My agnostic elder

My mother says that after decades of feeling troubled by other people's opinions, she has reached an age of freedom and no longer really cares what they think. I have not reached that state yet, I told her, but I hope I will someday. Right now, I am feeling painfully awkward about the last message I delivered in Quaker worship.

Mom, a self-proclaimed agnostic who has never attended a meeting for worship, listened supportively as I told the story. In silent worship a few days ago, I felt a sense of something rising all around me. It was flowing from the floor to the ceiling with the power of a river. “Maybe this has something to do with the ascension,” I told myself, but that did not feel right at all. “Maybe I am supposed to stand up and deliver a message,” I thought, and this felt right, but I sat testing the feeling for a very long time with my heart pounding before I let that wild river carry me up slowly to standing.

When I got up there, I had nothing to say, but I let my hands keep rising up. Then I stood there moving my arms along with the motion that I felt around us. It seemed like I did this for a very long time, and I feared that I heard someone sigh impatiently. I started to shake, and tears started falling down my cheeks, and I wished fervently for some words. Finally I recieved some words of thanks and praise and devotion, but after they were delivered, I was not certain that the message was really done. I moved my hands some more and finally sat down.

Instead of feeling excruciatingly awkward when I think back on this, I wish I could say to myself: “I had a powerful and mysterious experience with the Spirit in worship this week, and I tried very earnestly to be faithful to it. What a blessing!”

“There!” my mom responded. “You said it! See? That’s great. Just let it go at that now.”

“But Mom!” I said. “Nobody else does that kind of thing!”

“Well, then!” said my mom. “Maybe it's high time somebody did.”