Didn't See Any Oatmeal Anywhere

Tall windows let in a lot of light, from above and from the walls. The balcony made me think there could be quite a lot of people in there. Everything was old wood, which gave it the feel of a prior time, a time closer to the inception of the US and Pennsylvania, much more colonial. It felt very original. I would find it easy to imagine folks meeting to discuss some affairs related to the formation of the states, and the idealism associated with it. The creaking of the floor let you know whenever anyone was shifting or moving, and it seemed like the room would often awaken with creaking as many people began to shift around together. The planks of the benches were covered in carved initials, and I’m not sure if people carved them during the services (doubtful; that would be pretty audible, I think) or if they came with the carvings (more likely, particularly since the one in front of me had “W.H.” all over it, and “W.H. Jenkins,” which was probably some sawmill company?). But they looked old and worn. There were firm but comfortable pillows on the benches, so one wouldn’t be too uncomfortable during the service. That everyone looks at each other, rather than at some altar, gives the service an anthrocentric feel. Or maybe not. Perhaps more accurately, it makes you turn inward, since no one’s looking at other folks. (Though I did see a wave here and there when a few folks entered.)

The wood gave it a sacred kind of feel. It’s clear that you’re outside of the prefabricated world, and entering into somewhere special. The handmade effort adds something, I think: you’re able to have these spiritual benefits thanks to the work of a man’s hand. Perhaps that’s going too far.

What can I say about the services? It wasn’t meant to be too ascetic; the pillows offered support, and we could shift if we needed to. (I will say, though, that I couldn’t imagine why Nathan would opt to sit through this with nothing to distract him from the pain.) Learning afterwards that one was expected to have some sort of inward practice made sense. I saw an awful lot of Buddhist hand mudras, but it was clear some folks were just thinking. There were clenched fists propping up heads, and hands folded meekly in laps. I’d be curious to ask the congregation what their particular practices were. And I’d like to know how one knows a statement that comes from the inner light and what doesn’t. It’s an interesting kind of performance, since folks are expected to meditate on particular issues. I should have asked if folks ever disrespect it and start having a slow argument or something. I wonder how long a person often attends the congregation before they start standing up and saying something. And what would happen if someone just kept standing up and talking? Would they throw them out? Talk to them in some way?

The congregation was almost entirely older (fifties and above) and Anglo. I didn’t count, but I had the sense that the gender ratio was not too unbalanced, though there seemed to be more women. There were a lot of couples sitting together.

Folks dressed nicely, but not too fancily. I didn’t really notice crosses hanging around necks, or even too many ties, for that matter.

The person “leading” the service was a woman, and the fact that she can do that seems to fit with what I know of Quakerism.

When folks got up to speak, it was like they were giving little speeches. The tone was formal, but not flowery or poetic. There wasn’t a lot of God language – it mostly centered around politics and general values. I would be curious to ask someone how they know speech that is inspired by the inner light as opposed to just something that pops into their head.

No hymns, no prescribed group movements, except perhaps saying “good morning” at the end of the service. You’re sitting there together with everyone, listening to them move and creak, but it’s mostly individualistic. There’s work to be done, and it’s up to you to do it. Other folks are there with you for it, and to provide advice along the way, but they can’t do for you what you need to do.

Having the children come in during the last fifteen minutes or so seemed significant. Only having gone once, I don’t know what the best way to interpret it would be, and I’m sure that any interpretation anyway would miss the wide variety of possibilities. Perhaps the children come in to share in the spiritual light that has been recovered by the adults. Perhaps it reminds the parents why they do what they do. Perhaps it serves as a good way to move from the inward to the outward. Perhaps the folks watching the kids couldn’t think of anything else to have the children do. Oh, functionalism, how could I live without you?

I found myself wondering how the service fit into the Quaker’s life. Is it a time to reflect, to center, and then go out into the world? Is it a purification process? Is this kind of awareness and prayer held at all elsewhere in one’s life? Is one “done” after the service? How is this related to social welfare and such?