Message given at Durham Friends Meeting, June 15, 2025

I haven’t paid much attention to Father’s Day in recent years.

For a number of reasons:

One of which is that my father of almost 50 years – my Step-father, James Cannon, passed away almost 12 years ago and after that I focused on my Mother and my relationship with her and her care. It was really important to me that I feel complete when she died because my biological father, Donn Randall, had been taken from me and us so suddenly, without warning when I was eight years old. I vowed I would be with my mother during her decline, however that looked.

And, notably, I blamed my biological father for how he left us so suddenly, abandoning me, I felt.

You see he and I had experienced together a very random and very tragic event involving the death of a toddler. And my father could not bear it, this loss of life that he had caused through no fault of his own.

I need to repeat that through no fault of his own. And I was the witness. I was there with him when it happened, this random tragic act.

He could not endure the suffering caused by the guilt and shame that he carried as a result. So, about a year and a half later, one cold and rainy September night, after a day of drinking, he got into his car, the same car that had killed the child, drove off the road and through a guardrail one rainy September night.  

He stayed in a coma for 18 months, enough time for my resourceful mother to find another provider for her and us 4 kids, my step-father, who stepped up to the plate. My step-father’s hubris to take on the care of 4 rambunctious kids under the age of 15, borne of love for my mother and of his youth, I suppose. They were only 40 years old.

And my father, I imagine, seeing us well taken care of at that time passed on, 2 days after my mother and step-father’s wedding.

But my point is that I was really angry and remained really angry at my father for abandoning me, leaving me holding the bag, so to speak, or the baggage of this random tragic accident that no one else in my family experienced. I felt he had taken the easy way out, you see. And I was left to navigate my growing up on my own.  My mother was caught up in her new life with her new husband. And my crazy older brothers were still reeling from the abrupt departure of our father.

So I dismissed my father. For decades I never sought his comfort or his counsel  from the other realms.

Though he did come to me one night when I was in despair in my mid-twenties. Heart broken and confused by being spurned by a man I loved, my father came to me without words. I suppose to let me know that he was there, watching over me. And I took great comfort in that knowing for the moment, that I was loved… even by a ghost…

Over the decades my step-father was with us, I grew quite fond of him. He was  quiet and unassuming, a curious man with a wonderful sense of humor and sense of integrity. And we shared many tender moments together. I remember in my early thirties, on long winter nights, my mother, my step-father and I would sit by the fire having dinner together. And I basked in the warmth of a family structure I had always longed for, as an only child.

And then circumstances changed, my step-father got sick, he and my mother couldn’t manage their old house so they moved into assisted living. A death knell for Step-father, who loved his space and quiet time and a social boon for my mother who always loved a good party.

And circumstances for me changed as well. After a few major losses in my life, a marriage, and a career, I began to look to strengthen my Spiritual life and connections through various means.

So, I signed up for a trip to visit the realms of Gods and Goddesses of ancient Egypt with a group of spiritually-minded travelers.

And In November of 2023, days before my 65^th,  we found ourselves in the Great Pyramid of Giza at night. We climbed up the ramp through the narrow, dimly lit passageway to the King’s chamber which contains a granite sarcophagus, the tomb of the Pharaoh Khufu. It was there that my father made his loving presence known to me along with my mother. The two of them together in Spirit. It was then that I knew that I needed to forgive my father. It was there that I saw I needed to begin to shed the armor I had encased myself with – an attempt to protect myself from further wounding.

Suddenly, I acknowledged in the core of my being, the incredible burden of shame and guilt my father must have carried after the incident. All eyes of the small, tightknit community in the mid 1960’s on him. Afterall, he had killed a little boy, a son, a brother and grandson, while his three sons at home were healthy and vibrant. I opened my heart and found the compassion that I had locked away from him for 55 years.

A great weight lifted from my body in that pyramid in November of 2023, and I felt a freedom and lightness, opening up to a love that had always been there but that I had never allowed.

I returned home and tried to cultivate that love for him through the few memories I had of our shared times together, short lived as they were. One in particular stands out.  My father would wake me up early on a Saturday morning and the two of us would ride our bikes the mile and a half to the beach together. Just the two of us. Away from the rough and tumble of my three older brothers and the critical eye of my mother. Basking in the stillness of the early morning sun glinting off the ocean, the long beach stretching out in front of us. It was thrilling to be there with my father, just the two of us.

After my experience in Egypt I felt open to my father and my mother holding me in Spirit, supporting and encouraging me. And I felt like I had permission to delve deeply into the nooks and crannies of my early life, replete with grief, confusion, despair and anger. So I began writing it all down, the good, the bad and the ugly. I relied on God, my relationship with Mary Magdalene and my Spiritual community to contain me during this deep dive.

And then, this winter, the winter of 2025, right in the middle of my love affair with Mary Magdalene, my feeling of being settled in my faith with God, Jesus showed up to me. He showed up in a powerful, full-bodied way, the way I find myself doubled over, on the floor, my body convulsing with sobs. Looking back at my journal, I find that he appeared on the Spring Equinox. Fitting. A new relationship, an awakening to love.

I had not been terribly interested in Jesus up until then, he, having been co-opted by many nefarious movements, systems and individuals. I could leave well enough alone, I thought, content with Mary Magdalene, the Archangels who I called upon often and the sweet symbolism of the various animals and birds I encountered daily. And God. I’d known God for a very long time.

So when Jesus came knocking I wasn’t prepared. But I was curious enough to ask, “Why are you here?”

The answer gave me pause. “I am here to show you gentle and kind masculine energy”, came the simple yet profound reply.

Yeah…I guessed I could use that. I guessed, in fact, I needed that.

During my travels in Mexico, I used to go into the churches and cathedrals in the towns I stopped in. These places of worship were the focal points; the plaza and the markets always in close proximity to the holy structures. I loved the art, the frescoes, the guilded and ornately carved wood framing the ceiling paintings and the statues of the Saints and animals. All these works of art exuded devotion to Jesus and God and Mexico’s beloved Virgen de Guadalupe. Even the simplest churches and chapels radiated loving care.

I used to go into the churches and sit in a pew to prayer and give thanks for the opportunity I had to experience this devotion to God, to Jesus and to the Saints. Most often I would begin to cry, overcome. And I never knew why. I still don’t know really. But I suspect, now, that Jesus was in my heart and I just wasn’t ready to acknowledge him. I just wasn’t ready.

And when I came back to Mid-coast Maine, I went to a Catholic church, hoping that I could replicate those sweet and tender moments, without success. The churches always felt barren and staid.

So when Jesus showed up in my life on the Spring Equinox in 2025, I knew how portentous it was. And I wanted to make sure I marked it so that I would not dismiss this experience and pretend Jesus was not with me. So that I would be held accountable and begin to consciously cultivate a relationship with him.

For my chaplaincy program, I had to present a Sacred Art project to my class. I, of course, chose Mary Magdalene but I also included a symbol of Jesus and depicted a cross on my shoulder. A bold statement that was difficult for me, given the current cultural backdrop – horrible and cruel actions taken by government and religious officials and individuals in the name of “Christianity”.

So here is Jesus, now ensconced in my heart, that is where I feel him, left side of my chest, tender and soft. Not like Mary Magdalene who, I see in front of me, beckoning me forward towards adventure and the next project. Or God who is more Universal, more ineffable and overarching to me and always “there”.

I’m not quite sure what to do with Jesus and I don’t pretend to know him well at this point but I am working on building a relationship with him, to learn about masculine gentleness and kindness as he suggested. But again, given our cultural context, I’m often insecure and filled with doubt. And I’m not sure I can always trust the stories in the New Testament.

So I am starting with the premise that Jesus is the embodiment of Love. That regardless of what others say and what is written in the New Testament, I feel in my heart that Jesus is love. So from there, I try to make conscious decisions to include him in my prayers for myself and for others. His name does not roll off my tongue as easily but I am trying.

And I think now that I would not have come to be introduced to Jesus had I not allowed my father back into my life. Had I not engaged in the process of putting myself in his shoes and having compassion for this 38 year old father of four whose mundane actions had snuffed out the life of a two year old.  That was my initiation to Jesus’s path, compassion and forgiveness.

And When I think about Jesus’ love I am reminded of my father’s and my Step-father’s kindness and gentleness towards me.

This is a new path for me, to be open to love from Jesus, to ask for love from Jesus and to see Jesus’ love shining down on others. And it is a practice that I will continue because each time I open my heart to Jesus’ love, I feel it pulse and expand and I feel like crying, just like when I was sitting in those pews in the cathedrals in Mexico with the devoted widows, praying for peace and forgiveness.

So today, in honor of “Father’s Day”, I honor those values of my father, my step-father and of Jesus; Love, compassion, gentleness, humor and integrity.

And now, more than ever, we need to uphold that masculine energy that Jesus so embodied.

Happy Father’s Day everyone. May it be filled with Love, compassion and forgiveness.

Middle Church (the Middle Collegiate Church) is a United Church of Christ church located at 112 Second Avenue between 6th and 7th Streets in the East Village neighborhood of Manhattan, New York City. This is how they describe their vision:

Our Vision

Middle Church is a multicultural, multiethnic, intergenerational movement of Spirit and justice, powered by fierce, revolutionary Love, with room for all. Following in the Way of Jesus’ radical love, and inspired by the prophets, Middle Church is called by God to do a bold new thing on the earth. We aim to heal souls and the world by dismantling racist, classist, sexist, ethnocentrist, ableist, cisheterosexist and other systems of oppression.

Because our God is still speaking in many languages, we work in interreligious partnerships to uproot injustice, eradicate poverty, care for the brokenhearted, nurture our planet, and build the Reign of God on earth. This activism is fueled by our faith; our faith is expressed in art; our art is an active prayer connecting us with the Holy Spirit. Middle Church affirms the transformative power of moral imagination, reclaiming and reframing Christianity inside our walls, on the street, and in virtual spaces around the globe.

Message given at Durham Friends Meeting, May 18, 2025

Is this an ordinary day or a special day?  Look at all the amazing flowering things all around us today.  But it happens every spring.  Ordinary or special?

One day follows another and another, and soon you have quite a number of days

Today, we are on day 90,899 since the citizens of this country declared us a new country, founded in the rule of law and “conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal,” as Lincoln put it; or “that all men and women are created equal” as those gathered at the Women’s Rights also  in Seneca Falls in 1848 better voiced it.  That was our hope, a special hope.  Is it not a special day, each day, when we remember and celebrate that hope?  But here we are today, and, if we’re thinking politically, today is probably not a day for celebration or high hopes. 

Today, we are on day 119 of the second presidency of Donald Trump.  Imagining himself like Zeus with lightning bolts, he has sent forth decree after decree that try to overturn so many familiar ways of doing things.  We have corruption in abundance:  meme coins and Qatari 747s and stock market manipulation via tariffs relentlessly in the news.  We have daily threats to the rule of law.  We have attacks on the poor and the vulnerable.  We have trashing of the Constitution’s clear meaning.  (Of course, those are simply my opinions.)

Politically, it’s an unusual day, perhaps a special day.  Some, I suppose, are jubilant, though I know very few.  Most of those around me are in despair; others in doubt.  Many are angry about this wrecking but unsure what to do.

That’s politically.  If we’re thinking geologically, I don’t think this is a special day.  Today the earth is about 4.54 billion years old.  That’s about 1.64 trillion days.  Born in an explosion, in fire, rotating in cold, cold space, it is amazing that the center of the earth is still molten lava – liquid rock – that can burst out unexpectedly and change the face of the earth. 

Are we, too, not like that:  crusty of the outside, but molten inside: formed into a shape and yet capable of being made new again?  Today, like nearly all days, we’ll probably have 55 earthquakes somewhere on the planet.  Special, I suppose for those who live near them and feel them, but pretty ordinary for most of us.  That’s just the way it is every day on this third rock from the Sun. 

What if we think religiously?  Not politically, not geologically, but religiously.

Today we are in year 2025, day 138 since the birth of birth of Christ.  This is how we count days:  B.C. and A.D., Anno Domini, or C.E. – the Common Era.  We’ve kept our dates this way since the 4^th century A.D.  (Before that, if you’re curious, we counted days since the beginning of the reign of the Emperor Diocletian, the Roman emperor who instigated the last major persecution of Christians in the Roman Empire, the Era of the Martyrs.) 

Counting days since the birth of Christ is a constant reminder that we think something very important – something special – happened in this world when Jesus was born.  We came into a new relationship with God, one founded in loving our neighbors and in the belief that our sins could be forgiven. 

Today we are about 91,250 days into a continuous presence of Quaker worship here in Durham, Maine – about a year of days longer than the continuous presence of our republic among the countries of this fractious but wonderous world.  Is this day at Durham Friends an ordinary day, or a special day?  That’s my question this morning. 

Today, we are 28 days since Pope Francis passed away.  Already we have a new Pope, Leo XIV, the 267^th Pope.  We’re still learning about him.  Popes are not Quaker officers, but they sometimes teach us. 

Andrew Sullivan said of this past Pope: “Faith for Francis was not rigidity, it was not always certain, and it was not words. It was a way of life, of giving, of loving, of emptying oneself to listen to God without trying to force a conclusion — of discernment, as the Jesuits like to say.”  (Or he might have said, ‘as the Quakers like to say.’)  Here is Pope Francis’s account of how he came to accept his election to the Papacy. 

