Getting the Words Right

I love languages, and I’m grateful for a life that has let me learn and use several. In addition to the six languages I’ve become acquainted with, I’ve also had the chance to study communication styles and values—the fascinating differences between not only cultures but organizations, social classes, age, gender and individual persons. Denominations and even local congregations can have their own peculiar styles. Quakers are a case in point.

A recent change in our ministry assignment has allowed us to settle in our home in Oregon, between teaching trips to Latin America. For the first time in many years, we’re able to regularly attend the local church we’ve belonged to for 35 years.

Down through the years we’ve been in and out of this congregation, attending on home furlough after three years abroad. We notice the changes. Recently I’ve been especially aware of linguistic changes. I feel sometimes like an anthropologist doing participant observation, but not able to cross the line and go native.

One of the changes in communication style is an effort to be more deliberately Quaker, not just in vocabulary but in the way the words are said, carefully and with time for silence before the next person speaks. I appreciate that, but sometimes it seems so serious. I guess “weighty” is the right word. “That Friend speaks my mind” is now a frequent phrase in business meetings (or rather, “worship meetings for business”—a wonderful concept, that sometimes becomes a reality). The first time I heard “that Friend speaks my mind,” I expected someone to giggle. I was tempted, but held it in as I observed the faces around me. That’s a good thing to say because it takes the place of many words and introduces efficiency into the meeting, thus making it shorter (although an alternative could be to simply say, “I agree”).

I especially like the question, “Are all hearts clear?” It’s a lovely metaphor. During the Sunday school hour, I meet with the group that practices unprogrammed worship. Other than business meeting, this is the most formally Quaker occasion of the week. Several weeks ago, the leader for that Sunday ended the time of worship in the right way, by asking, “Are all hearts clear?” Then he went on to do something interesting; he reflected on the words themselves, pointing out that it’s handy to have these transitional phrases. This one, he observed, often means, “Is everyone ready to end this part of the meeting and go on to the next?” But he went on to say that in truth his heart is rarely clear and at peace after meditation in silence. It’s usually stirred and requires some kind of resolution or action to be carried out later. I found that enlightening.

Later that week in the meeting for worship for business, we received a detailed sheet of possible ways for handling the church’s investments. It was technical to the degree that I suppose was helpful to those who know this particular dialect. We decided to table the discussion until the next meeting, giving people time to study the options. I was glad. When the clerk ended the meeting by asking, “Are all hearts clear?” I nodded along with the others, even though my heart was in financial fog.

I’m glad to be part of the family of Friends, and I understand the changes in my congregation as an attempt to live up to the best of our tradition and not become generically evangelical. But I also find that I can’t use the phrases without feeling pretentious. While recognizing the integrity and sincerity of my brothers and sisters (who are in no way pretentious), I simply can’t talk like that.

Perhaps this is due in part to a lifetime of living with Latin American styles. I had an interesting experience several years ago. I was invited to participate in the annual meetings of the Friends World Committee for Consultation, Section of the Americas, held in Guatemala. My invitation was specifically to participate in meetings held after the main event, to help plan literature projects in Spanish for Quakers.

Friends from North, Central and South America mingled for four days of business meetings, worship, workshops, small discussion groups and local excursions to meet the natives. Latin Americans outnumbered the Anglos, but the predominant public styles represented Quaker formalities common in Canada, the United States and (I presume) Europe.

The best part was getting to know so many interesting and committed people, but I found myself slipping into my participant observer role. The contrast in communication styles especially fascinated me. The larger business and worship meetings were formal, following procedures that have obviously been handed down for years. The tone was friendly but serious, and doing things in proper order and getting the words right were important. While the leadership of this section of the FWCC is largely North American, there seems to be a movement toward encouraging more Latin American participation. The Latin Americans who took part in the sessions were careful to respect the forms. I asked some of them how they felt about the way the meetings were run and generally got smiles with some version of “This is just the way they do things.” The Latins certainly were made to feel welcome and appreciated.

After the four days of annual meeting events, a group of about 15 Latins met to plan for the literature needs of Spanish-speaking Quakers. The contrast between the two sets of Quaker meetings still makes me smile. We discussed, we argued, we laughed out loud, we challenged each other, and we only loosely followed the agenda. It was noisy, informal and very Latin American. I can’t remember any periods of silence (although that might have been helpful). I do remember several apologies after the heat of the moment quieted down. Both groups were Quaker. And both accomplished at least some of their goals for meeting together.

But back to my local congregation. More deliberately Quaker styles are one of the changes I see. The other change has to do with trends among educated evangelicals and involves a certain vocabulary. I frequently hear words and phrases like “emerging,” “passion,” “energy,” “journey,” “consolations” and “desolations” (a renewal of forms from the history of Christian spirituality; Ignatius of Loyola used this language), “engaging the culture,” and, especially, the word “missional.” These are not new words (except, perhaps, for missional), but their use and frequency are new, at least to me. It indicates a common culture of books, seminars, and “journey” experiences. And again, I can’t yet bring myself to talk like that.

I don’t know why the word “missional” bothers me so much. It’s ironic because my academic discipline is missiology. I am a missiologist. And in certain circles I am totally at ease with the word “missiological,” which is longer and possibly more pretentious that the shorter “missional.” I am encouraged by my congregation’s desire to relate in healthy ways of service and testimony to the larger community, which is what the missional stuff is all about. I like the direction we’re going and am personally committed to doing my part. But I can’t use that language.

Two questions occur to me: Why? And so what?

Why am I ill-at-ease with the language? Have I finally wearied of so much moving around that I am no longer willing to adapt to another culture and dialect? Has it something to do with my being a poet, a lover of words and language? Could I not learn to love and use these new (to me) words and styles?

Right now I’m sensing the so-what question as the more important one. While this may not matter to anyone else, it does matter to me, so I need to work through my response. I can start by reaffirming the importance of words as part of who we are. Any kind of growth in grace and holiness necessarily includes how we communicate, and the Bible has much to teach in this area. The book of Proverbs brims with good advice about honesty, integrity and economy in language. The parables of Jesus give examples of simplicity of speech, accompanied by profundity of content. And the epistles of Paul emphasize love, humility and forgiveness in all human relationships, including the ways we talk to each other.

I need to approach the linguistic changes in my local congregation from a place of respect and as a learner. This much I have learned from a lifetime of adapting to other cultures. I will seek to get behind the words and understand the meanings. That may mean I need to catch up on some reading, even attend a seminar or two, ask more questions.

The words matter. As truth-bearers, living in a specific context at a particular point in time, the way we use language can enlighten and bless. Or otherwise. I will probably continue to listen with a critical ear, hopefully leaning more toward discernment than criticism. I will probably not become more Quaker or more missional in my speech. But by God’s grace, I will be open to however God speaks through other people. By God’s grace I will put relationships before the symbols that allow those relationships to develop. In this, as in so much of life, the final word is love.