Covenant Community and God

June 30, 2018 § 3 Comments

In my last post about covenant community (click here to read it), I defined covenant community as a community in which we help each other do our inner work, to become the people the Spirit wants us to be. However, contrary to the quote I offered from Lloyd Lee Wilson*, I think a lot of Friends do, in fact, see meeting rather as a place of shelter from the world than as a spiritual workshop. These Friends aren’t joining because they want help in their spiritual formation. They want community, yes, and a religious identity. And they want support.

But how many of us really want change. Rather, we want a refuge from change, from all the demands for change that beleaguer us. And a lot of us can’t embrace the “vertical” alignment that Wilson feels is essential to covenant community, an intimate relationship, personally and most importantly, collectively, with a God who offers relationship; that is, with Christ.

But can you have covenant community without God (assuming you want it in the first place)? In other words, Is it enough to just have each other?

Think of the question in more familiar terms. We say we conduct our business meetings under the leadership of the Holy Spirit. Or maybe we just say, the Spirit. But do we really do so? Just what is our faith, our belief, about what we experience when a meeting for business in worship is actually gathered? When suddenly, unexpectedly, even miraculously, our divisions dissolve? When as individuals we find ourselves releasing our own agendas in the swell of a mighty wind of the spirit? When the community sees its way open and clear before it, where once conflict and deep emotions had clouded it?

That Mystery, that Reality, is the anchor of the covenantal community. That is its pole star. That manifestation of Spirit, of God’s wish for us, is, theoretically, available to us, both individually and collectively, in all the other aspects of our personal and community lives. Meeting life as covenant community is the deliberate infusion of that manifestation, that Spirit, into all aspects of the meeting’s life.

The ancient Israelites entered into their covenant with Yahweh because they had collectively experienced the saving and creating power of their God. The disciples of Jesus exulted in the new covenant he offered them because they had experienced the creating power of the Father. The early Friends understood their community to be a new covenant with Christ because they had collectively experienced the unifying and creating power of Christ. Our attenders will seek to enter into the covenant we share when they too experience the gathered meeting for worship.

So a covenant community only exists when the direct experience of the divine exists. We say that this is the hallmark principle of our faith, that we commune directly with God—the Mystery behind our experience—both as individuals and as a community.  We renew the covenant when we gather in worship. We exercise the covenant when we have faith in the promises and faithfully fulfill the responsibilities that define the covenant—that is, when we turn to the Spirit for our collective guidance.

I believe the most important factor in fostering this communion is Friends in the meeting who are mature in the Spirit. Thus spiritual formation of the members is the essential factor in reaping the blessings of the covenant. Thus, becoming a member should be an agreement, an invitation to the meeting on the part of the applicant, to seek help from the meeting with their spiritual formation. And conversely, membership obligates the meeting to answer that of God in its members.

This is a virtuous cycle: A covenantal community nurtures individual spiritual growth. Individual spiritual growth nurtures the gathered meeting, the direct collective communion with God. Direct communion with the Spirit renews the covenant.

Without “God”—without communion, without this alignment toward that Mystery that we sometimes touch in the gathered meeting, without that yearning as impulse and compulsion behind our shared practice, without a shaft that passes power into the community through the hub of the wheel of collective Quaker life along a third dimension, that of the Spirit, the sacred—we just have each other. We just have consensus. We just have group meditation. We just have brainstorming and visioning exercises. We just have a peculiar and quite complicated social nonprofit, however enriching and “effective” it might feel.

But we do have “God”. We do have this mysterious reality. At least some of us do; not everyone has experienced the gathered meeting or met the Spirit in their own inner lives. And that’s what we offer. In theory.

Declaring ourselves a covenant community, acting like a covenant community, means taking responsibility for the faith and the practice that our tradition has built around its experience of this Axis empowering us through the third dimension of spirit, beyond the dimensions of self and community.

And that means turning toward it, personally and collectively, in a life of the Spirit, and bringing those who have not experienced it home to the Light within them and to the Well in our midst.