Before I accepted I asked if I could spend a few minutes in the room next to the one with the balcony overlooking the square. My head was completely empty and I was seized by a great anxiety. To make it go away and relax I closed my eyes and made every thought disappear … I closed my eyes and I no longer had any anxiety or emotion. At a certain point I was filled with a great light. It lasted a moment, but to me it seemed very long. Then the light faded, I got up suddenly and walked into the room where the cardinals were waiting and the table on which was the act of acceptance. I signed it.

That’s a story with which many Quakers can resonate – a story of a special expressive moment.  Emotions.  Settling into silence, emptying out.  An experience of the Light.  And then a clear leading to action.  We mourn his death; we celebrate his life. 

Today, we are at the fourth Sunday of Easter, on our way to Pentecost on June 8.  In liturgical time, Jesus has been crucified and buried.  The disciples are anxious and in disarray.  (The same can be said of us.)  Jesus’s body has disappeared from the tomb; many are unsure what to make of this.  On Pentecost, the Holy Spirit will descend upon these disciples assuring them – us — of the resurrection.  They will go forth in confidence to preach the gospel.  Today, we are in a time of mourning, of doubt and despair.  But we can have faith the Light will come, and with it, clarity.  Each year we go through this same cycle:  Lent, Good Friday, Easter, Pentecost.  It is an essential understanding of the human condition. 

Lent, Good Friday, Easter, Pentecost: in the liturgical calendar of most Christian churches, we are in a special time of the year.  We will not be back in “ordinary time” until June 9, the day after Pentecost. 

Quakers have long resisted this way of thinking about days, ordinary time and special time.  For Quakers, all days are special days; or (it comes to the same thing) all days are ordinary days.  So much have Quakers believed this that Quaker schools used to hold classes on Christmas and Easter. 

Today:  is this an ordinary day, or a special day?  It may seem to all of us that this is an unusual time, one with new threats and new dangers.  Surely, we have those threats and dangers,  but do these make this a special day? 

What are we called to do this day? 

• What are we called to do this day on a billions-of-years-old earth that still has a molten core, capable of remaking itself every day? 

• What are we called to do this day when we are thousands of years past the birth of Jesus, past his crucifixion and past his resurrection? 
• What are we called to do this day, hundreds of years into the beginning of Quaker worship here in this place, and roughly the same length of time into the birth of this nation? 

• What are we called to do when we are noticing two contemporary professed Christians, one of whom washed the feet of the poor and outcast every day, the other of whom dishes out lies and destruction and cruelty each and every day? 

What are we called to do this day?  I believe that in the most profound ways, all days, our situation is the same. 

There will be troubles, but we are encouraged to “fear not.” 

Some wonderful things but also some terrible things may happen, but we can have faith that God loves each and every one of us.  

People will do those terrible things, but we are nevertheless instructed: “to love our neighbors as ourselves,” remembering that our neighbors include everyone, even those that do not think or behave quite as we do. 

We are not promised a good time or an easy time.  We are promised, instead, love, grace and the forgiveness of sins.  And all days  — not just special days – we are instructed “to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God”  (Micah 6:8). 

“Preach the Gospel always. If necessary, with words,” That saying is attributed to Saint Francis of Assisi, after whom Pope Francis took his name. 

 I read this earlier:  “Faith for Francis was … a way of life, of giving, of loving, of emptying oneself to listen to God without trying to force a conclusion — of discernment.” 

With Pope Francis, filled as we are with emotions, let us close our eyes, invite the silence, allow the Light to shine over us and to point the way on this ordinary yet singular, special day.  As Psalm 118 puts it, “This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it.” 

Also posted on River View Friend

Craig Freshley’s merssage, “More onn the Rainbow Rule,” given at Durham Friends Meeting on May 4, 2025, can be found HERE.

Message given at Durham Friends Meeting, March 16, 2025

 “Be a good ancestor. Stand for something bigger than yourself. Add value to the Earth during your sojourn.” – Marian Wright Edelman

Last fall, when Ingrid, Cindy and I cleaned out the Sunday School cupboard we found a small box labelled “Time capsule” with messages that Durham Young Friends and others created on Childrens’ Day June 12, 2011. Evidently it didn’t get buried in the ground as planned!  It seemed like the start of a message to me and I offered to bring one sometime. The opening to contemplate past voices of Durham Friends arrived this week,and it seems a good followup to Doug’s message last week about the history of our meeting.

Last month I had the privilege to visit the Acoma pueblo outside of Albuquerque NM. This is my understanding of their story and hope it accurately reflects their story. The Acoma people have continuously occupied the area for over 2000 years. They built a town- now called Sky City around 1100  atop a 365 ft mesa.  Until the 1950’s it was only accessible by climbing the stone wall vertically using chiseled recesses in the rock. Everything including water, food, bricks needed to be carried up the steep rock wall. Acoma elders still choose to live there even with no electricity or running water. They are resilient people. In the past 2000+ years,  they have experienced massacres over and over, enslavement and Spanish colonialism, climate change, enforced conversion to catholicism.  In the 20th century, their children were removed by our government and by 1922 most were in Christian boarding schools. 

A remarkable part of the Acoma pueblo atop the mesa is the huge Adobe church built at the command of the Spanish in the 1600’s. Acoma men were forced to walk 30 miles away to fell tall 40 foot ponderosa pine trees and carry them back and up the rockwall to build the church roof.Men women and children were forced to build this church.  No record exists about how many Acoma died as a result of slave labor.  But the church exists today and holds many stories, both painful and miraculous. How Queen Isabella who initially ordered the enslavement and massacre changed her mind and stopped the killing of the Acoma. How President Lincoln singled out the Acoma and several other pueblos and wrote into law their sovereignty.

Our thoughtful and knowledgeable tour guide, Brandon, told the history of the trauma and resilience of his people. He said the Acoma have chosen to share their stories and allow visitors. They have been able to survive by compromising at times but more importantly holding a spirit of forgiveness in order to not be racked with hate. As we stood to walk out of the church, I asked him how he and his community are feeling in the current day. He said they are terrified, angry but resolute in maintaining their culture amid the current political situation. He worries about his kids and the children in the community. He said they have been threatened with deportation and chuckled about the irony- where will they send us back to? His Aunt called him recently and was fearful and depressed. He told her to remember the Beatles Song “Let it be.” Their community will stand together, and band with the other 18 Pueblos in New Mexico to fight injustice both for them and for everyone’s children. 

When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be
And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom
Let it be
And when the broken-hearted people
Living in the world agree
There will be an answer
Let it be
For though they may be parted
There is still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer
Let it be

Our meeting family has been around for many fewer years than the Acoma- only 250. And we have many stories of the people and events that make up the fabric of our community. Last week, Doug gave a wonderful account of some of the tales of our meeting. We have experienced trauma but also the power of the Spirit that has bolstered our resilience and sustains us. And we have shared many sacred hours.

 Each of us also is part of our biological family with its share of love and trauma and resilience and sacred moments. When I was looking through family documents and papers on my recent visit to my dad, I found a letter that troubled me. It was from a family member and was a cruel, vengeful account of several experiences this person witnessed from other family members. I was troubled because it was told from a narrow perspective as each of us is prone to do. This letter accused other family members of damaging our family beyond repair, and in my view were inaccurate and didn’t leave room for discourse on healing.  In talking with a friend about what to do both with this letter and my response she told me about her experience working as a hospice chaplain and the dilemma people face with family stories that reflect a bad decision or human frailty but can be destructive. Some stories become stuck in the past and don’t allow for healing or redemption.  Her wisdom to me was to sort through what family stories are constructive to pass on and what stories may be acknowledged, faced head on, but possibly reframed or not passed on. Allow the story to run its course.  I was reminded of Brandon’s wisdom about holding our stories with a spirit of forgiveness.

My current ruminations are around stories- my family stories, my Meeting family stories and our country’s stories. How do I, how do we, recount our history? We have so many stories- our  conversations, relationships, events. How do we account for human frailty, unkind words, injustice that we have inflicted or received? Which stories have no purpose, which can we reframe to strengthen bonds of love and wholeness? These are all questions I’ve been wrestling with. What legacy do I want to leave my family, my Meeting family, my community, my world?

James Baldwin wrote:

“This is why one must say Yes to life and embrace it whenever it is found — and it is found in terrible places; nevertheless, there it is.

For nothing is fixed, forever and forever and forever, it is not fixed; the earth is always shifting, the light is always changing, the sea does not cease to grind down rock. Generations do not cease to be born, and we are responsible to them because we are the only witnesses they have.

The sea rises, the light fails, lovers cling to each other, and children cling to us. The moment we cease to hold each other, the moment we break faith with one another, the sea engulfs us and the light goes out.“

Message given at Durham Friends Meeting, March 2, 2025

Did you ever wish you could talk to animals when you were a kid?

I did. As a child, I longed to understand them—not just their behaviors, but their thoughts, their emotions, the stories they held in their bones. But like most childhood dreams, I let it fade as I grew older. The world has a way of convincing us that wonder is something to outgrow.

And I might have believed that—until the day I saw a documentary about Anna Breytenbach, a professional animal communicator from South Africa. In the film, she connected with a black leopard named Spirit who had been deeply misunderstood in captivity. But through deep listening, she was able to hear him—to understand the grief and pain that lived in his body.

Something inside me cracked open as I watched Anna transform Spirit’s life through communicating with him and his human caretakers.

For the first time since I was a child, I believed my dream of being able to talk to animals wasn’t just a fantasy—it could be my reality.

A few years after I saw the documentary, Spirit visited me in a dream.

In the dream, I was leading an animal communication retreat, guiding others into silence, when Spirit emerged from the darkness. His black coat gleamed like liquid night. He pressed his forehead against my third eye, sending a ripple of energy through my body.

“You have forgotten how to listen,” Spirit said.

His voice wasn’t human, but it vibrated through me like I’d always known the language.

“Your purpose is to help humans remember—to teach them to speak with us, with all life.”

I woke with a strong sense of being guided by Spirit, but I never could have predicted what would come next.

About a year later, in the summer of 2024, I was invited to attend the World Plenary Gathering of Quakers in South Africa. It was an amazing opportunity, but what sealed my decision to go was an image I saw online while researching places to visit – a photograph of a leopard named Una, a captive female living at a wildlife sanctuary called the Daniell Cheetah Project. 

Her golden eyes gazed into my soul, almost like she was calling me, and I knew I had to meet her.

In August, I boarded a plane and flew 18 hours to Johannesburg, where I spent two weeks in deep, deep worship with Quakers from all around the world. 

I had a wonderful time at the World Gathering, though I did have a small crisis of faith partway through, which I’m sure some of you can relate to – but that’s a story for another time.

After the gathering, I went to the airport, picked up a rental car and quickly taught myself how to drive on the other side of the road, which was a lot easier in reality than it was in my head, thank goodness!

A few weeks into my trip, I arrived at The Daniell Cheetah Project where I met… 

…Una, the leopard from the photo, and Vega, her male companion.

If Una was the sun, Vega was the storm. Most of the time, he was calm, moving through their enclosure with quiet intensity. But at feeding time, the storm would break…

…and he would lash out, snarling and charging the fence, his frustration spilling over.

The keepers dismissed Vega’s aggression, affectionately calling him special while doting on sweet, gentle Una.

But when I looked into Vega’s eyes… 

…I saw pain beneath his rage.

One evening, I sat quietly by Vega’s enclosure, reaching out to him with the silent language I was learning to trust.

“What’s hurting you?” I asked.

A flood of images and emotions surged through me—vast, open spaces, the scent of wild grasses, the weight of a world he was meant to belong to and the unbearable ache of knowing he never would.

“I don’t belong here,” he told me, leaning his heavy head against the chain link fence separating him from his freedom. 

His grief struck me with the force of a river breaking through a dam as it converged with my own ocean of despair. It was an ancient, aching sorrow that held the weight of generations, of wild instincts caged and freedom taken away. It was betrayal, rage, the agony of knowing his soul was too vast for the bars that held him.

I recognized his grief. I had felt it before—the pain of being trapped in a place that doesn’t fit, the helplessness of having no way out. I had known betrayal, too. I had been hurt by people I trusted, and in some ways, I had caged my own wildness within the confines of fear, expectation, and the silent rules of a world that teaches us to tame ourselves – to trade instinct for obedience, longing for practicality, intuition for logic, and freedom for the illusion of safety.

A world that builds cages not just for animals, but for people – separating families at borders, locking away those deemed ‘other,’ enforcing invisible walls of oppression that tell us who belongs and who doesn’t.

Vega’s captivity was made of steel and chain-link. Mine, like so many others, was built from stories designed to keep us small, afraid, and disconnected from the wildness and freedom that is our birthright. 

I could have turned away. But I stayed. I opened myself to him. 

I let his grief pour through me, hollowing me out with the unbearable weight of our collective pain as I wept for all the captive souls whose freedom will never be known.

I allowed the dense, excruciating energy to move through me like a current, channeling it down, down, down into the Earth beneath me. I imagined the soil drinking it in, transmuting our pain like rain, holding it in the vastness of something ancient enough, strong enough to transform it.

As the energy moved, something shifted. The storm raging inside Vega softened. His breath slowed. His body relaxed. He leaned against the fence and grumbled his thanks, assuring me that “We can walk together on this path towards healing.”

