The Language of God(dess)

©2008, Ramona K Silipo. All rights reserved.

My sense has always been that God speaks to each person in the language that s/he best understands. And that the language we can comprehend changes when our life experience changes us. So, someone who is a mathematical genius with no concept of Oneness as a teenager might end up being a writer about amazing spiritual journeys at 40, because pure science convinces him/her that there must be a Divine Intelligence

I also see that we “get” information when we need it and not before. This comes partly from my channeling of the spirit guides, who sometimes say to someone, “You don’t need to know that at this time.” Then if the person comes back a year or even years later and ask the same or a similar question, the answer comes. It’s also partly from traditional prayer work, in which we have to learn to ask for what God wants us to have, not what we think we want.

In Tantra (well, some branches of tantra; there are hundreds of threads, because it was still handed down teacher to student until very recently), we consider quite often the difference between material desire (i.e.our own ego’s working) and Divine Passion (inspiration or God’s leading). We also spend quite a bit of time talking about needs vs. wants and individualism vs. universal mind.

Differentiating between “ego desires” and “soul yearnings” (using different words for different people) is a frequent theme from the spirit guides. Leading people to understand the Universal Consciousness requires baby steps a lot of the time. In the 30+ years I’ve been doing the channeling a few patterns have, of course, emerged. The most obvious I have observed is that people who meditate, who do some sort of personal, individual spiritual practice striving toward the Light, always are given much clearer answers and much more information than others. This is partly because they ask much clearer and less ego driven questions, I’m sure. But it’s also because their meditation practice, giving them moments of transcendence, makes them more capable of comprehending

Ritual Among Friends (Quakers)

©2008, Ramona K. Silipo. All rights reserved.

The query for our day retreat was, “Other religious traditions use rituals to help align their lives with the Light. What helps us open our lives to the Light and realize our visions?”

The basic assumption inherent in this query is that there are no rituals among Quakers. Among the group I was in for Quaker dialogue, there was a further, somewhat disturbing, assumption that all ritual is empty.

The idea that there are no rituals among Friends is interesting.  The central ritual for the Christian world, the celebration of Mass or traditional communion service, is, at its core, a meal. From my observation, the principal ceremony to mark Quaker milestones is a meal: baby and new member welcoming, newcomers’ brunch, graduation, friendly sevens  — all revolve around a table where Friends are gathered to share food. These are not very complex events, but nevertheless are a ritual in their regularity and simplicity.

The truth is, we need ritual in our lives, and if we don’t have any, we create it. I have my personal ritual for Meeting for Worship, and have no doubt that others do, too. I have, in fact, observed people’s personal rituals as they arrive at Meeting and find it both comforting and slightly amusing that a body that so definitively eschews ritual comprises so many people with very specific small rituals.

Neither for me nor, presumably, for my fellow Friends in Meeting, are our small routine activities empty rituals. They give structure to worship, mark a beginning and an ending to the formal meeting period. It is strangely naive, while also condescending, to assume that all ritual is empty. Certainly a great deal, perhaps even most, of religious ritual has arrived at emptiness after a couple of thousand years. And there is no doubt that the ritual George Fox rebelled against was empty. The ritual itself had replaced the sanctity of the real events it was meant to represent.

However, ritual is valuable if we observe it as a remembrance, or symbol, or representation, of its original meaning. The meal I mentioned earlier was, of course, the Passover meal at which Christ used the bread and wine to speak of the feeding of the Spirit of humankind by the Spirit of God (or the Light, the Absolute, Jehovah, Allah, or any other name you prefer). Christian services, both Catholic and Protestant, throughout history, have maintained the ritualistic meal as the center of their worship.

As a former Catholic, what I miss most are the rituals around candles, which are used in various ceremonies and to indicate specific periods in the liturgical calendar, for those who keep up with those things. The lighting of a candle “‘with an intention,” that is, with your own or someone else’s special need, was a simple ritual that always had meaning for me. The dancing flame was a reminder of the Light, and of the fact that we could be bringers of Light, too, if we live by the Light.

