Are We Willing to Share Our Faith? Do We Want to Grow?

by Thomas H. Jeavons
General Secretary, Philadelphia Yearly Meeting

Read as .pdf or download print version

A little more than a year ago my report to Interim Meeting generated a substantial discussion about the directions this Yearly Meeting might take in the years ahead. I raised a series of questions about what we might be called to as a people, and asked how and if we might find a way to consider those questions together. I expressed my own hope that we might engage actively in the work of corporate discernment in listening for such a calling together. In doing this I was confessional, and tried to be honest about several things, including:

1. My own frustration in trying to be effective as the chief administrative officer for an organization that has no focused or articulated mission.
2. My concerns as a member of this faith community that has been shrinking in size and influence for many years, and yet shows little commitment to or interest in growth.
3. My own hope that we—as a faith community and as an organization—might be able to make one of our priorities a commitment to sharing the treasure of our faith with others.
4. My own willingness and desire, nevertheless, to forward the work of the Yearly Meeting around any overarching initiative for which we discern a genuine calling.

I have been heartened in the last year by the way in which, at both Yearly Meeting sessions and the Interim Meeting, considerable attention has been given to exploring the larger question of what we may be called to do and be as a people now. Since receiving an invitation to give my own answers to this question at Caln Quarterly Meeting sessions this spring, I have spent a good bit of time reflecting on these matters once more. I have also thought about what seems to have come of this conversation among us to date.

We clearly have not reached unity, nor even an initial insight, about what we are called to as a community of faith or as an organization (as PYM). Given the pace at which we move, this is no surprise. Whether we will ever reach unity around this matter is an open question.

On the other hand, there have been, it seems to me, a number of blessings in the unintended consequences of pursuing this conversation among ourselves. Having the dialogue seems to have engaged a number of us in a serious discussion about what we yearn for (for ourselves), and hope for (for all of us together), as a people of faith. This is a conversation we surely have not had at this depth before—or at least not recently. Holding this conversation also seems to have involved many of us in a new, deep and authentic dialogue with one another about our experiences of the Divine. This seems to have brought us into a much more open and richer “spiritual space” together—where our worship is deeper and our fellowship more enriching—as we discovered at our last Yearly Meeting sessions.

For all this I am truly grateful. Now, I find myself feeling led again to raise the question of what we might be called to do, if anything, about sharing our faith and actively seeking to grow as communities of faith. Several things I have seen this year, and a couple things I’ve read this spring, have stimulated and shaped my thinking in this regard.

The Context in Which We Find Ourselves

Two very important books have been published in the last year (or so) by two leading sociologists of religion in the U.S. One, by Wade Clark Roof, is entitled Spiritual Marketplace. The second, by Robert Wuthnow, is entitled After Heaven. Both examine the changes in the character, perceptions and roles of religion in the United States over the last 50 years; and both—based on an enormous amount of survey and interview data—describe the changed and changing culture in which we find ourselves as religious people and a religious organization.

A key claim of both these studies is that the maturation of the “baby boomer” generation in the U.S. has moved us from a culture of relative stability and loyalty in religion and in the membership of religious institutions to a culture of seeking and a culture of quest. With this shift, both assert, we have moved from a context in which most people belonged to a given congregation or denomination as matter of identity—and so had firm loyalties—to a context in which choices about participation and membership are made in terms of how that religion and/or institution meets the individual’s needs. (In short, religious affiliation and participation is now essentially shaped by the template of consumerism we see dominating virtually all other aspects of American society.) Furthermore, those individuals’ needs now tend overwhelmingly to be defined by the individuals’ own feelings and instincts about their own “spirituality,” and their life circumstances, rather than by any established tradition or pre-set ideas and perspectives about what being religious (or even “spiritual”) requires.

Wade Clark Roof describes what is happening around us as “an open, competitive religious economy, which makes possible an expanded spiritual marketplace, which…must be understood in terms of both ‘demand’ and ‘supply’.” He notes further that “in a time of cultural and religious dislocations, new suppliers offer a range of goods and services designed to meet the spiritual concerns” of seekers, and in doing to often displace older “providers” of religion (p. 78). “Older providers of religion” should be understood here to mean traditional churches and religious bodies like the Religious Society of Friends.

Our Place in This Context

So, what does this mean for us as Quakers, here in Philadelphia Yearly Meeting? Well, to borrow a familiar line, there is good news and bad news.

The good news is that we Friends were in the business of trying to address the needs of “seekers” more than 300 years ago. We were way ahead of the curve on this one; or at least we once were. Our original spiritual practice was shaped by a basic recognition of the need for persons to have a genuine, transformative spiritual experience in order to develop a true, genuine and meaningful faith. So, in terms of the distinction between religion (as something fixed and formal) and spirituality (as a something dynamic and responsive to individuals’ deepest yearnings), we have long insisted on having an authentic spirituality shape our religion.

Given that history and predisposition, you would think we would be ideally positioned to reach out to and address the emerging spiritual needs of individuals in a “culture of quest.” Which makes one wonder why it is we are not growing. But a quick look at our own “Quaker culture” and practices reveals fairly quickly why we are not growing.

