Thoughts on the surprise Truitt family visit yesterday, because I know Quakers can be really really bad at this… Make sure you have a website that lists a phone number that rings through to a real person in real time. One that also lists an email that will be promptly read and answered. This event came together pretty fast. From the first phone call from township official Stacy Webb late Tuesday afternoon to my unlocking the meetinghouse doors was about 24 hours.
I was on a video call when Stacy’s first call came in so I had to let it go to voicemail. So also have voicemail set up. After my previous call ended I was able to reply to Stacy’s email and then followup with a quick call to confirm details. This was one less detail she had to worry about in an event with lots of moving parts. (In addition to a half dozen Truitt family members we had the mayor, deputy mayor, township manager, a police liaison, and a communications staffer with a camera. That’s a lot of people to coordinate.) In a lull in the event, Stacy told me it was great that she find and reach someone at Cropwell Meeting so easily.
I know communication can be hard but we need to be accessible. I’ve been ghosted SO MANY TIMES when trying to call or email Quaker meetings. And it’s not just the small ones that don’t get back to me. Sometimes meetings with paid office staff also don’t return messages. Cropwell uses a Google Voice number to forward phone calls to my personal cell and emails also automatically forward to me. It’s not overwhelming, not in the least — I let things forward to voicemail when I need to and I have ringers turned off at night. But because Cropwell set this up even before I became involved, I’ve been able to respond to inquiries quickly, once even as I was driving to meeting on Sunday morning (don’t worry, I pulled over). People already think we’re extinct. Don’t give them more reasons to think that’s true.
I was really looking forward to The Testament of Ann Lee, the biopic of Shaker founder Ann Lee, directed and cowritten by Mona Fastvold and starring Amanda Seyfried as the titular character. My wife and I have read a bunch of books on Shakers over the last few years, including at least one cited by the filmmakers in the end credits. We knew from the trailer that this would be a Hollywood treatment, with Ann Lee played by a lithesome young blonde actress but we figured it might be interesting enough anyway.
Nope. It didn’t feel as if the director really understood either the theology behind Shaker aesthetics or the profound oddness of Mother Ann. Much of the movie leaned heavily on music-video styling, with wall-of sound electronica and well-trained singing voices reworking Shaker hymns, all set to carefully choreographed dance scenes. That would be fine for a Pat Benetarbiopic but the real Shakers were fiercely against musical instruments (they considered them used “to excite lasciviousness, and to invite and stimulate men to destroy each others’ lives”). I’ve always imagined that dancing would have been more of the random repetitive trance of hippy or all-night raver — chaotic, unpredictable, profoundly un-synchronized.
I certainly understand that creators of period dramas sometimes feel the need to go off in ahistorical directions, especially in their use of music, as a way of setting a mood. But the plainness of Shaker music and dance is precisely its point. To make it too perfect is to misunderstand the theology itself.
The Ann Lee in my head canon isn’t a comely figure with a lust for mystical visions, burning truth and kindness for all. She’s short, kind of shapeless, illiterate, but most of all she’s unpredictable, by turns kind and mean, but also batshit and manipulative. The movie only has one scene about her confessions (a tame depiction at that), which is a shame as confessions were a core part of Mother Ann-era Shaker bonding. When people came to join or even visit the Shakers, she would confront them to confess all their sins in great detail. It was a humiliating process and not by accident: personal humiliation is a key tactic for all cults. There’s an implied blackmail, as embarrassing details could be shared publicly of anyone who might change their mind and want to leave. Another common cult tactic is separating individuals from their families, also an essential part of the Shaker experience.
In the movie, we see a dramatic example of townspeople terrorizing the Shakers but we’re never shown why the locals might be so angry. When people joined the Shakers they split up marriages, pulled children from parents, demanded converts give their material goods to the collective, and turned the new believers against their non-Shaker families. There were accusations that they stole wives and children, all detailed in lawsuits. The Shaker model was a profound threat to the familial structures that held together late-eighteenth century New England life. The violence shown the Shakers was inexcusable but also somewhat understandable — well, unless you watched this movie, where it was portrayed as a fear of the unknown.
