Hearing Where The
Words Come From
Alfred Roberts, Tom Cerecini,
Sally Rickerman, Mickey Edgerton
This pamphlet contains four papers presented by
panel members at a conference held on January 11th 1992,
at Woodstown Meeting in southern New Jersey. It
was sponsored jointly by the Quaker Universalist Fellowship
and the Adult Education Committee of the Religious
Education Committee of Philadelphia Yearly Meeting. These talks
are presented in the same order they were given that day.
"Hearing Where the Words Come from," The Source
of Our Spiritual Strength, was the theme. The quoted
words come from John Woolman. In his journal he gives his
reason for visiting neighboring Indians with the following words:
That I might feel and understand their life and the spirit they live in, if haply I might receive
some instruction from them, or they be in any
degree helped forward by my following the leadings
of Truth amongst them.
On that journey, when Woolman spoke without interpretation, an Indian who didn't understand
English said, "I love to hear where the words come from."
Those who planned the conference hoped to provide
a setting where Friends with diverse religious
experiences could comfortably share their beliefs and could be
listened to wholly. One hundred Friends gathered in worship out
of which panelists and attenders were led to share. This
was followed by large and small group discussions where
we explored the blocks that keep us from listening to
one another. Throughout the day, there was a deepening
sense of trust and openness _ a place for us to truly listen
to where words come from.
As we parted, many felt that we had had a minor miracle. A wide variety of beliefs had been expressed;
each had been honored. We had found a unity as Friends
that overarched our differences.
Carolyn N. Terrell, QUF clerk
Carol A. Bernard, clerk Adult Education, Religious Education Committee, PhYM
Hearing - Where Words Come From Alfred Roberts
This week when I was walking through the corridor
of one of the psychiatric units where I currently am working,
I heard one of the patients say, "There goes that good
doctor, he really listens to you." Of course I was pleased that
she thought I was a good doctor but I was especially glad
that she had explicitly expressed what I believe is most
important in the practice of psychiatry and, for that matter, in
all medical practice _ "listening" to our patients. As I
recall, one of the older doctors who taught us in medical
school used to call it "listening with the third ear." I doubt if any
of us knew what he really meant at the time and it is
only more recently that I have come to think that I know his
Certainly the most fulfilling gift of our lives is the
joy and satisfaction that comes from what I would call
true communion one with another. This occurs in many
ways and forms and with many degrees of feeling, but when
we experience it best we are truly listening each to the
other, not just to the words but beyond the words. It is more
than empathy. It is matching passion with compassion. It is
as though music were played and experienced mutually,
such that actual words and facts become secondary or
irrelevant. This is the way we know one another in a total sense,
or what I would call holistically and it is from this
experience that we come to truly care and love. Without it we
become lonely and depressed, and I believe that it is the failure
to have this validation of ourselves in the company of
others that is the basis of most if not all, of the human
suffering accompanying what we refer to as mental illness.
My patients are truly alienated. In this regard it
is interesting to note that in the past, doctors who treated
insane or the alienated were called alienists, and I
believe that it is the countering of this alienation which is
the essential feature of any effective treatment. And I
believe that it is within these experiences with my patients, as
well as with my friends and family, that I become aware of
what as Friends we call The Inner Light or
that of God within us.
Although I have been _ and remain _ a rationalist
ever since my older brother told me when I was age five
that there was really no Santa Claus, I have gradually come
to understand that the truly important truth in life is
primary to rationality, and can be known only by intuitive
experience. Thus it is not the specific meaning of the words but
"where the words come from" which really counts. And so the
Indian chief heard the best of John Woolman even though he
didn't speak his language.
It would be well if we all could do the same with
one another, both within and outside of our meetings.
The specific beliefs that we state in words are secondary
and trivial to the significance of their energizing source.
The essential nature of that source is a mystery, and in terms
of rational thought, will probably forever remain so. From
my experience I would maintain that the most
egregiously deluded person and the most erudite and
validly-thinking person are energized by the same mystical source, and
may be heard, if truly listened to, with equal profit.
