Probably the most disappointing thing about the Quaker meeting I went to today was that the Quaker Oats guy wasn't there. I know, I know, as a student and future teacher of religion I should be able to look past such stupid stereotypes and come to a deeper and more accurate understanding of religions and blablabla, but this blog is pretty much my only chance to share my honest understanding of the Quakers. When I think Quaker, I think of the Quaker Oats man, a joke in the Little House series (A guy enters a room full of people at a party sitting in awkward silence and he says something like, "Oh, are you guys playing Quaker Meeting?"), and a book in the Dear America series about a Quaker girl in New England who talked about candles and how Quakers can't dance. Maybe it wasn't New England exactly; I'm from the Western US so I tend to label everything east of the Mississippi as New England--not because I'm incapable of learning the difference, but because I just don't give a shit what the difference is.
But I knew the Quakers, like the Ayorthians in Ella Enchanted, have a soft spot for silence, and after getting over my initial disappointment at not seeing anyone who even remotely resembled the Quaker Oats man I settled in for the silence I was expecting.
It ended up being a lot harder than I expected. I mean, being the urban hermit that I am, I've gone for days at a time without saying anything besides "Thank you" to shopkeepers. Keeping my mouth shut for about an hour? That shouldn't be a problem. Except actually it is a problem, because whenever I realize that something is expected of me, I have the almost uncontrollable desire to do the exact opposite. On airplanes I happily sit with my seatbelt buckled..until the seatbelt sign comes on, at which point a voice in my head starts insisting that I take it off and go for a promenade down the aisles. I normally dress pretty modestly--nothing above the knee, nothing too low-cut, and usually long sleeves. I also don't really like over familiar physical contact with people I don't know very well. But whenever I walk through ultra-orthodox neighborhoods like Meah Shearim in Jerusalem, which posts dress code signs on its streets, I get an overwhelming urge to Hulk out of all of my clothing and run around naked while throwing myself upon orthodox boys, trying to hug them and cover them in sloppy kisses ...
Anyway, my point is that while I am perfectly capable of spending long, happy periods in silence, the second I HAVE to be quiet I find it impossible. For a lot of the service I kept asking myself if I could get away with just letting loose a blood curdling scream. It's not that I had anything to say, but I just wanted to say, period. No one else seemed to be having my same inward struggle though. I looked around, and it was like looking at a roomful of dead people that a taxidermist had decided would look best in a seated position. That's how serene they were. Eyes closed, still and silent. One lady clutched her chest, her lips slightly open in a vague smile and her eyes closed, and she maintained this position for the ENTIRE time. Perfectly still, it was like she had somehow managed to even stop breathing for the duration of the silence.
Me on the other hand, I was fidgeting like I was having some kind of spastic fit. The harder I tried to sit still the louder my legs screamed, "MOVE ME, BITCH!" So I'd try to shift my weight slightly or adjust my legs in the least obvious way I could manage so as not to disturb the two statues on either side of me, but then there would always be this deafening noise of my pant legs rubbing together, a noise that was probably no more welcome in that room than a loud, wet fart. Cringing, I'd think to myself, "Jesus!That's the last time I wear corduroy to a Quaker meeting!"
Eventually I kind of settled down, and some of the fidgeting stopped (not entirely though, since I still had to move about to keep my ass from caving in on itself from sitting on what felt like a rock). I had my eyes open, and I saw that some of the others had their faces looking up at the ceiling, while still keeping their eyes closed. I tried to follow their lead, but on the way up I became distracted by the ceiling fans. They wobbled much like my ceiling fan in my apartment does, which always makes me imagine the fan breaking free and crashing through a wall like some terrifying vigilante circular saw. Then I realized what I was thinking about and suddenly felt rushed, like I had to catch up to the others before the hour was up, because they had probably started getting into some really deep thoughts, while I still hadn't progressed beyond vengeful ceiling fan fantasies.
There were actually some really beautiful things to see in the room. Two old people were sitting in the silence, holding each other's hands the entire time. Elsewhere in the room there was deep, even breathing that suggested that one Quaker had received a message from the Divine, and this message was that he should have himself a tasty nap.
