Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Hopeless Friend




Listen, my hopeless friend
Listen, my hopeless friend
Come inside and drop your coat
Wash your hair you smell like a goat
Listen, my hopeless friend
Listen, my hopeless friend

Ain't you got no shoes to wear?
Ain't you got no blues to share?

You used to think about magic
And how to fit in
Now you think about madness
And how to stay thin
How to stay thin

Listen, my hopeless friend
Listen, my hopeless friend

Ain't you got no shoes to wear?
Ain't you got no blues to share?

You used to think about magic
And how to fit in
Now you think about madness
And how to stay thin
How to stay thin

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Midwinter FLGBTQC Gathering

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A few pictures to share.

Tommy Can You Hear Me?



Tommy can you hear me?
Can you feel me near you?

Tommy can you see me?
Can I help to cheer you.
Oooh, Tommy.

Notice

February will be my busiest travel month for a while. I leave for Montreal on Thursday and will not return until Tuesday afternoon. Posting between February 28 and March 5 will be limited to the Saturday Video and the Sunday Quote of the Week.

I will post pictures here upon my return.

Monday, February 25, 2013

Tales from a Quaker Phone Sex Operator

I'd like to republish part of this article from the latest edition of Friends Journal. This will be of particular interest to my feminist readers. Because this is a very emotionally intense article, it carries with it a Trigger Warning.

_________________

A phone-sex operator as a spiritual healer? No, I didn’t start out the work with this intention. But that is where the path led.

“You’re a sweetheart, Karen. Always have been,” the caller tells me in his heavy Appalachian accent.

“Thanks, Wyatt. I try to be,” I reply. “You are, too.”

“I mean it, Karen. You’ve always been a sweetheart.”

I repeat my comment, and try to move the conversation toward something else. Wyatt has a tendency to go on and on with these platitudes. It’s not that he lacks intelligence—far from it. What he does lack are good verbal skills, especially a good emotional vocabulary. He’s an industrial engineer and comes from a family who did not particularly value education or the ability to be articulate.

Nonetheless, my relationship with Wyatt has been among the most intimate of my life. It’s not a relationship between equals; it’s more like a parent-child or therapist-client relationship. I am a phone-sex operator, and Wyatt was one of my customers for over six years, until that relationship reached the limits of usefulness to him and we became “friends,” or at least social acquaintances. Although I still know him only over the phone, I have his real name and address and carry a photo of him in my wallet.

I love him.

To read the entire work, subscribe to Friends Journal.

Always Be a Good Boy, Don't Ever Play with Guns

 

For the past few months, gun control has taken a large place in the national discourse. Pundits, talking heads, columnists, and average Americans have spoken passionately about banning particularly dangerous firearms. I believe we need to take a strong stand, but in order to succeed, we have to take into account the latent violence that exists within each of us. Guns have played a role in shaping the development of many American lives, even those of proud liberals.

The war we wage is not against guns as a whole, but rather the offenders who use them to kill innocent people. As a pacifist, I often find myself taking a position on this issue far outside the statistical norm. I oppose wars and armed conflict on any sort, but I know I must also keep an open mind whenever possible. Orthodoxy of any form is distasteful to me and often to blame for the overheated, noxious atmosphere that materializes whenever the issue of gun control is raised.   

An obsession with guns might be harmless enough, if kept in its proper context. More of us that might care to admit have a history with firearms, even if we don't want to confront it. We often rationalize our conduct earlier in life, though examining our upbringing in this forum might be a worthwhile endeavor.   
 
My mother is fond of telling a story. Prior to having me, her first child, she was convinced that she would raise me very differently. This was the ambition of many hippie parents, both then and now. The ethos is the same today. Her attitude towards motherhood, in the beginning, was super serious, unsmiling and adamant. One might say she was driven to be the best parent in the history of recorded time. 