The Reality In Which I LiveTom Ceresini
It is an honor and a privilege to speak to you today
_ but I want to be clear that the honor and privilege belong
to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, who died for me,
who lives within me, and for whom I live. I'm glad for
this opportunity to speak to you in the language that
expresses most exactly the reality in which I live. Please
understand that while I'll be focusing on my own experience, I do so
in order to give glory to God _ to demonstrate as best I
can God's power in my life. I'm also glad to use this language
to speak boldly about the source of my spiritual strength:
the person of Jesus Christ, and my relationship with Him.
Throughout my life, I had a desire to know God,
and sought God in many ways. In time, I was drawn to
the Religious Society of Friends. With you I learned,
through the meeting for worship, what stillness, silence,
waiting, and listening can do to bring me to an awareness of
God's presence. I learned a respect for experience, truth,
reality, and "starting where one is," in both myself and others.
In this way, I understood and valued Friends' view of a
common creed as a limitation of Truth.
My participation in the Quaker Studies Program a
few years later was a pivotal experience in my life. I want
to focus on a single element of my QSP experience this
morning. During the term on Christian thought and history,
we learned about the creeds of the early Church _ and
our instructor asked us to consider how we would state
our own central beliefs. I was shocked to realize that I had
taken Friends' avoidance of a common creed to mean that I
didn't need to have a personal creed _ that I did not have to
know or declare what I believed.
As I considered this, I couldn't actually recall
ever hearing the statement, "As a Friend, you don't have to
know what you believe", although I had heard the statement,
"As a Friend, you can believe whatever you want." What I
realized then was that neither statement is true; the same
respect for experience, truth, reality, and "starting where one
is" that leads our religious society away from a common
creed led me toward a personal creed, toward a clear and
definite statement of my beliefs. I was being called, not to
choose my beliefs, but to examine myself and begin to express
my beliefs and allow them to develop. It was a process
of observation more than one of decision or construction.
I had to declare, for myself, what I believed; without
doing this, I had no foundation, no root, and thus no power,
no spiritual strength. So I felt challenged to explore my beliefs.
One example was that I had more or less decided
that it didn't make a difference to me whether or not Jesus
Christ had risen bodily after His passion and death. In time, I
came to believe that He did rise from the dead, although I had
no idea then how my life would begin to be transformed as
Several months after my QSP experience, God gave
me a way to lay down my will and take up God's will. In
that experience, I became a new creation _ I was born again;
I had a new sense of the center of my life. My knowledge
of God was real and immediate, and I came to
understand who Jesus Christ is and how I can know Him. As a result,
I came to accept Jesus as Lord. Since that time, Jesus
is always with me; He guides me, leads me, and teaches me.
I am His disciple, and He is my Lord and Savior. Before,
when these were only concepts or words for me, they were
difficult, but now they describe the reality in which I "
and move and have [my] being." Acts 17:28. When I say, "He
is my Lord", I mean that He is sovereign over my life _ that
I have given my life over to Him. I know Him as my
shepherd, and I know that He sees the "big picture" and is better
able to lead me than I am to lead myself.
When I say, "He is my Savior", I mean that He
saved me from my sins. What does this mean? First, let me
define "sin" as "acts which separate me from God". Left to my
own devices _ following my own will _ I will generally act in
ways that separate me from God; I know this
"experimentally". The Letter to the Romans puts it this way: "For all
have sinned and fall short of the glory of God
Romans 3:23. What was the effect of sin in my life? Again, from
Romans: "For the wages of sin is death
Romans 6:23. This is a spiritual death _ to be separated from God. While my
body lived, I drifted apart from God, from God's power and
truth and love and presence. To physically die in such a
spiritual state would mean to be separated from God's power
and truth and love and presence forever.
How could I possibly learn to know and do God's will
in my life while separated from God? In other words, how
could I be redeemed? Long before I committed even a single
sin, God provided a way; again, from
Romans: "But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we
were still sinners, Christ died for us." Romans 5:8.
Jesus Christ took upon Himself my sin and died in my place. There
was, however, one thing left for me to do: to accept Jesus
Christ into my life, to accept what He had done for me, to
accept the new and abundant life He offered me. Even before I
read this next step as given in the Letter to the Romans, God
had given me a way to do what was required: to believe
that Jesus rose bodily, and to accept Him as Lord of my
life. Reading from Romans:
If you confess with your mouth, `Jesus is Lord,' and believe in your heart that God raised Him
from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with
your heart that you believe and are justified, and it
is with your mouth that you confess and are
saved." Romans 10:9-10.
