Listening by Dave Mckay Mckay (best summer books .TXT) 📕

Chapter Six--Listening

"We don't have words for these things," Molly said, when Chaim asked if she would tell him more about what Aborigines mean when they talk about dreaming. "When you be quiet you know. That's all I can say. You just know."

Chaim had expected something like this. And much as he hated to admit it, her words spoke to his condition. Although he had refrained from speaking during the morning meeting, he knew that something of spiritual significance was happening to him, and this conviction had been reinforced within his own spirit during the silence.

"But how can I be sure?" he asked.

"You White Fellas allus wanna be sure. What is sure? You get too smart and you miss the Spirit. Just you be quiet and listen."

Chaim laughed at the irony of Aunty Molly lecturing him on silence. After all, Quaker theology practically revolves around silence.

"You're absolutely right, Molly!" he chuckled.

Whatever else had happened as a result of the dream, Chaim's appreciation for quiet times had deepened. From that point on, the more he sat in silence, the more he knew that God had spoken to him, and that God had used the dream to get his attention. He found comfort in just being quiet before God.

Something akin to this was happening during his sleeping hours as well. Even when he could not remember his dreams, he had the feeling that important things were happening deep down in his spirit.

Even with all of his education, Chaim felt no more literate than Aunty Molly when it came to verbalising what it was that was happening to him. He was spending more and more time in solitude, just listening (in the Aboriginal sense). He wasn't hearing anything that he could put into words, and the chief result of his listening was that he was losing interest in all that had previously engaged his attention. An odd side effect was that Chaim became even more cheerful than he had been previously, almost to the point of being foolish.

It's a little like being drunk he had thought to himself, as he observed his own feelings when listening. Part of it was deliberate; he disliked anyone who took themselves too seriously, especially in religious matters. But it also grew from the thrill of being so totally free from care when he was alone with God.

Although he continued to refrain from sharing this experience with others in his local meeting, Chaim looked forward to meetings much more now, and he found himself wondering whether other Quakers had ever experienced anything so powerful. Maybe there was a whole dimension to Quakerism which had previously eluded him. If there were others like himself, who had experienced this powerful relationship with God, how would he recognise them? What would he say to them? He had no answers to any of these questions.

Chaim spent many hours pondering all that was happening in America. He lost interest in his duties at the university, preferring to voluntarily assist American refugees settling in the area. Apart from that, there was little he could do to make a difference, and that frustrated him deeply.

For a while the university was sympathetic about him missing lectures... after all, the tragedy was foremost in the minds of everyone. But as time went on, and as other Australians returned to more traditional pursuits, Chaim seemed to be moving in the other direction. At the end of the academic year he applied for an extended leave of absence, in order to work out where his life was heading.

There was an irony about world events that dominated many of his thoughts. For centuries Quakers had sought world peace, better conditions for the poor, and religious unity. Now it seemed like the most destructive (if not the shortest) war in history had brought (or at least was bringing) significant improvement in all three areas. Did such an end really justify the means?

Under the influence of the U.N., many countries had adjusted their foreign and economic policies to favour developing countries; and Australia was no exception. Without America to back her up, the government was yielding to other pressures now.

The United Nations had assumed responsibility for bringing order out of the chaos, and Secretary General Xu Dangchao was doing an admirable job of co-ordinating relief. American interests overseas were being returned to local governments and absorbed into the local economies, thus boosting incomes for much of the developing world.

As often happens during disasters, the world had been brought together as one in response to the catastrophic events in America, and this was particularly evident in the attitude of the religious community. Terrorism had dropped to almost nil now that America was out of the picture. People were reaching out to embrace and support one another across national, political, and religious boundaries that had sharply divided the world only months previously.

Although they were deeply saddened by the war, Quakers in general were heartened by the encouraging developments toward world peace.

But as Chaim considered it all in silence, he started to "hear" things that disturbed him. He had a feeling that something far worse than the destruction of America was yet to happen, and that the world was being drawn into a false sense of security. Was he being too cynical, or had he, in his 'dreamings', tapped into something that Aborigines had known for centuries? He found himself returning for more clearness from Molly.

"Big trouble comin' for sure," Molly said when Chaim shared his misgivings. She had no more information to add than what Chaim already knew, but it was a source of comfort to him to know that he was not alone in his misgivings.

