Ten Years of Love
Psalm 111:10
Psalm 111:10 (NRSV):
The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom;
all those who practice it have a good understanding.
Psalm 111:10 (An interpretive paraphrase from non-Bible-writer Matt):
A reverence for every person and the Divine Love within them is the beginning of wisdom;
all those who practice that reverence have a good understanding.
There, I fixed it!
All translation is interpretation to a degree. And while I don’t want to misrepresent the spirituality of the original writers, words like these would otherwise not speak to me. When I read the Bible, I try to listen to the ways people experienced the Divine, and to use those experiences not as binding or prescriptive, but as invitations to reflect on our own experiences.
And I’m not questioning the spiritual tradition from which this frequently used Biblical aphorism arises, because I actually think that tradition is big enough to hold multiple possibilities in its ongoing dialogue about the Divine and the Divine-human relationship. I’m simply joining a long history of interpretative and creative dialogue. But I would take issue with any interpretation of this that leads people to believe that they should be scared of God, rather than finding safety and refuge in God; or that God is out there, as opposed to in here; or that God’s primarily desire is to be noticed, rather than inspiring our efforts to notice each other, especially those often overlooked.
So “fear of the Lord?” That’s hard for me to get excited about, except when I consider that “fear,” here, probably means wonder and reverence, not shaking in your boots, dreading a punishment; and when I remember that, as one of our treasured songs at CFC goes, “Love is lord of heaven and earth.”
A reverence for love is the beginning of wisdom. More specifically, a reverence for every person and the Love within them. This to me, is the heart of Quaker spirituality. It undergirds our commitment to social action, to care for each other, and to listening to our own wisdom. I might say that reverence for the Love in you, the Love in me, the Love among us, may be the heart of what I’ve learned as a minister in this community.
I’ve actually learned a lot at CFC over the years. In fact, let me tell you, besides this reverence for Love, and for you, ten other things I’ve learned in ten years at CFC.
1. Love is a better goal than perfection.
What if I told you I spent an hour determining the perfect way to word that sentence?
Friends, at times I wish I could be perfect for you. But sometimes I say the wrong thing. Sometimes things are glitchy when we gather, either with tech or with things people say in the mic that we may feel misrepresent us, as a whole. Sometimes committees drop the ball, sometimes I drop the ball. Sometimes I forget something you told me, and you have to tell me again, and that really bugs me. Sometimes this community fails to live out its values, to do the work we say we want to do. Sometimes things break around here and don’t get fixed for a while, or fixed well enough.
But perfection is not a good goal. Perfectionism keeps us from doing good in the world, because we’re worried about saying or doing the wrong thing, and so we do nothing. Perfectionism makes people anxious and controlling. Perfectionism makes us deny that we have limits, that we need rest, that we need each other. Perfection tells us we need to be excellent or people will reject us. Perfectionism isn’t about loving well, it’s about obsessing over unfair expectations, and, so, along the way, failing to love well.
Mistakes happen. The key is not avoiding situations where I might make a mistake–which hurts people–or pretending I didn’t make a mistake when I did–which hurts people–but accepting that we are beautiful souls who make mistakes, and staying humble, ready to grow, and willing to make repairs, if needed. This is a community committed to doing good, not to being perfect.
I’ve also learned that…
2. Love hurts, but not as much as tables.
Man, I tell you, dropping that massive table on my head, four years ago, was a bit disruptive to my life, with ongoing aches and pains…and bills. I could tell you, it’s fine.
I could think, these people don’t want to keep hearing about how I gave myself a concussion and lingering neck and back issues, even if it was a significant part of my life, and may be a part of my life, indefinitely.
Speaking of hurts, Quakers are pretty nonviolent people…except for that one time a participant in our community pounded on my chest. It was late 2018, I think, and my contract was up for renewal. The elders’ proposal was going to be a three-year renewal, which was kind of the standard way we did things back then.
But when three years was suggested, I requested two, I think because…it felt like a particularly discouraging year for me, and it made me question this work, a little bit. Now, when I look back, the things that troubled me then seem like challenges I’m now more equipped to navigate, as I’ve matured…a little…I’ve matured a little.
Anyway, when one of our members who adored me–at the time–heard the two year suggestion, and that this was my request, they confronted me after the business meeting and, on the verge of tears, started pounding on my chest saying “two years? Two years? Two years?” Obviously, it’s been well beyond two years, as I’ve settled into life and ministry in this community and in Camas. I’m still here. Unlike the person who pounded on my chest.
