The religious bit - unfinished, of course

The religious bit – the first part

This, I expect, will be the most difficult of all my posts regarding how much to explain. I am writing for close personal friends and members of my own Quaker meeting (congregation) who have a fair idea of my theological position, for family members with various religious affiliations or none, and for others who probably know I am a Quaker (a member of the Religious Society of Friends) but with whom I have had little or no conversation on religious or spiritual matters.

I have probably conveyed by now the extent to which every session of every group activity on my program opens and closes with vocal prayer. All the participants' songs in the workshops also have Christian lyrics, their fervour often intensified by impromptu dancing. The voices on radio stations blaring their messages in the taxi-buses are as often preaching as commentating on football matches or giving news bulletins, and indeed I can't immediately distinguish between the first two till I hear, for example, 'Imana' (Lord God) or 'Arsenal'. (I don't know whether those buses with Islamic slogans painted on the outside deliver Muslim messages inside.)

Sometimes I get a translation of the prayers in the workshops but often not. There is one mode in which translations would be impossible, when several – or indeed a large proportion – of the participants are praying aloud at the same time. The other day we had a short prayer before lunch and Musafiri commented that there had been a request that the prayer should be restricted to the subject of giving thanks for the food, and not extend itself into glorifying the Lord for all his works or praying for the sick.

I wrote earlier (in the post entitled 'The heart of it') about articulating my spiritual convictions in a way that occurs only rarely at home in Britain. Aiming to be both relevant and sincere, I find I am at my most comfortable when talking about the natural cycles inherent in creation, about trying not to use up what we can't replenish – my main reservation here, although I don't often say so, is that I'm all too conscious of how much I use in my ordinary life. This is the focus of my personal spirituality.

When the Friendly FolkDancers were here in Rwanda or in Kenya, we were often asked to pray aloud and most of us found we could do it with a measure of acceptability and integrity. I'm not getting that request on this visit, though I am frequently expected to speak formally at openings and closings. What has happened with both the three day women's workshops, however, is that when I have delivered as much of my material on kitchen gardening as I think can be absorbed, when there have been several breaks for songs in Kinyarwanda or in English, when my circle dances are yet again without the necessary recorded music, it has seemed right to move into the area of spiritual experience or practice.

In the final women's workshop last week several factors encouraged me to try an experiment. First, these were women who already speak deep truths about their lives to each other; secondly, I was to be partnered for one session by Cecile, who has travelled among Friends in the USA and experienced what I wanted to introduce. Additionally, the group had responded with interest when I'd described the use of chants as meditation at Taize. I was disappointed when a delay in the arrival of staff lunch meant Cecile had only 20 minutes with me before the end of the afternoon session. We went ahead, nevertheless.

British and North American Friends share a communal reflective practice called 'worship sharing'. Typically a theme is introduced or a question posed and all present are asked to consider its import for them personally, at first in silence. Then any who feel called to speak on the subject may do so, preferably at no great length and with generous measures of silence between spoken contributions. Later speakers should not express disagreement with earlier ones; participants should give full attention to each speaker rather than planning their own response.

I chose a sentence from 'Advices & queries', a series of some 40 short paragraphs which serve as 'a reminder of the insights of [Quakers in Britain]'. I wanted something which would keep us touch with the ordinary work of growing food, would explicitly mention God, and would invite broader consideration. I settled on the opening sentence of A&Q 7: Be aware of the spirit of God at work in the ordinary activities and experience of your daily life. Cecile translated and the silence began. Anxious that I had not sufficiently emphasised that there was no hierarchy to the sequence of contributions and that the 15 minutes remaining might pass not in relaxed contemplation but in insecurity, I spoke first, very briefly. A few seconds later one of the participants who is a deacon at the local Friends church spoke – with a brevity admirably unlike her usual style. Two longer contributions followed, the latter telling the story of how the speaker had prayed for God to guide her throughout the long processes of getting her children back from her divorced husband and how his family had moved from suspicion to friendliness, eventually letting her take her children home after his remarriage.

It was time to finish already. I asked if they would like a similar session tomorrow and saw smiles and gestures of assent.

The next day, Friday, was the last. We finished the practical work with the sack gardens, talked over several points again, sang, ate, reconvened after lunch. This time we had a good half hour. My partner was Musafiri, whom I had observed to be less committed to the periods of prayer and bible study than most of the Friends Peace House staff. He seemed happy enough to facilitate this activity, however. This time I chose two short extracts from A&Q 42: Seek to maintain the beauty and variety of the world... Rejoice in the splendour of God's continuing creation.

I had said I would not speak first this time. There were plenty of contributions and not many silences. Not every word was translated for me; as far as I could tell, most speakers focussed on the human part of creation. One told of the joy of finding children to adopt after her own had been killed in the genocide, another of occasional moments of joy in the sunrise amid long periods of pain and depression. I asked if there was one final contribution and there was. I indicated that it was time to move on. Musafiri spent two or three minutes saying how for him this calm atmosphere was the most conducive to worship.


Sorry but I’ve run out of time. I’d rather send this incomplete than not at all. Part two, if I manage to write it, will be about the English language service at a Friends Church yesterday morning, 22 Feb.