This is what I mean when I say I am born again:
because of what Jesus Christ did for me, I have been justified
before God, saved from the power of sin, and redeemed _ that
is, returned to God's power and truth and love and presence.
Now I know that I can do anything Jesus asks of
me, with His strength and righteousness. There are
certainly many times that I get sidetracked from complete
obedience to Him, but I also see the evidence in my life that `
who began a good work in [me] will carry it on to
" Philippians 1:6.
Jesus Christ asks me to listen to others who have
a respect for experience, truth, reality, and "starting
where one is" regarding their beliefs, and to share mine with
them. I am grateful to Him and to you for this opportunity to
listen carefully to one another.
Where Words Come FromSally Rickerman
To be able to hear where words come from entails
the ability of me, as a listener, both to be likable and to be
liked by myself. Without that capacity, I am blocked by
my emotions from hearing with love. For it would be easy
to become a combative duelist hindered by my own
immaturity, so that I heard only through the haze of feeling,
threatened and diminished.
This I know experimentally. These words are the
essence of my very being. More than fifty years ago, I latched onto
a quotation from an art appreciation course: "Art is not
born of thought patterns, but of experiences." For me today,
this could be extended to the art of living, the art of
the relationship to the Divine, the Divine in others and in
myself. The two important words are "I" and "experimentally",
for my only understanding, illumination and
enlightenment comes through myself and my experiences, as I trust
them both to teach and inform me. This is the path that I
know how to tread. It is the only path of which I have as
full knowledge as is possible. I, alone, can feel that which
helps me see, hear and understand, that which has touched
the depths of my soul and that which resonates to the beat
of my heart.
Also I have learned experimentally that if and when
I give myself space and quiet, I can tap into unity with
all creatures and all aspects of our earth and cosmos.
The easiest place for me to do this is in meeting for worship,
for it is in this location that I can most clearly hear from
whence the words of others come, rather than permitting
their spoken words to interfere with my unity with them.
I was thrilled recently to have these feelings
validated when I read Geoffrey Hoyland's Use of
Silence, where he says that God does not speak to any of us in words, that
we are spoken to through grace, and the words that
result, however deeply and truly they may be inspired, are still
our words, human words from the human vocabulary of
everyday life. And grace is what I strive to hear from others,
rather than to be constricted by their words or by their
particular theological understandings.
There are other special locations beyond the
meeting-house, where I have this same sense of belonging to
all others. These are where it is evident that those who
have preceded me have themselves reached out to that which
is universal and divine. These sites are those of the
great cathedrals of Christianity, the Acropolis of the pagan
Greeks, the olive tree under whose branches Socrates taught,
the carefully currycombed Hindu ashram of Gandhi and
the pre-Celt Stonehenge. I cannot believe since I feel such
unity with those who created these places special to their
faith, that their God and my God are not one and the same.
We differ only in our interpretation and cultural
understanding, not in grace.
The third class of location is the one which occurs
in the midst of the indifferent vehemence of "natural"
forces, when it seems as if I am no more than a mindless leaf
tossing about in a violent storm. Here, I have felt at one with
the universal Uniter, the Spirit able to lift us, up and
beyond our limited selves, to the heights which we do not
know that we can attain. For here, in these violences of
"nature", I am whittled down to size, appearing to be as
infinitesimal and insignificant as any trivial unit can possibly be. It is
as if I were merely a single drop of water absorbed
without trace in all the oceans of the world, one grain of sand
merged, indistinguishable, with others on all the beaches on
this earth, or the lone ant working in isolation in its
Yet, even as I intellectually discern this apparent
loss of separateness and uniqueness, I find in this loss that
which is exhilarating, uplifting and quickening: my sense
of universal unity with all. I find, in the experience,
the knowledge that each drop of water is more than just a
single isolated drop, for together with other drops, all
necessary, they form magnificent oceans; that our vast land mass
arises from the collection and unity of all grains of sand; and
that even the huge and amazing ant hills of Africa depend
on each and every ant for their size and efficient functioning.
