A Quaker Covid Christmas

Your latest Christmas Tree decoration?
(visualisation of SARS-CoV-2 virus by US CDC)

It’s Christmas time. It’s a pandemic. It seems to have quite a lot of people in something of a tizzy.

Our friends across the Atlantic have already negotiated this with their Thanksgiving holidays, when it is common – even traditional – for families to come together, even if they live far apart. Many families here in Britain are in the habit of doing the same at Christmas, and certainly families who do live near one another often get together in larger family gatherings than is their habit at other times of year. The fact it has become a secular holiday, as well as a sacred festival for most Christians, means that this extends over more of the population than one might think by looking at religious demographics.

To an awful lot of people, Christmas isn’t Christmas without household mixing. For the religiously observant, busy services on Christmas Eve bring many households into close proximity. For lots of people, religious or otherwise, Christmas is when family comes together, even if normally spread out. Students return to the family home for Christmas, and even those children who are grown and settled in new lives often do the same. Where the next generation has brought forth their own new generation, the older generation might be hosted by their children, and see their grandchildren. This is normal, expected even – to the extent that childless people who spend Christmas alone, even as a couple, are sometimes pitied at best, thought strange at worst. Charities put a lot of effort into making sure people who don’t want to spend Christmas alone – or who other people think oughtn’t to spend Christmas alone – don’t have to do so.

Covid, Mental Health, Relgion and Spiritual Communities

The public health issues gripping the world have been hard on a lot of people – indeed, I would be surprised to find anyone who hadn’t experienced some sort of negative impact from the changes that Covid-19 has worked upon our lives. I’m sure, here in the UK, we’ve all heard from friends and relatives finding themselves homeschooling their kids with very little notice and usually equally sparse support. I expect more than a few of my readers have been in that position themselves, not just heard about it at one remove. People who have lost their job or had hours cut have obvious stress. People who thrive on social contact will have struggled with the limited ability to see other people. People who have had to restrict contact even more because of being at high risk, such as the UK’s ‘shielding’ category, will have had extra stress just getting essentials, and those who already relied on shopping deliveries have had to cope with slots being much harder to come by.

Those are the obvious sources of stress, of things that can affect people’s mental health. And those are just the tip of the iceberg.

#BlackLivesMatter: A White British Quaker's Perspective

'Slave Trade' by John Raphael Smith, after George Morland's
‘Execrable human traffick, or the affectionate slaves’

Recent events have brought back to wider public consciousness that rallying cry, “Black Lives Matter”. It comes from the United States of America, but its resonance is felt around the world. As we see from the incidents that prompt outcry, it is most easily associated with excess deaths of black people – but it’s about a lot more than that.

Now, most Quakers in Britain are white. Not all of us, by any stretch, but definitely most. We’re also mostly relatively educated, with a much higher incidence of post-graduate qualifications than the general population, and there’s a definite tendency towards being culturally middle class. This has a lot of results, some of which I’ve written about before, but one of them is a real difficulty in engaging with the deep issues that underlie the statement that Black lives matter. I’ve seen Quakers in public on social media respond to that simple statement with one of the most problematic responses that we see everywhere – that “all lives matter”.

Why is that statement a problem? After all, don’t we – with our pacifist tradition and believe in a sort of universal divinity – really fundamentally believe that all lives matter? Yes, of course we do. It would be silly to suggest otherwise. In fact, especially among Quakers, it’s so obvious that it doesn’t even need saying. So why do we need to say that Black lives matter?

The Choice of Judas?

Judas reaches for the food, School of Monte Cassino, c.1100

In keeping with my previous writings concerning ‘Times and Seasons’, and with conditions being so different from the usual at the moment, I have been reflecting on the Easter story.

I don’t have a great deal of skin in this game, not being a Christian or believing in the divinity of Jesus – or at least any more divinity than anyone else. Still, it is the tradition I grew up in. The irreligiosity of my family didn’t diminish the exposure to the story that one gets from wider society. It is a story that few who grew up in the UK, at least around the time I was doing so, could avoid knowing about.

Of course, without more study than even most Christians put into it, you get a very simplistic idea of the story. As with the Christmas story, the story we generally get through liturgy, or being taught in school, or seeing dramatic interpretations, is a sort of hodgepodge of the different gospel accounts. The journey into Jerusalem, assorted miracles, the Last Supper, the betrayal at Gethsemane. Yet all of these elements are different in different gospels, as I noted in previous writing concerning the Last Supper. Now, I am going to focus on the betrayal of Jesus by Judas, a story whose meaning I’m not sure is appreciated as best it might be – and a story that has been used down the centuries to justify injustice.

Meeting Without Meeting

Well, life is different right now, isn’t it?

For context, just in case people stumble into this once life is back to normal (whatever that ends up looking like), this is written and published during significant social distancing restrictions in Britain due to the Covid-19 pandemic. For the benefit of the international audience reading this immediately, as well as a future audience, we’re currently (22^nd March 2020) being asked not to gather in any sort of group, not to socialise, to work from home if possible, not to go out except as necessary or if we can ensure a minimum 2m distance from anyone else (they want us to still get exercise seems to be the main reason for that). Workplaces are shutting down or going to remote working. Bars, restaurants, theatres, cinemas, cafes have all been asked to close, except for selling take-away food. The government is offering grants to employers to help cover salaries of people who might otherwise be laid off. Panic buying continues to empty supermarket shelves of toilet rolls, soap, some tinned goods, and bread (among other things).

