly, I also know because sometimes--not all the time, but sometimes--I can feel the weight of Spirit moving in my chest as I write.  I feel an urgency that has nothing to do with the personal, despite the fact that what is personal is what my stories are couched in.

At those times, I can feel a kind of joy when the words leave my lips in meeting, or when I hit "publish" on my blog.  It's like watching the flight of an arrow that has left the bow, and I don't want praise for it, or admiration, or envy.  I just want that arrow to fly true.

Glenn Larson
There is a place in my work for caution, discernment, and self-questioning.  And there is a place in that work for sudden laughter, lightness, and watching something that shines as it cuts through the sky.







*I should probably note that this Friend has a history of service on our Ministry and Worship committee--is, in fact, recognized for a kind of gift in eldering--and has also enough of a relationship with me that she could know of my longstanding concern for ministry, and that I would want her to speak to me as she did.  Generally speaking, most liberal Quaker meetings have a committee which undertakes to provide feedback--"eldering"--where it is needed, and individual members are discouraged from approaching one another with even implied criticism of vocal ministry.  


This was an example, in my opinion, of genuine and loving eldering.  My Friend was faithful.  I am attempting to be faithful, too, in really sifting and discerning her insights.

I do not, however, want to give the impression that "vigilante eldering" is in any way a good idea.  This is sensitive work, only to be undertaken in great love and humility, and ideally, after discernment and prayer.







Comments

Hystery said…
This comment has been removed by the author.
Anonymous said…
Dear Cat,
I admire you for your spiritual investigation of this difficult word this meeting member shared with you. As a recipient of many of your messages (both within and without MfW) I have always felt them to be spririt-led (as is your plain lived integrity), and have also noted at times maybe not meant for me, which is completely acceptable. So, perhaps this person's comment, no matter how gentle it was, was in fact simply a statement on her own process. I have always attended meeting with the understanding that whatever is spoken, or not, within the "body" of the meeting hour, is meant to happen, to be, just as it happens, just as it is in that moment. Even those "encounter" meetings fm the 70's certainly served a purpose. Has it crossed your mind perhaps that you did nothing amiss, but in fact that person's comments served a purpose beyond criticsm? For instance, to spur on this discussion? or to refine that person's ability to be herself "self-revelatory"?
All my Love,
Anne
Hi, Hystery,
Good point--and one I wish I'd made explicitly in the piece: the best response to a message that does not move us or even disturbs us is normally to let it go.

What a lot of members may never realize is that Ministry and Counsel committees in liberal friends meetings are charged with discerning and responding to individual members who frequently speak inappropriately in meeting. For instance, before my time but at my meeting, there was at least one person who would deliver anti-glbt tirades; another attender who would give quack nutritional advice of the sort that blames cancer patients for their own disease.

Obviously, not confronting such destructive "ministry" can be hugely problematic for a meeting. Less obviously, there is a process for dealing with it. The M&C Committee, in such cases, very prayerfully seeks to discern what, if anything, is needed. Generally speaking, sending a representative to speak privately with the person is enough, though in other cases, other options are also considered.

I've seen some very loving interventions with some very disruptive and sometimes clearly mentally ill people. It is one of the things that makes me love my meeting--its willingness to be loving without being passive if there is a problem.

That process is called eldering. And one of the most important pieces of the notion of eldering, in my experience, is that it be done by elders--those recognized by the meeting as having the standing to make this kind of highly sensitive discernment--and done, generally, by an elder with a relationship with the person who is approached.

The Friend in question was speaking for herself, and not for the meeting. She was not representing our M&C... but both she and I have served on that committee, and while we are not close, we do have a relationship of mutual trust and regard. I knew, without doubt, that the Friend was speaking from love and concern.

Indeed, so careful and sensitive was she in bringing her concern to my attention that it took a little bit of conversation for me to understand that that, rather than a personal concern for the situation that was the subject of my message, was what she was trying to say.

It was still very, very hard to hear.

I think she did right to speak to me directly (and privately, and kindly). I think, in fact, she was entirely faithful in how she spoke to me.

I think I have also been faithful in how I have received it, and continue to sift and discern it.

There was no arrogance in my Friend's words to me, and I understood that. There was--as there always is--some subjectivity. It may be that the style of my ministry is one that this Friend is personally uncomfortable with.

But it just could be that I have a problem with my ministry, which is, as I've been saying, also quite subjective.

As the saying goes, "the water always tastes of the pipes," and the fact that we were both subjective in our perspectives does not take away from the probability of our being faithful in our conversation with one another.

This, however, is one of the reasons why it is I think essential to always keep within us a spirit of forgiveness, in everything we do in community. Even acts that are tendered in love, received in love, and conducted in faithfulness to Spirit can hurt like a sonuvabitch.

Hearing in love is a hard discipline, and I am determined to master it.
To Anne,
It is true that the best response to ministry that is a little "off" is normally to simply be aware that not all messages are for us.

But when someone often offers vocal ministry to a meeting, there is a reciprocal relationship that is built up. My meeting has, I think, both a duty and a right to (gently! And through elders who are able to speak to such matters while rooted in Spirit and in love, and who are authorized by the meeting to intervene in this way) hold me accountable for my ministry.

I want to be encouraged to be faithful. And that means staying low, and listening hard.

And the Friend who spoke to me knew that, and was being kind. While it is easy to imagine someone speaking in this way in a prideful or insensitive, this was not such a conversation.