*  Meeting is not a place of shelter from the world so much as a place where we are shaped in order to become God’s instruments in the world. The primary reality is our relationship with God, and the world is an arena in which that relationship is lived out. . . . [living in a covenant community offers] a path to a transforming relationship with the One who makes all things new, who makes each one of us a new creation in Christ. (Lloyd Lee Wilson, Essays on the Quaker Vision of Gospel Order, page 71)

The Spirit

June 30, 2018 § 1 Comment

I have been reading Marcus Borg’s Meeting Jesus Again for the First Time, and the book really speaks to me. One of the reasons is that he begins with his own personal journey as a religious person, and my story mirrors his quite closely. Also, the “theology” that follows this autobiographical chapter retains this personal feel and is quite accessible. I’m used to reading dense theology and detailed biblical commentary, but it’s refreshing to read something so direct and yet so full of truth.

Borg’s book also builds an elegant bridge between our root Christian tradition and the religious sensibilities that now characterize the liberal Quaker movement. He offers an understanding of God, Jesus, and the religious life (he calls it the Christian life) that I think would appeal to many of us. Not, perhaps, to the dedicated non-theists among us, though his understanding does not require a traditionally theistic faith. The book’s Christian language may be off-putting to some, if they’ve come to experience it as toxic, but the ideas—the ideas speak to me, just as Borg’s personal story does. This book is for those of us who are not willing to jettison the core of the Quaker tradition, as non-theists must, but who still can’t buy the traditional theistic understanding of God that dominated our tradition until the maturing of the modern liberal Quaker movement.

In his initial broad outline of who Borg thinks the pre-Easter Jesus is, the Jesus we can glimpse from the gospels who is still unburdened by what the tradition has subsequently added or reinterpreted, he defines “the Spirit” in a way that I suspect might resonate with many liberal Friends.

First, he describes Jesus as a “spirit person”, “a ‘mediator of the sacred,’ one of those persons in human history to whom the Spirit was an experiential reality.” (p 33) Then, in a note, he talks about “Spirit”:

I use the phrase the Spirit in as generic a sense as possible, and not the specifically Christian sense of the (Holy) Spirit. By the Spirit I mean the sacred, understood as that nonmaterial reality or presence that is experienced in extraordinary moments. Religious traditions name it various ways. In Christian terms, Spirit is synonymous with God, so long as God is understood as an experiential reality and not as a distant being. (p. 42, note 26)

Borg goes on to talk about the implications of such a view for the Christian life: “It shifts the focus of the Christian life from believing in Jesus or believing in God to being in relationship to the same Spirit that Jesus knew.” (p. 39)

God as an experiential reality rather than as a distant being—to me, that is simple and elegant, and, for me, it’s true. My own definition of God for a long time has been the Mystery Reality behind our religious and spiritual experience—whatever that experience is. It’s real; we know it is real because the experience has changed us for the better. But it’s also mysterious. It transcends normal experience, normal consciousness.

And it’s transpersonal—it comes to us from beyond the boundaries of the self. At least it does sometimes, for example, in the gathered meeting, which has a psychic dimension of communion with the other worshippers. That dimension, that medium for the communion between the worshippers, that transcendental, transpersonal sharing of consciousness that takes place in the gathered meeting, is the sacred, the Spirit, for me. It’s not a distant being; it’s an experiential reality.

Many spiritual and religious experiences are solitary experiences, utterly internal and subjective, and so perhaps merely projections of our own inner workings, our subconscious minds, if you will. But we should not say “merely”. For there is nothing “mere” about it. These solitary experiences are also mysterious and real, and for the same reasons that the collective experience of the gathered meeting is real and mysterious. To say that the same Spirit we encounter in the gathered meeting is also that which we experience in these solitary experiences is a statement of faith; or more accurately, it testifies to a feeling of inward—and therefore unverifiable—knowledge.

Finding the Quaker path has integrated these two levels of experience in my life—my personal spiritual experiences, many of which have taken place outside the Quaker tradition, and the shared experience of Quaker community. The Quaker faith has given me a way to understand both in common terms. Quaker faith offers a common framework for meaning between my personal experience and our collective experience. And Quaker practice, especially, of course, the meeting for worship, has given me a way to renew that experience, to return to that dimension where the sacred mystery waits, waiting for me and for us to wash in its baptism again.