Now this chest pounding didn’t hurt–not like a table hurts–and it wasn’t violent as much as strange, maybe even a little sweet? But I think that person felt hurt by my tenuous commitment. That’s fair. I felt hurt too. I’m glad their fists of fury conveyed that. I’m not sure I was all that forthright about my own sense of hurt that led me to suggest two years instead of three. And maybe I was hurt about something that shouldn’t have hurt me. I can criticize and judge my hurt all I want, but playing it cool like I’m not hurt? That takes its toll.
I know there’s a place for hurts, here. We hold space for each other’s grief and distress, and I think for the most part, while we try to encourage each other, give each other hope, we also recognize when a well-intentioned “it’ll be fine” or “God is good” is not helpful, and more of our way of coping with our own distress. We may want others to be okay, we may want to feel okay, but it doesn’t usually serve us well to rush the grief.
One of the most memorable meetings for worship, for me, was the Sunday after the 2016 election. Man, it was a grief-fest. A lot of anger. A lot of tears. A lot of very valid fears. And then, after a lot of open worship sharing, someone stood up and basically scolded everyone for their bad attitudes and told us to pray for our president. That was their last Sunday at Camas Friends.
This is a community who knows how to hold lament and hope in tension–not a shallow hope but a hope grounded in something deeper, in the belief that the way forward usually does not go around pain, but through it.
Speaking of hurt,
3. Love is watching someone die.
…to quote one of my favorite bands, Death Cab for Cutie!
We’ve lost a few people along the way. Linda Shinn. Marie Morasch. Joy Williams. Sally Butterfield. Carolyn Myers. Wylie Reed. Pat Shaver. Lee Foster. Lynette Fazio. Many of you lost loved ones in Covid, or before or after. And I know the death that happens around us, weighs on us. The Pulse Night Club and Parkland shootings. Kids dying in cages at the southern border. Covid. George Floyd, among others. The October 7th Hamas attack. Genocide in Gaza. People denied life-saving care. Species, dying.
Letting go can feel like a kind of death. Letting go of Northwest Yearly Meeting and Twin Rocks Camp. Letting go of people who’ve quietly left Camas Friends. Letting go of more toxic forms of religion. Letting go of loved ones, or relationships that once mattered to us. I’ve learned the importance of taking time to pause and to notice and to feel during those transitions, whether folks are leaving this world or entering it.
Speaking of which, we’ve had new life too! Teddy. Lane and Selah. Soren. Julian. Not a lot of babies beyond that, as most of our little ones you see here today joined us post-babyhood. But we’ve got a Kerhwald baby on the way!
And, Love is born here! I’ve officiated a few weddings these past ten years. Lexi and Josh. Hannah and Rich. Adam and Elizabeth. Stephanie and Andrew. Kyle and Katie. Jade and Tom. Beck and Renee. Janet and Andrew. Kim and Ben. (Levi and Jon next spring). None of these relationships began here but all, to a degree, were nurtured by this community.
But the love of friendship is born here too. I don’t say “I love you” to people here, very often. Maybe because…I’m not sure I want to put that pressure on others to feel like that’s language they need to use, or because it feels intense. But…agh…who am I kidding, ( ), I love you! ( ), I love you! ( ), I freaking love you! I love all of you!
Speaking of love,
4. Virtual Love is real Love.
I remember in the early days of SCYMF–2017–there was a question–can someone not in our geographical region be a member? In hindsight…what an adorable question! Covid, among other ways it disrupted life as we knew it, caused us to scramble a bit in March 2020 to figure out how to stay connected to each other, and led us to Zoom, which we thought we could use for a couple of weeks until the lockdown was over. By Easter, for sure!
We were Zoom-only for about 15 months, from March 2020 to June 2021. But the usefulness of Zoom, plus our sense of upheaval and uncertainty, and just…need for each other…I think that time really deepened our connections with each other. And it also reflected a virtual shift to a lot of our life together, where, while yes, we meet for worship in this room, have Laundry Love in person, potlucks in person, and so on…now, Book Club is online, committee meetings are online, Friends and Tea, online, some clearness meetings are online, business meetings, online, the Welcome Class, online, all of which, for as much as some might lament the loss of some face-to-face experiences, is more friendly to those with young kids at home, or who don’t live a short drive to the meetinghouse, or who just can’t go out but still seek connection. Not to mention the ecological benefits of not driving to some of these gatherings!
And of course, some treasured parts of our community, members and non-members, don’t live in the area. Shoot, our clerk of elders lives in Minnesota! But I consider her a dear friend and certainly an integral part of our community, not a spectator. This virtual reality we live in has been an important part of our unfolding story, as a community.