No child of hers would ever play with toy guns. This was a point upon which she was especially forceful and emphatic. She would never compromise, nor back down. Denied access to plastic toy guns, I began to improvise. I grabbed bits and pieces of the upright vacuum cleaner, and held them against my shoulder blade like a shotgun. Kow! Kow!

My grandmother was aghast. In a great show of uncomprehending disgust, she took me to K-Mart and purchased four brand new toy guns for my personal usage. After our return from the store, I played happily, running around outside, formulating a thousand imaginary war games of my own creation. My mother learned her lesson and never stood in my way again. 
 
A little later in life, my father took me out into the country several times for target practice. I found the experience fun and enjoyable. There's something oddly thrilling about the loud boom of a shotgun blast. Dad's 12 gauge kicked back hard against my shoulder with an unforgiving ferocity. Until I adjusted properly, the experience was painful and a little scary. One had to respect a weapon that announced its presence so definitively and with such dramatic emphasis.

In time, I outgrew my interest in weaponry, though I have retained an interest in military history that now sits uneasily with me from time to time. As we age, our focus often changes substantially, but is, upon further analysis, merely a variation upon a theme. No one is suggesting that all guns be outlawed, of course. Even if they were, a substantial void would be left behind. We can't airbrush history, nor can we remove the cultural context. But this shouldn't be an impediment to reform.

If we removed guns from our societal framework, what would appear in its place? I can't help but think that some new form of weaponry would be created. Over the past several centuries, we have become a more empathetic, compassionate world in many ways. We no longer burn witches at the stake. Several U.S. states have abolished the death penalty, as have several countries. But every so often, an act of ultra-violence occurs, reminding us that we have a long way to go.

Sunday, February 24, 2013

Quote of the Week


"Socialism never took root in America because the poor see themselves not as an exploited proletariat but as temporarily embarrassed millionaires."- John Steinbeck

Saturday, February 23, 2013

Saturday Video



Beetlebum
What you've done
She's a gun
Now what you've done
Beetlebum

Get nothing done
You beetlebum just get numb
Now what you've done
Beetlebum

And when she lets me slip away
She turns me on all my violence is gone
Nothing is wrong
I just slip away and I am gone

Nothing is wrong
She turns me on
I just slip away and I am gone

Beetlebum
Because you're young
She's a gun
Now what you've done
Beetlebum

She'll suck your thumb
She'll make you come
Coz, she's your gun
Now what you've done
Beetlebum

And when she lets me slip away
She turns me on all my violence is gone
Nothing is wrong
I just slip away and I am gone

Nothing is wrong
She turns me on
I just slip away and I am gone

Thursday, February 21, 2013

After Hours




One, two, three
If you close the door
The night could last forever
Leave the sunshine out
And say hello to never

All the people are dancing
And they're having such fun
I wish it could happen to me

But if you close the door
I'd never have to see the day again

If you close the door
The night could last forever
Leave the wine-glass out
And drink a toast to never

Oh, someday I know
Someone will look into my eyes
And say hello
You're my very special one

But if you close the door
I'd never have to see the day again

Dark party bars, shiny Cadillac cars
And the people on subways and trains
Looking gray in the rain,
As they stand disarrayed
Oh, but people look well in the dark

And if you close the door
The night could last forever
Leave the sunshine out
And say hello to never

All the people are dancing
And they're having such fun
I wish it could happen to me

Cause if you close the door
I'd never have to see the day again
I'd never have to see the day again,
Once more
I'd never have to see the day again

Wednesday, February 20, 2013

Midwinter Gathering Decompression Thoughts



Two days removed from the conference, there is much still on my mind. For starters, I've rarely been to gatherings more self-consciously friendly and inclusive. Many attenders have experienced deeply hurtful forms of rejection based on sexual orientation and gender presentation. Aware of that, extra effort was made to make sure no one sat alone during meals and that newcomers were greeted warmly.

The dynamics were especially different because, as is true for many liberal Quaker gatherings and Meetings, there were more women in attendance than men. I would estimate that the split was 60/40, female versus male. This is unusual. LGBT gatherings can be top heavy with queer men, but not here. I remember how the Gay/Straight Student alliance in my college days was predominately composed of gay men.