Meeting as Covenant Community

June 23, 2018 § 10 Comments

My meeting is reconsidering what it means to be a member and I’ve been working with a committee that is preparing a draft of a new document that lays out the meaning of membership for newcomers and people considering membership.

The old document presents membership in terms of “covenant community”, which works very well for me. I seek a covenant community in my membership and I have thought about membership as covenant for a while. I want to dedicate a couple of posts to my thoughts on this subject. I want to do several things:

  • First, I want to be clear about what “covenant” and “covenant community” mean.
  • Then I want to explore how the truth of this approach to membership prospers in our meetings.
  • And I offer a metaphor for covenant community that seeks to express it in a way that works even for Friends who are post-Christian and not theistic in their spiritual outlook.

What do “covenant” and “covenant community” mean?

For an in-depth discussion of the meaning of covenant community, you can’t do better than the chapter on The Meeting as Covenant Community in Lloyd Lee Wilson’s Essays on the Quaker Vision of Gospel Order. I hope my readers have access to this wonderful resource. But let me offer my own take on this.

A religious covenant is a set of mutual agreements or promises regarding privileges and responsibilities between individual covenanters and their religious community, with God as the anchoring third party. So, at least in theory and technically speaking, a (religious) covenant has three nodes of relationship, and the relationships are reciprocal. The nodes are the member, the community, and God.

As Lloyd Lee Wilson puts it, this anchoring of the covenant in God is essential and changes the character of the community utterly. This is what makes a covenantal community uniquely valuable. To quote him:

Meeting is not a place of shelter from the world so much as a place where we are shaped in order to become God’s instruments in the world. The primary reality is our relationship with God, and the world is an arena in which that relationship is lived out. . . . [living in a covenant community offers] a path to a transforming relationship with the One who makes all things new, who makes each one of us a new creation in Christ. (page 71)

The purpose of a covenant community is to provide a home for this transforming work. That means that joining a meeting that is a covenant community invites radical engagement with our spiritual lives on the part of our fellow members, who are to be the vehicles for God’s transforming work. We will discern together what transformation means and how we will go about it. We will work with each other to achieve it. We will be disciples together in a discipline of seeking and living into God’s will for us, in a relationship of mutual engagement with our fellow covenanters. Or, if you will, we will seek to realize our real and higher selves with each other’s help.

This requires a level of attention to each other, in both our outer and inner lives, that goes far beyond what most folks are expecting from their meeting. Many Friends would not see the purpose of religion to be diving into a spiritual crucible or the purpose of a meeting to be managing the crucible’s controls.

Thus I suspect that most liberal Quaker meetings would be at least a little uncomfortable thinking of their meeting as a covenant community. (In fact, I suspect that many meetings wouldn’t even really know what I’m talking about.) And that most meetings couldn’t function as covenant communities, even if the language wasn’t off-putting. Because we’re talking about something that goes much deeper than the words.

Some Friends in my meeting are uncomfortable with those words. And we tend to “honor’ these discomforts by avoiding them, so our little committee feels some pressure to drop the words. But what about the concept or understanding of meeting life as a covenant? Do we keep that understanding and use language to express it that won’t trigger uncomfortable reactions? Or does their discomfort go deeper than just some uncomfortable associations with the words as evocative, perhaps, of a religiosity that now longer works for them? Do they intuitively sense the fire in the crucible, the challenge of change, to both themselves and the community, that embracing transformation entails?

This kind of proactive, mutual engagement with each other in our spiritual formation is what I mean by covenant community. It’s something you would only presume to get into with fellow members; not with attenders. That is, you would only get this spiritually intimate with people who had also agreed that that is what they want from their meeting. They, like you, would have bought into the covenant and welcomed the attention by becoming members.

But is that ever what we offer people in our clearness committees for membership?

What about your meeting? Does it use covenant in this way as its understanding of the meaning of membership? If not, could it? Do you?