Speaking of all that change, I’ve learned that…
5. Love, like CFC, is change.
Jo tells me that, as a pastor, I am like…a ferry boat captain. People often come to Camas Friends because they’re looking for something different, and leaving something behind. For many, they’ve come to experience Christianity, as they’ve known it, as too violent, too exclusive, too controlling, too MAGA, too homophobic, or any number of things. People don’t tend to come to us looking for more of the same thing but with slightly different ornamentation. They may be looking for some degree of continuity but also for something substantially different.
And for some people CFC is their last stop on the way out of religion, and I think we’ve played that role of helping them make sense of what they are letting go, as they let it go. Greeting them as they leave the land they’ve known and set out on the ferry boat of Camas Friends, and where they land, we can’t control, and don’t try to control.
It’s hard to watch people come and go, if I’m honest. 80% of you present today, at least, weren’t here ten years ago. Some have passed away. Some have left, hurt. Some have left, annoyed. Some couldn’t evolve with us, as we evolved, and so they found other places to worship. Some are just…super busy, and tired.
But many have just needed a little support, on their journey away from the faith they’ve known, and have stopped here. I guess I am a kind of ferry boat captain, helping people get to where they need to be, whether that’s a new way of thinking and believing and practicing that happens here, with us, or whether it’s somewhere beyond us. And really, this is a role we can all play…guiding each other through the waters.
6. Love makes space for feedback.
In my first year at CFC, I had an overnight getaway with Jo to Edgefield Mcmenamins, because, of course that’s where we went. So us! I posted a picture of myself on Facebook in the winery with a glass of wine, and one of our folks commented, “I don’t approve.” Not as a joke, just as a public scolding. Then they emailed me after to tell me not to post pictures of me drinking online.
Now, what I wish I could have done, instead of feeling shaken by it, like I’d done something naughty, or like their critique spoke for the whole of the meeting, I wish I could have responded by either: a) laughing and then immediately forgetting it ever happened; b) staying firm in my sense of what my conscience allows but practicing curiosity, saying, “let’s get together so I can better hear what’s at stake for you, in this”; or c) saying, in the most juvenile of replies, “well I don’t approve of your face.”
I did none of those. I was too rattled. But criticism…is information. It doesn’t have to be defining. I wish I’d seen this as an opportunity to learn more about this person, the concern they were raising. I wish I’d asked better questions. I wish I’d pushed back, too, and said “Friend, I’m so glad you felt safe enough with me to voice this concern; I’m going to keep posting pics of myself having fun with my wife and not censor my life in this way, but I want you to know that you can be honest with me, and hopefully we can both be curious and empathetic.”
Some criticism I’ve received has been really helpful. It’s helped me be more intentional, more anti-racist, more tender, more aware that everyone has different needs and hopes. I think being able to receive criticism is important, especially when it’s not just a matter of taste, but a matter of harm. I know there’s a line that could be crossed, where I become a scapegoat and get kind of dumped on, but it’s also important to, you know, not become a fascist leader who punishes people for criticism.
Speaking of people’s feelings about me, I’ve learned…
7. Love isn’t making everyone happy.
Did you know you have expectations of me? That’s not a bad thing, generally. Some of them you are aware of those expectations, some of you aren’t. But maybe you’re disappointed I didn’t call. Or my sermon made you sleepy. Or you shared an idea with me, hoping I’d champion it and make your dream a reality, and I didn’t. Or I didn’t say Jesus enough times. Or I said Jesus too few times. Or I didn’t voice my need. Or I voiced my need and you didn’t seem to like my need.
But more difficult than your expectations of me, are my expectations of myself. It’s way more often than I feel like what I’m bringing to this community isn’t enough, because there’s always another call I could make, a more engaging sermon I could write, an event you planned that I could show up to, a leading I could support, and so on.
What’s the way forward? Do the things I can do? Accept my limits? Throw a lot of compassion toward myself. Throw a lot of compassion toward others, whose expectations and needs are valid, even if I cannot fully come through for them. Talk to people, and in cases where I need to adjust my practices, adjust them, and in cases where others should adjust their expectations, communicate them. And of course, mushrooms. Psychedelics. No, I wouldn’t even know where you…put…the thing…
But yeah, you just can’t make everybody happy. There’s a point where integrity means just being who you are, consequences be damned. Some people grow disillusioned with us because they want CFC to be something that it just isn’t. Despite what the Apostle Paul says, I’m not sure you can really be all things to all people.
There’s an appeal to being a kind of moderate community, that’s careful to only do and say things that make the most number of people feel welcome. But that fails, because, you can’t, for example, expect unicorns to feel safe and valued in a space where those who want unicorns dead are given the freedom to say whatever they want about unicorns, or even where people who say they care about unicorns don’t really listen to what unicorns say they need. You have to, sometimes, pick a lane. You can’t always center the voices of the whole community. So then, whose voices will we center, even if it means we lose some folks along the way? Who are we willing to disappoint?
