“I thought I’d live a louder life… But silence called me deeper still Like nothing else I know ever will” —Carrie Newcomer, Quaker singer-songwriter
I didn’t expect to experience this lesson so clearly the first time I visited a Quaker meeting. About 30 minutes into the shared silence – the community gathered in a circle, each person listening expectantly in their own way for the Spirit to move – someone stood, picked up a guitar, and began singing “This Little Light of Mine.” Moments later, another rose and spoke:
“Before we were born, there was great silence, and after we die, we will return to great silence. So, it is good to spend time in silence together today in between.”
Ten years later, I still remember my astonishment at what arose out of that silence. I still remember the goosebumps.
For Quakers – members of the Religious Society of Friends – silence isn’t empty; it’s a place to connect with the Divine.
Centre Friend Meeting House, Centreville, Delaware
One of my early Quaker Friends, Jim, also left a lasting impression. When I invited him to share his personal story with my Psychology of Religion and Spirituality class, Jim said he’d be happy to do so – provided someone give him a ride because he didn’t own a car. As I pulled up to his house, I noticed his yard consisted entirely of vegetables and native plants. As thanks for the ride, when Jim entered my car, he offered me a big bag of freshly picked kale from his front yard, something he said he regularly did for friends and neighbors. In his quiet way, Jim also demonstrated a powerful expression of Quaker spirituality.
As a psychologist of religion and spirituality, I’ve long been drawn to learning from spiritual traditions that approach life in unique ways. Quaker spirituality, in particular, has offered me profound lessons into living a good life – insights that beautifully align with the emerging psychological science of well-being.
Here are four lessons that stand out:
1. Cultivate contemplative stillness.
“Seek to know an inward stillness, even amid the activities of daily life.” —British Quaker Faith & Practice, Advices and Queries #3
Prayerful silence lies at the heart of Quaker spirituality. Quakers often seek to quiet themselves – alone, together, in nature – to be more anchored and present in daily life.
Psychological research on contemplative practice reflects the wisdom of this, revealing benefits like reduced stress, deep rest, and improved health and well-being. Even a few minutes of stillness each day can make a significant difference.
After watching the record breaking film “Inside Out 2,” I wrote this piece for Friends Journal about how my personal journey with emotion relates to the science behind the movies and my spiritual quest. Friends Journal published it today.
One of the books I find most sacred is Mary Oliver’s compilation of poetry called “Devotions.” Mary Oliver’s poetry, at times, feels to me like a continuation of the Book of Psalms, except written in a modern context.
Continuing with my practice of florilegia I discussed previously, below I present verses that sparkled up for me this summer as I meditated through this book.
“I have refused to live locked in the orderly house of reasons and proofs. The world I live in and believe in is wider than that.” (from “The World I Live In”)
“Be still, my soul, and steadfast. Earth and heaven both are still watching… Let God and the world know you are grateful.” (from “The Gift”)
“Maybe the desire to make something beautiful is the piece of God that is inside each of us.” (from “Franz Marc’s Blue Horses”)
“Keep some room in your heart for the unimaginable.” (from “Evidence”)
“Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous to be understood… Let me keep my distance, always, from those who think they have the answers. Let me keep company always with those who say ‘Look!’ and laugh in astonishment, and bow their heads.” (from “Mysteries, Yes”)
“… remember that we receive then we give back.” (from “At the River Clarion”)
Literally referring to a “book of sparklets,” the identification of “florilegia” is an ancient spiritual reading practice I’ve recently been exploring in my own life. Historically, this practice was performed by monks reading and praying the Psalms. Essentially, it’s a quote journal.
In this practice, as you read a sacred text, you look for sentences, phrases, or words that “sparkle” in the material. You then record those. When finished, you put all these separate quotes together to create a new text – a florilegium – that may allow the quoted material to take on new meanings, as each thought gets embedded in a different context than the original.