The following night, I returned to find both Vega and Una waiting for me. 

This time, their energy was different—less guarded, more open. They had something to tell me. 

I closed my eyes and listened.

What emerged was less like a conversation and more like a marriage counseling session—two leopards, bound together in captivity, struggling to reconcile their reality with the vastness of what they had lost. Vega’s voice, raw and untamed, carried the sharp edges of grief. Una’s, softer, held the weight of quiet endurance.

They told me they were aware that they were expected to breed and posed a heart wrenching question to me:

“How do we raise a child in captivity?”

It wasn’t a question of biology. It was the kind of question that stretches across species, across time—a question whispered in the aching hearts of parents who have been stripped of the ability to give their children the life they deserve. 

I heard it in Vega and Una’s voices, but I also heard it echoing through the generations of people who have known forced displacement. Parents cradling their babies in refugee camps, undocumented families fearing the knock of an immigration officer, entire cultures severed from their roots, their traditions, their homelands.

“Will our children ever know what it means to be free?”

I felt the depth of their sorrow, the fear that their children would never belong to the vast, open spaces that still lived inside their blood.

“They will know,” I told them. “Because of your sacrifice.”

I assured them that one day their babies would be released into a protected reserve, free to roam and reclaim the wild that is their true home.

I also reminded them that even in captivity, the wild is never truly lost. It lives in the marrow, in the muscle, in the stories that live in our bones. 

And in the same way, the wild within us stirs, moving through us like a quiet rebellion against everything that threatens to confine our spirit.

Two months after I left South Africa, Una and Vega gave birth to their first son, Nico.

Nico’s birth reminded me of a powerful encounter I had with a wild leopard in Kruger National Park.

The leopard was draped across a rocky outcrop, the rising sun painting his coat in hues of fire and shadow. As soon as the vehicle’s engine turned off, he turned his regal head and looked me dead in the eyes as though he’d been waiting for me, like we had a divine appointment scheduled.

In that instant, I felt the invisible thread that stretched between him and Nico, between Vega and Una, between all the caged and the free. 

I thought of Spirit, urging me to help humans remember our connection with the wild world. 

I thought of Una, calling me across time and space to help her and her mate reconcile their fate.

I thought of Vega, of the grief he carries in his body, and the way it had mingled with my own and our collective grief and poured through me into the Earth. 

I thought of Nico…

…born into captivity, but carrying the wild inside him. 

And I thought of us—of humanity, of the ways that we, too, have been severed from our wildness.

We have been told that captivity is normal. That we must shrink to fit within borders, within laws, within cages built of fear and control. That the wild parts of us—the instinct, the longing, the untamed knowing—must be buried, forgotten, domesticated.

But I do not believe that.

Because the wild does not die. It waits. It remembers. It calls.

And all we need to do to hear it is listen.

To listen with the ears of our heart. 

So, I invite you to transfer authority from your head to your heart and listen to the wild yearning within you as we settle into worship.

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Briana Halliwell is a member of Vassal;boro Friends Meeting. She is a contemplative activist, creative communicator, wandering mystic, and intuitive interspecies communicator who hears a Divine Call to weave the forgotten web of connection back into the places (both personal and collective) where colonizer consciousness has spread the lie that humans are separate from each other and the Earth. Briana is acutely aware of what she calls the “Cosmic Ache” – as an empath and vessel of Divine Source, she can feel in her body the collective wounds of humanity and the more-than-human beings with whom we share the Earth. She is called to help humanity heal from the deleterious effects of global colonization through helping people to reconnect with their innate belonging to the wider Earth community.​​

You can find information about Briana Halliwell’s current project here.

Message given at Durham Friends Meeting, February 23, 2024

Right now, as we meet here in Durham & Portland Maine, Quakers are gathered for worship in Gibara Cuba for the closing Sunday worship of Cuba Yearly Meeting.  With them are eleven Friends from New England, including Kristna Evans and Mimi Marstaller from Durham and Maggie Fiori from Portland, four adults and three children from Dover meeting and one from Providence meeting.

Friends began worship this morning earlier than we did, and will continue after we close. I am hoping to share,  as much as I am able, the experience of worship and of Friends in Cuba.

The church in Gibara is full – everyone has walked to worship this morning- from their homes or from the dormitories. It’s 80 degrees, the front door of the church is open, the breeze off the harbor blows through the windows.

The service begins with song – everyone knows the songs and everyone sings together enthusiastically.  Jesu’s band accompanies the hymns.  I saw a photo of the band earlier this week at Puerto Padre. This year there is a saxophone, a bass guitar, a drummer and Jesu.  

The theme for this years gathering is “a family on a mission” The Chorus is “We are the community of God”. Each year CYM composes a song for sessions. The Verse is Acts 2:42  (Pentacost)

“The Fellowship of the Believers

⁴² They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. “

After singing, a pastor will share a message on the theme and the verse: and the community will participate, sometimes interrupting, sometimes agreeing sometimes arguing.  As Friends everywhere know, Cuban Friends know that we experience god directly and intimately and that authority rests in that experience, not in the person of the pastor.  In Cuba, Friends share during a message, as well as out of the silence.

Judy Goldberger wrote in a recent newsletter from FUM that:

“[In Cuba} I was immersed in communities who KNEW and trusted the constant presence of G*d. Who used their minds and hands and hearts to their full capacity, but knew they were not acting alone, knew they didn’t carry the burden of outcomes.

I’m privileged [in the US]. My intellect knows G*d is by my side, but it’s so easy to fall into trusting the work of my hands, and taking on the burden of outcomes.  In Cuba, so much was out of our hands. The power could go out at any time. We might need to pull over and let the bus engine cool off. The pharmacy shelves were bare of western medicines. The doctors couldn’t run basic diagnostic tests.

But God was always with us, revealing Godself through each other, and giving Cuban Friends power. Not mastery, but power. As I return to the United States, where I’m privileged to be able to get what I want instantly, let me remember that. To confuse power with mastery  is the road to despair. Let us reveal Godself to each other, in our workplaces, in our communities, with power.

Above the cross, in the Friends church in Delicias, it reads, “The place of Your presence.” And it is also everywhere I walk.

[As Jorge Luis , clerk of CYM said} “Somos seres humanos, no somos angeles.” (We’re human beings, we’re not angels.)

Back in Boston after eight days with Cuban Quakers, I don’t even know where to begin. G*d was truly as close as our breathing and moved among and through us. I was witness to the deep joy and deep heartbreak that Cuban Friends live with every day. I miss them already and my heart is a little larger now.” —Judy Goldberger, New England Yearly Meeting

I hear in Judy’s reflection a meditation relevant to the verse that has been at the center of worship during sessions:  Acts 2:42, The Fellowship of the Believers

⁴² They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. (the passage continues)  ⁴³ Everyone was filled with awe at the many wonders and signs performed by the apostles. ⁴⁴ All the believers were together and had everything in common. ⁴⁵ They sold property and possessions to give to anyone who had need. ⁴⁶ Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts.

This verse comes after the community has experienced the spirit descending upon them at Pentecost.  They have been drawn together, have spoken in many languages and understood each other, have been mocked by the community and have been formed into this fellowship of believers.  Judy’s description is a description of a community that has been formed into such a fellowship and that is gathering today praying and feasting together.

I’ve sat with the theme “a family on a mission”.  

One of the realities in Cuba now is that everyone has had people they love leave the island.  They cannot return and they cannot be visited.  Caring for family is complicated. The Cuba Friends are wrestling with how to remain in relationship with those they love who are absent. How to include them in the fellowship of believers.    –    

We in our country are living through a time where those we love are being targeted, because of their identity, their heritage or their job and it is unclear if we can protect them. My daughter works for USAID and she has been called a criminal, a lunatic and corrupt by rich and powerful men. How do we enfold those we love who are in harms way into the power of our fellowship of believers.  In Judy’s reflection she links both the deep joy and the deep heartbreak that Cuban Friends live with as part of their experience of God moving among them. That stretches me – Do I recognize the deep heartbreak that I live with as part of God moving through us?   This theme – “a family on a mission” has felt particularly tender both in the lives of Cuban Friends and in our communities.

After the message the children will lead the gathered community in song. There are a lot of children, singing and dancing enthusiastically.  The whole congregation is singing and dancing with the children.    The Epistle from CYM to Friends everywhere will be read, any new pastors will be installed and any retiring ministers or elders will be honored.  The clerk will offer a prayer at closing and the whole community will gather for a luncheon feast.  Local Friends will walk home, Friends from other meetings will crowd into whatever transport have been found to return home and the New England Friends will go to Holguin Airport and catch the 3:00 flight to Miami.

Revival Sing: ”When the world is sick, ain’t nobody feeling well, and at camp we’re so beautiful and strong.”

Queries:  What have we experienced as a community that has forged us into this fellowship of believers, who gather and pray together and break bread together?

Do we know the feeling of the power of God’s presence among us, how do we recognize this and not mistake mastery of our hands and the authority of the world for the power of God’s presence?

Click this link to play the audio: https://drive.google.com/file/d/1mgpAGV5ZATNrBAnjx3ZthbgFdXOL9YKY/view?usp=sharing

Message given at Durham Friends Meeting, January 12, 2025

Christmas is mostly behind us, now.  I had a lovely Christmas, and I hope you did, too.  And because Christmas is a time of giving and receiving gifts, I’ve been thinking about gifts. 

It started with thinking about the three Kings.  This past Monday was the day they finally arrived to present their gifts to the baby Jesus — or at least that’s the day we celebrate their arrival.  A few days later, I imagine, the Magi are still making their way home – and going there by a longer route to avoiding telling King Herod about the location of the Messiah – having been warned in a dream. 

And I’ve been thinking about The Other Wise Man, a fictional character Henry VanDyke dreamed up in 1895.  VanDyke imagined a Fourth Wise Man who sets out to join the three others.  This one – his name is Artaban – carries a sapphire, a ruby and a pearl to give to the Messiah.  Time after time his journey is interrupted by some person in need.  And to help them, he gives away his gems, one after another.  He doesn’t catch up with Jesus until he himself is impoverished, and it is years later.  It turns out he encounters Jesus, finally, only at the Crucifixion.  And he hears a voice say, “Verily I say unto thee, Inasmuch as thou hast done it unto the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.” [Matthew 25:40]  This Fourth Wise Man realizes his gifts have been received and accepted.  Artaban never gave the gems to Jesus, but they were appreciated all the more.  That story was a favorite of my father.  He read it to my sisters and I each Christmas. 

So I’ve been thinking about gifts.  Yes, about gifts like gold, frankincense and myrrh, and, yes, about gifts like sapphires, rubies and pearls. 

But much more than that, however, I’ve been thinking about what is a gift, and about what it means to us to give and to receive gifts. 

That journey of the Three Kings was two millennia ago.  Here in Maine, in the present… 

“Present:”  that word means “now” but it also means “a gift.  Now isn’t that interesting?  It isn’t a trick or a coincidence.  Both meanings of “present” have the same original Latin root.   Do we use the word both ways because our ‘now’ is a ‘present’?  a gift?  I think so.  That’s what’s really on my mind this morning:  the present, the here and now, as a gift.  But like the Three Kings, I want to take a longer road to that recognition. 

As I was saying, here in Maine, in the present, the days are again getting longer.  There’s more daylight early in the morning and more again later in the afternoon.  In a few months, warmer weather will return.

You know the basic deal.  This planet earth on which we live rotates on an axis.  One full rotation makes a day.  The axis is canted a little to one side.  The northern half of the planet is currently tilted away from the sun.  That’s why we have shorter and colder days now.  The earth revolves around a medium-size star, the sun.  One full revolution makes a year.  Our planet (and several others) and our sun are part of a much larger collection of stars and planets and other celestial stuff that make up the Milky Way Galaxy.  There are billions of stars in our galaxy, and that galaxy is one of billions (maybe trillions) in the universe.  All the galaxies are moving outward, rapidly, from some ancient center point when and where there was a Big Bang billions of years ago.  Mostly this world where we are is just a lot of rocks and dust in motion, isn’t it?

Still, our planet has life on it, lots of life, including human life.  Probably, there is life on other plants in the universe. But only on a tiny percentage of them.  That human life on our planet is full of all manner of things: politics and science, gossip and exercise, work and goofing off, eating and sleeping.  Courage and wickedness.  All of these and more.  Because of life, it’s a more complicated, more interesting, more puzzling, world. 

What do we make of this world, this galaxy, this universe we live in, with all that it contains, bad and good?  For many people – if they think of it at all – it’s just how things are.  It’s neutral.  It just is.  It’s odorless, tasteless – meaningless.  Sometimes the ways things are delights us; sometimes the way things are troubles us.  Most of the time, the ways things are doesn’t much catch our attention.  It’s just there. 

We may think of all-there-is in this neutral, just-there sort of way, but we don’t have to.  There’s a choice here.  We can also see the way things are (however they are) as a gift.  And gifts are special, don’t you think?  Gifts surprise us.  They delight us.  And they connect us better to one another. Gift-giver to gift-receiver. 

Every morning I wake up; every morning you wake up, and there is the world laid out in front of us.  The world in all its splendor and beauty.  Also, of course, the world with all its problems and troubles.  It isn’t all frankincense and rubies.  When we wake, tomorrow morning, how will we receive that world out there before us?  Will we see it as just-what-is?  Or will we see it, the present, as a gift?

