Wait, and see: Damian Entwistle on ‘the most Quakerly of seasons’

‘Advent is woven from three strands, each of which is profoundly Quaker.’

It is axiomatic among Quakers that Friends are not given to times and seasons. We hold that God is immanent, that the experience of the spiritual is indissolubly woven into the everyday. That being the case, no particular place, no particular time, is any more sacred than any other. And yet, we still cherish some times more than others, some places more than others: Swarthmoor Hall, Woodbrooke, Friends House, our local Meeting House... ‘Cherishing’ is not quite ‘hallowing’, this much is true, but it’s a near neighbour. 

For myself, I enjoy the festive food and family time of Christmas. That has been the sum total of my involvement for the past twenty-five years or more. By the late 1990s, after thirty-five years of being Christian, I’d uncovered the (surprising) fact that I was, in fact, no longer Christian. Up until that time, Christmas had, perhaps, been my favourite festival. The immanence of God is particularly, and startlingly, manifested by the Incarnation. God as baby.

As I was diligently uncovering what I could and could not say, the abrasive nature of Christmas was no longer masked. It became (for me) the loudest, most strident, and most discomfitting of Christian festivals. The raucousness began each October and propelled everyone towards a seemingly ineluctable spending frenzy, and it grated ever more loudly, year by year. Stepping away brought contentment and serenity, where there had been unease and a growing revulsion.

And yet and yet. I lamented the loss of Advent. Truly, I had begun lamenting the loss of Advent even while a Christian. The insatiable maw of Christmas appeared to be steadily devouring it. Experience suggested everything was about Christmas, and nothing was about Advent.

At this remove (perhaps?) I can now begin to appreciate this wistfulness, and the sense of loss. I have come to see Advent as the most Quakerly of seasons.

Advent is woven from three strands, each of which is profoundly Quaker in sentiment and experience; further, it is quietly illuminated, both within and without. It is no accident that Christmas is celebrated just as the days lengthen, and the light returns. And this theme of light is absolutely bound up with Friends’ experience of God. 

The season directs our attention to three things: the expectant and hopeful waiting for the coming Messiah, as prefigured in the Tanakh; the eschatological coming of Christ – as Alpha and Omega – fulfilling the plan of salvation, drawing everything to God; and the indwelling of Christ in the heart of the believer, by the power of the Holy Spirit.

Expectant and hopeful waiting is something Friends know intimately. It is the foundation of Quaker worship. We say, with certainty, that it brings us to a place of encounter. George Fox vouchsafed as much: and we know it, experientially: ‘Be still and cool in thy own mind and spirit from thy own thoughts, and then thou wilt feel the principle of God to turn thy mind to the Lord God, whereby thou wilt receive his strength and power from whence life comes, to allay all tempests, against blusterings and storms. That is it which moulds up into patience, into innocency, into soberness, into stillness, into stayedness, into quietness, up to God, with his power.’

As to the Eschaton (the Second Coming and Last Judgement), this might seem somewhat removed from the experience and spirituality of Friends. But it is only seemingly so. George was steeped in scripture and cites it widely, quoting the prophets, the Gospels, and the letters of Paul. But the book he cites more than any other is the Book of Revelation, which speaks entirely to the Eschaton. What George understood of the times he lived, we might posit as best we can, but his understanding of the spiritual reality that Revelation describes is central to Quakerism. For him, Revelation described the final workings-out of salvation in the temporal realm. This meant we were knitted to Christ, flesh and bone – as son of the father, as Alpha and Omega – by the indwelling of the Spirit. Thus as it was in the beginning (when we walked with God in the cool of the evening, in the Garden) so might it be at the end, if we responded to that of God within us.

‘Expectant and hopeful waiting is something Friends know intimately. It is the foundation of Quaker worship. ’

This last theme – that of the indwelling of the spirit of Christ, as light – hardly needs underlining. It is the most significant thing we have to say, as Quakers. What does merit reiteration is the way that these themes of Advent are part and parcel of Quaker spirituality.

Which leaves us simply to turn to the light, to bring Advent into sharper, Quakerly, focus. Each Sunday in Advent, Christian churches reiterate the themes we have noted above; in the scriptures read, and the homilies preached. Advent candles are lit. Week by week, there is more light, heralding the Light.

This was George’s opening, right from the outset. The inward light, the indwelling spirit, reveals our wrongdoing to us, yet it is not without pity, for in the same breath George affirms two things: ‘I saw also that there was an ocean of darkness and death, but an infinite ocean of light and love, which flowed over the ocean of darkness. And in that also I saw the infinite love of God.’

At a time of persecution (1663), Fox urged Friends to, ‘Sing and rejoice, ye Children of the Day and of the Light’ because the victory of Christ was assured.

Our spiritual language is couched as light. We can scarcely articulate our insights without reference to it: we hold one another in the light; we navigate by way of an inward light. Advices & queries opens with Light, and counsels us to be open to new light, from whatever source.

‘The first gleam of light, “the first cold light of morning” which gave promise of day with its noontide glories, dawned on me one day at meeting, when I had been meditating on my state in great depression. I seemed to hear the words articulated in my spirit, “Live up to the light thou hast, and more will be granted thee.’” So said Caroline Fox, in 1841, and her words still nourish me.

At the end of his life, Fox could say, ‘Now I am clear, I am fully clear… All is well; the Seed of God reigns over all and over death itself.’ Fox was clear because he could see. And he could see, by virtue of the Light.

When I gather all of this up and hold it in the light, I can see Advent reflected back to me: I believe it to be a very Quakerly season.

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