In engaging in this practice, it’s important to consider what text you consider sacred that you want to draw spiritual meaning from. To begin, I started my practice with Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7, but I started with 4:12 for more context). What sparkled for me recently appears below. (If I had done this practice 10 years ago, or even 10 days ago, my florilegium may be entirely different!)
“When Jesus heard that John had been put in prison, he withdrew to Galilee” (Matthew 4:12).
“From that time on, Jesus began to preach, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near'” (Matthew 4:17).
“Jesus went throughout Galilee, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming the good news of the kingdom, and healing every disease and sickness among the people” (Matthew 4:23).
“Now when Jesus saw the crowds… His disciples came to him, and he began to teach them (Matthew 5:1-2):
“Blessed are the poor in Spirit… Blessed are those who mourn… Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness… Blessed are the merciful… Blessed are the pure in heart… Blessed are the peacemakers” (Matthew 5:3-9).
“Love your enemies and pray for those who persectute you” (Matthew 5:44).
“Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth… But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven” (Matthew 6:19).
“Do not worry about tomorrow… Each day has enough trouble of its own” (Matthew 6:34).
“In everything, do to others what you would have them do to you” (Matthew 7:12).
For me, then, at least in this most recent reading, this florilegium summarizes what sparkled for me in Jesus’s Sermon on the Mount. To take this a step deeper, I could consider this and reflect on what individual sparklets or the overall message may mean for me and what actions I feel called toward.
Like it has done for so many, college transformed me.
It started on freshman move-in day. My dad, my brother, and I drove 4 ½ hours from my small town of 300 people in rural Minnesota to the eye-popping, “big city” of Madison, Wisconsin. I enrolled in the University of Wisconsin because I had watched the University compete on television in Big 10 sports. Beyond that, I knew very little of what I was getting myself into. So, on move-in-day, I was astonished by the city: the grandeur of the state capital, the beauty of the lakes surrounding campus, and the expansive cultural life scattered throughout.
It took a while for me to orient myself, but I eventually settled into my new home, where I gradually encountered a variety of mind-stretching experiences. When the first semester started, I couldn’t believe I was being taught by renowned experts who raised deep issues and facilitated far-reaching discussions about ideas way beyond anything I previously realized even existed. I went with my friends to ethnic restaurants, with flavors I never tasted before. I visited an art museum for the first time. I attended massive political rallies, being exposed to people with passions and perspectives unlike any I had ever encountered.
I enrolled in what was to become my favorite college course – Environmental Science – during my second year. Most evocative for me was the weekly required lab, usually consisting of a field trip. One trip especially stands out. We met at our Professor’s home, located on the edge of a wetland outside Madison. It was a cold, January afternoon, and there was at least 6 inches of snow on the ground. The Professor eventually led us to a bubbling brook in which I was stunned to find vibrant, green watercress growing. He picked some for us to taste. Not only did I not realize any vegetable grew in this kind of winter climate, I was dumbfounded by the peppery, fresh flavor and icy, crisp texture of the watercress itself. This course, more than any other experience I’ve ever had, nurtured in me a love of nature and a commitment to conservation.
After four years of these kinds of encounters, my mind had expanded in ways that made me almost unrecognizable from the person I had been previously. In retrospect – and knowing what I know now – I believe this is because college regularly exposed me to feelings of awe.
According to Dacher Kelter, in his book, “Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life,” awe “is the feeling of being in the presence of something vast that transcends your understanding of the world.” To clarify, many kinds of vastness can trigger this emotion. For instance, we might feel awe in the presence of something huge, powerful, timeless, or complex. Other people can leave us awestruck as well because of their astounding knowledge, virtue, or skill.
Twenty years of research on the emotion of awe reveals many unique positive effects. For example, awe takes the focus off of ourselves, humbling us in the presence of something beyond us. Physiologically, awe can bring tears to our eyes, chills to our bodies, and goosebumps to our skin. More broadly, awe promotes well-being and interpersonal connection. It may even decrease the body’s inflammation response.