Evil: A Case Study

June 16, 2018 § 3 Comments

The vehicle drives through the gate of the concentration camp and armed guards herd the People Declared as Other into a large, loud, chaotic processing room. Everyone is given a number—fathers, mothers, children, babies—everyone.

Then the children are torn from their mother’s arms, screaming, crying, calling out, “Momma!” echoing desperately across the room. The mothers, too, are screaming, crying, calling out their children’s names, arms outstretched, struggling in vain against the armed men restraining them, as their children are dragged away.

To another concentration camp, the parents to one, the children to another hundreds of miles away. The mothers’ numbers enter the database with one state bureaucracy, the children’s with another. No one anywhere can answer the question, Is there some central database that can ever bring them back together again?

When is this? 1942? Where is this? Bergen-Belsen? No. San Diego, 2018. Land of the free and the brave.

Who is this? Hitler? Himmler? No. Trump. Sessions.

THIS. IS. EVIL.

Knowing, willful, “legal” violence against innocents. Cruelty. Indiscriminate cruelty. Or is it indiscriminate? Cruelty in the name of the law. Cruelty to satisfy the baser instincts of one’s supporters. Cruelty in service of some principle. The principle? America first. Cruelty for the Fatherland. As defined by white, old, rich men.

Shrouded in the red, white, and blue. Red for the blood shed for the Fatherland. White for the color of the skin of those who deserve to live in the Fatherland. Blue for bruises on the arms of mothers and their little children.

Who are these people, who want to do such things? Who believes it’s righteous to orphan children? Who believes in torture? Who laughs about grabbing women by their genitals?

Now, I know that by calling these acts, this policy, maybe these men, evil, I am really saying more about me than I am about them. I am crossing some kind of line. I am declaring a radical stance in opposition to these acts, these policies, these men. I am saying that I believe they need to be condemned, damned, and stopped, if possible.

But how? As Jesus taught, not with violence, but with the truth–and with my body. Not my fists, not that part of my body. With my wrists. With my feet. With my breath. As on the cross.

If these acts are not evil, then what acts are? If these policies are not demonic, not an addiction to power, to lies (“the Democrats did it”), to force, and to dehumanization, then what policies are evil? If these men are not evil, then what are they? What god DO they serve?

Ideological Evil

June 1, 2018 § 2 Comments

In 1391 Christian mobs in Seville murdered 4000 Jews and drove 5000 Jewish families from their homes. Why?

The Gospel of John had told them that the Jews were responsible for the crucifixion of their god. In fact, all the gospels had made that claim, to one degree or the other. And the Church was glad to elaborate.

Some darkness in the soul of Christianity impelled those people to this atrocity, people who otherwise probably loved their dogs and their children. Some failure in Christian thought and Christian institutions allowed those people to ignore “Love thy neighbor” and some other important teachings of their Jesus.

The gospels also painted Pontius Pilate as a hand-wringing weakling, when in fact he was so maniacal and brutal that the Roman Senate removed him from his post as governor of Judea fearing he would foment revolution. Which in fact he did, it turns out. Christian scripture is at great pains to make nice with Rome, with Gentiles, and with empire, while Jesus was Rome’s sworn enemy, ambivalent about Gentiles, and judicially assassinated for rebellion against empire.

Two thousand years later, Dick Cheney celebrated American empire in a Christmas card, claiming he had God’s sanction, perhaps even God’s direction, when he invaded Iraq. He made torturing insurrectionists “legal” when the god he claims to have worshiped is the most famous insurrectionist in human history to be tortured to death.

Hitler had his neo-Teutonic master-race mythology. Lenin and Stalin had Das Kapital.

Human communities can become possessed by an idea or set of ideas that encourage their potential for evil. Demonically possessed.

By this I mean possessed as by an addiction—a compulsion to satisfy a need against their better judgment, even against their “will”. That’s my definition of demonic.

Evil ideologies work like an addiction in the collective psyche. Addicted to the tribe’s desire for solidarity and even identity as established over and against something or someone—the desire for the false security that can be found in “us” and “them”. Addicted to denial of one’s own shortcomings, to projecting them on another—to finding and punishing the scapegoat. Addicted to the will to power.