"The raw material of thinking, imagery, dreams
and fantasies must come from firsthand empirical experience
of the external world." So states Ralph Hetherington in
his 1975 Swarthmore Lecture. This reliance on the
experimental is the basis of my Quakerism, my universalism and
my Quaker universalism. With the gifts of genes, birth
and environment, I was given the "I", the "experimentally"
and the loving acceptance of a Quaker community. These in
turn nurtured the gifts of an inquiring mind, an openness
which has permitted me to hear the faint whispers of
mysticism, and an opportunity to fan those whispers into a full
blown, continual, beneficial breeze.
I cannot believe that these gifts and
understandings were given to me, this universal unity with the
All, so that I could, first, draw a boundary around myself and, then,
put those who do not come packaged in a
Judeo-Christian theology, beyond the pale. Neither of these things I can
do. For in the very depths of my most inner being, I know
that I am a part of the whole, of all times, all ages, all
peoples and all expressions of the Divine.
The Source of My Spiritual StrengthMickey Edgerton
I want to tell you my story, how the Holy Spirit acted
in my life long before I knew to name it and claim it, and
how it empowers my life as I discover more and more about
who I am and Whose I am. My experience with the Spirit
is wondrously varied; sometimes it beckons and
whispers, sometimes it nudges and urges, sometimes it grabs me
by the back of the neck and pushes and pulls.
I was raised in a Christian home, a rural
midwestern Quaker pastor's family, the oldest of five siblings. I was
a teenager before I knew that any other sort of Quaker
existed besides pastoral Friends, and if anyone had ever posed
the question of whether we were Christian Quakers, none of
us would have known what that person was talking about.
As far as we knew, they were one and the same.
As long as I lived at home, I entered fully into our
church centered life; attending daily vacation Bible School in
the summers, where I memorized all the names of the books
of the Bible, the 23rd Psalm, the 13th chapter of
Corinthians, the Ten Commandments and the
Beatitudes. I had 17 years of near-perfect attendance at Sunday School, and went
to the altar and got saved every summer at the annual
revival meetings held in our church.
When, as an adolescent, I began to question the
literal truth of the Bible, I was strongly admonished that it had
to be true since it was in the Bible. Since there were
some things which I just could not believe were factually
true (Jonah's three day stay in the belly of the whale, for one!),
I sadly concluded that I must not believe
any of it, and thus lost the whole Bible,
and a good part of my childhood, at one fell swoop. Going away to school released me from
the family obligation of regular church attendance, and I
stopped going without a qualm.
I moved to Philadelphia as a young woman, and
became a social activist Quaker. I was relieved that I did not have
to witness to any particular religious beliefs to be
accepted into fellowship and membership. My newfound
urban sophistication had no allowance for belief in a personal
God, and it was a relief not having to experience the guilt
of continuous backsliding. I rarely even heard any
"God-talk" any more, even in Quaker circles. I could amuse my
new friends with tales of my quaint family and Midwestern
lore. I told about those pious folk who actually still believed
in the Bible, attended church regularly and even believed
that God was telling them what to do! "And those people
call themselves Quakers!" they would say with expressions
of amused disbelief, and we would all chuckle tolerantly.
That was pretty much my situation in terms of
religious faith, (non-faith?, ex-faith?) for most of my adult life.
And then in a series of events which I see now in retrospect,
the Holy Spirit, whose name I had certainly heard, but did
not know, began to work powerfully in my life, influencing
me to make some life-changing decisions.
For many years I denied and ignored evidence
contrary to my perception that my intelligence was all I really
needed to rely on. My personal autonomy was the highest goal
I needed to have achieved. After many years of therapy
and counseling, I asked the same unanswerable question, "Am
I OK?" I gained the occasional temporary reassurances
that, "Yes, I'm OK enough to deserve to take up space on
this planet..." I noticed that once again, the bottom had
fallen out of that reassurance and that I was once more
anxiously asking in one form or another through all the things I
did and said, "Am, I OK?"
Finally, after years of this, I had an experience
so powerful, so definitive as to put that question to rest
forever. I was finally released from the necessity of being OK,
knowing that I'm OK, being recognized as OK by others. This was
no longer what my life needed to be about.
I was in my first term at Earlham School of Religion,
in a course called "Spiritual Preparation for Ministry".