It’s a choice, and a very important one I’m thinking. 

A German mystic once said, “the wondrous thing is not how the world is, it is that the world is.”

Every day, in every way I’m surrounded by people who greet the world each morning in that ‘just-there’, neutral kind of way.  It’s very easy – it’s a temptation, I think – to join them in looking at the world this way, this world with its joys and splendors, its brutality and its troubles, its selfishness and its generosity.  The common way is to see it as a just-there world. 

My New Year’s Resolution this year is to awaken each day to the present, to the gift that is the present.  I don’t want to take it for granted.  This world isn’t anything I’ve earned; it’s nothing I deserve.  This world, this being-here, is a most astonishing gift I can imagine. Even when it’s ugly or painful.  I want to live in that present, in the realization of that gift. 

I learned to write thank-you notes when I was a child.  Probably you did, too.  My parents (especially my Mother) made sure my sisters and I wrote thank you notes for each of the gifts we received at Christmas.  I now see the importance of that.

But this present, this world-before-us, is a gift from who?  Who do I thank?  Well, God, of course.  To see the present as a gift is to open the door to recognizing Creation and a Creator.  To receive this gift is to open the door to seeing the world, the present, the all-there-is, as something special, something sacred.  It’s to open the door to being religious. 

It’s a choice to see it that way.  Today it may be an unusual choice, but it is a crucial one. 

And what do we give in return?  Gift-giving is mutual.  You give to me; I give to you.  If God has given us the gift of the present, the gift of the sacred present, what do we give in return?  I don’t think we can improve much on the final stanza of Christina Rossetti’s Christmas Carol, which we sang recently as “In the Bleak Midwinter.” 

What can I give Him,
  Poor as I am? —
If I were a Shepherd
  I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man
  I would do my part, —
Yet what I can I give Him, —
  I can give my heart.

                                                Christina Rossetti, A Christmas Carol, 1872

It’s a choice how we see this world: ‘just-there’ or ‘a gift’.  Is this world just ‘stuff’, just ‘this and that’, just rocks and dust and living things?  Or is this world ‘a gift’ – with possibilities and meanings and obligations? Is this world a secular place, or a sacred place, a holy land through and through? 

This gift of life, this gift of the present is the most important gift we receive, and we receive it  every day.  This gift colors everything.  Let us be reverent and thankful.  Let us give our hearts. 

Also posted on River View Friend

Craig Freshley brought the message at Durham Friends Meeting on January 5, 2025. An audio of the message is HERE.

Read at the close of worship at Durham Friends Meeting, December 22, 2024

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Message given at Durham Friends Meeting, December 8, 2024

Heart of Darkness

“Jesus said, “the seeker should not stop until he finds. When he does find, he will be disturbed. After having been disturbed, he will be astonished. Then he will reign over everything. (Gospel of St. Thomas.)

Today is December 8, just shy of three weeks before we hit the winter solstice and the light begins to return, slowly. So we’re in it. The deep dark days before the light returns. Whatever is the point for us human beings around the darkness? How do we make meaning of it for us? Lately we’ve been hearing about hygge, that practice by the people of the far northern climes to honor and even revel in the darkness. We hear about the bears going into hibernation, to rest and renew. In typical western fashion we put a “happy” spin on these days of darkness. I’m all for that. Because as it turns out, I happen to be one of those people that finds the darkness to be quite useful.

Roshi Joan Halifax, a Buddhist Teacher and Abbot, founder of the Upaya Zen Center in New Mexico wrote a book about and coined the term “The Fruitful Darkness”. This is how I choose to approach this time of year.

In the early 1990s Joan Halifax, as an anthropologist and grieving daughter and ex-partner/wife, traveled to Tibet, Mexico and the Western U.S. to experience indigenous sacred practices. She wanted to understand how indigenous cultures manage personal and world wounds through initiation, storytelling, non-duality and ceremony. Roshi Halifax found that the indigenous tribe, the Utes, understand that, “[t[he secret of life is in the shadows and not in the open sun; to see anything at all, you must look deeply into the shadow of a living thing.” (The Fruitful Darkness, p. 5)

Furthermore, she writes that though this process may be difficult there is an ending and a hopeful one at that, “[t]he process of initiation can be likened to a “sacred catastrophe,” a holy failure that actually extinguishes our alienation, our loneliness, and reveals our true nature, our love. That is why we seek initiation: to heal old wounds by reentering them in order to transform our suffering into compassion.” (TFD p. 15)

Dr. Gerald G. May wrote the ominously entitled book, The Dark Night of the Soul. It is an interpretation and application of the writings of Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross, two christian mystics living in Spain in the 16th century. Both mystics spoke andwrote extensively about what they name The darkness or The dark night or in SpanishLa noche oscura- the hidden night.

And what is my experience with the Fruitful Darkness, or the dark night of the soul? It is a varied and ineffable experience that once I pass through, becomes difficult to describe. Often I am pulled into this darkness kicking and screaming, hauling out all my attachments to keep at bay the inevitable. I cling to busyness; food; sleep; my various external identities; where I’ve been, who I’ve been with, what I’ve done. Desperate to feel connected and grounded as I begin the descent into the darkness and down the rabbit hole of the feeling of purposelessness and self doubt. Who am I and where do I belong? I wail. I’m not enough, a failure! I cry out. Prostrate on the floor, sobbing, “again God, really, AGAIN”?

I recognize the futility of the external attachments I hold onto as I swim in the vast ocean of confusion and uncertainty. The personal uncertainty becomes the global uncertainty and with that, the overwhelm. And I ask, “Where is God? I don’t feel God! Where is my connection that I so rely on to soothe and comfort me, to reassure me that I’m on the right path, that we/the world is on the right path. I cast about for the energies of Jesus, Mary Magdalene, ArchAngel Michael, Green Tara, my parents, my trees and rocks and animals in whom I find solace. And there is none.

In his book, Dr. May confirms my experience of disconnection when he writes, “[a] much more unsettling experience is the loss of the sense of God’s presence, which can often feel like being abandoned by God. But Dr. May views this place of disconnection as a necessary piece of the transformative process. Much like Roshi Halifax found in her research.

So here I am in the nothing, the emptiness. Silence. I feel alone in the desert of my own humanity, separate from God and from others. And there I stay, roiled in rage; shame; self-loathing; abject fear and loneliness. Images of past betrayals and wounds fill my body and my mind. And there I stay.

Dr. May posits that John of the Cross viewed these dark nights as a gift; That the night involves relinquishing attachments and takes us into territory we avoid and, in the process, transforms us.(TDKS p. 71.)

The goal of the transformation, Dr. May writes, the dawn after the night, consists of 3 precious gifts for the human soul. First, the soul’s deepest desire is satisfied. Freed from their attachments, individuals are able to be completely in love with God and to love their neighbors as themselves. This love involves one’s whole self: actions as well as feelings. Second, the delusion of separation from god and creation is expelled; slowly one consciously realizes and enjoys essential union that has always been present. Third, the freedom of love and realization of union leads to active participation in God. Here one not only recognizes one’s own beauty and precious nature, but also shares God’s love and compassion for others in real practical service in the world.

So back to where I am waiting in the darkness, in the shadows, waiting for the storm of the wounds and betrayals to pass. Waiting for… I’m not even sure what.

Until….until… what?

Until there is a spark of something else. A glimmer of light peaks through the veil of darkness. Perhaps a momentary warmth in my heart. And the warmth grows. I may experience a change in perspective around the story of the betrayal or the wound. I may remember that while I was gnashing my teeth and deep in self pity the little voice inside me sent me nuggets of insight that I know are truth, a glimmer of the truth of who I am, really, authentically. Dr. May again confirms this experience through Teresa of Avila. He says, she especially emphasizes that, “(o)ne sees one’s own true nature with increasing clarity. Each time we approach the dawn when…we begin to glimpse ourselves through God’s eyes, we recognize more of our inherent goodness and beauty. “I can find nothing with which to compare the great beauty of a soul,” Teresa says.” (id. p.100)

My body begins to relax; the sense of absolute uncertainty and self doubt slowly dissipates. My attitude slowly changes, perhaps the lack of certainty evolves into a sense of mystery or even wonder, and, maybe I can lean into those bits of wisdom and with some curiosity.

And as I reflect back on my experience in the darkness and more importantly what happens at the end of the tunnel of darkness, I realize I am left emptier, but not in the way of feeling like I’m all alone on a desert island. The emptiness more corresponds to a lightening of a burden, like I’ve shed something. My body feels more lithe and flexible, not so stiff and rigid. Have I really healed old wounds as Roshi Halifax suggests? Iknow I was pulled into those places, I felt I had no choice. And I looked at those wounds and betrayals and felt I was once again back in them. I cried and yelled and wrote about them.

It seems that the Apostle Thomas writes about the inevitability of these nights. “Jesus said: that which is hidden will be revealed to you. Nothing hidden will fail to be displayed. (Gospel of St. Thomas 2.)

And then I got to a place where I recognized that I am who I am, a flawed human being filled with petty jealousy, selfishness, resentment, just like every other human being on this planet. And I began to soften my feelings towards myself, the judgement slipping away leaving an expansiveness, a warmth in my heart. It feels good.

How does this happen? Some would characterize it as Alchemy, others would say it is God’s Grace and still others, a miracle. I subscribe to all of the above.

So what is this warming in my heart?

This is Love and according to Teresa and John, Love as it is realized in God. and that this alchemical process, this “authentic transformation leads us to desire.” The desire to love. For John and Teresa, “the essence of all human desire is for love.” (p. 73).

Dr. May writes, “The spiritual life for Teresa and John has nothing to do with getting closer to God.” It is instead a journey of consciousness. Union with God is realized as a result of Love.” “John says the soul arrives at perfect union with God through love. This deepening of love is the real purpose of the dark night of the soul. The dark night helps us become who we are created to be: lovers of God and one another.” (TDNS pp. 46-47).

And that has been my experience. Each time I move through these dark times the process sheds something, perhaps, that thick protection around my heart that I have been convinced helps me. But John writes that the darkness “becomes our guiding night”, and Dr. May extrapolates, The night is dark for our protection”. “Deep in the darkness, way beneath our senses, God is instilling “another better love”. (Id. pp. 72-73.) And furthermore, John asserts that, “[t]his dark night is an inflow of God into the soul.” (Id. 95). And this inflow is the “loving Wisdom of God.” (id. 96)

And having shed a little more of this armour around my heart, I can move into a place of loving myself more, of loving life and God, Great Spirit, Creator more; of loving the flame within me more, and that desire to love others more.

So with that flame of brightness and light in our soul, the warmth of love burning in our hearts, let us rejoice in the darkness, let it transform us and move us into greater wisdom and greater love.

Message given at Durham Friends Meeting, December 1, 2024                                       

“Awakening to Creator’s Love and Truth: Transformation beyond the experience of historical trauma and cultural differences”

By Gail Melix/Greenwater, Sandwich Monthly Meeting, Sandwich, Massachusetts

Friends I woke up feeling sick this morning, but so wanted to share my message, so I’m here bedside. I love worshipping with you.

Wunee keesuq Neetop, Good day Friends. It’s wonderful to be back worshipping with you, thank you for the invite…. Nutus8ees, I am, Gail Melix also known as Greenwater. I belong to the Herring Pond Wampanoag Tribe of Patuxet, Ma., also known by the name Plymouth. I am a member of Sandwich Monthly Meeting located on Cape Cod.

I’d like to start with a thank you to my elders, Leslie Manning and Ken Jacobsen who are holding us and this space in prayer. Ken offered to bring this message for me if I could not make it, and I’m grateful for the offer. Thank you.

 In June of this year I was invited to Durham Friends Meeting and shared a message about what it is for me to be an Indigenous Quaker and to hold two faith communities. I shared with you that I need both, I need both to be whole.

I spoke to you about my deepening relationship with Jesus Christ, my excitement when I discovered the First Nations’ version of the New Testament, my despair over Quaker Indigenous Boarding Schools, and the false Christianity that came with colonization to Turtle Island. It felt like there was more to be said, a second part, to bring today, including the power of hope and gratitude. My words have come from a place of unfolding worship from the past week.

What does land mean to Indigenous people? Land means home.

What if the meaning of home is more than the house you live in and the land that you own?

What if home is the Mashpee River running with herring come spring, the circling of osprey, the color of the morning sky over Punkhorn Point, the lay of the land when winter unfolds, the returning of the peepers every spring, the many colors of green in the pines and grass, the scent of warm damp earth and moss under bare feet, the garden waiting for seeds, the wind on the path between Mashpee and Wakeby Ponds, the fire for tobacco offering and prayer.

What if all these things are home? What if the heart of your home is the community you love? What if this is the meaning of home-land?

 Traditional Indigenous spirituality is land-based. The beauty of God’s creation is the visible truth of God’s existence. The web of life on earth includes all living beings, who are our relatives We are connected and interdependent on one another for health and survival. When you realize you belong to a family of…. Life on earth, this is the beginning of right relationship with Nature.  My father would say, “You take care of the Land and the Land will take care of you.” Land is a living breathing spiritual entity central to traditional beliefs, practices, and ceremonies, including song and dance. Everything is sacred. Nature teaches us and heals us; she provides us with opportunities for joy and delight that we can experience through our five senses… Sometimes I wonder if our sixth sense is our God sense, our birthright knowing of who we belong to….