Warmth and inclusion aside, the gathering was not without its flaws.

Certain young mothers can be obnoxious at times, convinced that they are pursuing the most perfect manner of parenting imaginable. One of them tried to put the other parents on a guilt trip for not including their children along with the adult activities. This, I have found, works better in theory than in practice.

Childcare exists for a reason. Young children fidget and usually do not easily sit still. Within minutes, they wish to roam around and explore. I don't reject the basic premise of the experiment. We hope that children will find a place among adults and, upon their return, the rest of their home Meeting.

Only the very introverted, quiet, and shy children can easily embrace our silent Worship. I, for one, hope that when it comes time for middle school and high school, our children will have the willingness to participate fully. As is true for many faith groups, adolescent rebellion combined with forming identity means that Quaker Meeting is discarded for a time, often for years. 

Branching out a little more, Midwinter was enjoyable, but utterly overwhelming. Being bisexual, I've always felt caught in between two very different societal constructs. At the gathering, I could speak a different language among other native speakers. That is a part of me that I usually suppress around straight people because they don't understand it. I honestly feel indebted to both heterosexuality and homosexuality but not necessarily a part of either, if that makes sense.

It felt liberating to recognize that I'm not as much of an oddball as I have thought in times past. As I've written about from time to time, I wear elements of women's clothing in addition to men's clothing. Because of this, I'm usually paranoid about being discovered. Little did I know that my bunkmate and three other men dressed in the same manner I did.

I talked extensively to an older man with a pronounced southern accent. He sounded like and acted like my Alabama grandfather. It was a reminder of home, especially now that I am most usually among people who are not from my native region. When it came time for bed, I noticed my fast Friend wore a negligee and made no apologies for it.

It was nice not having to be overly cautious and fearful. I found commonality in ways I'd never expected or even anticipated. Still, the parallel universe in which I was a part began to drain me by the end of each day. I was stretched in unimaginable ways. But I will take back quite a bit with me. I already have.

Tuesday, February 19, 2013

A Few Pictures of the Gathering





Does Class Matter? (Yes, It Does)

 
I have just returned from the annual FLGBTQC Midwinter Gathering. In one of the workshops I attended, we focused exclusively on class and classism. I'm very glad that we did. Neither topic is as easy to define as one might think. I share here the queries that guided our discussion

Does Class Matter among Friends and other Faith Communities?


1. In what class background were you raised?
2. What class do you identify with now?
3. Why do you identify with that class?

Following that section, discussion took on a different focus.

a. Can you remember a time when you acted differently around Friends because you were aware that you had more or less money or power than they did? What were your experiences from that exchange?

b. What might we do when we see or feel these things both within Friends and within the larger community? How can we become transformative agents rather than remaining blind to the problem?

I discovered that class means different things depending on location, region, financial circumstance, level of education, and myriad of other factors.

Sunday, February 17, 2013

Quote of the Week


"O Lord, help me not to despise or oppose what I do not understand."- William Penn

Saturday, February 16, 2013

Saturday Video



I waited for you, Winterlong
You seem to be where I belong.
It's all illusion anyway.

If things should ever turn out wrong
And all the love we have is gone,
It won't be easy on that day.

Waiting to follow
Through the dreamlight of your way
Is not so easy for me now.

Half the time has passed away
Things we thought of yesterday
Come back now, come back now.

Waiting to follow
Through the dreamlight of your way
Is not so easy for me now.

Half the time has passed away
Things we thought of yesterday
Come back now, come back now.

I waited for you Winterlong
You seem to be where I belong.

Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Puritan Valentine's Day Cards


Click to embiggen

FLGBTQ Conference Notice

Early on Friday morning, I depart for the Quaker Midwinter gathering, which bears a particularly unwieldy acronym of FLGBTQC. In this context, it means Friends for Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, and Questioning Concerns. This is my first time to attend. It comes highly recommended by almost everyone, including but not limited to a lesbian F/friend who has formed a series of close friendships with many regular attenders.