Friends talk about the Inner Light, which we experience not only in Meeting for Worship, but also in our daily lives, if we open ourselves to it. Sometimes, however, an outward symbol is a powerful reminder to others of our commitment to a particular way of life. When I was growing up, the consecrated Eucharist was left in the tabernacle after mass. (It is rarely done these days because of the increasing frequency of theft and vandalism in churches.)  To Catholics, the Eucharist is literally the Body of Christ, changed from bread and wine during the mass. The altar light, never extinguished, was a constant, warmly glowing reminder of Christ’s presence– a symbol so literal even a child grasped it and was awed by the fact of His being there on the altar and inside us at the same time. Jesus, as the Light of the World, was a concept I grasped early.

From conversations with fellow members and attenders of my meeting, I know that many of us have additional spiritual activities that compliment and enhance our worship experience in meeting. Most of these activities center on some form of ritual , whether it is meeting for old-time nature religion holidays, or attending a rousing Gospel service, or gathering with others in a prayer circle, support group or yoga class.

What helps us open up to the Light? Our own rituals, whether simple or complex. In each of our lives, we have created rituals meaningful to us to replace those which long ago lost their meaning.

A Quaker Retreat Weekend

©2008, Ramona K. Silipo. All rights reserved.

One of the qualities of Friends that attracted me was spontaneity.  Another was the all-encompassing participatory nature of Quaker activities. It took me much of this weekend to realize that this was the reason I was so uncomfortable at the retreat; but I finally recognized that I was peculiarly disoriented because everything was completely staged. Speakers were appointed in advance and there was virtually no time for communal worship or quiet reflection at the beginning or end of the sessions. Everything seemed regulated and orchestrated to me.

I’ve been a Quaker in name for only eighteen years. That’s longer than many others I’ve met, but nothing compared to a lifetime of Quaker experience. I’ve been a member of only one unprogrammed meeting, and visited others. So I write with limited experience, but I’m fully aware that each meeting does things in its own way.

But isn’t it just the human condition that we are generally comfortable with what we know; that we have expectations based on previous experiences; and that we feel uneasy or irritated when our expectations are disappointed?

I was eagerly looking forward to this retreat, especially since my husband had never been to a Quaker retreat and I wanted to share the experience with him. So there I was at my first meeting retreat in England, trying to get into the swing of things. But I couldn’t. My expectations had been disappointed.

The meeting retreats I’ve known have been very different, almost completely spontaneous, with minimal necessary structure. The Retreat Committee made the actual practical arrangements of place, dates, etc., and developed the query for the retreat. They worked out the schedule, listed topics and assigned convenors for the sessions and small group discussions (the only pre-appointed people), from a list of volunteers who had signed up. Then they let everything flow from there.

These retreats were based on silent worship at the beginning of each session (usually about half an hour), followed by Quaker dialogue, when everyone in the circle had  the opportunity to speak (or pass). The numbers were not huge, varying over the years between about 35 and 70 participants (not including children, who had their own activities or child care).  Each person had ample opportunity to participate.

Small group sessions were set in separate rooms, so we could hear ourselves think and hear what others were saying, the groups discussing a “sub query” for an hour. For instance, one year the retreat query was, “How do we experience God in our day-to-day lives?” The sub-queries included one on whether we felt a personal relationship with Jesus and one for those who wanted to get outside and experience God in the natural world. At the end of the small group discussions, the groups came together again and the convenor (or a group member) gave a brief summary of their discussion.

Although this structure sounds similar to the retreat just ended, the key element was spontaneity. Nothing was planned other than the queries; everything else flowed  from the Spirit’s movement among us. I left that sort of retreat energized, invigorated, excited about Quaker life and Quaker process.

At Charney Manor, things seemed contrived; more intellectual activity and thought process than Spirit inspiration or leading. I left this retreat exhausted and left early because I simply couldn’t find it in myself to stick it any longer. Perhapsy this is all my own skewed perception and will change in time.

And I do not mean to say that the retreat didn’t go well. It went quite well, I think. Everything seemed to go pretty much as planned, with the few minor bumps that any gathering of this size and nature have. The planners obviously had everything well-organized. For me, the high point was the Saturday night sharing– music, poems, stories, things that were personal and important to those who were allowed to share. There were moments of Spirit that evening, and it made the retreat very worthwhile.