November 18, 2018
As is our practice in Sarasota Monthly Meeting (Quakers), occasionally someone is asked to share their spiritual journey. Today happened to be the day that I shared mine. Several asked me to write it out for inclusion in the meeting’s Oral History notebook, so here goes…
As many know, I consider myself a recovering Methodist. When I was ten years old we moved to the Washington DC suburbs and a couple years later my folks bought their first house. Our minister, Ralph Haugh and his wife, Margaret (Uncle Ralph and Aunt Margaret) came to be our folks’ best friends. They became godparents to they youngest of we four kids, Margaret.
I really admired “Uncle Ralph” and decided that I wanted to become a minister, just like him. I then took on a “holier than thou” attitude and was really obnoxious about it. Applying to and being accepted by North Carolina Wesleyan College, my route to the ministry was all set. However, my plans came to a screeching halt when I was complimented in front of my American History class by our teacher, David Turner—the man who turned my life around but never knew it. I had written a term paper entitled, “The Sharecropper in the Depression”, which he said was one of the best he had ever read. BAM!!! I then began to consider a major in history with the prospect of eventually becoming a teacher. My preachy attitude melted away and I knew the ministry wasn’t for me. In fact, even though I attended church every Sunday in Rocky Mount, NC, I hated the fact of mandatory chapel at Wesleyan every Thursday morning.
The Vietnam War was raging and I got a notice to get my draft physical, the first step in being into the Army. I figured that, if I had to to to Vietnam, it would be on my terms, not LBJ’s. I enlisted in the Air Force, married Pam in June 1967, and arrived Tan Son Nhut Air Base in Saigon a couple weeks later. I hadn’t attended church in a while and saw no reason to start. Once the Tet Offensive started, all bets were off. One night we came under attack and, bunking on the top floor of the barracks, I ran down the stairs and turned the corner of the building, seeking cover. Before I got to the door I saw a dog running hell bent for election, not knowing what was going on or why. I felt so much empathy for that pitiful dog and began to immediately ask myself what was the use for war and why did it have to happen? That incident—the most seminal moment in my life—started me on my path toward pacifism.
Upon returning to the States, being discharged, returning to college to finish my degree—in history, of course—and moving to central Wisconsin I never had any thoughts of going to church. Pam and her folks were not churchgoers, so why should I be one? We were starting to look into the adoption process and figured we’d have to go through a church affiliated adoption service, so we began researching Protestant religions but none of them came close to reflecting what we believed. As it turned out, we went through the State of Wisconsin to adopt our son, David.
We moved to Madison, WI in 1980 and still were not churchgoers. I was content to read the Sunday paper, watch the news programs, and football games. Then in late 1987 things started to change. The Isthmus is a small weekly tabloid paper in Madison. I picked up a copy and on the front page was a full cover of a woman with her eyes closed in a worshipful state, with the headline something like “Quakers in Madison”—a long article about the Madison Friends Meeting. I read the article with great interest and had Pam do likewise. The article spoke to me so we decided to attend worship. Pam, David (age 13) and I attended the first two weeks. The silent worship did nothing for them, but I was hooked.
I continued going and became a regular attender for about four years, whereupon I was asked if I would consider being Assistant Clerk for the
9 AM Meeting for Worship. I agreed, but when the nominating slate for the upcoming 1992-93 year was presented, one of the elders of the meeting asked why a non-Quaker should be assistant clerk. A discussion was had and Clerk of the Meeting, Dottie Churchwell, commented that perhaps such might entice me to request membership in Madison Meeting. Sure enough, about 6-8 months later, I petitioned for membership and was accepted as a member of MMM.
There were three men (Quaker gurus, as I called them) who had great influence on me—John Anderson and Francis Hole, retired professors at the University of Wisconsin, and Lewy Olfsen, a retired librettist. The way they carried themselves and the aura of each were so influential on me. John and Francis are gone, but Lewy is still living in Madison and I take with him once or twice a year. While at Madison MM, I became much of the liberal thinker and person that I am today. I learned to appreciate persons for who they are and to stand up more and more for the things I believed were right, be they protesting wars, writing politicos, letters to the editor, and so on. In real life, I was a casualty claims manager and was probably the most liberal insurance person in the state, if not one of the most liberal in the entire industry.
Upon moving to Bradenton, FL in July 2006 I continued my Quaker ways by attending the Sarasota Friends Meeting (SMM). Lewy had told me that I should wait for at least a year before transferring my membership to SMM—to make sure it felt right for me. I immediately dived into the life of SMM by volunteering to serve on the Meetinghouse Committee. I figured that such would grant me the opportunity to get to know the meeting and how it operated.
As my relationship with SMM grew, I felt it was time to transfer my membership, which I did in 2007. My spiritual growth continued when I was asked to become Acting Clerk in Fall 2009 while Clerk of the Meeting Rolf Hanson and his family spent the fall term at Pendle Hill. Way opened and I was eventually asked to take on the role of Clerk of the Meeting. This was yet another opportunity for spiritual growth, something I relished. Not realizing it before, but I had become a sort of “go to” person for things the meeting might need, either physically or spiritually. I am very grateful for the three years spent as Clerk.
Shortly after the 2017 inauguration of the current occupant of the Oval Office, Clerk Lesley Jacobs instituted Meetings for Healing on Wednesday afternoons at the meetinghouse. It was during one of these meetings I had a mystical experience. As we were sitting in silent worship, I felt the presence of someone behind my right shoulder. I tried to peek behind me without moving my head and being obvious about it, but to no avail. When Lesley broke the meeting with the usual handshake, I turned around to find no one there. No one had entered or left the room while we were in worship and I was completely mystified and dumbfounded. I then realized that I had experienced something I had never experienced before in my life.
Guru Francis Hole always spoke of the “Divine Companion” that sat on his shoulder and whispered in his ear. I now know what he felt. I now have my own Divine Companion that sits on my right shoulder and lets me know if I do something I shouldn’t have done. When that happens all I can do is pat myself on the right shoulder in an effort to let him/her know I know I screwed up. Fortunately for me, those times are getting fewer and farther between.
Muhammad Ali once said, “Service to others is the rent we pay for our place here on Earth.” That’s what I feel I am doing—paying my rent. Be it giving rides, financial assistance, spiritual uplifting, comforting, or whatever—I am doing what I can with what I have to offer. The spiritual reward I get from such far outweighs what I have to give. I get much more out of what I get than what I give. To me, that is what life is all about. Give of yourself to others without thought of what the return will be.
