When trying to understand Quakers, one place to begin is to realize that Quakers didn't get rid of the priests, they got rid of the lay people. What that means, basically, is that we are all in this together. It is this community that we are all a part of where we are going to celebrate the specialness of the place, the wonder and the energy and the noise and the sense of sanctuary. But we are also going to reinvent it in order to make it our own, and by doing so we will craft our own narrative, develop our own vocabulary, give life to our own experience that will accompany the teaching, learning and growing that happens at Sandy Spring. As I am a new faculty and staff member, we will learn the ropes together.
I do know something about Quakerism from having grown up down the street and from having been a member of Sandy Spring Monthly Meeting from way before I could sit still. In fact, it was only after I turned 40 that I stopped squirming in Meeting, stopped having to make a mental list of the 50 states or count the zipper lines on my winter parka. (For those of you interested in brain development, my experience is that it isn't until you turn 50 that the opinion page of the Washington Post becomes interesting.)
The experience of being a Quaker has to do with silence - stillness really - and a sense of a collective journey, a collaborative effort. That's why we got rid of the lay people.
When I was a boy there were two old men who almost every Meeting rose to share a message. Raymond Havens would speak for quite a long time; sometimes over ten minutes. No one else would dare do that. He gave a mini sermon; often with a message from the Bible. I still remember his voice and the sense of rapture he felt. He was a concert pianist and often he would relate an experience of the divine which came to him from listening to or playing Bach. He always wore three piece suits and silk ties. The other gentleman was Edward Iddings, a retired farmer. He spoke frequently too. His messages were short, powerful and unadorned. He spoke of self control and of the importance of taking personal responsibility. Sometimes he would be start and finish a message almost before you could swivel your head around and begin listening. No one else would dare do that.
The point is that you get better at silence with practice. There is a certain rigor to it but I think that you will find that the shared silences at Sandy Spring Friends become a welcome break. The chance to center feels much more natural than not taking the time to center. Second, like with most activities that you take an interest in, you will greatly admire those who are already good at it for their insights, acumen and wisdom and you will learn from them. This may be the most important lesson we will be imparting to those under our care, the love for and capacity to continue to learn our whole lives; and that lesson is imparted, significantly, by example. At the same time, as educators in a Friends school, each of us will develop our own manner, our own style. Each of us will come to find our own, unique Quaker voice.