April is the cruelest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.- T.S. Eliot, “The Waste Land”
Today is Maundy Thursday, the formal commemoration of the Last Supper, the last time Jesus would share a meal with his disciples. Many Quakers don’t celebrate it. My own Meeting does not. The theology behind not keeping the custom is itself the product of a high-minded ideal and sentiment that every day ought to be as holy and sacred as the day before it. I appreciate its sincerity, but in the past few decades, a few of us have relaxed that distinction. As religious belief has become far less prevalent in American life, paradoxically we seek out the rituals our foreparents once contemptuously cast aside as perfidious and unnecessary.
This Holy Week arrived early and like last year’s, all holidays that comprise it will be largely held virtually, rather than in person. Before COVID, I used to sneak away a block from my residence at the time in Washington, DC, cross busy Wisconsin Avenue, and enter the National Cathedral. Its high church liturgy and ornate ritual would seemingly fly in the face of all that I believed, week in and week out, but I suppose I still retained fondness for a few old ways, a few of the routines of my past. As a young boy, my mother would drop me off for each service during the week, understanding somehow that it was important to me, but failing to feel a compulsion to stay and take part with me. Imagine the nine-year-old version of me, transfixed by what he was passively observing, surrounded by absolutely no one his own age.
I have multiple ministers in my family line. Though there is no proof that chosen vocation is determined by simple biology, I like to believe that there’s something to it. Church was somehow where I felt I needed to be, even at a very young age, and in my mind’s eye today I recall the colors of the Christian season hung on dowels around the sanctuary. Lent was purple, but I always knew that by Easter a dazzling white would be found everywhere—especially on the dual pulpits, where all readings for that joyous day’s service would be given.
Even then, most of the attenders dressed up for the occasion. I remember wearing a suit and tie for the first time. My sisters all were purchased Easter dresses specifically for the occasion. Casual dress was not introduced, even in the conservative South, until well into the Nineties.
Luke’s Gospel tells a familiar story. We begin with the 22nd Chapter.
13 They left and found things just as Jesus had told them. So they prepared the Passover.
14 When the hour came, Jesus and his apostles reclined at the table. 15 And he said to them, “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. 16 For I tell you, I will not eat it again until it finds fulfillment in the kingdom of God.”
17 After taking the cup, he gave thanks and said, “Take this and divide it among you. 18 For I tell you I will not drink again from the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.”
19 And he took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me.”
20 In the same way, after the supper he took the cup, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you.21 But the hand of him who is going to betray me is with mine on the table. 22 The Son of Man will go as it has been decreed. But woe to that man who betrays him!” 23 They began to question among themselves which of them it might be who would do this.
Much ink, over the centuries, has been spilled about what Jesus meant by the Kingdom of God. I won’t pretend to give even a rough overview. Most agree that his was a spiritual kingdom, certainly not a violent, military one. But, proving their human selfishness, the disciples were more concerned at the damning and dramatic unveiling that a leader they had followed faithfully for three years would soon no longer be their north star. They were instead concerned with who was at fault, rather than seeking to understand the meaning behind the act itself. To the truly devout, depending on interpretation, Christ’s death on the cross meant the replacement of animal sacrifice—the Son of God’s agonizing death on the cross, intended to challenge our understanding from then forward, forever to serve as the ultimate symbolic representation of God’s love for his people.
I would like to pose whether we today, we believers, are ready to jettison the notion of ritual in all forms, the way the Society of Friends has for hundreds of years. Do we find them equally empty, devoid of true meaning, merely a matter of going through the motions? To some extent, I believe this, but there is a surprisingly great gravitas in queuing up, accepting a small wafer of bread and a tiny drink of wine from the communal cup, all of this pomp and circumstance that cannot be easily explained away. Quakers err when they do not fill their own supposedly barren inward spaces with active, spiritual meaning. There are some Friends Meetinghouses where one can discern upon first entrance the memory of those who have energized and hallowed that space. One feels intimidated by the experience.
No one can reach into the soul, purpose, and genuine religious experience of another human, but I fear a few of us may be under the mistaken impression that silent Worship (we often use the term “unprogrammed”) is nothing more than a glorified meditation session. By this I do not necessarily mean that participating actively in Meeting for Worship is what must always enrich and improve any Meeting or Church’s resonance with God, though it certainly helps. My experiences in hallowed spaces have not necessarily been always enriched by the eloquent registers of those who have given voice to the Holy Spirit within them, but I will also concede too that this has often been the case.
Just as our bodies have many parts and each part has a special function, so it is with Christ’s body. We are many parts of one body, and we all belong to each other. In his grace, God has given us different gifts for doing certain things well. So if God has given you the ability to prophesy, speak out with as much faith as God has given you. If your gift is serving others, serve them well. If you are a teacher, teach well. If your gift is to encourage others, be encouraging. If it is giving, give generously. If God has given you leadership ability, take the responsibility seriously. And if you have a gift for showing kindness to others, do it gladly.-Romans 12:4-8
It often frustrates me at how inefficient Friends can be in identifying the talents and strengths of its own members. This was not always the case. Many of our Meetings and Churches lack designated ministers, and while there is much to be said for how liberating a concept that can be, it requires a leap of faith among the rank and file. I would like to see programs in place that teach others how to grow and spread their wings, and following that, serve as mentors to ensure that traditions are passed down from generation to generation. Not for tradition’s sake alone, as tradition can be its own version of idolatry, but for the sake of greater sustained participation and faithfulness.
I have great faith in those who I call my own, but even a movement built on the principles of religious anarchy needs a few guidelines here and there. Some will respond that we have Faith and Practice (a loose set of guidelines designated for a localized cluster of Meetings and Churches) for that explicit purpose, but our ignorance as to what it actually says can be disconcerting. As with not observing holidays, it is equally true that we often plod ahead methodically, officially with no creedal statements or doctrine, but are sometimes entirely unaware of what Faith and Practice really says (and how we ought to interpret it) until we encounter a necessary need to dig into its contents.
It would be easier to have a formal set of do’s and don’ts, but if you haven’t recognized it by now, there is nothing simple about being a Quaker. Even our Testimony of Simplicity requires heady conversation to extrapolate. One recognizes why there are so many followers and so few leaders in this world. Unprogrammed Friends, especially, are enlightened members of the laity, and those who believe that religious matters ought to be the purview of the professionally trained may find themselves highly frustrated. There are good and bad things about both approaches. But as Easter approaches, God alone will make the decision as to how I best interpret it, in whatever form it takes.