Things occasionally sneak onto your bucket list without you even realizing it. I discovered a stowaway on my list once while anticipating a visit “across the pond,” as they say. In addition to discovering the sights of a new (to me) country, the trip provided an opportunity to meet Quakers on another continent. I hoped to see the meetinghouse in the city I was visiting and perhaps worship there on a Sunday morning. As I didn’t require accommodations and was not expecting any particular hospitality, no prior contact was made with the group, in part because I knew no one there. But no worries — permission isn’t typically a prerequisite for a Sunday visitation, right?
This was prior to the age of Google or AI, so once settled into the hotel I grabbed a phone book and looked for the number and address of the Friends meeting in the area. No luck finding a listing. Hotel reception staff had never heard of the place, either. No such place was included on their list of area “houses of worship.” To call Friends “bashful” when it comes to visibility would be a kind assessment. In some corners, advertisement is treated like a four-letter word, even though the arithmetic does not work. There is little improvement when we think of it in terms of visibility or witness.
With no other obvious options, and Sunday morning fast approaching, Judi and I wandered the streets of the city. Like a religious beggar seeking the next meal, I asked those whom we met if they knew the location of a Friends meeting in the area. None were familiar with it. Or at least, they didn’t care to admit it to a stranger. It appeared that we were going to need to know somebody who knew somebody who’d heard something from somebody else’s third cousin if we were going find our prize. Finally, an elderly nun out for an afternoon stroll was able to provide a general direction, but no precise address. Leave it to the Catholics to know Quakers better than we know ourselves.
The journey there was not as meditative or as restorative as walking a labyrinth, but the nun’s path led us to the desired destination. The building’s significant age and historic presence caused the anticipation to grow even more. There was only one problem. The attractive grounds where it stood were located within a well-kept fence. Its iron gate was locked, leaving us mildly disappointed. Like children barred from a playground, we longingly peered through the fence, admiring the building from a distance. After a few minutes, we left, determined to return the next day, Sunday, for worship. Now that we knew where it was located, how difficult could that be?
Visiting proved to more difficult than you might imagine. A sign by the gate entrance identified the location as the meeting place for the Religious Society of Friends but contained no signs of details about meeting times for the group. No day of the week. No time of day. Visitors were left to speculate like a game of Quaker roulette. Where I was raised 11:00 a.m. on Sundays was the anointed gospel hour. Arrive unannounced at any church location and, except for Saturday Mass and Seven Day Adventists, you could be near-certain the flock was gathering. A 10:55 arrival would get you to your seat in time for the prelude. Things have changed some over the years. Where I live now, start times mostly range from 9 – 11 a.m., so it pays to do your homework. Most locations are kind enough to post meeting times on signs, or include the info on a website. But that was the U.S. We had no idea how it was done abroad, except that other denominations who did bother to display their worship times seemed to be in the 10-11 o’clock time frame. Still uncertain about the details, at least we now knew the location of the meeting.
I don’t remember the exact time we arrived the next morning, but whenever it was, it was a few minutes too late. The gates stood wide open, welcoming us to the property. Things appeared hopeful. As we ascended the steps to the front door, through a large picture window we could see worshippers sitting quietly, heads bowed. We were apparently late, but we would slip in quietly. I could feel the excitement swell. If I hadn’t realized before, in that moment I knew how much I had anticipated this visit and worship with these Friends. Even if not officially on the list, it was at least a “bucketish” item. I grasped the handle of the front door to open it and carefully enter – only the door was locked. Even more surprising was that no one bothered to unlock it and welcome us inside. Granted, I didn’t rattle and pound on the door, but we were noticeable. I did not want to be an intrusive, obnoxious tourist. I did not know the routines of this meeting. And I definitely did not want to disrupt their silence and have everyone turn to stare at the perpetrators as we entered the room and searched for a seat. After standing there for a couple of minutes like an unwanted solicitor, we turned and left. A different denomination down the road was happy to welcome us in for the morning.
The incident is memorable because of the irony. Many groups, religious and otherwise, are threatened by the decline of interest and participation. Conversations frequently focus on the question of attracting and maintaining visitors. Plus, there is the whole matter of providing a witness to those who seek spiritual nurture and truth. The idea of worshiping with locked doors and no door attendant seems odd to me. Unless, of course, the place is located in a dangerous neighborhood, which was not the case here.
If an artist ever offers a Quaker version of Jesus standing at the door knocking, one possible caption might be, “Sorry mate, you’re late.” Friends may be a non-credal group with few strict tenants of faith, but Lord, how we love our processes and procedures. Do not tamper with them, except of course, through the proper process and procedure. Even then, don’t be too surprised if you catch a scowl or light scolding along the way. Eleven o’clock does not mean 11:05 or even 11:02.
That locked meeting house experience re-surfaced recently after a conversation with a new acquaintance. We were discussing church options in the area where we live. When she named the place where she and her family worship, I commented that I knew the location. In fact, one day Judi and I intentionally drove past it, hoping to learn details of its affiliation and meeting times so that we might visit there one day. Other than the church’s name, there was no sign of welcome or meeting time. In fact there was no real sign of life, as we couldn’t be sure if there was an active congregation there or not.
“Are visitors welcome?” I asked?
“Absolutely,” she exclaimed! “We’d love to have you.”
Good to know, because it wasn’t otherwise obvious! Funny how we can be so focused on our plans and responsibilities that we tune out the rest of the world. It is easy to fail to notice the unintended messages we send. Soon after, we did visit that church and experienced one the warmest, most welcoming receptions we have had in some time. You can’t judge a book by its cover, or a church by its signage, I suppose. I imagine the Friends at the meeting across the pond would have echoed similar sentiments if we’d managed to enter their building.
As we take part in the activities and practices that provide truth and meaning to our lives, it is worth remembering that there are those who are still searching, though some distance behind us on the trail. We are not completely responsible for them, but it behooves us to be generous and welcoming when they arrive at our door. When we offer a hospitable space and provide a general direction for them to continue their search, we help open a world of new possibilities to them, and also to ourselves.
It reminds me of the story of a researcher gathering data in a small community. There was one house up the mountain, way back in the woods. The rugged path that led to it was scattered with signs saying “Private” or “Keep Out!” With some reluctance the researcher forged ahead, knocked on the door and waited. The door creaked open; the homeowner’s face lit up as he blurted out, “Welcome! No one ever comes to see me, though I’m not sure why!”
I’ve come to believe that who we think we are does not always match the messages we put out about ourselves or what others believe about us. I have been told on more than one occasion that I can be intimidating, whereas I think I am an easy going, affable individual who is rarely provoked to anger or even rudeness. I guess I have some work to do in that regard; perhaps I’m not the only one.
