‘Things we do “because we have always done them” are set aside. There isn’t room.’ Photo: by Ave Calvar on Unsplash.
‘We are so closely joined it feels as if we are holding hands.’
Worth the candle: Peter Blaker gives a portrait of a Meeting house in the pandemic
As with everything else in the pandemic, our Meeting house shut down. Weeks went by in empty darkness with the doors closed and locked. The first sign of life reemerging was when a day care unit, for people with additional needs, asked if they could use our space. They provided vital support for users and their families under lockdown. We worked out a risk assessment and were glad to welcome them and to feel that we were offering a supportive hand. The building served them well, they said, wrapping itself around them just as it has embraced us in deep and close stillness.
As rigorous protocols were established, Meetings resumed – but with much reduced attendance, as Friends who fell into vulnerable categories sensibly continued to shield. Some things have changed, of course. All hard surfaces are disinfected. The garden door is opened to allow ventilation. Books are not put out, as they are likely to be handled by more than one person. A candle is set on the table – a candle instead of flowers, to recognise the fact we share a flame on behalf of those who cannot attend in person, and for those who have lost loved ones to Covid. Five chairs are put in a distanced circle. Soft cushions are taken off them and set aside. Somehow the circular shape feels more inclusive, more connected than the rectangle we are used to.
Everything looks simple and bare.
Everything feels Quakerly.
Friends are welcomed at the door. ‘Have you shown any signs of Covid? Please remember to sterilise your hands. It’s so good to see you.’ No one shakes hands, so a ‘namaste’ greeting has become our accustomed welcome.
Meetings have fallen into silence. Everyone feels the strangeness of masks, as well as the social distancing, yet we are so closely joined it feels as if we are holding hands. No one speaks, even Advices & queries is rarely read. The sense of sharing our thoughts and reflections in a time of duress is so strong that words are not needed.
The candle flickers and glows.
The changes are small, but the Meeting feels simple, honest, akin to the Meetings early Quakers may have experienced. Things we do ‘because we have always done them’ are set aside. There isn’t room.
Absent friends are held in our hearts. The spaces where they sat feel empty, and weigh on us. There is a sense that the Meeting is held on their behalf.
The cleaning process is repeated in the empty building.
I gather up my things and look around. Our beautiful, ancient Meeting house, with its dark honey brown panels and rows of benches used by generations of Quakers, is working its spell once more. Only some of us can attend at the moment, but nobody is apart in spirit.
Comments
Our Meeting House is an ordinary suburban house which Friends purchased in the 1950’s. We meet again now with an empty chair between where we sit, masked. Ministry is much more practical or down-to-earth and some of us still housebound meet by Zoom. We are a small group but this all feels in right order.
By john0708 on 15th October 2020 - 9:07
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