I think we should be more mindful of ideological evil in our consideration of Quaker testimonies and the testimonial life. This means thinking in terms of the evil ideas that encourage evil acts and that enable passive acceptance of empire, ideologies to which society, or at least some of the communities within society, have become addicted.

The Rise of Liberal Quakerism, Part 7

June 1, 2018 § 1 Comment

The Great War

Britain Yearly Meeting was not truly unified against the war. Almost 1000 Quaker men served in World War I, one third of the men of military age. One hundred died. (Kennedy, p. 313) An indeterminate number of Friends drifted in the middle, unsure of what to do. But those who chose to resist ended up defining the yearly meeting’s official stance and even the character of Quakerism itself.

And the peace testimony was “generalized”, by which I mean that war itself was declared the problem, not this particular war, or any particular war for which there might be good reasons to oppose in the specific case. The peace testimony became absolutist, at least in its definition, if not always in its actual employment. A “just” war was now deemed an oxymoron.

The absolutist stand even prevailed officially over an alternativist stance, according to which many Friends felt that alternative service was the appropriate action. Many Friends took that route, but the yearly meeting chose absolute refusal as its testimony, even though this represented only five percent of eligible Quaker men. Their moral influence “far outweighed the paucity of their numbers.” (Kennedy, p. 351)

This was the first direct Quaker confrontation with the state in more than 200 years. The absolutists went to jail. For a while, Wormwood Scrubbs prison was the largest Friends meeting in London. The experience also turned Friends against solitary confinement, which they had originally pioneered.

This stand did more than cement the peace testimony. It also helped cement the new liberal theology, especially the “divine spark” interpretation of “that of God in everyone” that Rufus Jones had introduced a decade earlier. As William Littleboy put it in his Friends and Peace, the peace testimony was a “direct inevitable outgrowth from . . . distinctive message of early Quakerism . . . the universality of the Divine indwelling.” (Kennedy, p. 315)

And of course it cemented an action-oriented engagement with the social order. It also cemented the new infrastructure for organizing witness work—the committee. LYM created the young men’s Service Committee in 1915 to “strengthen the Peace testimony among Friends of military age.” (Kennedy, p. 318) The Friends Ambulance Unit was formed, and the Friends War Victims Relief Committee. Quaker Henry Hodgkin helped form the Fellowship of Reconciliation. For the first time since the dismantling of the traditional faith and practice of recorded ministry, Friends had an established structure for organizing around a concern.

The war also activated resistance on two new fronts, and helped define two new evils: female emancipation against female subjugation, and democratic socialism versus capitalism.

More about these in subsequent posts.

The Rise of Liberal Quakerism, Part 6

May 29, 2018 § Leave a comment

Liberal Quakerism gains momentum

After the Manchester Conference in 1895, in the years leading up to the First World War, Friends, especially young Friends, kept finding new avenues for their interests, new ways to express their growing confidence in a progressive Christianity.

Seebohm Rowntree formed the Friends Social Union in 1903, which claimed to be the first Quaker group to undertake a systematic approach to social concerns, focusing on housing, poverty, unemployed and unemployable labor, constructive philanthropy, and labor colonies. It published a guide, “How to Form a Social Services Committee” and other pamphlets, organized a lecture series, and otherwise encouraged the study of social problems among Friends.

Young adult Friends had formed the Friends Christian Fellowship Union (FCFU) in 1874 on the model of the YMCA and began including women in the mid-1880s. In 1910, FCFU organized a separate meeting for young Friends alongside LYM sessions, then a young Friends conference at Woodbrooke, and then the first National Conference of Young Friends in 1911.

In 1909, London Yearly Meeting formed an enlarged Peace Committee in response to the growing militarism of the British public. In 1912 the Committee presented to the yearly meeting a document entitled Our Testimony for Peace, the first official document in Quaker history to state explicitly that the peace testimony “follows necessarily from the foundation principle on which the Society . . . is built . . . our belief in and experience of the Light Within.” (Kennedy, p 309) This document became the foundation for resistance during the Great War.

Then in 1914 their fears were realized and Friends on both sides of the Atlantic were thrown into a crucible that would seal for the rest of the century the changes that had been developing over the past twenty years.