In Quaker speak, a concern is an a idea or prompting by the Spirit which leads a Friend to take on a particular leading or position. Each of us will have our own concerns to share. We labor together in love as a group, for our own reasons, though I'd be willing to bet that our individual motives and desires often overlap. It is for this reason that we meet together in fellowship, while hopefully drawing strength from the commonality present within our similarities.

The gathering is not closed to only queer-identified participants. Several allies will be in attendance, too, and I appreciate their presence among us. I'm going to be wading into the middle of a conference whose history dates back at least to the last couple decades, and perhaps even longer than that. I'm sure established friendships and partnerships have existed for a long time; I don't want them to be exclusionary. I'm told that 140 people have registered and plan to attend. I hope I don't get lost in the crowd.

Subconsciously and consciously, my own queer identity has taken an impressively large place in my thoughts. As part of my leadership role, I conducted a regular correspondence with the Meeting via e-mail listserve earlier this week. In it, I formally outed myself to everyone, though most people knew already. The decision was prompted by a slightly mortifying experience a couple weeks before.

I'd had a semi-awkward conversation with an openly gay member of the Meeting. He asked, more directly that I was expecting, the precise status of my sexual orientation.

So you are gay?

Caught off guard, I managed to stammer, No, bisexual. But the effect was not displayed with the confidence as I wanted desperately to project. I have been presumed to be lots of things over the years, and I find myself still fighting to not be defined on someone else's terms but my own. That being said, once the initial horror passed, he was supportive about the internal conflicts within my own life. These have only partially been resolved up to now, but maybe a supportive community will heal some long-festering wounds.

Raised a Muslim in a Middle Eastern country, the Friend who questioned me has mostly turned away from the faith of his upbringing. I was present for his wedding to a man at our Meetinghouse, whereupon I noticed that not a single family member of his own was in attendance. His now-husband, however, drew a large, demonstrative, and supportive combined crowd of relatives and nuclear family. LGBT rights still have a ways to go, as they are not yet evenly applied across the globe.   

In any case, I am not going to bring my laptop with me. I intend to fully participate in group activities, workshops, and generally being social. As much as the idea of live Tweeting the event appeals to me, I think I'll give my Twitter account, Facebook account, and e-mail account a rest for the most part. Expect no substantial blog updates from me from Friday until Tuesday.

I may put the Saturday Video and Sunday Quote of the Week on auto-post, because they don't require a tremendous amount of time and pre-planning. 

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Coconut Grove



It’s really true, how nothing matters,
No mad, mad world,
And no mad hatters,
No one’s pitching,
Cause there ain’t no batters,

in Coconut Grove.
Don’t barre the door,
There’s no one coming,
The ocean’s roar,
Were double drumming,
of many city thoughts and city ways.
The ocean breeze has cooled my mind,
The salty days are hers and mine,
Just to do what we wanna.
Tonight we’ll find a dune that’s ours,
And softly she will speak the stars,
Until sunup.
It’s all from having someone knowing,
Just which way your head is blowing,
Who's always warm like in the morning,
in Coconut Grove.

Monday, February 11, 2013

Misfit Activism and Belief



The life of a prominent member of the Quaker Meeting of which I attend was commemorated yesterday. Though he’d been born intobeen born in a Jewish family ah,  a prominent member of the Meeting  a semi-observant Jewish family, Judaism as a religion did not appeal to him.

He was skeptical of the existence of God, yet found secular humanism and atheism to be sterile, academic exercises. It was clear by his life's work that he sought to believe and take part in something larger than himself, else he would not have sought the Religious Society of Friends. Converts to every faith tradition take similar forms. 

Much ado was made of the fact that, even though he always called himself a misfit, he nevertheless was one of the most dynamic members of the Meeting. His years of service in a staggering variety of areas did not go unnoticed. I see this same conundrum within many liberals, especially liberal people of faith. On one hand, progressives often state that they don’t care to belong to any club that would have them as a member. But on the other hand, the desire to belong and be part is stronger than any protestations to the contrary.   