The Harmony Way, a teaching for humanity, has been passed down through generations of Indigenous people as part of the original instructions for how to live in peace. Peace within ourselves and with all of creation, all forms of life. Peace and harmony are partnered and create balance. Without peace there is no justice, and there is no justice without peace. The systems of oppression, injustice, corporate greed, and annihilation of the earth, committed by the sins of cultural genocide, slavery, and white supremacy must stop… When I get overwhelmed with despair from feeling the suffering of the world, I give these concerns and my prayers to God. The Lord sometimes weeps with me. Hope and gratitude balance me. I discern what is mine to do and pray that I stay teachable.

I want to share some ways that I experience and awaken to God’s Love:

When I place my hands on a tree I feel an exchange of energy, a back and forth greeting and response. There is a sense that we are comforting one another. Even as a child I had trouble keeping my hands off my favorite trees and why should I?  Is it a surprise that we should have favorite trees, the same way we are drawn to a closeness and fondness for certain aunts, uncles, and grandparents? 

I acknowledge and honor the relationship that I have with water during my walks by squatting on the bank of the Santuit River and submerging both hands in the water long enough to leave my scent in the river. I anoint my forehead with river water so to carry her scent. I am in the river and the river is in me. After all we are about 70 % water, of course we are related. Kinfolk. Some days I am given to singing or humming to the river.  A Soft singsong that has words or not, maybe humming, is pleasing to do, and appreciated by the object of my affection. If the songs have words, they always express gratitude and may even be the words thank you repeated over and over.  Wampanoags have appointed water keepers, always women, whose service it is to sing to the water.

My relationship with Nature is one of the things that sustains me. There’s a reawakening of my inner child, that wonder and delight of experiencing the natural world. I did not surrender the curiosity and joy of childhood. The delight of being alive in this way is still a part of me. There’s a sense that something is being made right in my world that has created a wider path to my heart.

I see the face of God everywhere on my woodland walks. Over time I’ve come to the path with a greater ability for deep listening, reverence, and joy. Nature has taught me these things. Peace is easier to come by. If we bear witness to both the beauty and the suffering of all our relations we might be led to action, to be a voice for those who have no voice. The survival of life on earth as we know it depends on the relationship that humans have with Mother Earth. We protect what we love. So I come to the path with this question: What will I fall in love with today?

Retired Episcopal bishop and Choctaw citizen Steven Charleston draws on his Native American experience to navigate collective crisis: 

My ancestors did not survive the Trail of Tears-because they were set apart from the rest of humanity. Their exodus was not a sign of their exclusivity, but rather their inclusivity. In their suffering, they embodied the finite and vulnerable condition of all humanity. They experienced what the whole tribe of the human beings has experienced at one time or another throughout history: the struggle of life, the pain of oppression, and the fear of the unknown. Their long walk was the walk of every person who has known what it means to be alone and afraid. But they walked with courage and dignity because they had the hope of the Spirit within them.… 

Hope makes room for love in the world. We can all share it, we can all believe in it, even if we are radically different in every other way. We no longer need to fear our differences because we have common ground. We can hope together—therefore, hope liberates us. It frees us from our fear of the other. It opens our eyes to see love all around us. It unites us and breaks our isolation. When we decide to embrace hope—when we choose to make that our goal and our message—we release a flow of energy that cannot be overcome. Hope is a light that darkness can never contain.

So much of our life involves relationship; the relationship we have with ourselves.. with God, with other human beings, and with Nature. Everything created is Sacred, including humans, and this is one Way that God shows his Love for us. 

When I think of my two faith communities, Indigenous and Quaker, I see the deep similarities and shared core values that far outweigh our differences.  Quaker testimonies and Indigenous values share common ground. From the soil of this common ground, I see a bountiful harvest for us, ripe with the promise of deep friendships, with the accompaniment of our Holy Ones, and the blessings of Creator.  

There is joy in doing the work and despair that cries out for it.

+++

(NRSV) Mark 12:30-31, The Two Great Commandments, Jesus said, ^{30 ”} you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ ³¹ The second is this, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.” 

At Durham Friends Meeting on November 17, 2024, Janet Hough (Cobscook Monthly Meeting) gave a message that reflected on the research that she and others connected with NEYM’s Quaker Indian Boarding School Research Group (QIBS) have conducted about New Engl;and Yearly Meeting’s involvement with Quaker Indian Boarding Schools in the 19th century.

The report the QIBS gave to Annual Sessions can be found here.

At her encouragement, we also sang a hymn, “Many and Great, Oh God, Are Thy Things,” #16 in our hymnal Worship in Song. Congregational missionaries first published the hymn in a Lakota hymnal in the 19th century. It was translated into English in the 20th century by Philip Frazer, a member of the Lakota people and a Congregational minister.

1 Wakantanka taku nitawa tankaya qa ota;
mahpiya kin eyahnake ça,
maka kin he duowanca;
mniowanca śbeya wanke cin, hena oyakihi.

2 Woehdaku nitawa kin he minaġi kin qu wo;
mahpiya kin iwankam yati,
wicowaśte yuha nanka,
wiconi kin he mayaqu nun, owihanke wanin.

1 Many and great, O God, are thy things, maker of earth and sky.
Thy hands have set the heavens with stars;
thy fingers spread the mountains and plains.
Lo, at thy word the waters were formed; deep seas obey thy voice.

2 Grant unto us communion with thee, O star-abiding One.
Come unto us and dwell with us;
with thee are found the gifts of life.
Bless us with life that has no end, eternal life with thee.

On November 3, 2024, Durham Friends Meeting held a Meeting for Grieving mourning those who had passed over the past year. This was the second year we held such a service.

We especially remembered Lyn Clarke, an attender, and Diana White, a member, both of whom had passed away in the last year. We also remembered those who lost their lives in the Lewiston shooting tragedy of a year ago, and remembered too, those who lost their lives in conflicts in Ukraine and in Israel/Palestine. Members and attenders spoke lovingly of family members and friends who had passed recently.

The opening hymn we sang was “Oh Hear, My People,” #153 in our hymnal Worship in Song. The lyrics are by Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, a seminal Hasidic teacher (1772-1810), and are drawn from Hosea 6:6 in the Bible: “For I desired mercy and not sacrifice, and the knowledge of God more than burnt offerings.” The tune is by the Polish violinist and composer Leon Lewandowki.

1 O hear, my people, hear me well:
“I have no need for sacrifice;
but mercy, loving kindness shall
alone for life and good suffice.”

2 Then source of peace, lead us to peace,
a place profound, and wholly true.
And lead us to a mastery
o’er drives in us that war pursue.

3 May deeds we do inscribe our names
as blessings in the Book of Life.
O source of peace, lead us to heal.
O source of peace, lead us from strife.

Message given at Durham Friends Meeting, October 20, 2024. An Audio of the message is HERE.

Message given at Durham Friends Meeting, September 22, 2024

“Sharing a message is a little like streaking.  It takes some forethought about the direction you are going to run, it is exciting, and it is definitely revealing.”  Ed Hinshaw in a keynote address at NEYM sessions, 1979.

Do not be dismayed by the brokenness of the world.  All things break and all things can be mended.  Not with time, as they say, but with intention.  So go.  Love intentionally, extravagantly, unconditionally.  The broken world waits in darkness for the light that is you.  L. R. Knost.

Sharing a message here and other places has often been stressful. Especially when I am not prepared which has happened some.  My thinking that I can leave the message to the Spirit to lead me works sometimes but not always.  My intention is to be open to the Spirit leading me.  Thoughts that influence the outcome of that intention sometimes get in the way.   Thoughts of doubt, of arrogance, of ….

 I have enjoyed the three year break from doing care of worship and sharing messages.  The meeting I attend in Northern Ireland is a strict unprogrammed meeting.   I love it.  I also love the semi-programmed nature of Durham.  I even also love the spirit and visceral experience in Catholic, high church worships.

Every time a community has discussions that may involve changes in process and functionality a shift happens.  A community is redefined.  A community is refined. 

Pulling from my dad’s quote I ask – What are your forethoughts? what direction will this meeting run?   Where are you going?  Where do you want to go?  What are your intentions?  What do your intentions and actions reveal about the meeting?  Who do you say you are? 

In the Bible, Jesus asks his disciples, “Who do you say I am?” in Matthew 16:13–16, Mark 8:27–29, and Luke 9:18–20. After receiving various answers, including John the Baptist, Elijah, and one of the prophets, Jesus asks Peter, “Who do you say that I am?” Peter replies, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God”. 

Some say that this question is a turning point in the gospel records, and that everything that Jesus does after this is in direct relation to the answer given. 

Who do you say I am?  Who do you say we are?  Identity.  Leads to intentions.  Intentions leads to actions and a public expression of identity.  JC’s identity.  Son of God or Prince of peace, or man suffering a lot of tribulations in his three years of public ministry. 

Who are we?  Our choices of words, our actions, our decisions define us.  Our Intentions. 

Intentions are influenced by biases, assumptions, forethoughts.  Our thoughts and reasons leading to and influencing  our intentions.   Some help us be present to the leadings of God among us and some distract us from God’s truth with us in our times of discernment.  Actions that define who we are.

Andrew and Chris live across the street from each other.  They both thought they made an effort to meet the other.  But did not. In looking at others how are we influenced by negative and positive thoughts?   For both the intention was to be friendly.  Assumptions or some forethoughts got in the way.   Andrew.  The people living here already should take the initiative to come to my door and knock.  Vs anyone take the initiative. Chris.  The person who says little is a snob and unfriendly.  VS The person may be an introvert.

To not take the Ramallah Friends School job.  Forethoughts.  There is much danger and risk involved.   I need to be safe.  True or not true?  A third way?  Doing work for RFS from the States. Supporting organizations who support RFS.

To keep children in worship to a minimum to decrease distractions.  Forethoughts.  Children are noisy and distract us from our worship.  True or not true? Part true? Third way.  Bring the children in for part of the Meeting.

To welcome all no matter how they access the meeting.  Forethoughts. That is our call no matter how hard it is to maintain the system.    Third way?  TBD

To not use zoom to decrease distractions in worship.  Third way? TBD

To be a vibrant, spirit filled meeting for worship. 

Intentions. Leadings.  To go, to speak, to act.  To purify a leading an intention may we be aware of possible biases, assumptions, thoughts that blind us to the leading of Spirit.  May we be open to the forethoughts that led to the intention.  May we be open to the leading of the spirit that may lead to a third way of living out our intentions. 

The orange.  One orange and two kids want it.  A conflict.  Until we learn what they want it for.  Learn their intentions.  I want the rind. I want the juice. When deciding on what to do with a decision are we aware of the needs, wants and desires of the other?  The intentions of the other. Are we aware that there is often a third, or more, option to most decisions.

Message given at Durham Friends Meeting, October 13, 2024

You all know the story of Adam and Eve.  They live in the Garden of Eden.  The deal is, they get to live in this paradise, but they are not, definitely not, to eat the fruit of the tree of knowledge.  God told Adam he would die if he ate that fruit.  But Adam and Eve disobeyed.  They ate the fruit of the tree of knowledge.  And – surprise! – God didn’t put them to death.  Instead, he expelled them from the Garden of Eden.  He visited other consequences on them, too, but he did not kill them.  We might say he gave them a new deal.  Pretty surprising. 

You all know the story of Noah in the Bible.  God is so fed up with humankind that He sends a flood to wash the world clean.  Everyone and everything is killed except for Noah, his family, and two of each of kind of animal.  When it is over, God is horrified by what He (or She) has done.  God promises – surprise! – never, ever to do this again.  Whatever deal God had with humans before the flood, God now has a different deal  It’s  another new  deal.  

The Bible is full of stories: Adam and Eve, the Flood, Joseph and the Coat of Many Colors, Moses in the basket and Moses and the Ten Commandments, Daniel in the Lion’s Den, Ruth and Boaz, David and Goliath, David and Bathsheba, Joshua at the Gates of Jericho, Jonah and the Whale, the Manna from Heaven, the Loaves and the Fishes, Lazarus Raised from the Dead, the Crucifixion and the Empty Tomb: stories, lots and lots of stories.

Some of the stories are tragic, some comic, some just plain weird  Some of them purport to tell history, like the parting of the Red Sea or the Babylonian captivity of the Israelites.  Some, especially in the New Testament, are timeless parables, like the Good Samaritan or the Prodigal Son. 

All the stories seem to have something to do with our relationship to God: what God expects of us, and what happens to people who don’t live up to God’s expectations.

Many of the stories are about people who have stopped paying attention to God and who are brought up sharp by God.  God, apparently, intervenes to express God’s displeasure in some dramatic ways. 

Some are stories about God helping to rescue people in difficult circumstances.  Some are stories about people who thought they were doing what God asked only to find that God, apparently, is asking them to do something completely different. 

You can read these stories one at a time and that’s what most of us do most of the time.  But you can also try to fit them into one big story.  It’s the one big story that’s on my mind this morning.  The one big story: we don’t talk about that as often as we do the many little stories.

I want to pause here to say that I do not ask you to believe that the Bible is the inerrant word of God.  I do not ask you to believe that every word of it is the literal truth.  I don’t believe that.  But I do think the Bible is an extraordinary account (or really a collection of accounts) of people trying to seek the truth and to be faithful to God to the best of their understanding.  So, what’s the big story that runs through all the stories? 

