The Trinity, by Andrei Rublev, early 15th century
On show: Ben Clayden follows his art
‘This exhibition emerged from stillness.’
I owe a lot to the witness and practice of Russian Orthodoxy, but I left the church soon after the invasion of Ukraine. I was deeply shocked that one Orthodox country, with the support of its church, was bombing and killing civilians in a neighbouring Orthodox country. I wandered in the wilderness for a while and somehow found my way to the Quakers in Cambridge.
I didn’t know much about Quakers. Weren’t they a peculiar sect who kept themselves to themselves and sat around not saying much? Weren’t they anti-pleasure and entertainment? Good people but a bit earnest and cut off from the rest of us. The only thing I really knew was that they opposed war, which is why I turned up.
I found my first Meeting rather strange. All those chairs in a circle, and bare walls. People came in and just sat down. No one seemed to be in charge. And then there was the silence. No one ministered at my first Meeting. What on earth was going on? But after eighteen months I’m still here, a regular newcomer. One elder described every Meeting as an experiment, an event. I couldn’t agree more.
By contrast, Orthodox services are long and elaborate, and there are icons everywhere. It can be a theatrical assault on the senses. But do Quakers have anything in common with Orthodoxy? I think they do. I discovered another of these connections during Open Cambridge week.
Jesus Lane Meeting organised a range of activities for the event. There were talks, a band, an art therapy session, patchwork craft, and a climate science workshop. There was also an exhibition: ‘Quaker Creativity Unwrapped’. Eighteen months ago I would have been surprised. What, art in a Quaker Meeting room? Had the walls of Jericho fallen?
Visitors went up the stairs, past art on the walls, into the Meeting Room. Paintings were both abstract and figurative. There were also quilts, calligraphy, illustrated notebooks, photographs, and children’s books. The quality was high.
One day I simply sat down and looked. I came to understand that this exhibition emerged from stillness, an awareness that was distinctly counter cultural. I had much the same experience when encountering Orthodox icons.
One icon in particular resonated with me: The Trinity, painted by Andrei Rublev around 1420. Icons look strange to western eyes and this one is no exception. There’s no perspective and the figures are not lifelike. This is deliberate. It helps the worshipper contemplate the spiritual, not the literal. This icon too must have emerged from stillness, peace. There’s an echo of eternity here.
Our art was taken down once Open Cambridge finished. It would be a distraction during our worship, whereas in the Orthodox tradition icons support worship. But I’m convinced that Orthodoxy and Quakerism are not at the opposite ends of a religious spectrum. The work of Rublev and our humble exhibition both spring from the Holy Spirit – the Spirit experienced by both the Orthodox and Quakers. The Holy Spirit transcends time, traditions, cultures and buildings. And, for that matter, religious authorities.