Less research has explored how awe impacts learning and development, but a deeper inspection yields some clues. According to the great psychologist, Jean Piaget, our minds grow through two interrelated processes: assimilation and accommodation. When we assimilate, we fit new experiences into our existing mental frameworks, something not possible during awe. This is because the vastness of what we’re encountering in an awe experience cannot be comprehended with our current way of thinking. As a result, we’re absorbed into a process of trying to reduce the discrepancy between our new knowledge and our pre-existing knowledge. As we do so, we may feel confused, disoriented, or even frightened, as we feel a need to accommodate and create an expanded or entirely different mental framework. We may start to wonder and become curious about new questions. If we can successfully expand our minds in ways that incorporate the new information, we may significantly change how we think, what we believe, and potentially even how we self-identify. Even if we can’t ever fully accommodate an experience, our lives may be taken into different directions as we explore a new passion.
In his book, Keltner describes 8 common sources of “everyday wonder,” any of which could spark transformative change. These sources include exposure to lives and acts of moral beauty; the collective effervescence of big events, rallies, and ceremonies; various features of the natural world; music; visual design; great mysteries that often underlie religion and spirituality; the beginning and end of life; and ideas and truths that stretch our minds beyond what we previously believed was possible. College can regularly expose students to these kinds of stimuli.
Steven Cordes | Unsplash
Based on all this, my best advice to students is to seek awe during your time in college, inside and outside the classroom. Get involved in opportunities that stretch you, such as service learning, internships, field trips, community events, and study abroad and away programs. You may occasionally feel confused, disoriented, and even frightened because of what you’re experiencing. That’s okay: a real education requires some degree of discomfort. Pay attention to what brings you awe and follow that path, seeing what interests and passions that leads you toward. Give yourself space to wonder, to figure things out. Then, when you walk across the stage at your graduation ceremony, you, too, may find you have transformed into a version of yourself you wouldn’t have thought possible when you began.
Within Christianity, some traditions emphasize a more mystical and spiritual approach than others. One tradition I’ve been particularly intrigued by is Quaker spirituality.
Part of Quaker spiritual practice is to identify, share, and meditate on specific advices and queries. Some of these can be traced back to George Fox in the mid-1600s. In some ways, these advices and queries translate Quaker experiences and insights about the Gospels into modern life.
Communities might lead a service with reference to an advice or query, and individuals might meditate on one for an hour, a day, a week, or a year.
I’ve been studying Quaker advices and queries shared by meetings across the world for several years. Below I’ll share some of my favorites, which mostly come from the London, New York, and New England yearly meetings.
Apponegansett Meeting House, Jean Schnell
Advices:
Take heed to the promptings of love and truth in your heart.
Bring the whole of your life under the ordering of the spirit of Christ.
Seek to know an inward stillness, even amid the activities of daily life.
While respecting the experiences and opinions of others, do not be afraid to say what you have found and what you value.
Try to find a spiritual wholeness which encompasses suffering as well as thankfulness and joy.
Each of us has a particular experience of God and each must find the way to be true to it.
Listen patiently and seek the truth which other people’s opinions may contain for you.
Avoid hurtful criticism and provocative language.
Think it possible that you may be mistaken.
Try to make your home a place of loving friendship and enjoyment, where all who live or visit may find the peace and refreshment of God’s presence.
Let your life speak.
Responding to divine guidance, try to discern the right time to undertake or relinquish responsibilities without undue pride or guilt.
Search out whatever in your own way of life may contain the seeds of war.
Do not let the desire to be sociable, or the fear of seeming peculiar, determine your decisions.
Try to live simply.
Stand still, wait for divine guidance, then act.
Be grateful for the gifts you have. Neither be too proud of them nor value them too little. Do not waste time coveting the gifts of others.
Attend to what love requires of you.
Beacon Hill Meeting Room, Jean Schnell
Queries:
Are you open to the healing power of God’s love?
How does Jesus speak to you today? Are you following Jesus’ example of love in action? Are you learning from his life the reality and cost of obedience to God?
