Welcome and Belonging: The Language of Community

Recent discussions among British Friends have used – and agonised over the use of – a range of terms. People start with ‘welcome’ or ‘welcoming’, and then bring in ‘belonging’, sometimes in contrast with ‘fitting in’. Then there’s ‘accepting’, and ‘affirming’. In all but the last case, these are not at all specific to the particular reason for these recent discussions. They are words about how people fit together, how people are brought together, how a group of people becomes a community and how people become part of that community.

This post is not about those recent discussions. It is about this group of words and ideas more generally. What is ‘welcome’, and does it only apply to new people, to bringing those ‘outside’ a community ‘inside’? What does it mean to belong, or to be accepted? What connotations do these words have that might not be intended? What do I mean when I use them, and how might I be accidentally conveying something other than I intend? These are not easy questions, and it’s likely people will have different answers to them, which can make communication about these ideas difficult.

Reflection on ‘Aphorism 3’ (Do not ask for lessons)

“Do not ask for lessons; all I can give are opportunities.”
–Aphorism 3

This is an interesting one, to be sure. To understand what it might be taken to mean, we must consider the possible meanings of different parts of it. For instance, what is meant by ‘lesson’, and what by ‘opportunities’? More profoundly, in whose voice should it be taken as being? At the same time, it is a very simple statement that seems to have a fairly straightforward meaning, at least from the point of view of certain approaches to education. So straightforward that it might be considered a pat answer itself, in fact (though that adjective, pat, has some divergence in meaning that means it might be appropriate whether the explanation is trivial and misguiding or simple and correct).

Let us first consider that straightforward answer. A popular view of education, of the process of learning, is that the only true agent in the process is the learner. Constructivist theories of education hold that knowledge cannot be transmitted, only constructed by the individual. In that context, even modified in such variants as social constructivism (where knowledge construction takes place in the context of interaction between individuals), a more traditional ‘lesson’, in which knowledge is transmitted from teacher to student, is impossible – or at least ineffective. The educator instead provides opportunities for the construction of knowledge, facilitates the process. It might be said, then, that this aphorism is simply a truism in the context of constructivist educational theory. However, in receiving it as ministry it behoves us to look beyond that simple explanation. That is where we must consider the possible meanings, beyond that of constructivism, and the voice of the statement.

Sharing Joy

When we see two people in love, we can rejoice in it and share it even though we are not, ourselves, part of that love.

When someone has a passionate interest that we do not share, we might have little interest in hearing them talk about it at great length, but we can still take joy in the joy it gives them.

Even where we have been hurt and cannot engage in romantic love, or where romantic interest is no part of our own makeup, even where we have been traumatised by that in which someone else is interested, we can share their joy.

Coining a New Name

I am indebted in writing this piece to several friends (not all of whom are Friends) helping me puzzle out the nuances of a dead language. Special mention must go, however, to my sister-in-law, and to the helpful folks of the Latin Stack Exchange. I am no scholar of ancient languages myself, though I dabble (as I do in many things). Any errors in how I have made use of Latin are my own, and as I've had to be a little creative I expect there are some.

Much conversation goes on among liberal Friends, at least recently in Britain, concerning our range of names for the Divine. This is why there's a tag for it on this blog, and has become a startling focus of conversation around our theological diversity. Some of the worry – and some of the excitement – about the upcoming revision of Britain Yearly Meeting's Book of Discipline even relates to this. Some of the differences in name reflect the different ways we have of thinking about the Divine, and sometimes using the same name conceals that difference.

We have the old names – God, the Father, Christ, and more esoteric terms early Friends were fond of, such as Seed. Then we have names that are old, but new to Quakers, as other faith traditions feed into our own, and they are too many and varied for it to be easy to pick out a few. We have names that reflect theological liberalism and universalism, delightfully non-committal like my own go-to name, the Divine. We have terms that were used by early Friends and are used today with different nuance, like Light (for early Friends it was often the Light of Christ, or Inward Light; today it is often Inner Light, and for both it would just be shortened to “Light”). Maybe it's time for something new. Something that reflects what we are united on, or at least as united as we ever are, without claiming anything else.

Don't Replace "God" With "Good"

This might seem a strange title for me. After all, I rarely use the word “God” in reference to my own beliefs – surely I should be happy to see it used less? Well, yes and no.

Let's start by setting some context. I don't want to see Quakers stop using the word God, let's get that clear. I do think sometimes we should think about whether it's the right word to use in any given situation, especially in corporate statements, but I'm all about using the full range of language in our collective writing. I think there's lots of other words and phrases we can use, and they should more or less all get a look in.

On Titles

One of the little details of Quaker practice that is not completely unheard of outside of Quaker circles – though that does not mean it is well-known – is our rejection of titles. That is to say, we traditionally do not use such things as “Mr”, “Mrs”, “Miss” etc., preferring to simply use names.