Now, in the context of all of those other things, this next feature is fairly unimportant – but it’s the reason for this blog post, so it’s going to have some prominence.

Worship and Copresence

Meeting together is pleasant, to be sure. We value our Friends as friends, and we value our relationships. We value the pleasure of catching up over a cuppa, of seeing the children of the Meeting tearing around the building. Of seeing the familiar faces, and occasionally welcoming new ones.

The heart of Meeting for Worship, though, is worship. We may have different ideas about what that means, but most would agree on coming together in silence, waiting on the Spirit (or whatever we might call it), and hearing the ministry that we hope will come from its inspiration. It is not merely being together in a space and being quiet. It is a silence not of the absence of noise, but of quieting the self to be open to Light. We do it together because we have generally found it more effective than doing it alone. It is an active passivity, and a shared endeavour that usually involves no visible effort.

The Cathedral and the Bazaar (and Quakers)

As some of you will be aware, I’ve put a fair bit of time in my life into software development – I’ve earned a living doing it, I’ve studied it formally, I’ve done it as a hobby. Some of this has been connected, to a variable extent, to the ‘free and open source software’ community, as much a social movement as a software development model, in which the source code of software is available, anyone can modify it, and there’s no restrictions in how you use it. This approach has given us Linux, which I imagine almost all of you have heard of, as well as office productivity packages like LibreOffice and OpenOffice, and specialist software like the database systems MySQL and PostgreSQL or the statistical software package R.

One of the great figures of the philosophy of free and open source software, Eric S. Raymond, wrote a famous essay about different approaches to open source development. Originally presented at a conference for Linux developers in 1997, and later published in a collection bearing the same title in 1999 (the book is still evolving, and available free on his website). That essay, and book, is called The Cathedral and the Bazaar. It talks about two models, the cathedral model and the bazaar model, that broadly describe the way most open source projects had been developed up to that point. So, what does this have to do with religion, what does it have to do with Quakers? Some of you might have a guess already, but read on – through some more about software development – and all will become clear.

Reflection on ‘Maxim 5’ (Each of Us Dies)

“Each of us dies with our work incomplete.”
–Maxim 5

Some people have told me that they find this very short ministry depressing. I guess I can see that. On the other hand, it’s a bit like “things are always in the last place you look”, or “a letter always reaches its destination”. Not as much of an absolute tautology as those, in that one doesn’t generally look anywhere else for something once they’ve found it (and no-one says it can’t also be in the first place you look), and wherever a letter arrives is, by definition, its destination (even if it isn’t the intended destination).

No, this one is, to me, extremely simple in essence and very complex in implication. The essence is simply this: there is always more we might have done. Every life that ends is a loss of someone who could contribute, albeit some of that loss may have occurred earlier than the point of death in the case of senescence or degenerative and/or progressive illnesses. Whatever you do, whatever amazing work you have done, you could always have done more.

Reflection on ‘Aphorism 4’ (Every Prejudice)

“Every prejudice that exists in your society is a part of you. To deny it is to refuse to fight it.”
– Aphorism 4

To me this ministry is a direct and clear challenge. Many of us, and Quakers not least, like to think that we are so enlightened and have moved beyond prejudice and bigotry. We like to tell ourselves comforting lies, and this is a key example.

It’s understandable. We can be so scathing of those who are blatant racists, so negative about employers with sexist policies or pay rates, so condemnatory of those who attack others for their faith, that it is a simple matter of psychological self-defence that we struggle to see the speck in our eye when we decry the beam in another’s. Yet while it may not be the degree of hypocrisy described in the Sermon on the Mount, still, it is hypocrisy.

I’d imagine that a lot of you got a little defensive at that, as well. At being accused not only of being prejudiced but hypocritical as well. Here’s the thing:

Generations

So your generation changed the world?
You protested war, camped at Greenham.
You fought in wars for freedom, or wars of imperialism.
You dodged the draft, you called for peace.

So your generation changed the world?
With the summer of love, you called for change.
The sexual revolution, women’s liberation.
You saw what could be, and worked to make it real.

Reflection on ‘Maxim 4’ (Fox is no authority)

“Fox is no greater authority than you or I, nor was his access to the true authority any greater than ours.”
–Maxim 4

I was not surprised that this one was controversial for some Friends. I suppose I wish I were surprised, but really I was more relieved that it seemed very few found it challenging.

George Fox is often spoken of as the founder of the Religious Society of Friends. He was certainly a charismatic leader (and for those into Christian theology, that applies in both the everyday and technical sense), and the proto-Quakers of the North West of England did coalesce around him. Yet it is in the very nature of what he taught – and he wasn’t the only one teaching it, mind you – that we not ascribe authority to other people. The message being shared by various spiritual teachers of the time, including Fox, was that we all had access to the ultimate source of teaching and authority. Not only did we not need intercessory priests, as asserted by Luther and Calvin, but every single one of us could sit down and find the still small voice within, and know some measure of God’s guidance and God’s will (at the time, there would have been no question as to whether or not it should be identified as such).