I try to write myself a query, each week, usually addressing something I am peeved about.  I tried to write one on my Quakerquaker profile and discovered I am limited to 143 characters.  As a Friend, somewhat long in the tooth, I find it hard to write a query in less than 143 words, much less characters.

Take for instance the following query:  Do Friends just tolerate or do they welcome and embrace seekers and members that are functionally challenged by disability, developmental disability, trauma survival, economic status or education, as is, without trying to fix them?  Okay, it is only 34 words, but it is 193 characters not counting the spaces and punctuation.   Someone needs to rethink the whole idea of how Quakers talk, the tweet just won't do.

I recall a Friend I met at the first yearly meeting I attended.  A trauma survivor and a person who had battled homelessness and panic attacks that seemed to be seizures until a diagnosis was arrived at by her state's vocational rehabilitation department.  It turned out that she had a brilliant mind and got a full ride to her bachelor of science degree in guidence and counseling.  A auditory tic she had kept her from fruitful practice, she returned to school and worked on a masters in psyhcometric statistical analysis.  

Yet, she often complained that her meeting always treated her with condescension.  I often witnessed a lot of eye-rolling when she tried to speak in meeting, so there seemed to be some truth to her concerns.  

Often, meetings seem to have an unwritten ideal of what a meeting must look like to the outside world.  We, less effective communicators, are often the fly in the ointment that would lead to  reaching that ideal.  I remember overhearing two elderly women in one Friend's church,  I was visiting, telling a woman with cerabral palsey that  if she couldn't be more presentable she should stay at home.  Apparently, they found her drooling and the bib objectionable.  I visited a small liberal Friends meeting once that barred the developmentally disabled attenders because their erratic behavior made the congregation feel uncomfortable and fearful.  I was supply preaching at a nearby FUM church for nearly four years, and a few of these "rejects" became regular attenders who contributed often to the spirit of the meeting, albeit with a lack  of orthodoxy,  but magnifying God and the word with gusto.   

I am painting a picture that is unflattering to Friends but I do so with with reliance on our manner of process, gospel order.  We pose queries to test the state of our faith and practice paying attention not to the top of the rock but the bottom.

Views: 96

Comments are closed for this blog post

Support Us

Did you know that QuakerQuaker is 100% reader supported? Our costs run to about $50/month. If you think this kind of outreach and conversation is important, please support it with a monthly subscription or one-time gift.

Latest Activity

Keith Saylor posted a blog post

The renewal of the intellect in Christ's Living and Continuous Presence

The spirit of Jesus Christ is come and in Christ's presence I am drawn out of the reflective…See More
yesterday
Forrest Curo commented on Russ Elliott's blog post 'No Title'
"So, can an illusion injure real people? We know it can; yet we find the whole phenomena baffling!…"
4th day (Wed)
Forrest Curo commented on Russ Elliott's blog post 'No Title'
"One reason we're sometimes reluctant to talk about it is that it's an illusion: ie a…"
7th month 31
Michael Reuscher updated their profile
7th month 20
Christopher Hatton replied to Donn Weinholtz's discussion 'Chapter 3 Jesus Christ MBA: Take Me Out To The Ball Game'
"I‘m not a baseball fan, and didn‘t understand the „Johnny Damon joke“ but…"
7th month 18
Christopher Hatton liked Donn Weinholtz's discussion Chapter 3 Jesus Christ MBA: Take Me Out To The Ball Game
7th month 18
Cathy L McMickle liked QuakerQuaker's group Family Life
7th month 17
E updated their profile
7th month 3

© 2022   Created by QuakerQuaker.   Powered by

Badges  |  Report an Issue  |  Terms of Service