Be assured, dear Friends, that becoming a student at ESR,
or any other seminary, does not imply a state of
firmly established faith. The makeup of that small seminar
class, about ten of us, was sufficiently motley to dispel any
notion that only pious folk go to seminary. Although this class
had an official syllabus of spiritual issues to address during
the course, basically it was a means for us to share our
spiritual journeys and begin to know one another well enough to
be able to bear one another's burdens. We were able to
give encouragement and to hold one another accountable.
We were there to learn Christian discipleship.
On this particular morning, we were listening to one
of our members who was feeling specially alienated from
God, feeling that somehow, she had done something to
displease God, that she wasn't good enough somehow to hold
God's interest. I found myself saying, "But Mary, don't you
know that God loves you?" She answered that yes, sometimes
she did know that, but she couldn't stay in that place where
it was real to her.
Shortly after that, we took a 15-minute break, and
I walked out into a little garden outside the
classroom. Ordinarily, I hung around with the other students,
laughing and talking, but today I was alone. Suddenly, I found
myself sobbing deeply, but the feeling was not pain, not
sorrow; instead there was an overwhelming, incredible,
powerful, all encompassing sense of God's love for
me _ a complete, all knowing, all accepting, non-conditional
permanent, eternal love, pouring over me and coursing through me.
A certain deep, pervasive knowledge encompassed me that
I am God's beloved child, always have been, always will
be. Those words that had come out of me for Mary were for
me to hear as well. The Holy Spirit had led me to say the
words that I needed so desperately to hear!
As I reflect on this life-changing occurrence, I
am reminded of the frequent childhood fantasy that one
is adopted, "These aren't really my parents, they just
won't admit it." I wonder now, seriously, if there isn't an
inborn conviction from our very first consciousness that we
do indeed belong to God, that these earthly parents are
just stand-ins for the real thing. I wonder
In any case, deep and joyful sobs were my
physical response to this new understanding. At first, my
thought was, "Of course, I'm OK, I'm God's beloved child." Then
soon, it was "Being OK is no longer a relevant concept, I no
longer have to pay rent with good works on the space I take
up here on earth. As a beloved child of God, I have an
inherent right to be here. I don't have to
be OK, I only have to be!"
A few weeks after this epiphany, I realized that I
wanted to _ well, yes, I wanted to, but it was stronger than that _
I knew I had to make some sort of "official" response to
this amazing experience. Grace may be free, it
is free, but even if it doesn't have to be paid for, it jolly well
warrants acknowledgment and gratitude. What could possibly be
an adequate response to this incredible awakening to the
fact of being totally loved, totally known, totally accepted?
The only thing I could think of which even came close
was deliberately and intentionally to turn my life over to
that Source of Love, to promise God, in the presence of a
witness, that from now on, to know God's will and to do it was
my reason for being. I intended my every act to be an
expression of God's love. In short, I wanted to live my life vocationally.
How does all this relate to belief in Jesus as Christ?
I am still working this out. I certainly acknowledge
Jesus' power as a teacher, a healer, a model of total discipleship.
I particularly treasure his humanness _ the struggles
depicted in the Gospels of his carrying out his complete
commitment to God's mission for him. If I'd been born into a
different culture, I might well have learned different symbols for
the Divine, and had different models for Living the
But I was born into this Judeo-Christian culture,
and much of what I know about God I have learned from
the Scriptures, and from Jesus' teaching therein. I am
content to call myself a Christian; I find power in that
designation, and being a part of a community of faith enables me
to follow more faithfully my commitment to a vocational
life. Say what you will about Christendom and the Church:
its excesses, its venality, its propensity for oppression. All
these things must be acknowledged and repented.
Yet it is Christendom that has kept the Gospel
alive, and it is the means by which we still know the name
and teachings of Jesus, and the transforming power he
has manifested down through the ages. Being a Quaker
offers me a means to live out my response to God's love for
me, and identifying with Christendom at large also seems to
be a part of that faithfulness. Knowing others deeply, and
being deeply known, is essential to my life of faith. A
shared commitment to Christ's teachings provides a context
wherein we can encourage one another, hold one
another accountable, manifest God's love to one another. It is
another means to learn more and more about God
through experiencing one another.