The bad news—in a religious as well as practical sense—is that we are generally content to hide our light under a bushel. Many of us are reluctant, even scared, to talk about our faith and practice for fear we will somehow offend someone. Some of us are afraid we will seem insensitive or appear arrogant to those to whom we could reach out. Sadly, this assumes that aggressive “proselytizing” is the only way to do outreach. Or we are afraid of saying something that might make someone in our own Meeting upset, because (honestly) to do outreach we will have to try to be clear about what Friends believe; and in doing that we might appear “dogmatic” to those who say we cannot or should not say anything at all about “what Friends believe.”

The truth is if we want our own Meetings and the Religious Society of Friends to grow, and—even more importantly—to serve the many people out there who are truly spiritually hungry for the kind of experience and faith and practice Quakerism has to offer, then we have to become proactive about outreach, and to put some real energy and resources into sharing the spiritual riches our faith tradition has to offer. And this is work we have to do together.

Again quoting from Roof’s work, “The production of religion is a preeminently social activity…. Successful religious groups adapt to their environments. To a considerable extent, religious organizations are all similar in that they respond to fundamental human needs for meaning and belonging…. Yet, in another sense, each one is quite special in that it carves out a particular niche for itself, responding to and performing a service for some distinct constituency…. Religious movements do this when they reach out to people who feel alienated from established faiths and offer them a more satisfactory alternative” (pp. 79–80).

Why We Need to Do This

As I have encountered again (and again) the problems that bother and hamper us, I have thought a great deal this year about both the opportunities and obligations we have to share our faith, and to grow our spiritual tradition. Several of those problems come right to hand; and almost all relate to our small numbers in one way or another. For instance:

• In some ways the new structure of our Yearly Meeting is working reasonably well. It has clearly released some new energy and. creativity, and opened new channels for the Spirit to work among us, as we hoped. Yet it is also evident that one of its key vulnerabilities is that our new way of operating demands more volunteer time and energy than we seem to be able to muster. Given how few of us there are, and how much we want our Meetings and Yearly Meeting to do, this seems almost inevitable. Surely if we had twice as many members to take a part in our work and ministry this would not be so hard.
• We have some Meetings that are thriving, creating a positive spiritual home for both their members and newcomers, and making a visible witness and difference in the surrounding communities. Look at these Meetings as a group and one sees they all tend to be larger Meetings, or at least those that are growing. There is clearly some sort of critical mass in numbers below which it is very difficult to maintain a vital (or even viable) spiritual community, one that can both nurture its own and serve others. Absent at least a movement towards outreach, the future of such Meetings—and we have many—is almost certainly not bright.
• There is probably no single issue that raises as much angst and upset across the breadth of our membership as the waning Quaker character of many Friends institutions. Whether we are talking about AFSC, various Quaker social service or health care institutions, the facilities for the aging, or the 38 (or more) Quaker schools, I regularly hear Friends bemoaning how they are losing their Quaker character because we cannot find enough well qualified Quakers to serve as staff, managers, teachers or even board members. Given the number of purportedly Quaker institutions we are trying to support or operate relative to the number of members we have, surely this is not a surprise. If our numbers continue to decline it can only get worse. If we are not going to consciously decide to cut our ties to a number of these institutions, the only solution I can see is to actually grow our membership.
• Finally, those among us most dedicated to perpetuating and extending the Quaker witness and testimonies about peace and social justice regularly complain about how little influence we seem to have any more in the public sphere, in public opinion and with policy makers. But do we ask ourselves, “If we were in such positions, how much attention would we give to a group of people who represent the tiniest sliver of the total population—and are shrinking in numbers even at that?” If we were at least a growing religious body, then our chances at expanding our influence would be better.

But finally, most importantly, all of those calculated and pragmatic considerations aside, don’t we also have a moral obligation to offer to others what we ourselves have been given as a wonderful, enriching and life transforming gift? Who among us does not understand that if we have been freely given some great benefit we have an obligation to share it with others? Moreover, who among us who has had such an experience—of being able to share something that came to us as a gift, and so transforming and enriching the life of another—does not know that this brings the deepest joy and fulfillment one can know?

The spiritual experience we have as Quakers, and ways we have of understanding, speaking about, growing in and reinforcing that experience for one another, are great gifts. We are the inheritors of a rich and wonderful spiritual and religious tradition, of a faith and practice that can speak to the needs and greatly enhance the lives of many others. This is something we should be ready to share with others.

In a culture where many are spiritually hungry—and the surrounding environment offers mostly the junk food of more materialism, quasi-religious fads, and doses of semi-religious psychobabble—we have an obligation to share the real spiritual bread we have been given. In a culture where many are without hope, and without faith, we need to be (in the words of Scripture) “prepared to give a reason for the hope that we have,…doing this with gentleness and respect” (1 Peter 3:15–16). We can be, and find great joy in being, stewards of our faith, sharing the gifts of the Spirit we have known with others.

