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| Copper alloy mirror, Turkey, circa 500 BCE |
I was recently given written ministry to which I gave the title On Ministry and Clear Sight. It flowed as easily as any ministry I have ever given, and came as unexpectedly – a strong, clear leading to write or say certain things. As the ministry itself expresses, of course, there is much of myself in that ministry; it is an imperfect reflection shaped by what one might call, from the language of that ministry, as the ‘landscape of my mind’. In any case, it hit me hard, and I felt the need to think about it and give my own reaction to it.
The first, possibly most immediate point being that we have no sure way to know that any ministry offered is not genuinely drawing on the Spirit. Something might be so antithetical to our understanding of Quaker values and philosophy that we cannot countenance the idea that the Spirit gave it forth, yet still it did. Our task is to understand the possibilities of how it might have been inspired, let the ministry teach us about the Divine, about the world, and about the person who is speaking. We have to live with the discomfort that someone can say something we consider horrific in ministry, and yet there is some truth to it.
This also applies to broader understandings of ministry. Properly understood, the Quaker idea of ministry does not only apply to words, spoken or written, or other discrete, concrete works inspired by the Spirit. It applies to ongoing work – service that is given, ministries of welcome or education, or of charity (a use of the term found in several Christian churches). When we speak of such things as ministry, we mean that they are service properly given towards the goals that we are led to by the Divine, that they are inspired, that they are Godly acts. Yet sometimes we may be very clear, each of us in ourselves, that someone else’s service or ministry is a waste of time, is misguided, perhaps even harmful. That does not mean that it is not inspired, nor that their interpretation of that inspiration is any more flawed than your understanding of the Divine.
A separate, vitally important implication is that we must not give more weight to something because it is expressed elegantly. Some have a way with words, able to express ideas pithily, with clarity and eloquence, with phrases that stick in the mind. They likely have that ability, and use it, in many contexts. The eloquence of their ministry is not a reflection of the validity or clarity of their expression of inspiration – it may just be that they are eloquent. That is not to say that there is no value in clear and concise ministry, or in inspirational forms of words, just that such is not a valid yardstick for judging the weight or validity of ministry.
It also reminds us that ministry is given in a certain place and at a certain time. What might have been right ministry for one group at one time need not – must not – be the last word on the subject. This is not only a matter of the needs in one time and one place being different from needs at other times and places, but even that the very same inspiration can come out in quite different ways because of the set ideas, and even prejudices, of those to whom it is given.
If one takes a certain universalist view, where the same Spirit that inspires Friends may be the inspiration for other religious, and even apparently non-religious works, then this concept must also be extended to those. If one holds that the Bible, or any other scripture or holy text, is sacred and inspired, one must apply it there also. These are words that were given at a certain time to certain people, for purposes that are not always clear. Our attention should not just be to, as Fox is reported to have put it, “the Spirit that gave them forth”, but how the Spirit works through the lens of different people at different times.
This all means that we need to live with a lot of uncertainty. We can seek to know the Divine most fully by seeing it through as many different lenses (people) as possible, but I would argue that we can never know it perfectly, at least as we are – perhaps in another life, or another state of being, if such a thing is to come, we would be able to, but here and now we cannot. Even if we feel a cast-iron certainty about something, something we feel is led by the Spirit, even if we could somehow know with absolute certainty that it was led by the Spirit, we can’t know that it is right. And nor can the person who sees it differently.
We may seek to put our lives entirely in the ordering of the Spirit, but we can never know that we have read it aright. To live as a faithful Quaker means to live with permanent uncertainty, and to grow used to it, to be prepared to recognise that we weren’t right, and to never know with certainty whether we were or not.
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