Many people I know personally have felt like outliers for at least some portion of their lives. For a variety of factors, some biological, some sociological, I’ve felt outside the mainstream myself. Having said that, today I feel less estranged from humanity and God than at other times in my life. Adolescent existentialism has its own blameless place in our lives, but I believe it must be set aside eventually. We must embrace the mystery and enjoy life in spite of it, even if we can’t (and never will) quite wrap our minds around the notion. 

Is it truly important to maintain a system of personal belief which always ensures, in our thinking, that the rest of the world couldn’t possibly understand us? Circumstances differ, of course. I admit that prior to the initial stage of coming out as bisexual that I did feel that I was like no one else. With great jubilation, I learned over time that this was not the case. Though I may have developed a protective identity for myself as different, in the end, it wasn't necessary.

A younger me wanted to wear my distinctions like a button badge, alongside the other activist identities I’d adopted. Now, I’ve been seeking commonalities with other people, even though I concede that it is easy to slide back into my overly critical ways. No one ever said when, where, and how we were supposed to have everything figured out.

The creation story in Genesis has been interpreted a thousand ways over the centuries. I’ve always chosen to view it as symbolic, metaphorical, and allegorical—anything but literal. Humans are animals, but what distinguishes us from the beasts of the fields is the massive size of our brains. We have the ability to know both good and evil, at least to an extent, and to wrestle with the concept. If we are indeed created in God’s image, we see reality as complicated, nuanced, and far from simple.

The serpent was the shrewdest of all the wild animals the LORD God had made. One day he asked the woman, "Did God really say you must not eat the fruit from any of the trees in the garden?" "God knows that your eyes will be opened as soon as you eat it, and you will be like God, knowing both good and evil."

We can, each of us, become the serpent that divides, distorting meaning for our own ends. We have the ability to come close to understanding ultimate reality and God, but we’ll always fall short. Human theories are disproved and ideas fall out of favor with the passage of time. An estrangement from God's guidance, however, is not forever. God never wavers or is rendered obsolete. We have free will and the choice to make our own path.

Any ideology or system of belief contains its own language and terminology. Many people with whom I communicate regularly have backgrounds in gender studies. Over time, I’ve picked up the key terms and concepts, especially the ones currently in vogue. But gender studies as a discipline seeks to poke holes through established thinking. I fully admit to being a feminist, in part, because I never have been able to understand, much less experience conventional masculinity. 

Like before, gender studies sees the current state of affairs as deeply flawed and needing a radical transformation. It appeals often to the same outliers, who view themselves as different, keepers of the one true faith. This is a breeding ground for misfits, malcontents, and seekers. 

When we see ourselves as one people, outside of the idealistic utopia of our own creation, one that may or may not ever come to pass, then we’ll undo the curse of humanity. Life is to struggle for meaning and context, and often to fall short. To those granted the vision to view a set of perfect circumstances, our burden will never be light. 

But in the meantime, we have significant inner work to do, work that will last the whole of our lifetimes. When our inner work is in synch with our outer work, then we can scale heights never before imaginable. Indeed, if we had faith even as small as a mustard seed, we could move mountains.

Sunday, February 10, 2013

Quote of the Week


A prostitute was forgiven by Allah, because, passing by a panting dog near a well and seeing that the dog was about to die of thirst, she took off her shoe, and tying it with her head-cover she drew out some water for it. So, Allah forgave her because of that.- Muhammad, the prophet

Saturday, February 09, 2013

Saturday Video


I am, a back door man
I am, a back door man
Well the men don't know, 
but the little girls understand

When everybody's tryin' to sleep
I'm somewhere making my midnight creep
Yes in the morning, when the rooster crow
Something tell me, I got to go

I am, a back door man
I am, a back door man
Well the men don't know, 
but the little girls understand