The Rise of Liberal Quakerism, Part 5

May 27, 2018 § Leave a comment

Social testimonies

The liberal shift away from evangelicalism gained momentum in the 1880s, at least in Great Britain, and crossed a threshold at the Manchester Conference in 1895. But the social consciousness expressed during the Conference lagged a little behind the exploration of liberal theology, spirit, and attitudes—with one exception.

While the noblesse oblige of the “new philanthropy” dominated most of the Conference’s presentations on social action, Samuel Hobson made a bold case for socialism, for sweeping structural changes in the social order. “Our doctrine of the ‘inner light’,” he said, “is but the spiritual manifestation of the socialist doctrine of economic evolution.” (Kennedy, p. 278) Hobson thought of socialism as a secular religion in spirit.

He wasn’t alone. By 1898, he had helped form the Socialist Quaker Society (SQS). London Yearly Meeting wouldn’t give them a room during the 1899 sessions, but 100 Friends attended a meeting elsewhere. Eventually, LYM relented and SQS remained a regular feature of LYM gatherings for a couple of decades.

Thus, “By the turn of the new century modern scientific social reform, as opposed to old-style philanthropy, came into vogue among non-socialist Friends,” a combination of Inward Light theology and “positivist theories of a science of society.” (Kennedy, p. 280)

The socialists were never a large group, nor were they representative, but they were clear in their vision and very vocal. They ended up having an influence on British Quakerism far beyond their numbers and even beyond their existence as the SQS.

Virtually simultaneously, Charles Booth’s 17-volume study of poverty in London was transforming social thinking among British elites. His was the first statistical sociological study in history—the very kind of “positivist science of society” that these young Friends found so attractive. But Booth’s study was too huge, too dense, and too inaccessible to appeal to wider audiences than interested intellectuals.

One of those intellectuals, however, was Seebohm Rowntree, brother of John Wilhelm. He undertook a study similar to Booth’s of his home town of York, where his family’s chocolate factory and the railroad were the only major employers. He interviewed 11,560 families or 46,754 individuals and analyzed their situations. The resulting book, Poverty: A Study of Town Life, published in 1901, became a bestseller and changed the course of British public policy and politics.

It was well organized, well written, and short enough to digest. It proved scientifically that most poor people worked and that they were poor because they didn’t make enough money, not because of their character—that is, too much gambling, drinking, carousing, and sex. I’ve discussed Rowntree’s book and its impact elsewhere in this blog in greater detail than I will here.

My point now is that social consciousness among Friends took a decisive and dramatic turn with the rise of Liberal Quakerism. It turned away from the moralizing exhortation that had characterized evangelical social witness and moved beyond the paternalism of private philanthropy to address social ills as structural and systemic for the first time.

Quakerism was right on the cusp of a new vision of the testimonial life. Liberal Friends felt motivated by what they felt was Christ’s inward light. They were not constrained to the moral issues they found in Scripture, and at the same time, they found support in Scripture for the causes they cared about through a new kind of creative reading that the higher criticism of the Bible had encouraged. And they began to defend their efforts with Rufus Jones’s innovative interpretation of Fox, the belief that everyone possessed that of God within them. They were ready to begin codifying what we now call the testimonies in the way we so often use them today, as principles articulated as guides for behavior, and as continuing revelation in the spirit of Christ.

That impulse awaited only the spark that was ultimately supplied by the Great War. With the onset of war, and especially of conscription, the Society was forced to make a stand regarding the war and to explain it. Though more Friends served in the war than chose the path of conscientious objection, the choices the resistors made galvanized the Society and by the war’s end, the “peace testimony” was not just London Yearly Meeting’s official stand, it had become a defining trait of Quakerism itself.

The Rise of Liberal Quakerism, Part 4

May 27, 2018 § 1 Comment

The Manchester Conference and beyond

Though nominally under the care of the mostly evangelical Home Mission Committee, most of the organizers and most of the presenters of this momentous event were liberal Friends. The overall theme of these presentations was the compatibility of modern ideas with Quaker tradition. Nearly one third of the presenters were women, which was quite unusual for the time.