(I think I'd better make a note on the entry! I don't want people to think I'm encouraging vigilante eldering!)
Anonymous said…
"Vigilante Eldering" lol! :) Please tell me more about this "reciprocal relationship" ~~~ I'm quite unclear on the concept. I have this strong sense to view all hierarchy as flat in as kind and loving way possible - I have done much prayer and consultation around this and I, not being someone who likes to "take on a cause" for risk of divisiveness, have discerned that all words shared during spiritual communion are as weighty as any other: a baby's coos, one's stifled weeping, the gurgling of empty bellies, and words that reflect the entire felt sense of the corporate body. And am ever learning - this understanding of my mind right now may become changed along the way. Learning,
Anne (of Ivy and Miette)
The reciprocal relationship I'm speaking of is not a hierarchical one, but one which recognizes that Quakers help one another to discern our leadings from Spirit.

We're not out on our own, each of us with no one to turn to for help when it gets complicated and difficult. Just as, when we listen together for the voice of Spirit in meeting for business and in meeting for worship, we hear more clearly what it is that Light wants for us, we can listen together on questions of individual faithfulness.

Usually that will take the part of nurturing, listening, and encouraging.

Sometimes it will take the part of questioning.

At all times, in involves listening together in love to the Light that gathers us.
Joanna Hoyt said…
Thank you for posting this. Your description of the ministry of brokenness seemed to em to articulate something I have experienced and believed without finding good words to hold it.

I've moved to a place where I don't have a local Meeting for Worship, so I don't often confront the question you are writing through here, but I do want to be held accountable in my work, and then I do struggle to discern what to do with the feedback I get. I don't have any helpful insights that are presently articulable, but it is good to hear someone else's wrestling process.
Tom Smith said…
I agree that at times me, my, I, etc. may be appropriate but in my opinion Friends have tended, at least in the past, to follow what G Fox stated when he said "This I know experimentally." I know I am biased/prejudiced as a "science educator," but the very high membership of Friends, both numerically but especially in proportion to total membership, in the Royal Society and other scientific endeavors seems to fit the "search for truth and reality." Science writing is by design not subjective but objective in that anyone should be able to make similar observations. I also see a correlation between "peer review" in scientific papers and the corporate discernment of Friends. There is no "compromise" or even "consensus" in scientific truth since there is always the advancement of knowledge (continuing revelation) expected.

Of course quantum mechanics and "Schroedingers Cat" have raised issues of the observer's effect on the observation. I do believe in "mystery" and one of the "joys" of Friends is that there is the unknown process and product in our individual and corporate "search."
I was fascinated to read your post. I am not currently attending Meetings, but when I was, I must admit that I never did get to the stage of giving vocal ministry. Mainly there would be silence throughout the Meeting, but a couple of Meetings did involve vocal ministry. I found the concept difficult, as I was trying to use the time to meditate, but became afraid to "go too deep", in case someone suddenly spoke. A friend described putting a "pause button" on her meditation, but I found this difficult. I wonder if other Friends or attenders at Meetings have had similar experiences?

Popular posts from this blog

Bears Eat My Lettuce

I love where I live;  since moving to our new home four years ago, I've been able to build a relationship with a piece of land for the first time since I was a child.  It's everything a dirt-worshipping Pagan could ask for.  I have a garden, and I grow much of my own food, and that is as much a spiritual delight as a taste treat.  And I have woods again as neighbors: glacial boulders, white pines and black birches, owls and white-tailed deer.

And bears.

And the bears eat my lettuce.



I'm not kidding about that.  Oh, it's winter now, and the bears are huddled up in their dens.  But this past spring, I grew lettuce.  Award winning, gorgeous lettuce: three different kinds!  They were nourished to extraordinary size and succulence by the cool, wet weather we had, and each night, I would gather just a few outer leaves, knowing that careful tending would mean tasty salads for months.

And then, over the course of three days, the bears ate every single one of my lettuce plants…

The Saturday Farm

I love Saturdays.

I have come to think of the work that I do on Saturdays as "farming."  Now, I know it isn't farming--not really.  We have a medium-sized vegetable garden and two dogs, and that's not a farm, by any stretch of the imagination. 

But I keep thinking of a comment Joel Salatin made in Yes Magazine once, about how Americans have become used to thinking of our homes as centers of consumption, but how once, thinking of your home as a center of production (typically, a farm, for most of us for most of our history) was the norm.

And between trying to live with less plastic junk and trying to eat more sustainably and locally, Saturdays at home have become very productive days.  And that productivity--the willingness to substitute patience, skill, and thrift for consumption--I've come to think of as a species of farming.  (My apologies to actual farmers, whose work I increasingly appreciate.  But thinking in this way works for me, somehow.)

First thing this…

On Activism and Ordinary Acts

One of the dangers of being Quaker--or Pagan--is a privilege at the same time.

Quakers and Pagans share a somewhat counter-cultural view of our society.  In slightly different ways, most Quakers and most Pagans believe that human society is flawed in bitterly destructive ways that must be confronted and changed.  We look out at a world burdened by the selfish exploitation of whole nations of human beings, and of the ecosystem itself, and we know that things as they are are not OK.

The privilege and the danger that arises from this is that of associating with activists.

It's a privilege, of course, to have a chance to be inspired by those who are willing to risk imprisonment or even death to be faithful to their spiritual convictions.  This inspirational force is excellent for warding off complacency and the kind of internal self-congratulation that degrades possessing a moral compass into mere spiritual materialism and self-worship.

When I have done some small thing outside the no…