On Wednesday we arrive in Kendal, the heart of Quaker country and the origins of the Society of Friends. I fell asleep last night thinking about whether a "Quaker pilgrimage" is an oxymoron or merely ironic. After all, the whole notion of Quakerism comes from a place of dissent and experimentation - the revolutionary idea that knowing God comes from experiencing the Light within and that the search for Light requires no intermediation by a designated person. The Quaker belief that there is that of God within each person takes the focus off of externalities; we have no amazing cathedrals, and the early Quakers did not even use marked gravestones (a significant nod toward equality of all mankind or perhaps a reminder of the famous Quaker stinginess?). Again, the idea that we are all children of the Light encourages a certain simplicity. Note the spare Meeting Houses devoid of stain glass and architectural flourish.
In any case, there are precious few Quaker relics that might inspire a pilgrim. It follows that the Quaker manner of seeking Truth is accessible and does not require much: an open mind, a few people prepared to sit together, an ardency, a sprinkling of hope, a dash of faith.
As I was saying, I am on a Quaker pilgrimage and am grateful that this is so, as from what I have heard it is a lovely experience. But still. And then, this morning, in Meeting for Worship, in Salisbury (of all places!) with 22 of us from Sandy Spring Friends School (18 Upper School students), my son Nathan (a college sophomore on Spring Break) shared a message (the locals say "ministry") which described his experience of settling into the silence. Of how distressing the feeling of being alone with one's thoughts can be and how, occasionally, the silence can move you beyond to a place that feels better, that can feel sacred.
That's when I understood that Quakers do go on pilgrimages. We just don't have to go to England to enjoy the journey. Silly me.