They take me to the doctor, shot full o' holes
Nurse cried, please save the soul
Killed him for murder, first degree
Judge's wife cried, let the man go free

I am, a back door man
I am, a back door man
Well the men don't know, 
but the little girls understand

Stand out there, cop's wife cried
Don't take him down, rather be dead
Six feets in the ground
When you come home you can eat pork and beans
I eats mo' chicken, any man seen

I am, a back door man
I am, a back door man

Friday, February 08, 2013

You Didn't Have to be So Nice



You didn't have to be so nice
I would have liked you anyway
If you had just looked once or twice
And gone upon your quiet way

Today I said the time was right for you to follow me
I knew I'd find you in a day or two
And it's true

You came upon a quiet day
You simply seemed to take your place
I knew that it would be that way
The minute that I saw your face

And when we've had a few more days
I wonder if I'll get to say
You didn't have to be so nice
I would have liked you anyway

Today I said the time was right for me to follow you
I knew I'd find you in a day or two
And it's true

You didn't have to be so nice
I would have liked you anyway
If you had just looked once or twice
And gone upon your quiet way

Thursday, February 07, 2013

Health Update




What follows is yet another attempt to demystify chronic illness and disability. As always, I write to inform others and to process what I have personally experienced. All of this has been entirely new for me, too. Most people, fortunately, do not have to plan their life around a robust pill regimen and a series of never-ceasing medical appointments. What I am about to describe is a complicated process in which I must take part because, quite simply, I have to.

On Monday morning, I arrived on time for the latest study and was told to undress from the waist down. As I donned the thick hospital gown, I knew my lower extremities were to be exhaustively tested. The urology nurse and I have worked together weekly for the past four months and developed a strong rapport. Our personalities are similar. Though we have a sensitive, emotional core, we’re both very no-nonsense and direct. I trust her with my care and I know she respects me as a patient.  

As is usually the case, less invasive procedures have been tried first, before calling in the heavy artillery. Every Friday morning since the Autumn, I’ve had a small acupuncture needle inserted into my ankle, which is then electrified. The insertion is not especially painful, but the electric current applied to the site can be uncomfortable for a minute or two until the body adjusts. The process lasts about half an hour from start to finish. I’ve undergone sixteen of these at last count.

Overactive bladder, in my case, is caused when the spine over-signals the bladder to urinate. The inserted needle stimulates the nerve that runs from the ankle to the base of the spine. This procedure has been successful to a degree, but not enough to completely take care of the problem. I can now sit in a movie theater or at a friend’s house for an hour or so without feeling a constant compulsion to get up and go to the bathroom.  But sooner or later, the urge becomes overwhelming and I have no choice but to return once again.

I’ve come to a greater recognition of how Puritanical a society we still are, especially as concerns bodily functions. The urology nurse with whom I’ve grown close sees particular organs and orifices every day as part of her job. But it nonetheless felt awkward to bare my private parts to her. It cuts both ways, I suppose. If she were a complete stranger, I suppose I would feel a bit less exposed. Still, at the same time, I find I trust her to look out for me. If I didn’t know her at all, our patient/provider relationship would be very different, perhaps even for the worst.  

Catheters are a special kind of torture. No amount of lubricating gel or sharp intakes of breath allows one the ability to forget that a large foreign object has been forcibly inserted into one’s urethra. Not one, but two of them were used to monitor several different levels simultaneously. Video screens set up before me produced data that seemed meaningful enough, except that I couldn’t understand any of the output beamed outward. All I could focus on is how immobilized I was, sitting upright in a very awkward position, not able to find any comfort whatsoever.

The urologist doctor arrived later to observe. She is extremely attractive, which usually manages to distract me from my concerns and worries for a while. With tubes inserted into different, highly intimate parts of my body, I couldn’t much enjoy the visual spectacle. In a different context altogether, there might well have been something sexual about the whole thing. Most people don't take such an intensive look at my genitals unless they're sleeping with me. 