Every now and then people would stand up and share their thoughts. Quakers are so stealth though that I wouldn't hear them stand up, and when their voices would suddenly break the silence my entire body would sort seize up with fear and there was one instance where, startled, I almost blurted out, "JESUS!"
I'm not usually such a cynic or skeptic, but rather than more or less spontaneous messages that God was urging them to share, these seemed rather rehearsed. A couple days ago a friend and I were joking that Quakers should bring note cards with prepared speeches with them to meetings, and that's kind of what I felt was happening here. Sure, they were great messages, but at least sermons delivered by ministers seem a little more honest. At least with pastors you know the sermon is (or should be) rehearsed and that the pastor doesn't necessarily think that this is a spontaneous message that God wants him to share right then and there. And yeah, maybe this week he didn't bring his A-game, but you're okay with it because it's his job and he can't come up with gold every week. It somehow seems less ambitious but also more honest.
Another long period of silence, and this one more profound than the last. The one fidgeting Quaker, a woman juggling a few small, silent children, had left, and now the room was so quiet that you could practically hear the dude on the other side of the room's heart beating.
And then my throat made a weird noise. Sort of this weird gargling noise that I couldn't control. I rubbed my throat thinking that would help it go away, and it did for a second...until it came back with a roaring gurgle noise so loud that even silent Quakers in meeting houses thousands of miles away in remote areas of England probably heard it. And it just kept going on and on, gurgling away. Needless to say, I found this immensely amusing and got a case of the dreaded giggles. I started shaking violently, trying to stop myself from letting out a full-on laugh, and then I started praying, really praying in earnest that I could keep it together. I think the last time I prayed to God with such desperation was the time I got the giggles during a solemn Yom Kippur service because the cantor was singing insanely slowly in the last hour before the fast was to end, or maybe the time I got the giggles during another Jewish service because the orthodox girl next to me had farted.
That, obviously, got me seriously thinking about farts in the Quaker context. I mean, thankfully this was not an issue for me today, but let's be honest here because this is a serious issue: what the fuck are supposed to do if you have to fart during a meeting? And I really emphatically mean the "fuck." What the FUCK are you supposed to do if you have to fart during a meeting? There truly is no fucking solution. This was truly a frightening prospect. I mean, if I were to compile a list of the most fart-friendly Christian denominations, Quakers would definitely come in at the bottom, no doubt about it. In other churches this isn't so much of a problem. When I imagine the Episcopal Church, which I consider my home church, you can go ahead and let 'er rip during some of the pew aerobics or during a hymn, especially if the organ is going at it. I mean, that's what the organ is for: fart camouflage. The only time it's a real issue is during that silent moment right after the homily. But what is a Quaker meeting if not an entire hour of that silent moment after the homily?
This made me think of the time I met some episcopal archbishop from somewhere in Mexico. Thank God I wasn't in a Quaker meeting on that day. The entire service before I met him my stomach kept making weird, embarrassing noises. After the service I was introduced to him, and this introduction was then followed by a brief moment of awkward silence, during which my stomach decided to voice its opinion with a weird sounding gurgle. The archbishop then turned to me with an absolutely appalled expression on his face, then turned to his aide standing next to him and said something in Spanish. I don't speak Spanish, but I bet it was something like, "Can you believe that this heathen just cheesed in my presence?!" I wanted to shout, "BUT I DIDN'T CHEESE! MY STOMACH IS JUST GURGLING AND IT ONLY HAPPENS TO SOUND LIKE A FART!" But, even without shouting, there's no graceful way to convey that message in a church. Or indeed anywhere an archbishop happens to be.
It felt like the meeting was almost over, so I started reflecting. Everyone else was talking about light, angels and whatever...and I'm sitting here thinking about farts. But you know what? I think that was my message from the Divine. In a strange way it made me happy to be me. God was saying to me, "I am the Lord your God, and I say to you that you may be a seriously spiritual person who believes in the power of prayer, but you are also a person who is greatly amused by farts. And I am well pleased."
Thank God.
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