The young liberals found their collective voice at Manchester; they found each other, and they found some allies. The impulses that had manifested as hitherto regional efforts for renewal, like the Yorkshire Movement and the Manchester Friends Institute, coalesced into a Society-wide collective consciousness and led to new innovations.

The venerable George Cadbury, keen to do something to revitalize an ”earnest, life-giving, educated Gospel ministry”, put up the money for a plan of John Wilhelm Rowntree’s that eventually became the Summer School Movement: “a week, 10 days, or a fortnight” somewhere in the country to “widen the imagination, to stimulate a desire for greater spiritual power and more ability to give it expression.” (Kennedy, p. 172)

The first program, in 1897, included sessions on the Old and New Testament, biblical exegesis, and church history. It lasted two weeks and 400 Friends attended. It was such a success that plans were made to make Summer Schools a regular program and study and reading circles sprouted up in local meetings. The next Summer School was held in 1899, then one was held at Haverford in 1900.

By 1903, Cadbury had given over his estate in suburban Birmingham to make the school permanent and thus was born Woodbrooke College, “an academy where dedicated individuals would engage in brief but intense study of scripture and the principles of Quakerism to prepare them for apostolic service on the highways and byways, gathering souls for Christ and the Society of Friends.” (Kennedy, p.177)

The liberal movement was off and running.

The Rise of Liberal Quakerism, Part 3

May 26, 2018 § Leave a comment

The liberal movement gets going

Shortly after the publication of A Reasonable Faith and The Gospel of Divine Help in 1884 and 1886 respectively, the liberal movement began gathering momentum. A key impetus was the Richmond Declaration issued from the Richmond Conference held in Indiana in 1887, which was endorsed by most American yearly meetings. But even many evangelical Friends in Britain were unnerved by the Declaration.

According to Kennedy in British Quakerism, when John Bevan Braithwaite brought it back to England for certification, “he stirred up a nest of opposition which would eventually prove to be a decisive factor in the overthrow of the evangelical oligarchy which dominated British Quakerism for half a century.” (P. 113) Many resisted the contents of the Declaration, but it was the move towards a Quaker creed—of any kind—that really exercised most British Friends, though even its writers had not intended the Declaration to be ‘a preliminary to Church membership, or to the holding of any office in connection with the Church.” (p 116-17)

London Yearly meeting considered the Declaration during its 1888 sessions. The meeting house was crammed with 1100 Friends “crowding every seat & aisle & doorway”. The debate lasted more than five hours. As reported by John W. Graham, one of the liberals, “The minute was most satisfactory. It gave no shadow of sanction to the document & said why—(1) We had never decided before the deputation went [to Richmond] that we wanted a creed. (2) We are not allowed to change this. (3) Many Friends object to its contents.” (p 117)

Quoting Kennedy:

“But a judgment had been made and it changed the British Society of Friends forever. The Angry God of the Age of Atonement (a reference to Boyd Hilton’s The Age of Atonement: The Influence of Evangelicalism on Social and Economic Thought, 1785–1865, which figures prominently in my book on Quakers and Capitalism) had been ushered out of the large Meeting room at Devonshire House and replaced by a kinder, gentler but ultimately more elusive Deity. . . . The successful struggle of liberal Friends against the imposition of a credal statement, a pastoral system and other evangelical innovations as well as the expanding influence of ‘modern thought’ gave progressive young Friends increasing assurance that they were not only in tune with the times, but also with the future of British Quakerism.” (p 118)

In the next few years, William E. Turner, one of the authors of A Reasonable Faith, began publishing a new liberal Quaker journal, The British Friend (1891). John Wilhelm Rowntree, who would emerge as the movement’s leader, formed the Yorkshire Movement in 1893, along with JB Braithwaite’s son William Charles (author of the two histories, The Beginnings of Quakerism and The Second Period of Quakerism), WC’s fiancee Janet Marland, and Edward Grubb. These young people traveled throughout Yorkshire to galvanize youth and foster more thoughtful and stimulating vocal ministry.

And then came the Manchester Conference in 1895.