
Suddenly it is autumn. The temperature has dropped, and the sea squill (Urginea martima) is in bloom--as much a sign of autumn in Israel as Canada geese heading south in Minnesota.
As a naturalist, I am waking from my summer dormancy and alert for changes in nature. Back to the field this coming Sunday, for the first time in months, to see some plant survey work on the shores near Mt. Carmel. More work in Galilee, coming up.
Outwardly, this has been a quiet week, with only one conference on Wednesday to require my attention.
Aside from that I just had database housekeeping. This was good, because inwardly, I had to do some wrestling with myself, and come to a decision. The process was painful enough that I've avoided it for years, but circumstances forced me to decide now.
I've been very involved in a congregation almost since the time I arrived in Jerusalem some thirteen years ago. Although I had fallen into this group almost by chance, as time went by, I became steadily more committed to responsibilities and activities. At the same time, I recognized there were both positive and negative aspects of the community as far as I'm concerned.
On the positive side, it has always been open to experimentation and very supportive of its members. I needed that. On the negative side (and this is strictly speaking for myself) it is rooted in what is to me a foreign tradition and its rituals. I figured that over the years, I would absorb the tradition and the rituals would take on meaning for me.
What I didn't take into account is my own nature, which is far from typical. Basically, I don't relate to rituals, don't understand their purpose. I guess the purpose is psychological or emotional, and supposed to appeal to a part of my right brain that just doesn't seem to work very well--that social cohesion part. On social things, my brain just goes "duh". I understand rituals are supposed to generate certain emotional states in the participants, but the states generated in me are probably far from what the originators intended. "Grrr" is probably the best way to put it in polite society.
Not for want of trying, though. I spent twenty years as a baptized member of the Lutheran Church , confirmed in it, even went to a Lutheran college with daily chapel and religion courses required in every year of study. Yet in the four years in college, I think I must have crossed the chapel threshold no more than a dozen times, and these were usually to hear a special lecture or concert. I took no part in the Lutheran services which were forty yards away from my dormitory room. No hostility, really, just no interest.
In graduate school at Cornell (which was founded by Quakers) I encountered Quakers for the first time. They have a thriving community in that region. One of my fellow graduate students invited me to experience the Quaker silent meeting for worship. I loved it. Here was spirituality without outward show, just a plain room, a table with a vase of flowers, and forty people sitting in a circle meditating. Simple meditation, nothing Oriental. I found the meditation calmed me and opened my spirit to direct communion with God which I had never experienced before. This was the real thing--what liturgical services only touched momentarily was normal in Quaker meetings.
The silent worship was balanced by study groups and social action (once I found myself helping to paint the local jail). The Quakers encouraged investigation, were open to science (the secretary was a nuclear physicist, for example), and typically both compassionate and socially aware. My mentor, a 90-year-old Quaker theologian named Edwin Burtt, was hiding a refugee Nicaraguan family in his house for years. He held open house morning meditation in his parlor every day after breakfast, where we could stop on our way to the university. I didn't so much become a Quaker as find that what I am is called Quaker. I'd be a Quaker today if there were any meetings in Israel.
As a result of the Quaker years, I'm open to the light from whatever sources it comes. The Quran sits next to the Book of Mormon, the Tao Te Ching, the Bhagvad Gita and the teachings of the Dalai Lama on my bookshelf, along with Christian and Jewish literature, including books by Pope John Paul II, C.S. Lewis, and Thomas Merton
I get inspiration out of all of these sources. So I'm open to the Jewish traditions of my community, for what light they can give me, without being exclusive to them. It's not exactly cherry picking; more like sampling and keeping what works.
Well, I attended Shabbat services in my congregation for more than ten years, trying in my own way to find meaning in them. Ritual doesn't speak to me, but there were aspects of the service that did, if I worked on it. Over the summer, the level of ritual orthodox observance was increased (women separated from men, more parts of the prayerbook added, and so forth). I struggled with the changes.. In the end, I gave up trying. In my usual fashion, I made peeps of protest, then some louder peeps, and then erupted like a volcano on everyone in sight, and stomped off pissed as hell. It took a day to calm down to the point where I could look at the situation objectively.
Okay, as they say in AA, one sign of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results. Ten years is a fair trial. If I faithfully attended liturgical services for ten years waiting for some enlightenment, and none came, then none is going to come. It is time to stop investing in what does not produce fruit. This is painful because I have to withdraw from a serious, decade-long commitment. On the other hand, making the decision at last has produced great relief. I don't have to struggle with it any more.
Also, this opens me to new leadings. I will have to be alert and aware to see which way to go now. This is a little unsettling, but perhaps essential from time to time in the spiritual walk. For now, I will search what alternatives for inspiration exist within my congregation. As long as I am aware of my own nature and my own needs, I hope that I can spot what works for me. I have no idea where this is going, but I will have to find out. Among Quakers, people like me are called Seekers, and I guess it is time for me to shake off the dust and start seeking where God wants to lead me now.
Shabbat shalom,
Linda
Linda
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