What We Have to Share

A stunning irony in all this is that our faith and practice, our religion, our way of being spiritual and making faith concrete may be more relevant now to the needs of spiritual seekers than it has been at any time since the origins of Quakerism more than 300 years ago. If the description of our current culture that Wade Clark Roof and Robert Wuthnow offer is correct, and many people are entering into a spiritual quest looking for authentic spiritual experience rather than rote forms, but also needing some tried and true practices to test and ground that experience, then Quakerism is a faith for these times. Here, what Robert Wuthnow writes in After Heaven is particularly critical.

Wuthnow observes that over the last 50 years the tendency of individual religious preference and practice in the U.S. has moved away from favoring what he calls “a theology of dwelling” to “a theology of seeking.” The former, he observes, characterized a more settled society where people sought most of all to establish their identities as members of settled religious communities with long-standing traditions and predictable practices that gave them stability, moral guidance and assured access to the sacred in what were relatively settled lives. The latter, he says, characterizes the spirituality of a generation where social change has been extraordinarily rapid and far-reaching, where moral values are viewed as contextual, where all institutions have come to be held in suspicion, and where religious identity is to be defined by essential, shared experiences rather than formal rituals and fixed belief systems.

Wuthnow goes on to observe, however, that many of those who have self-consciously entered into spiritual journeys defined by a theology of seeking, borrowing elements of spiritual practice from whatever sources they like, and putting their own belief systems together as seems best to them, are already discovering the limitations of such an approach. Absent a community of faith with which to share their journey, and without a tested approach to spiritual practice against which they can compare and contrast their own experience, they find themselves easily lost.

Wuthnow argues, then, that in the context of our culture today neither a theology of dwelling nor a theology of seeking will prove adequate to nurture and sustain an authentic, life-giving spirituality in the long run. Rather, he suggests, what people are finding they need is “a theology of practice.” That is the opportunity to be part of a spiritual community where spiritual practices are well marked but not static; where the sense of what is required to live a life of faith is fluid and yet grounded; and where there is some clarity about what the members of that community can affirm together about their sense and experience of the Divine without a narrow dogmatism.

Surely Quakerism, when understood and practiced in the best ways it can be, fits this description. It offers a well marked spiritual path, one that provides a clear over-all direction and communal support and expression for the spiritual life, but also allows great individual flexibility. And I believe we can articulate what is at the core of this faith that we have to share.

We are the inheritors of a rich and powerful spiritual tradition, of a Quaker faith, that has proclaimed the following:

• that there is One, a single Divine reality, a Holy Presence, in the universe in which we live and move and have our being, who is the Creator, Sustainer and Lover of all life, including every one of us;
• that this One, known to some as Christ Jesus, to others as the Holy Spirit—and by many other names as well—is a Presence with Whom individual human beings can have a direct and immediate relationship that is life-changing and live-giving;
• that discovering and growing into that relationship with the Divine is how human beings come to find wholeness and peace and joy in their lives; and
• that being in that relationship empowers and motivates human beings to go out into the world and help mend its brokenness, so that it becomes more like the place that the Divine Creator Spirit wants it to be, and human beings (at our best) wish it would be.

Those of us lucky enough to have experienced the reality of this relationship with the Divine; to have experienced a gathered meeting for worship where the Presence was so real; to have experienced God’s grace and healing touch in our lives in some way we deeply longed for; to have felt the transforming power of Spirit-centered contemplation and prayer, have been given the greatest of gifts. Those of us lucky enough to have been involved in helping someone else recognize and connect to this Presence know that in sharing that gift there is the deepest of joys.

When I think about the world’s deep hunger, I see it is to connect with this Divine Presence and Power we are sometimes privileged to know. I see the crass materialism and consumerism that surrounds us as an often desperate and misplaced effort on the part of those who are spiritually hungry—but don’t know what that hunger really is—to fill themselves with something to meet that hunger, not knowing that new gadgets and big houses and fatter stock portfolios will not do it.

I believe we might discover the richest joys and the deepest fulfillment we could ever know as a people in making a commitment to share the rich spiritual heritage and practices we have as Friends in order to meet the some of the deep spiritual hunger that is visible in people all around us now. I also believe that if we do not make such a commitment, seeking to build up the membership of our faith community with people who want to share in the spiritual journey we have undertaken ourselves, the future of this Yearly Meeting is doubtful.

So, as I welcome the end of this year of activity at Philadelphia Yearly Meeting, I need to share my hope that we will reflect carefully on where we are going and where we want to do as community of faith. What are we called to be and do? Whom are we called to serve? If our faith is a great gift—as I believe it is—how will we share it with others? Do we not want to see our own faith community grow?

For the first time in more than 30 years PYM did not lose membership this year. We seem to have come to a moment in the evolution of American culture where our faith and practice may be more relevant and timely than ever to large numbers of people who have a new and burgeoning interest in authentic spirituality. Could we make a sustained, focused and disciplined effort to reach out to those people? This may represent a great opportunity for us as a Yearly Meeting. How will we respond to that possibility?