Do you respect that of God in everyone though it may be expressed in unfamiliar ways or be difficult to discern?
My mom died from cancer when I was 14. Although her death wasn’t unexpected, it stunned me nonetheless.
One particular moment in the days following my mom’s death stands out. The night before the funeral, there was a wake in which her dead body was laid in an open casket so mourners could say their final goodbyes. For various reasons, I did not want to see my mom’s body, and I awkwardly tried to avoid it. Our priest – a good friend of mine, as well as my mom’s – must have noticed. He slowly walked up to me and, tenderly, asked if I’d like to go with him to see my mom one last time. He took my hand into his and we made our way. I believed I was supposed to feel sad and maybe even angry, and I felt those emotions as well. But, more than anything, as I gazed at my mom’s dead body, what I most felt was awe.
Dacher Keltner’s recently released book “Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life” most surprised me with its’ discussion of how often death evokes awe. In a study of 2,600 narratives coming from 26 countries, as described in the book, stories of death and awe were common. In a surprising demonstration of this, Keltner – the pioneering Berkeley psychologist most responsible for leading the way for a new science of awe – tells a story in the book similar to my own. As his beloved brother, Rolf, lay dying of cancer in front of him and his family, Keltner recounts:
“I felt small. Quiet. Humble. Pure. The boundaries that separated me from the outside world faded. I felt surrounded by something vast and warm. My mind was open, curious, aware, wondering.”
Keltner defines “awe” as “the feeling of being in the presence of something vast that transcends your understanding of the world.” Given this definition, it’s easy to see why death so often evokes awe. When I stood in front of my mom’s dead body, for instance, I felt dumbfounded by questions such as “where did my mom go?,” “what does life mean?,” and “what is eternity?” These vast mysteries went well beyond anything my 14-year-old mind (or any mind) can comprehend, but my wondering led me to develop curiosities and eventually gain insights that have impacted the rest of my life. Of course, I wish my mom had lived much longer. At the same time, I wouldn’t be the person I am today – in a positive sense – if I hadn’t had to face her death like I did.
This connection between death and awe is, at least in part, why so many people become so fascinated by the morbid. For example, dark tourism may enable individuals to feel awed and to probe essential issues of life, death, sacredness, and meaning. I have led courses in the Psychology of the Holocaust, for instance, including trips to Holocaust sites in Europe, and rarely have I seen students so absorbed or impacted by phenomena being studied as when we directly encountered the overwhelming memorials of death we visited.
One habit I’ve sort of unintentionally fallen into in recent years is a year-end review. That is, I’ve been finding it interesting to take some time between Christmas and New Year’s every year to consider the highs and lows of the year, reflecting on what I can take from this year to build on for the next. With all the highs and lows that made up 2022, this poem I first heard on Parker Palmer and Carrie Newcomer’s podcast stands out:
Small Kindnesses, by Danusha Lameris
“I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs to let you by. Or how strangers still say ‘bless you’ when someone sneezes, a leftover from the Bubonic plague. ‘Don’t die,’ we are saying. And sometimes, when you spill lemons from your grocery bag, someone else will help you pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other. We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot, and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress to call us ‘honey’ when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder, and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass. We have so little of each other, now. So far from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange. What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these fleeting temples we make together when we say, ‘Here, have my seat,’ ‘Go ahead – you first,’ ‘I like your hat.’“
In particular, what gives me pause are lines that “we have so little of each other, now… only these brief moments of exchange.”
Like so many others,’ my life has changed during the past few years. COVID has meant I see students and colleagues far less often. My kids are getting older – one now in college – and they spend less time with us. The people I care for the most I don’t actually spend that much time with.
I resonate with the notion that the moments we have together may be “the true dwelling of the holy.” If I can remember to take one thing from this year into the next, it’s this: remember the sacredness of the times we have together – really appreciate them and make the most of them – for they are the essence of a good life.
