Useful theology from a Quaker-shaped Christian
Part of a series of four Advent reflections centred on Mary and her song in Luke 1:46-55. "My soul magnifies the Holy One,and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour." The third week of Advent is associated with John the Baptist, but as our focus is on Mary, this week we’ll spend time with Elizabeth,… Continue reading Advent Reflections Week 3 – The Forerunners
Part of a series of four Advent reflections centred on Mary and her song in Luke 1:46-55. "She has shown strength with her arm;she has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.She has brought down the powerful from their thrones,and lifted up the lowly;she has filled the hungry with good things,and sent the… Continue reading Advent Reflections Week 2 – The Prophets
Part of a series of four Advent reflections centred on Mary and her song in Luke 1:46-55. "Her mercy is for those who fear herfrom generation to generation…She has helped her servant Israel,in remembrance of her mercy,according to the promise she made to our ancestors,to Sarah and Abraham and to their descendants for ever." I… Continue reading Advent Reflections Week 1 – The Ancestors
My new book 'The Spirit of Freedom: Quaker-shaped Christian Theology' will be published on 26 November 2024, available in paperback and as an e-book. To celebrate, please join me for an online book launch hosted by Woodbrooke on Tuesday 26 November 2024, 19:30-20:30 (UK time).
On the Pembrokeshire coast is the holy well of St Gwyndaf, nestled in a ferny grove on the route to St David’s Cathedral. It’s listed in Guy Hayward and Nick Mayhew-Smith’s Britain’s Pilgrim Places (2020), and I was on holiday in the area trying to see as many sacred sites as possible. On my visit to St Gwyndaf’s, I found a collection of seashells surrounding the well opening with an invitation to take one. After pocketing the shell, I felt a bit of a fraud. I was a tourist, not a pilgrim. Despite spending a week in such a beautiful corner of Wales filled with wells, churches and standing stones, I was missing the special pilgrimage ingredient, whatever that is. Inspired by this sense of lack I booked myself on to a pilgrimage to Lindisfarne, following the St Cuthbert’s Way.
Ask a room of Quakers what hope means to them and you’ll get a variety of answers. Ask these same Friends to describe the shared Quaker hope and it might take a while. You won’t find a section on hope in Quaker faith & practice. The most recent collective statement on hope made by Quakers in Britain, to my knowledge, is from 2009 in the context of climate change: ‘our faith in common humanity gives hope; love, rather than fear, can still lead us through this crisis.’[1] What does it mean to have faith in common humanity? Isn’t common humanity why we’re in this mess? Hope is something that Quakers today aren’t well practiced at talking about, even as situations like the climate crisis compel us to articulate what hope means.
Should I keep my membership of the Religious Society of Friends? This was the question I anticipated bringing with me to Britain Yearly Meeting (BYM) at Friends House in London on a sunny July weekend. I stopped attending a local Quaker Meeting 18 months ago, and I no longer give financially to my Area Meeting. What does this mean for my status as a member? If membership means being part of the ship’s crew instead of a passenger (Qf&p 10.34) what am I now? It turns out I didn’t have to wait until BYM for an answer.
For the last two years I’ve been experimenting with a hybrid spirituality. I’ve taken the Quakerism that has formed me so strongly over the past two decades and added in some new-monasticism, “Celtic Christianity” and neo-Druidry. I’ve called this a “patchwork” and “queer” approach to faith. Now, having read Adrian Thatcher’s Vile Bodies (2023), I’m wondering if “dirty” is another appropriate word.
I've been interviewed on The God Cast with Fr Alex Frost. We talked about Quakerism, Quaker theology, my spiritual journey, and my new book "The Spirit of Freedom."
I want to talk about sin. Depending on what type of Quaker you are, this may seem a very un-Quakerly thing to do. The Quakers I know in Britain hardly talk about sin at all, and the first Quakers of 17th century England were very wary of anyone putting too much emphasis on sin, like the Puritans. Quakers accused Puritan ministers of “preaching up sin,” weighing people down rather than directing them to the liberating Light of Christ. I’m not a Puritan, but in this post I write about sin, and about how deeply it dwells in our flesh, so deep that escape in this life is very unlikely. I hope my Quaker forebears can forgive me.
Jolly Quaker 