With interminable testing and medical procedures, I’ve learned to find diversions whenever possible. I am reminded of how my female friends describe a visit to the gynecologist: awkward and slightly mortifying. Fortunately, the worst is over. I have one remaining test that requires catheter insertion, but I’ll be numbed up severely beforehand. A small video camera attached to the catheter will show the urologist a complete picture of the inside of the bladder. The procedure usually lasts less than five minutes.  

Surgery has already been scheduled for the middle of March. As I believe I’ve written about before, a small pacemaker-like device will be implanted next to the bladder. It will provide the proper amount of signaling, taking over for the spine, which has been dysfunctional for years. I’ve had this issue for five or six years, but the problem didn’t become this severe until about eighteen months ago.

I’m enthusiastic about the procedure. It embarrasses me to be the party guest who visits the bathroom four times every hour, when everyone else goes once. Recording how much I urinate and how often (part of treatment) can be tedious, and servers as an alarming reminds me of just how much the problem has deteriorated over time. Still, there are treatments to fix the bladder, and I have no doubt that this condition will get better.

Wednesday, February 06, 2013

Our Spiritual State



Part of my responsibilities as clerk of Ministry and Worship are to compile an annual report. In it, my Monthly Meeting seeks to attain the Spiritual State of the Meeting. The past several years, we’ve relied upon an online survey to gather information from members and regular attenders. It has encouraged greater participation and honesty. The anonymity of the internet produces strongly felt opinions one would not ordinarily hear in day-to-day conversation. 

felt lydinarily hear in day-to-day conversation. ion from the Meeting. The anonymity of the internet produces opinions one woul
Our challenges are not uncommon to many urban Meetings. Though small by orthodox Christian standards, the Meeting is one of the ten largest in the North America, if not the world. Perhaps unavoidably, a wide divergence of opinion fragments the Meeting into factions. Here, the Christian sits uneasily on benches beside the damaged-by-Christianity. The adamant theist speaks into the same silence as the agnostic seeker. In theory, each of these sub-groups is made stronger by the presence of the other. In practice, the effect is often more isolating than unifying.

I have to say I've never believed in all of the ideals of conventional liberalism. It is important, I agree, to provide Friends an avenue to personal expression and communion with God. Yet, I must also concede that we now live in an increasingly Post-Christian world. Our grandparents memorized certain scriptural passages, spent many Sundays at church, and were thoroughly familiar with Christian language and biblical stories. Now, I fear we have thrown the baby out with the bathwater.

One could make a case that, even then, many people went through the motions, without much conviction toward God or any belief in a higher power. But in any case, it is true that much of my generation has been raised to not see much value in religion. Generations that follow me are even more skeptical, more inclined to see religion as a destructive force that stifles individual liberty. Right-wing Christianity is said to speak for all of Christendom, which is simply untrue.

Centuries of helpful Christian spiritual tools and modes of thought are simply not available to people who are too busy running away from Christianity. What bothers me most are those who have cut themselves off from a potential loving source of great Spiritual contentment. I am afraid that liberal Friends are becoming a group of people who think that Quakerism has no firm and fixed beliefs. In this way of thinking, as long as one does no overt harm, he or she is okay in this world.

The hectic pace of a workaholic city, if not a workaholic culture provides us little time to discern a spiritual infrastructure. Ego and unbelief is destroying us, because some of us have opted to choose God on our terms instead of seeking the Light of the Divine. The Light will reveal itself beyond our human, imperfect requirements of what God must be. We must fight the impulse to think that God must be tangible and provable, despite the fact that the mystery of Divinity is central to our faith. 

In effect, it is not Light we are seeking, but instead the hope and desire that we will not have to see the Light. If we live in darkness, we are off the hook. And should we keep this attitude, we will be utterly blind to any sort of Divine impact in our lives. Any human concept of God is, at best, an approximation and an Idol. Doctrine and Absolutism is idolatry. God can only be found in mystical experience, though we must first search for him.