When you try to see the stories as fitting into one big story, the striking things is how often the story changes abruptly.  We seem to be headed in one direction and then, whoops, we’re headed in another quite different direction. 

Adam and Eve, Noah: these aren’t the only times we see an abrupt shift in the big story, a change in the basic deal. 

— Following the Flood, we follow the stories of Abraham and subsequent patriarchs  — Isaac, Jacob, Joseph.  The Israelites, and the Israelites alone, become God’s Chosen People.  We follow them through their wanderings and their captivity in Egypt.  It seems like God has abandoned his people.  And then we get their amazing escape, the Exodus, the parting of the Red Sea. 

— The story changes again, pretty dramatically, with Moses and the Ten Commandments.  Once again, God’s Chosen People haven’t been very faithful, haven’t been paying attention.  They are lost in the wilderness.   Again, God tries something new.  He gives them a kind of cheat sheet in the form of two rock tablets.  Simple.  Clear.  Thou Shalt!  Thou Shalt Not!  It’s another new deal.  Get it?

Got It!  The Bible story continues with that Mosaic Law the framework for quite a while.  In this portion of the story, sometimes people remember, sometimes they abide by the rules, but more often they don’t.  Still, that’s the deal.  Obey the law.

Or: that’s the deal until it isn’t.  We get a dramatically new deal with the coming of Jesus, another abrupt turn in the story.  Jesus says “I come not to abolish the law, but to fulfill it.”  And then we’re surprised, even shocked, when he’s crucified.  Now, no more God’s Chosen People.  Now the deal is for everyone.  An epoch of law gives way to an epoch of loving God and loving your neighbor.  It’s a more demanding deal but probably a better one.

It’s a zig-zag story.  It just isn’t the case that the Bible presents us with God’s expectations as never-changing.  So what’s going on here with all these new deals?

Some theologians, especially some Bible literalist evangelicals who are penecostals or charismatics (not my people!) have a fancy way of talking about these abrupt shifts in the story about what God expects of us.  They call each of the new deals a “dispensation.”  Some of these theologians list as many as seven dispensations, seven different deals between God and human beings.  But however you count, when you look at the big story in the Bible, it’s hard not to see some very abrupt shifts — zig-zags — each one a new deal.

Many people who talk this way, about “dispensations” want us to believe we are in the next-to-last of these dispensations.  They want us to believe that there is one more to come and they know exactly what that deal will look like.  I’m far from persuaded they know what they are talking about.

When I look at the Bible as a story with some very abrupt changes of direction, here’s what catches my attention..

One is that because the deal keeps changing, it is a little risky to go backwards to some moment in the Bible and say, “that’s what God expects of us because that’s what God expected of Adam and Eve.”  Or “because that’s what God expected of Abraham.” Or “because that’s what God expected of Moses.”  The rules in Leviticus may have been appropriate then, but now we have a whole new deal.  God’s expectations keep changing.  At least in the Bible telling, God keeps changing her mind. 

Another thing that fascinates me about seeing the Bible’s big zig-zag story is that it shows us God is acting in history.  Bible isn’t a story of God setting things up one way and letting the whole thing run just the way She expected.  God seems to be surprised at what human beings do – or disappointed might often be the better word –, and so deals with this by changing the deal.  There simply isn’t one deal for all time. 

Some of us are parents, and maybe this behavior sounds familiar.  A child of ours strays from our expectations.  We try one thing, then we try another, and another.  Our approach is not fixed.  I don’t myself know whether God is ever surprised.  I don’t pretend to understand God, and I don’t think any other human truly does.   I’m just saying that this is how the Bible presents God:  as surprised, and therefore as trying something new, and then something new again.  

A third thing I find fascinating in all this is that no human being sees these abrupt changes coming.  No one accurately foresees what God is about to do.  Adam and Eve didn’t, Noah didn’t, Isaac didn’t Joseph didn’t, Moses didn’t. 

Now you might be thinking that the coming of Jesus at least was foretold   There are prophecies in Isaiah aren’t there, that told us to expect the Messiah.  Sure, I guess.  That’s the way some of the Gospels tell the story.  But for me, that’s not very convincing.  In truth, Jesus was a big surprise to everybody:

· He certainly was a surprise to Mary and Joseph,

· a surprise to the Disciples,

· a surprise to the Pharisees and Sadducees,

· a surprise to Herod and Pilate,

· a surprise to Paul.

· I’d say, a surprise to everyone. 

And if Jesus was a surprise, then we don’t know what’s going to happen next.  We have to keep listening to God.  God is still talking to us, and that’s something Quakers understand unusually well. 

God has been acting in history the Bible tells us.  For all we know, God is still acting in history.  And maybe God has another surprise for us. 

One of most important things that has drawn me to Quaker worship is that Quakers work from the assumption that God has more to say to us.  We are confident that we can hear God, now, in the present, if we will still our hearts and listen.  That’s why we gather for worship in the way we do. 

So stay tuned, I tell myself.  That’s an essential part of the big story.   

Also posted on River View Friend

Message for Durham Friends Meeting based on Psalm 133, September 8, 2024

Psalm 133

How very good and pleasant it is when kindred live together in unity!

It is like the precious oil on the head,

running down upon the beard,

on the beard of Aaron,

running down over the collar of his robes.

It is like the dew of Hermon,

which fall on the mountains of Zion.

For there the Lord ordained his blessing, life forevermore.

       —The New Oxford Annotated Bible Fifth Edition, NRSV

            Good morning!  Hallelujah!  I am so grateful to be here with you this morning, and so surprised.  I am surprised that Spirit asked that I bring a message to you because public vocal testimony is not my strongest gift.  As Friend Sue Reilly often says, the conversation with the Divine often includes the incredulous question “You want me to do what?!” So, I am here before you in faithfulness – trusting that all will be well.[1]  Please extend both patience and grace to me as I practice being faithful to this leading to be among you.  What I believe I am asked to do today is to help us celebrate the joy, the labor, and the messiness of Quaker unity which like all great symphonies has plenty of dissonance. Today I hold out to you that we need to celebrate that dissonance – that messiness, that uncomfortable feeling – as part of the in-breaking of the Holy Spirit in our time.  We need to figure out how to do this without becoming so focused on the dissonance, or the messenger, that we forget to take in as much of the entire opus as possible. We also need to allow the dissonances and the silences in order to appreciate and fully enter the joy of the musical experience.

              I rediscovered Psalm 133, the Psalm we read this morning, after a concordance search to see what the Scriptures had to say about unity.  I was asked to help present a program on the “Spiritual Literacy: Reading the Sacred in Everyday Life” and my assigned theme was unity. Honestly, the New Testament verses weren’t very helpful to me that day. They focused on unity as a way to protect and build a new community in the midst of first century Christian persecution. The authors of the text we were using as the base of this program, Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat,[2] would probably would have found the New Testament readings acceptable because they defined unity as “living in harmony with other people.”[3] They continued their description of unity saying:

“It means working for a common cause with those around the globe who know that when one person gains, all gain, and when one fails, all fail. We are crafting unity when we build communities.” They continue:

“The spiritual practice of hospitality helps us learn to respect differences and celebrate diversity in Creation. Unity is about affirming commonalities.  This can be as simple as acknowledging how you are like another person. It can lead to actions demonstrating your solidarity with others. Without unity, there is little hope for compassion, justice, or peace.“[4]

I could agree – all of that is true, but for me this definition wasn’t complete enough.  I had much more that I wanted to express about the process of getting to unity.  As a Quaker, I have found that unity goes far beyond the Brussats’ description. Their description left out the messiness, and sometimes hurtfulness, in getting to unity.  It seemed to pass too quickly over the acknowledgment of and celebration of differences as well as commonalities, and it left out the mysticism of personal unity with the Holy Spirit. That moment when one’s head, heart and gut align, and one just knows that their will is aligned with the will of the Divine.  That moment when one can stop struggling and striving, at least for a short time.   I delighted in this Old Testament image of messy oil and damp dew. In its poetry, the psalm seemed to capture both the messiness of unity and the mystical union that was beyond caring about any possible mess. This image of unity, with all its messiness, painted exactly the vision of what I wanted to express about Quaker unity to this non-Quaker group. As I became aware of the Holy Spirit guiding my search of the Scriptures for an adept Biblical metaphor, I experienced a tiny bit of the Everyday Sacred.

            When this group and I eventually read Psalm 133 together, and I described how chaotic unity could look in my Quaker world, I wondered if I was making any sense to these non-Quaker folks.  I spoke of Quakers protesting and getting arrested for any number of causes while other Quakers sit and hold them in waiting, expectant worship or stand in silence to film and witness their protest.  I spoke of those Quakers raising funds for the bail and defense of those arrested.  I spoke of the sacrifice of time, comfort and money on each person’s part. I spoke of Bolivian Quakers creating water filters in their country.  I spoke of worldwide gatherings of Quakers and different worship practices with some worshipping by singing and shouting praises to God and Jesus while others sit in silent, expectant worship listening for the still small voice within and some who do both. I spoke of those using very different language to speak of the Divine. Those that use the words God, Christ Jesus and Holy Spirit and those that prefer to speak of the Light and the Light within.  I spoke of the energy needed to lovingly listen through another’s language – a process that can be painful and rewarding at the same time.  I spoke of the longing to hear one’s own language spoken by another.  I spoke of intervisitation both regionally and internationally with Friends going, and being received, in a Spirit of Love and Friendship. I spoke of some of these travelers bearing needed medical or other supplies or a message that needs to be heard.  I spoke of those carrying a message hearing another message in response. I spoke of other Quakers sponsoring refugees from war torn, poverty ridden, or intolerant places to come to other safer places for a better chance at reaching their divine potential; I spoke of the fear and needs of those coming and those receiving them.  I spoke of Quaker Women from Kenya and the United States working together to provide something as simple as reusable sanitary pads, and the means to make more, so that poor Kenyan women could continue to go to school or work regularly and reach their potential in the place that they live.  I spoke of those teaching at the Friends Schools in Portland, ME, Providence, RI and in the West Bank City of Ramallah.  I spoke of painful arguing among ourselves over how all of us will be welcomed to our Quaker table.  I spoke of some putting their bodies in harm’s way while others stayed home and maintain a base of operation as Margaret Fell did at Swarthmore Hall centuries ago.  I spoke of those that gave of their capital so that other could answer these calls to witness to the Love of the Spirit in the World. We also spoke of the individual unity with the Divine that is possible. 

            I paused and asked the group if what I was describing made any sense to them. What I didn’t know was that I was speaking with some weighty and skilled musicians.   To show their understanding, one of them gave me back the beautiful metaphor of dissonance in a symphony with which I opened this message.[5]   The rest of the group joined in the development of that metaphor.  Hallelujah, my shoulders dropped three inches, and I sighed a breath of relief as I watched this group run with this discussion of how chaotic unity could look and how messy and fulfilling it could simultaneously be.  They described their understanding that Unity was not about sameness and uniformity, but an active Spirit working to make the “City of the Divine”[6] a reality for all in this moment right now.  They spoke of how hard one musical piece might be to perform while another is easy. They spoke of a unity not just about building community and restoring “streets to dwell live in”[7] by working toward a common goal, but a unity of our will transformed to match that of the Divine in its many manifestations both individually and collectively.

            Soon after this Spiritually-covered experience with these non-Quaker friends, I took a class on Quaker Beliefs at Earlham School of Religion with Stephen Angell.  Kenyan Quaker Paster Noah Kellum was also taking that class.  In the class he summarized well this symphony of messy Quaker unity when he shared:

The concept of unity in diversity is a cornerstone of Quaker belief and practice. Despite the diverse interpretations and practices that have emerged over the centuries, Quakers maintain a sense of unity rooted in shared values and spiritual experiences. This unity is not about uniformity in thought or action but a deeper spiritual connection and mutual respect that transcends differences. – Noah Kellum, May 2024

I would modify Noah’s summary only slightly to say “a sense of unity rooted in shared values and in both shared and diverse spiritual experiences.”

            More recently, at our Yearly Meeting Sessions, Friend LVM Shelton expanded the metaphor of the symphony for me when she noted that the silences in the piece are often as important as the dissonance.  She noted how the silent rest can mark endings, new beginnings, and changes in the direction of the movement, changes in the direction of our lives.[8]  

            I hope today that sharing this story of my still evolving, metaphor for Unity brings you both joy and hope for the work before us as 21st century post-modern Quakers. I hope we continue to be alive to and listen for new in-breaking of the Spirit of Love, Light, Toil and maybe even a little Chaos and Pain   We may hear that still small voice anywhere – in the melody, the harmonies, the dissonance, or the silent rests.  I pray that we might recognize and greet this Spirit both among us and among those that would be co-creators with us. I pray that the oil we receive is warm and free flowing and acknowledge that often I fail to perceive my oil this way.  Sometimes it feels cold and sticky.  I seek to feel my oil as warm and free flowing every day: however, I was recently reminded by Tammy Forner, who is here with me today as Elder, that “cold, sticky oil also serves a purpose,” one being a base for healing salves.  

