Also known as the Quakers.
My therapist keeps recommending that I go to church (specifically a UU church, since I’m agnostic). I did follow her advice twice, and both times I felt unmotivated to go back even though the people were all nice and friendly. See, I know church very well. I was raised in a church-going household, with very church-going parents. And I’ve never felt a sense of community and belongingness at church. In fact, I have felt quite the opposite, for reasons I can’t quite articulate. So the constant suggestion to go to church kept bugging the hell out of me. But I figure I have to get well somehow, and sitting on my couch watching “The Sopranos” reruns on A&E isn’t really going to get me there.
So I decided to keep going the alternative Christrian route and look into the Society of Friends. Lo and behold, there’s a meeting house just a little less than a mile from me! If it had been outside of walking distance, I wouldn’t have bothered, but with it just being right around the corner I didn’t have an excuse. I read up on the philosophy, history, and style of worship and came to the conclusion that I might actually be excited about attending such a service.
I got the sense that there would be no program, no rituals, no sweaty-faced preacher, no organ playing, no cheesy praise team with calls to stand up and hoot and holler like we were at a football game. No one speaking in tongues, rolling in the aisles, or tourettic screams of “AMEN!” No expectation to look a certain way, believe a certain way, or really act a certain way, except to be quietly contemplative and nondisruptive. No altar calls either.
And that’s exactly how it turned out to be.
Much of the hour, I’d say 86% of it, was completely quiet, and the sanctuary was almost completely full. I expected a lot of bowed heads and pious postures, but people were just sitting there, maybe with their eyes closed, maybe not. Occassionally someone would stand up and talk about their feelings, their inner turmoil about current events and how God was helping them through it. Or they would express a desire for unity and mutual understanding from both pro-Obamites and anti-Obamites (there were more than a few of these testimonies). A few scriptures were cited and quoted and related to whatever revelation the person had. One was particularly deep and made me, an agnostic, waver a little in my doubt and nod my head in agreement with the expressed wisdom.
Towards the end, I was moved to speak. I didn’t sense an “inner light” or anything; I just felt compelled to stand up and open my mouth. I told a story about something trivial that had happened to me last week that had yet managed to bring me tremenduous psychic pain. But the story had a happy ending, one that kind of tied into what previous Friends had testified. I was nervous as I spoke, but I was surprisingly eloquent. I mentioned God, but I don’t feel like I betrayed my agnosticism. Later, someone else stood up and referenced what I had said, saying that I had voiced the same feelings she had. It felt very much like being on a message board in some ways. You know, someone posts something and then no one says anything for a while, and then someone posts something that may or may not be directly relevant, but still kind of moves everyone in the same direction. It was the perfect arena for a person like myself, and maybe other Dopers (except cussing probably isn’t a good idea;))
After the hour-long meeting, people came over and introduced themselves and said they wanted me to come back. An old man even walked across the room and hugged me. Church people have welcomed me before, of course. But this time I felt these people were genuine. They saw me at my rawest and they weren’t afraid or embarrassed. They were Christ-like, in the way Christians are supposed to be.
I may come back. I’m not sure because these folks are believers in Jesus Christ and I’m not sure what I feel anymore. Nor do I want to put on an act. But I may come back, just for the peace and quiet safety of that sanctuary.
Regardless, I’m going to look at the Quaker Oats man a little differently from now on.