8. Love is messy–like being your friend and employee!
You are all my friends! And you’re, collectively, my boss. I make myself available to you for support and accompaniment and guidance, and you give me a written performance review. Am I performing for you, when I ask you how you’re doing? No, of course not. Are you my friends? Yes! Are you work? Yes! Is that weird? Yes! But friendship and work are both sacred, to me. And so I think it’s working, despite the fuzzy boundaries, and the pressure I feel as a pastor, in a potentially limitless job that I have to be careful about limiting, because it’s not obvious when the work is done.
Open, honest communication really helps. People are not mind-readers. I don’t know what you want! Sometimes I know what you want because I pay attention, or because I’m often pretty intuitive, but I can’t read your mind! Likewise, you cannot read my mind. How do people know what we need, where we’re struggling, if we don’t say it?
Being in community, being friends, is messy. Being honest with people goes a long way, even if they don’t respond well, at first. Sometimes people need time. But I think people need to hear the truth. About what you need or want. About a way someone has hurt you. About a boundary. And about how wonderful you think someone is, since complimenting and celebrating each other is an important form of honesty, too.
9. Being alone on the trail is one way I find Love.
What spiritual practices are sustaining you and your Love, in these wild times? For me, it’s being on the trail. Hiking is an escape, but it’s also an encounter. Hiking is not my escape from what’s actually happening in the world, it puts me in touch with what is actually happening in the world. The world isn’t just what we see in the news, it’s also what’s happening in the forests, in alpine meadows, in the creeks and lakes.
Hiking is a reset. Hiking brings clarity. Hiking is needed quiet. Hiking puts me in touch with the Divine, that of God in all things, God in the beargrass and the lilies and the douglas firs and the chipmunks. Hiking challenges me. I don’t know how I could continue to show up as a minister, without this space to recenter and release.
And part of why I post so many hiking pictures, is a kind of ministry. When I preach a sermon, it’s the end of a process in which I’ve read a scripture, reflected on it, reflected on you all, and the world we live in, and come to the table with something I think might help you. I’ve discovered something I need to tell you about, for the good of us all. When I hike, I experience things I need people to know about. I share, as an act of Love.
10. Love means being who you are, fully.
Jose, for as long as I’ve known him, has often told me, “keep good.” So much of religion tells us we’re bad, and I think the message of Camas Friends is a counterpoint to that pessimism, a community who reminds people of their innate goodness and of the goodness of others. I think that message of goodness, while obviously not ignoring the evils in our world that demand an active response, is part of us being who we are.
But it’s more than that. Camas Friends is a weird church! Look at all of these weird people around you! It’s incredible! We’re not a church with a fancy building or immaculate interior. Our 70s style wood paneling in our bathroom is not for everyone.
We’re not an evangelical church and we’re not a unitarian church. If you just want Jesus, you’ll be disappointed. If you just want plurality of faiths, without a single tradition centered, you’ll be disappointed. That doesn’t mean we can’t be Jesus-y or inclusive, but that we’re just…something else.
We’re not a thousand-person church and we probably never will be because we’re just too niche, this unique community of progressive Christians and post-Christians and never-Christians that just doesn’t lend itself to being a large church. But there are a lot of people who are glad we exist, who would say that “not a big fan of churches these days but, for a church…you’re alright.”
Friends, we’re a weird church! We’re so weird! All that weird silence in our gatherings? A pastor who claims that the serpent in the Garden of Eden story represents the voice of God, not Satan, making the story not a tale of fallen human nature but of anti-authoritarian liberation and human and spiritual growth? So weird! Still one of my favorite sermons. March 2023, if you’re looking for it on our website.
But we’re so weird! Weird songs that no one sings anywhere else? A pride flag up in our window? “Quakers?” What a weird name! “Quakers…like oatmeal?” others have asked me. Heck yeah, like oatmeal! Let’s own it! Where are my oatmeal people, at???
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So that’s some of what I’ve learned through being a part of Camas Friends! Among many other things. And underneath it all, is Love, a Love that resides in each of you, which, in my mind, makes each of you worthy of reverence. Just don’t get a big head.
A reverence for every person and the Divine Love within them is the beginning of wisdom; all those who practice that reverence have a good understanding.
So what about you? What have you come to understand, by being part of this community? Whether you’ve been here for one hour or one decade…
Query:
What have you learned through being part of Camas Friends Church?