             Now, I invite you to close your eyes and feel your oil and dew in this moment and know your condition whatever it may be.  Is it blessed warm oil pouring over your head and dripping down your neck and over your collar?   Is it encounter in a blessed, silent pause or in a cacophony of sound?  Maybe today it feels more like a cold, sludge that you are going to need help removing. Is it getting in your eyes and dripping from your nose making your way forward seem unclear possibly filling your heart with fear? Or maybe your oil feels like gentle, anointing massage oil, working its way into your pores, relaxing and energizing at the same time.  Preparing and opening you with love for whatever comes next in your call to live a life aligned with the Holy Spirit.  Maybe it’s like a good hand lotion, soaking in and moisturizing your soul – hardly noticed once applied.[9]  Is it so unnoticed that you forget to return to the Source and apply more before your soul has begun to dry out and long for more moisture?

            And speaking of moisture, what about that dew that gives needed moisture to plants?  While sometimes dew is a blessed relief from relenting heat and drought, at other times it makes your feet wet and cold and has dirt and grass clippings sticking to your shoes.  That dew can make it impossible to sit down in the grass or on a lawn chair without soiling your britches.  Don’t we sometimes grumble over the moisture and soiled britches and forget to be grateful for them both?   

            So what does unity or being in the process of getting to unity feel like for you in this moment?  Does it feel like a refreshing blessing or costly, dirty struggle?  Is it oily or dewy?  Does it raise hot fear in you that needs the moist dew to calm it? Are you exhausted and in need of oil to relax and be rejuvenated?  Are you able to feel any joy in the knowledge that unity is both a process and moments in time?[10]  It’s probably clear that for me, Unity is not a destination to which we arrive together once and for all.   How is your process of getting to unity both with the Divine and with the communities surrounding you fairing today? 

Bibliography

Abbot, Margery Post. To Be Broken and Tender: a Quaker theology for today. Palo Alto, California: Friends Bulletin Corporation, 2010.

Brussat, Frederic, and Mary Ann Brussat. Spiritual Rx. New York: Hyperion, 2000.

[1] Julian of Norwich reference

[2] (Brussat and Brussat 2000)

[3] Ibid

[4] Ibid

[5] Thank you to Mary Anne Totten and the residents of the Havenwood Heritage Heights first “Spiritual Literacy: Reading the Sacred in Everyday Life” group for this wonderful metaphor of dissonance in a symphony.

[6] (Abbot 2010)

[7] See Isaiah 58:12 RSV

[8] Thanks to Mary Anne Totten for reminding me that a musical term for a silent pause in the music is a “rest.”

[9] Thank you to Mary Wholley, from the Hadley MA UCC church for adding the metaphor of the love of the Spirit being like hand cream to my repertoire.

[10] Thanks to Brian Drayton for a conversation in which I realized that Unity is a both/and situation.  It is something that happens in a moment and a continuous process

Message given at Durham Friends Meeting, August 11, 2024

What do we say to God?

A friend recommended a book of poems, Bucolics by Maurice Manning.  I trust their recommendations so I purchased it. I didn’t appreciate the poems until I started reading them out loud. These poems are one side of a conversation between the poet and Creation or God.  Reading them out loud made me pay attention. This is the poet talking to God or creation – what he calls “Boss” – without including God’s response. 

I’m going to read a few poems and some sections of poems in this message – I will read each poem twice.

O boss of ashes boss of dust
you bother with what floats above
the chimney what settles to the ground

you wake the motes from sleep
you make them curtsy in a ray of sun
they hold their tiny breath as if
they’re waiting for the little name
of the dance that’s coming next then they
will take their places Boss if I
were smaller I would join them O
I’d cut a rug or two I’d slap
my hand against my shoe if that’s
the kind of fuss you’re raising Boss
you know I never know for sure
I only know you bother me
from time to time you’ve caught my breath

a time or two you’ve stirred me up
before which makes me want to tell
you Boss I wouldn’t mind it if
you bothered me a little more

What leaps out is the clarity that the poet knows that Boss is present in each moment, each small event is significant, and that the poet feels invited to observe, comment and feels bold enough to make suggestions to Boss. This is an intimate, reciprocal relationship. The speaker is curious about Boss,  and sees themselves as a collaborator with Boss.  And Boss knows the poet fully.  By sharing their half of the conversation, we are invited into this wonderful relationship.  The poet is engaged in a ceaseless conversation and is sharing what they have learned about God from their experience.  

Am I your helper Boss or am

I not do I bring in the Hay

For me or you or only for

The horse I help the horse he helps

Me too why sometimes Boss he hooks

His head across my shoulder just

To rest it there he’ll heave a sigh

As if he’s tuckered he always makes

me laugh he knows I know he wants

an apple Boss his heavy head

on me it helps it helps so much

it helps to hear him sigh a sigh

he doesn’t really mean he means

another thing is that the way

you mean to mean another Boss

another thing beyond the thing

you want from me you see the horse

gives me a weary sigh when he’s

not sleepy Boss he doesn’t want

to hear sweet dreams from me he wants

to hear you want an apple hoss

I mean we help each other Boss

—————-

Fragments:

 … O everything gets carried Boss, / even if it never moves / I wonder if you ever notice/ but sometimes Boss I carry you.

How big is your hand Boss hold it up / to show me if you can I need / to know you know I need to know/ so many things …

I guess you’ve got a lot / of hands though I’m just one / of many Boss  I’ll turn / the earth I’ll shock the corn / O Boss whatever else / you need I’ll pitch it in …

In reading these poems, I found myself paying attention to what I say to God – beyond the intentional forms of praise and gratitude and listening. ..  I recognized that when I am asked how spirit is with me,  I’m more apt to share what I felt or heard from God then to share my side of the conversation.   Talking with God is prayer. 

In The Sermon on The Mount, Jesus is giving direct and clear guidance to his followers – to preach, to share all things in common, to heal.  But he has to teach his followers how to pray – they know how to do all the other things, but they did not know how to pray.  The prayer he talk, as it comes to us after many translations is a prayer that includes permission to make demands on God “Give us our Daily Bread”…

When I pray each morning I start singing “Praise God from whom all blessings flow..”  The way I talk to God reveals how I see God, what I know from my experience. Do I see God as playful, inviting, distant, funny, known or a mystery? Do I see God as a Savior, a Father, a constant companion? As separate from me or as something I am a part of? The other day in my morning prayers, after singing “Praise God” and noticing all that I had to be grateful for since the day before, I realized that the meadow where I go each morning was so full of bees and other pollinators that I could hear it hum.  It was this that I talked to God about through the rest of the day – not the gratitude or the praise or the petitions.  

The query that I bring is what do you say to God? Are you bold enough to make suggestions? Are you paying the close attention that creation warrants? Are you paying attention to the dance of the dust motes.  What do you say to God and how does that inform you of what you know of God?

______________________________________________________________________________

Here is a poem I did not read that I find particularly delightful and close to some of my conversations with God.

I  like the weaving bees I like

The purple clover blossoms the way

The pasture runs away I like

In winter sinking lambs in straw

How I like bearing buckets full

of water waking up the sun

I like making up a little song

O looking at the sky I close

One eye I hold my hand in the air

I let the red hawk tip my fingers

Every day I pretend I am

A tree in your pasture Boss a tree …

Message given at Durham Friends Meeting, June 23, 2024.

Message given at Durham Friends Meeting, July 7, 2024

My working theme for this message has been integrity, journey and courage.  This past month my thoughts have been on national voting impacted by Brexit, a day of remembrance for those killed in the troubles, a weekend seminar on Borderlands. 

Following the result of the Brexit referendum, Corrymeela produced biblical resources to enable Christian faith communities to talk about the nature of borders and belongings and the difficulties thrown up by Brexit. These resources have been used for catalysing conversation about all manner of borders we make between ourselves.

One such resource is that of Borderlands which met for a residential a few weeks ago.  I was able to attend part of the sessions.  

Outside of the residential Borderlands is a monthly gathering in Belfast of those who are exploring the edges of faith, the borderland of faith and our society using stories, poetry readings, music, songs, courageous conversations on faith, doubt, questions, meaning outside of traditional church, for people to come together to explore faith on the edge, at the borders of where faith stands – in a bar.   Borderlands creates a brave and bold space for people to explore difficult – often life-changing – moments from their personal lives to help others find solidarity and healing, to be agents of peace and change in the world.   To be a safe space and also a courageous space for those who ‘don’t sit comfortably in or feel excluded from the traditional spaces of faith.  Space for meaningful encounter, sacred stories, using scripture to open and extend courageous conversations rather than close them.”

Borders.  Edges. Frames with edges.  If you move the frame you are looking through the picture changes. What you see and understand changes. Borders. That which makes us stop and go no further. To declare this is us and there is you, the other.   Where we encounter our perceived limits, walls, frames. 

Each time we come to the edge or borders we can choose to go beyond or to stand and ponder, to figure out what this edge means, how it defines and defined us and what is beyond.  Can we go beyond?  Do we want to go beyond?  Why? Why not? 

At our borders we can choose to move beyond us-them divisions to ‘we’.  Many of you in this room are doing just that in the courageous conversations, seminars, writings, facilitation of different groups and more.

The Borderlands gatherings provide a space for courageous conversations along with safe places.  

Quakers were and are often on the edge.  They pushed borders, boundaries, pushed the limits of society and established churches throughout history. 

So also with the Beatitudes.  These new words and invitations were and are challenges and inspiration from Jesus to expand our understanding of others and ourselves in our struggles and poverty.  An invitation to shift our understanding of God’s love for all and  enter into courageous conversations and relationships rather than close them with walls and borders.  The Beatitudes were presented to the crowds, blessings that were on the edge.  A reading from ‘First Nations Version. An Indigenous Translation of the New Testament.  I was inspired to purchase the book after a visit from one of the authors of the book The Gatherings.

A new road, beyond the borders of the writings of the Old Testament.  ‘You have heard that it was said, an eye for an eye …  but I tell you …If some one strikes you on the cheek, or if someone wants to take your tunic give it away along with your cloak.  If someone forces you to go one mile, go two miles.   MT 5:38

We are called to go beyond the expected.  Go beyond our physical, social and psychological borders.  To be courageous.  To share the love of Spirit, God, Jesus to all.  ‘A new command I give you: Love one another.  As I have loved you, so you must love one another.’  MT 13:34  This is illustrated further in the parable of the Good Samaritan. 

‘I am giving you a new road to walk’ he said.  In the same way I have loved you, you are to love each other. ‘  First Nations version.

My personal borders.

Talking to another who has a different opinion than my own.  Where our passions contradict each other.  At least at first then we see our commonalities.  We share our truths.  Not in anger but in sharing our experiences of love of those who are a part of our stories and experiences. 

There are 2 woman who sit in the Coleraine town square.  On the ground.  I assume they do not have a home or much money.  My personal borders are raised high when I pass by.   What keeps me from doing anything?  What might I do to help?  How might I best love my neighbour?  What walls and borders keep me from acting, reaching out?

My sense of belonging where I live now.  Struggled for many years to come to terms with a desire and a need.  Limited in my frame which indicated my picture was only to be in the states but now see that the frame can be moved to include the US and where I live now.  As a good friend once said – when you know where your home is then home is everywhere.

My discomfort with the borders of the zoom frame which limits my ability to fully engage and connect with others in worship. 

It takes courage to look though the walls, to break them down, to build windows in them, to look beyond the edge of our personal borders. 

What truth is yours?  What truths are yours?  What borders do you come to in living your truth?  Borders of standing still and waiting for more insight or borders of courageous conversations?

I offer this final reading from John Lampen, who, along with his wife Diana, was the Director of Quaker House in Belfast during the Troubles.  A house where people from both sides of the walls and borders came together for courageous conversations.

An old Greek priest, a refugee, dreams that a small bird perches in front of him on a branch, singing so beautifully that all he wants is to catch it. As he tiptoes towards it, it flies away to another branch, still singing.  He follows it: and again it flies a little way off.  The dream lengthens out to days, to years, to the length of his life, and still it is out of reach, captivating him with its song.  Jesus, brother, enchant us too with your singing.  Stay beyond our grasp, do not let us put you in a cage.  Lead us forward.  John Lampen, 1985 [From Quaker Life and Practice: A Book of the Christian Experience of the Religious Society of Friends in Ireland, 1.110].

+++

More about Corrymeela here.

Available on the Corrymeela website is Exploring Brexit Through the Lens of Ruth

“An Indigenous Quaker’s Relationship with Christianity,” by  Gail Melix/Greenwater

Message to Durham Friends Meeting, June 2, 2024.

Wunee keesuq -good day- friends. Nutus8ees – I am- Gail Melix. My Native name is Greenwater. Nutomas – I am from… the Herring Pond Wampanoag Tribe of Plymouth, the tribe that met the Pilgrims. Plymouth was originally called Patuxet, a Wampanoag name meaning The Place of Little Waterfalls. I am just beginning to learn my Wopanaak language. There is great joy in this. 

My father was Wampanoag and German. He is deceased. My mother’s people, from England, came over on the Mayflower, and were Puritans who became convinced Quakers. Many generations ago someone in my family tree decided to marry other than a Quaker, so they were no longer members. In 1980 I attended my first Quaker Meeting, the first in my family to return, brought in hand by a friend who told me, “You are a Quaker, you just don’t know it yet.” From that very first meeting for worship I knew this is where I belonged and had been seeking it for many years. 