Although distressed by what alcohol had done to Australia's Aboriginal community, Chaim began to genuinely enjoy being around them. He was discovering a spiritual dimension and dignity in these people that he had only theoretically acknowledged before. As opportunities arose, he would journey from town to town, spending days at a time in the various Aboriginal camps along the way. He just wanted to soak up the new-found mysteries of these first Australians.

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Chapter Seven--Clearness

It did not take long for word to spread through other Quaker academics that Chaim was no longer working. Although most of the talk was out of Chaim's earshot, there were a few informal approaches made by well-meaning Friends who were concerned about his mental state. Chaim just laughed it off.

"Think of me as insanely happy," he would say. "Life is an adventure, and I've never felt so much alive."

This led to comments about the need for Friends to submit their concerns to the wisdom of the meeting. "Right order" it was called. Chaim patiently listened, but then gently reminded them of early leaders who had acted contrary to the wishes of the religious hierarchy.

"The way I see it, the meeting wouldn't come right out and tell me what to do anyway," he said on one occasion. "The only reason for a clearness meeting would be if I wasn't sure about what to do; I don't have all the answers, but I've never felt so confident that what I'm doing is right."

Another problem with having a clearness meeting was that he didn't think he could explain what was happening in terms that anyone in the meeting would be able to understand.

Chaim's position as an elder, and his faithful service for the past 18 years in the Society, protected him from official opposition. It would be awkward for Friends to fault him on his intimate involvement with Aborigines. After all, they had been promoting the Aboriginal cause for many years, and now they had one of their own practically becoming an Aborigine himself. Surely this was not something they could officially oppose, and Chaim would teasingly remind them of this.

It could not yet be called a faith, but in the back of Chaim's mind, there was a hope that what he was going through would all lead to something dramatic, useful and powerful. Because of his Quaker tradition, he assumed it would at least start with some significant revelation in the meetings for worship that he attended each week. Nevertheless, although the meetings were extensions of the pleasure that he enjoyed during quiet times at home and with Aboriginal communities, and although there often was a "quaking" which he experienced in the meetings, like the rumblings of a volcano about to erupt, nothing came out. For months it seemed that what was happening to him was to be for him alone.

Then, at Yearly Meeting in Brisbane, six months after the fall of America, Chaim finally spoke. It was by far the biggest yearly meeting he had ever attended, due almost exclusively to the big changes in world affairs. It was not an ideal time to test his new understanding of spoken ministry, for a mistake in front of so many people could mark the end of his high regard in Quaker circles. Neither was it the dramatic event that he had thought it might be. Inside his head what he wanted to say was bursting with authority and divine anointing, but spoken through his lips it seemed apologetic and weak. Only Chaim's ability to laugh at himself had carried him through it.

"Friends, I want to share something that's been happening to me over the past few months," he began quite earnestly. "I trust you won't be offended by what I'm about to say."

And then there was a painfully long pause as he sought for the next words. He had trusted that if he began, the words would come to him, but they were not. His speech was full of starts and stops.

"We're missing something... " he started, and then stopped, remembering the need to "keep low". He smiled sheepishly and started again.

"I mean, I feel we're missing something. Maybe it's just me.

"As a Society..." And he stopped again.

"Mmm, no, not as a Society. There's nothing wrong with societies. Sorry, Friends, I'm having some difficulty with this, as you can see." And he laughed at himself while others waited patiently.

"What if we stopped thinking of ourselves as a Society? What if it's just you and me and the Spirit? Are we really listening to the Spirit? Or are we the blind leading the blind? Each trying to guess what the others expect of us?

"Let me put it this way: Things are looking much better in the world at the moment. Peace, Unity, more equality. But I have a leading in the spirit that says something is very wrong out there. I feel it so strongly!"

Yes, Something is wrong summed up best what he wanted to say. Those three words came out strongly, confidently, but they were vague enough that no one could say he was being judgmental. So he repeated them.

"Something is wrong. I think I'd best leave it there." And he sat down.

The Spirit must have known how much his audience could bear.

Afterwards, most people seemed almost indifferent to what he had said. There was some uneasiness, and Chaim could tell that a few people were mildly embarrassed, but that was all. On the other hand, three or four came to him privately and said with deep conviction that his comments had "spoken to their condition", which is Quaker parlance for spoken ministry that strikes a chord with a listener.

They did not say anything more than that, and so Chaim had good reason to wonder if he and they were talking about the same thing.

Something is wrong, he thought with the left side of his brain. That could mean almost anything. They could have been reading into it whatever was bothering them.

But the other side of his brain... the part that had learned to listen... felt encouragement ... reason to believe that