There are several reasons behind this. One is our view of equality; especially in the society in which the Quaker movement developed, a huge range of titles existed and reinforced the expected structure of society, of social interactions, and of status. Nobility was still considered important by many, and the titles of right or of courtesy that went with them were often insisted on. Titles and styles related to offices under the crown, such as “judge” or “doctor” (usually for those who have achieved a certain degree of study – academic doctors or doctors of divinity – rather than physicians) were important, and people of standing who could claim neither noble nor official title often sought a knighthood. Those entitled to the style of “esquire”, not a general formal term as it is now in the UK, nor a term conventionally restricted to certain professions as it is now in the US, would often insist upon its use. As such, the rejection of titles stands for a rejection of the formal and conventional delineations of standing and status, as well as of the forms that derive from them (such as the giving of hat-honour, one of the most noted rejections of convention among early Friends).

Plain Speaking and "Academic" Language

Liberal Quaker communities aren't usually terribly representative of the communities in which they are situated. Here in Britain, we tend to be white, culturally middle class, English-speaking (particularly noted in Wales), and educated. There's lots of theories about why this is; I tend to subscribe to the idea that a non-representative community is more forbidding and less welcoming to those who do not already fit into it than those who immediately “fit in”. A black, Asian or other minority ethnic (the currently most acceptable term in this country, abbreviated to BAME) person, in a town that is ethnically diverse, will react the first time they go to a group based on what they see – just as a white person would, but with very different dynamics of social history behind it. If they see 40 people in a room, all white, they will feel that this group is not for them. It may be subconscious, and it may be counterbalanced by other factors (and we'd better hope it will be), but it will be there; none of us is “colour-blind”, however much we might have a misguided aspiration to be so. Similarly, when a person who is culturally working class finds themselves in a room full of middle class accents, when they come to a shared meal and find half the contributions based on couscous and quinoa, they feel that this is a group that is not for people like them.

I emphasise “educated” in this list because it is, in one important way, not like the others. It is something that each of us can potentially change about ourselves, and it is seen as a positive by even the most enlightened social egalitarian. It is not hard to argue that that is it is a good thing that we are mostly quite educated, provided that we include those who are educated by less formal means. We might believe that we are mostly educated because those who join our community who are less educated become more educated in part because of their exposure to Quakers and their living out of Quaker values.

God, Words and Us: A Reaction

The most procedurally important output of the Book of Discipline Revision Preparation Group (BoDRPG) is probably their report to Meeting for Sufferings; the most important in terms of the wider conversation, and of direct lasting impact, may well be God, Words and Us. This book is a record of some of the output of the “Theology Think Tank” that the BoDRPG set up to help prepare for the inevitable “theism/non-theism” question that would arise in any future revision. I have previously written some of my own reaction, on specific points – most notably my recent post “Theism vs Non-Theism”? – but this post is to record my own reaction to the book as a whole, having now finished reading it.

As I understand it, the purpose of the think tank was to support the BoDRPG, and thus the whole Yearly Meeting, in looking at different ways of approaching the “question” of theology and theological diversity. This is in part because of a perception that became apparent, that many Friends responding to consultation and conversation, or indeed in ministry at Yearly Meeting Gathering, were concerned that the degree and nature of that diversity would lead to strife within the Yearly Meeting were we to engage in a revision process. Of particular concern were that some might seek to remove any reference to God from the Quaker faith & practice, or that others might seek to introduce an acid test of theistic belief in the process of revision. Of course, others see a revision as an opportunity to diversify our language – not to remove Christian and otherwise theistic language, but to supplement it with other expressions of understanding of the Divine so that our “handbook” text reflects the diversity that is already there. There are also a few I've come across who would like to use the opportunity to solidify theistic – usually specifically Christian – underpinnings of the book; likewise, I cannot claim there are no Friends who would like to remove all traces of “God language” from the Book of Discipline, but this is not a significant current of thought that I am aware of, even in non-theist circles (an impression that finds support in some of David Boulton's contributions to the book, as noted below).

Dogmatic Non-Dogmatism and Rituals of Non-Ritualism

Why the flowers?

Quakers, at least of the liberal variety, are generally considered to have no dogma; Quakers of all stripes reject creeds, even if they have been known to organisationally endorse documents that look a lot like them. Unprogrammed Quakers eschew ritual.

But do we really? Are there not ways in which our non-dogmatism becomes dogmatic, and our non-rituals become ritualistic? In this post I will be exploring these questions, what I have learned from Friends in many places, what I have experienced myself – and what I think we should take from that.

Quaker Exotericism

There's a word in the title of this post that most readers probably won't be familiar with. So, let's clear that up first. Exoteric is simply the converse of esoteric – where the latter refers to things that are secret, or meaningful only to a select audience, possibly highly theoretical, the former refers to things that are for a general or universal audience. I suppose that, in wider use of the English language, there is a cultural assumption of exotericism, so only the esoteric needs to be referred to as such. However, it becomes clear as one spends time among Quakers that, in practice, our discourse and our activities are not really exoteric.

A recent piece of written ministry on this blog suggests that this is not essential to Quaker practice or theory; that our spiritual life should be accessible to all, not without effort but, perhaps, without bewilderment. And yet we have our own peculiar language, our own idioms, largely made up of relatively normal words being used in our own unique ways. This leading to bewilderment of newcomers or visitors is hardly surprising.