I am a member of Sandwich Monthly Meeting, and I attend East Sandwich Preparative Meeting, which is located on ancestral homeland of the Mashpee Wampanoag Tribe. The Wampanoag of Massachusetts and Eastern RI have lived in these areas for more than 12,000 years.

It is delightful to be here. Thank you for the invitation. The plans were to come in person but I fractured my fibula where it meets up with the ankle, making it difficult to travel. I’m here to share part of my journey as an Indigenous Quaker. 

When preparing for today I felt led to begin my message to you with an Indigenous translation of the Lord’s prayer. [Creator-Sets-Free is the Indigenous name given Jesus in the First Nations version of The New Testament)]

“Our Father” (First Nations Version), Matthew 6: 9-13

Creator sets free, Jesus, said: 

“When you send your voice to the Great Spirit, here is how you should pray:

O Great Spirit, our Father from above, we honor your name as sacred and holy.

Bring your good road to us, where the beauty of your ways in the spirit world above is reflected in the earth below.

Provide for us day by day—the elk, the buffalo, and the salmon.

The corn, the squash, and the wild rice.  All the things we need for each day.

Release us from the things we have done wrong, in the same way we release others for the things done wrong to us.

Guide us away from the things that tempt us to stray from your good road, and set us free from the evil one and his worthless ways.

Aho!  May it be so!”    

This prayer can be found in the book, First Nations Version, an Indigenous Translation of the New Testament. This publication of the bible really resonates with me and other Indigenous peoples that I share it with. “It connects, in a culturally relevant way, to the traditional heart languages of over 6 million English speaking First Nations People of North America” as stated by the Indigenous authors. It follows the tradition of storytellers of our oral cultures. I find the language profoundly beautiful, as did the Indigenous who wrote this translation, which included Native Americans from over 25 tribes. More information about how this bible came to be, the method of translation and a list of the tribes that were involved in the writing of it can be found in the introduction of the book.

Great Spirit, Creator, Great Mystery, Maker of Life, Giver of Breath, One Above us All, and Most Holy One are a few of the names for God you will find in this translation. 

I have had several opportunities to share the First Nations Version of the New Testament with my Indigenous friends and there has been a lot of interest in it. I met 7 Indigenous Grandmothers who led a recent retreat at Woolman Hill and represented many different tribes. There was interest in knowing more about the First Nation’s version of the New Testament and plans to order it.  

 I belong to a group of Indigenous Quakers from across North America and a few from Canada who meet regularly on Zoom to share our stories and our concerns. We discuss the ways in which we are addressing Indigenous rights. We’re asked this question, what draws you to the Quaker faith? What does it add to your Indigenous ways? The number one answer is…. We are Quakers because of the worship.  Other factors: Because of the peace testimony, because of social justice work, because it is a living faith, because of the connection to Creator that is possible from silence. Indigenous Quakers also attend the Decolonizing Quakers steering committee meetings. It’s a good example of how right relationship can blossom when Indigenous and Quakers spend time together.     

I’d also like to share what it means to me to be an Indigenous Quaker.  Choosing Indigenous or Quaker is not a choice for me. What I know is that together they make me whole. The mix adds a tenderness and warmth to my sometimes-rough edges. Worship from a deep well of silence with expectant waiting is one of my favorite places. I don’t see it as just a place of waiting.  Sometimes it becomes a place of mystery for contemplation and discovery. Sometimes I bring a hawk or a favorite tree into expectant waiting with me and I can feel God’s smile. God loves when we witness and acknowledge the beauty of his creations. I love that Our Living Quaker faith is always in the here and now, any moment the possibility of revelation, of incarnation… And Jesus connects me more deeply with a God that I can’t fully conceive of or imagine a face for. When I am despairing it is Jesus who weeps with me and comforts me. He teaches me how to better Love God, myself, and others.  He knows me. 

The named Christianity that came to this country during colonization, fueled by The Doctrine of Discovery, allowed Christian explorers in the name of their sovereign, to claim and seize land if it was not owned by a Christian. There were over 1,000 treaties that were never recognized or honored. The named Christianity that came to this country ran boarding schools for over 150 years that stripped Indigenous children of their identities, cultural values, and traditions, abused them and separated them from their families and caused intergenerational trauma. Genocide. This is not Christianity in any form. There is nothing of Jesus’ teachings here. When my Indigenous friends question me about the effect of Christianity on Native people during colonization this is what I tell them, this was not Christianity being practiced.

I believe that Quakers had good intentions. Education is important to Quakers and some worried that if children did not learn English and the ways of a changing world it would be to their detriment.  That may be true but how come they could not see that of God in Native people? That’s such a basic tenet of Quakers. How could Quaker Indigenous Boarding Schools go on for over 100 years and no one see the harm being done? It’s unbelievable to me. No one had an inkling that their sense of privilege and superiority was destroying a culture? So I struggle with this part of our Quaker history.  I opened myself up to grieving all that was lost, all the harm done, and the great suffering that resulted. I did this alone and in worship with others. This is ongoing.

My father raised me with traditional values and cultural practices.  There was respect and gratitude for the natural world. We were taught to be thankful. We were taught to be kind and help others. To share what we have. He was a quiet and gentle man, spoke sparingly and only when something needed to be said. You take care of the land and the land will take care of you Gail. He walked softly and when he was outdoors his eyes were everywhere, taking notice of everything. He loved animals and trees and gardening and fishing.  He would say with a smile, “Nature is my church.” He was very kind and rarely raised his voice. He was the one who took splinters out of us. Even though my mother was a nurse. He liked peaceful spaces and harmony. Dad was outdoors whenever he could be. In part, prayer worked best for him outdoors. He could communicate better with his ancestors in the natural world. 

I am thankful for my mixed heritage and my two faith communities which connect me so deeply to my Creator and the Lord. I see and feel the many similarities, including core values that both faiths share. Building relationships between Indigenous and Quakers will take time but I see many places where this is already happening. I look forward to serving in this way, as led by the Divine, doing what is mine to do. 

Lakota prayer: 

The Elders tell us the greatest gift we can seek is peace of mind; to walk in balance, to respect all things. For us to do this, we must have peace within ourselves and peace within ourselves cannot come unless we are walking the path the Creator would have us walk. Sometimes the tests on this path are difficult, but we know that each test makes us stronger.

Oh Great Spirit, I ask You to whisper your wisdom in my heart. You are the only one that knows the secret to peaceful living and the mystery of harmony. Teach me of Your peace, understanding and balance, and guide me onto your good path.

Aho /Amen

Thank you, friends, at Durham Friends Meeting for your invite. I want to thank my elders who have been holding all of us and this meeting space in prayer: Leslie Manning and Ken Jacobsen.

Message given at Durham Friends Meeting, May 12, 2024.

Jan Collins, assistant director of the Maine Prisoner Advocacy Coaltion (MPAC), brought the message at Durham Friends Meeting on April 7, 2024

Greetings and welcome.

Thank you for inviting me to your house of worship and into your lives. The topic of my message is transformation. Before I begin, I would like each of us to take just a moment to reflect on our own transformation. You may have changed slowly, or as the result of an event, often a trial by fire or a time of great suffering. As a result of that tribulation you became a different person. Try to recall how you were before and how you changed. How did your thinking change?

I chose “Amazing Grace” as our first hymn because of its tale of transformation. The song was written in 1772 by a former captain of a slave ship, John Newton who, by his own words, labelled his young life as depraved; filled with greed, violence and debauchery.

On March 2, 1748 at age 22, his ship the Greyhound was caught in a violent storm and was about to sink. He watched shipmates wash overboard. When he took the helm he began to pray for God’s mercy. He remained at the ships wheel for 11 hours while his crew attempted to staunch leaks in the hull. Gradually the storm eased and the ship survived.

He began changes to his life immediately, but they were gradual. He left his life aboard ship in 1754, began studying Hebrew, Greek, scripture and the ministry. He was ordained in the Church of England and was appointed to a church in Olney, England where he wrote Amazing Grace for a Sunday service to compliment his scriptural reading of first Chronicles 17:16-17 in which King David looks back on his life and asks, “Who am I that God hast brought me here?”

”Amazing Grace” is about redemption, the joy of receiving God’s grace, even when you have done terrible things. John Newton wrote the song at age 47. He had already been a pastor for 18 years, yet he reflected daily on his previous life of wretchedness and the path before him.

But how do we get from a life of complacency to one of transformation?

I decided to Google it. Although Google is a fount of information, it is lacking in wisdom.

According to several articles, you can achieve transformation in seven easy steps… or six… or five, depending on which site you consult.

If you follow “7 Steps to Transformation: How to Radically Change Your Life …” You must – “identify your goals; visualize your future; create an action plan; take small steps; overcome challenges; celebrate success; and live a transformed life”. Sounds simple.

Certainly some of those steps apply to John Newton’s life, take small steps, overcome challenges, live a transformed life, but there are essential ingredients missing in this recipe.I have found that transformation chooses us, not the other way around. John Newton did not choose to be in a life threatening storm, or to watch his shipmate be washed overboard never to be seen again. When faced with his and his crews mortality he became keenly aware of his own powerlessness and the fragility of life.

That awareness and the pain that accompanied it provided an opening, a hole for grace to slip in.

The process of transformation is as much about giving up things that no longer serve us as it is about learning new things.

It can be extremely painful to give up those things, those beliefs that may have insulated us from pain or given us great comfort. A person seeking sobriety, must give up the comfort of addiction…a good friend that protected them from deep pain.

When we give up racism or sexism, we must give up the comfort of believing that we are somehow superior to those around us and instead accept the humanity of others.

I spent most of the first decades of my life believing that I could erase the pain of my early childhood and my father’s incarceration by being a great student and a hard worker. I avoided people who were troubled or trouble makers. When my husband and I adopted three children ages 7, 8, and 9 from foster care, we truly believed that our love could make up for the years of abuse they had suffered in there biological home and the trauma of being in 5 foster homes in 5 years.

But at age 21, my son was arrested for a terrible crime and sentenced to 20 years in prison. I felt like I was on a sinking ship.That experience opened up a hole in me, a terrible pain that allowed grace to step in. I stopped running, stopped building protective walls.

I learned several lessons –

1. Good people can do terrible things. John Newton could participate in the violent, inhumane and heartless slave trade. My son could commit a violent crime.

2. The answer to violence is not more violence, and the answer to inhumanity is not more inhumanity. It is love.

3. We are all capable of transformation. We are all capable of redemption.

4. An environment of support and nurturance encourages transformation. A trauma filled environment stifles it. John Newton found his support in the friends he found in the church and in slavery’s abolition. I in the community of folks affected by incarceration.

In his transformation John Newton eventually became instrumental in the f ight to end slavery in England, a fight that was achieved just months before his death.

For my part, I am fighting to end our system of mass incarceration in Maine and the US. I recognize that it does more harm than good, that it is a war against the poor, the sick and the black, and that it perpetuates the very harms that John Newton saw in slavery.

The parallels are uncanny. Both an enslaved person and an incarcerated person lose everything, including their family. The state may take their children and give them to someone else. Others will lose family members to death, never having the opportunity to say goodbye. In prison you are expected to work for free or next to nothing, Your clothing will be of the poorest quality, as will your food and your medical care. Punishment will be your daily lot with very little support for real change in your life. It is no wonder so few succeed upon release and almost 700 individuals have died in Maine in the last 10 years while on probation.

Just as abolition of slavery was the cause of the nineteenth century, abolition of the carceral system should be the cause of this century. The thirteenth amendment of the US constitution, ended slavery in the United States except for those who are incarcerated. Now it is time to end incarceration.

I would ask you to join me in recognizing that fight. We heal in community, not in isolation.

In closing, it is not enough for to us believe in our own ability to transform, our own redemption: we must also believe in the transformation and redemption of others.

Thank you for believing in the humanity of those in prison and their ability to change. Please join me in making the abolition of prisons a reality. It is not an easy task, but it is a just one that our faith demands of us.

Craig Freshley brought the message at Durham Friends Meeting on April 14, 2024. An audio recording is HERE. The message started with Craig playing a song by Iris Dement, “Let the Mystery Be.” Below are the lyrics.

“Let The Mystery Be,” Song by Iris DeMent

Everybody is wondering what and where they all came from
Everybody is worrying ’bout
Where they’re gonna go when the whole thing’s done
But no one knows for certain and so it’s all the same to me
I think I’ll just let the mystery be

Some say once you’re gone you’re gone forever
And some say you’re gonna come back
Some say you rest in the arms of the Savior if in sinful ways you lack
Some say that they’re coming back in a garden
Bunch of carrots and little sweet peas
I think I’ll just let the mystery be

Everybody is wondering what and where they all came from
Everybody is worrying ’bout
Where they’re gonna go when the whole thing’s done
But no one knows for certain and so it’s all the same to me
I think I’ll just let the mystery be

Some say they’re going to a place called glory
And I ain’t saying it ain’t a fact
But I’ve heard that I’m on the road to purgatory
And I don’t like the sound of that
I believe in love and I live my life accordingly
But I choose to let the mystery be

Everybody is wondering what and where they all came from
Everybody is worrying ’bout
Where they’re gonna go when the whole thing’s done
But no one knows for certain and so it’s all the same to me
I think I’ll just let the mystery be

I think I’ll just let the mystery be

Source: Musixmatch

Let The Mystery Be lyrics © Universal Music Corp., Songs Of Iris