Goshen Friends Meeting

Poem by Caroline Balderston Parry

Shadows of my childhood family align along this
plain meetinghouse bench in Chester County,
where I have come to worship. Once our row was
anchored by my strong blue serge-suited Father.
Now I sit immersed in today’s quiet, seeking Source.

Long ago I would touch his round stone watch-fob,
slide it in and out of its shallow stitched vest fold,
fingering its shape. Was I finding my own place
among parents, brother, sisters, gathered seekers?
I felt his still body beside my restless small girl self.

Where is my Self this Sunday in my seventy-fourth year?
O Father-Mother Spirit, Abba, Amma, breathe through me.
My father’s gold watch chain spanned his chest,
rose and fell with his breath, that timepiece enclosed
in a deeper pocket. Was Spirit hidden or within our reach?

We searched other faces and watched the wall clock,
brass pendulum swinging, tick-tock tick-tock; then
I counted thin gray stripes on Daddy’s pant leg,
and the firm elders on the solid facing benches.
Today, I list my blessings, these stirred-up recollections.

My mother sat amongst her little ones, another support.
Her loving arms curled round us; calm hand held mine;
sometimes she whispered careful counsel. Each
sibling squirmed and slowly dropped into the silence
undergirded every Sunday by familiar, faithful Friends.

Their deep patient waiting enveloped every one of us.
Panelled wooden walls framed our souls, and we rested
in those circles of connection, of parents, other Quakers.
Seated on stiff horsehair cushions, we all eased into
some surprising Infinity – and found an hour passed.

In this later century, watching my inward cycles, I beseech
You, Spirit of the slow-ticking wall clock, expand my sense
of Mystery, infuse my aging adult days with timelessness,
transform these memories of older ones overseeing children,
reaching into Truth, and let history slip into Presence.

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