One of the most basic – and yet for me, personally, one of the most confounding – aspects of Christian faith involves what it means to have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. I’ve always been confused by Christians who talk about their personal relationship with Jesus with total certainty, as if it was as obvious as their personal relationship with their spouse. To me, it hasn’t been obvious what it means to have a relationship with a Being I can’t directly perceive.
In light of this, I’ve been thinking a lot about a story that appears in the Gospel of Luke (Luke 24:13-35). For context, this occurs after Jesus was said to have been resurrected.
“… two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem. They were talking with each other about everything that had happened. As they talked and discussed these things with each other, Jesus himself came up and walked along with them, but they were kept from recognizing him.
He asked them, ‘What are you discussing together as you walk along?’
They stood still, their faces downcast. One of them, named Cleopas, asked him, ‘Are you only a visitor to Jerusalem and do you not know the things that have happened here in these days?’
‘What things?,’ he asked.”
They then proceeded to discuss Jesus, particularly his death and rumors of his resurrection. They talked about the Scriptures.
After this discussion, “as they approached the village to which they were going, Jesus continued on as if he were going farther. But they urged him strongly, ‘Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.’ So he went in to stay with them.
Later in the story, the two friends walking to Emmaus recognize Jesus (after which Jesus mysteriously disappears, raising other questions). But, at this point, the two friends don’t recognize him.
So, here’s my question: Even though they didn’t recognize him, were they in relationship with Jesus?
It would seem to me the only fair answer must be “yes.”
My wife and I have often told a pretty bleak story about the town in which we live. Common refrains include “there’s nothing to do here,” “it’s too conservative,” and “there’s nowhere good to eat.” Our kids have picked up on this. They share these sentiments with us and their friends as well, and actually have taken it a step further. They have sometimes wondered aloud: “Why do we live somewhere so flat? Why not live where there are mountains, or at least an ocean?”
Most of our friends live outside our town, and we have been gifted with some great ones. Some of our dear friends live in the city, others live outside the state, and some even live in different countries.
One of the ways we’ve learned to connect with our friends is to share photos of our everyday lives. In particular, after recently spending a week with some dear friends from Scotland, we started trading photos back-and-forth as a quick way of staying in touch. After all, a picture’s worth a thousand words.
We really enjoy these friends from Scotland, so much so that we’ve tried to convince them to visit us in our town. Of course, it’s hard to convince someone from another country to visit you in a town you portray so bleakly. So, as we’ve shared photos, we’ve started to make more of an effort to feature locations and happenings in our town we’re pleased with or even proud about.
As we do this, we’re slowly coming to a realization: being intentional about sharing photos of the lovely and the meaningful in our town is turning our attention from what we don’t have to gratitude for what we do.
There’s a small body of research exploring the effects of taking photos on personal well-being. Studies find that taking photos of the good increases positive emotions such as gratitude and overall life satisfaction. When these photos are shared with others, it tends to build connection. Other research shows that the task of taking photos increases engagement in the positive aspects of a situation. Furthermore, feeling grateful is tighly linked with overall happiness.
View of the Mississippi River, taken with my IPhone SE
Sharing photos of the lovely and the meaningful from our town has helped us remember why we chose to live in this town in the first place. Very few towns the size of ours have the trails we do, giving us access to three beautiful rivers. There’s a charming vineyard on the outskirts of town that produces the area’s best wine and that features sangria and jazz every Sunday during the summer. We live on a quiet and safe street where we can sit at the end of a long day, kick up our feet, and enjoy each other’s company. In the winter, we have access to some of the region’s best winter activitieis, such as skiing and snowshoeing. The list goes on and on.
But, we couldn’t appreciate these good things until we started being intentional about taking and sharing photos with our friends. We needed an intentional activity to break us out of our pessimism.
So, you might join us in this practice. Think about someone you wish you were closer with, someone with whom you’d like to stay more connected. Start sending them a photo when you become aware of something positive and meaningful in your everyday life, and see if you can get them to reciprocate. You very well might find this creates a new perspective in you as well.
Andy Tix 