The details also seriously strayed from history toward the end, depicting later Shaker life as co-existing with Mother Ann. That’s a terrible choice. Shakerism as an organized religion arguably only began shortly after her death, when a new leadership came together, new settlements started, and a social structure constructed that rewarded technical innovation. Pretty much everything we associate with Shaker design — the flat brooms (1798), the efficiently of the round barns (1826), the apple peelers (1830s), even the hymns that this movie sets to modern music (“Song of Summer” is c. 1875) — came later and really could only have come from institutional Shakers. This is the course of most new religious movements: a charismatic leader holding a small band of committed zealots together, followed by a later institutionalization of roles. By smushing these eras together, Mother Lee’s life is sanitized and Shakers presented as an American origin story.12
What’s ironic that the movie itself is beautifully done. The rocked-up ahistorical Shaker songs are stirring. The singing and dancing are beautiful and well choreographed. The cinematography is exceptional. Amanda Seyfried does a great job playing the character she’s been given. If only she had been given Mother Ann!
I recently got around to seeing Quentin Tarantino’s Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, another period movie that profiles a cult in a tumultuous time in American history. It transported me so much more than this one. As I sat in the theater this week, sighing as yet another music video montage powered up, I found myself longing for an auteur with a tiny budget to take on Ann Lee’s story (David Lynch would have understood the essential weirdness of Ann Lee). Less is sometimes more. And it definitely would have been for this production.
I love complicated identities like this. There’s a lot of discernment that goes on about how to incorporate Indigenous and Quaker elements into life. For many, it seems a surprisingly natural fit. This is true elsewhere, in parts of Africa and South America, where missionary Quakers’ beliefs meshed with the belief systems of pre-colonial ethnic groups, allowing an easy transition.
Also of interest is that these meetings are all Christian, which demographers tell us is the norm for Native Americans today.3 Decolonialism means something very different for those who are committed to hold on to Christianity.
I wrote the opening column for the January Friends Journal, which looks at Indigenous Peoples and Friends. As regular readers of this blog already no doubt know, I’m a fan of local history, especially contact-era and colonial histories and especially about relations with the Indigenous Lenape and the enslaved Africans.
The whole issue is really powerful and I hope you find it as enlightening as I did.
Where I live, in one of the colonial-era Quaker colonies of the Mid-Atlantic United States, there has long been a benevolent portrayal of Quakers’ relations with the local Indigenous Peoples. We are told that early Friend William Penn negotiated the Treaty of Shackamaxon with Lenape leader Tamanend, a moment memorialized by parks, statues, and a famous painting by Benjamin West. The great French philosopher Voltaire declared it “the only treaty never sworn to and never broken.” The new settlers bought each plot of land from the local Lenape bands. Violence in the first half-century of Quaker governance was rare; cooperation and good will were the norm.
And yet: there is no federally recognized Indigenous Nation left in this former Lenape territory. Every boatload of Quakers that sailed up from Delaware Bay brought the threat of another round of deadly smallpox. Every creek dammed to power a mill cut off the spawning fish runs that stocked upland creeks. Every pig let loose from an English farmstead ate through nearby Lenape maize and squash plantings.
Two recent articles in publications have gotten some buzz. One written by AP reporter Luis Andres Henao looks at a rise of young adult interest in Friends and profiles a dramatic increase in attendance at Arch Street Meeting in Philadelphia. It’s been reprinted in a lot of newspapers. It quotes a Valerie Goodman:
“It feels like I can have a minute to breathe. It’s different than having a moment of meditation in my apartment because there’s still all of the distractions around,” Goodman says. “And it’s crazy being in a room full of other people that are all there to experience that themselves.”
It was as if someone had turned down the volume of the world, and all that remained was my feelings, sitting raw and open like a wound. Rather than running, I sat for an hour and let them wash over me. I left with a fresher perspective and spent the rest of the day in a calm daze. For the first time in a while, I felt anchored to something greater than myself.
Odds and ends: last weekend my Friends meeting took a trip to John Woolman Association in Mount Holly, New Jersey, dedicated to the 18th century Quaker abolitionist; highly recommended if you’re in the area. On the way out of town I visited the Shinn Curtis Log House from 1712, which was so encased by additions over the centuries that the original house was forgotten until demolition of the later house in the late 1960s.
My state public media PBS station has announced they’re ceasing operations next year, hit hard by both federal and state budget cuts. Wedged between two top-five U.S. media markets (New York and Philly), statewide news is often an afterthought to their stations, so our PBS has been important. It’s also commissioned lots of quirky local history documentaries. In other media news, I’m excited for next year’s Mandalorian movie, though my two Star Wars kids are worried that the trailer is too cute.
One of the roles of faith is to remember that we’ve been here before. We’ve been the wandering Jews lost in the desert but fed manna to survive. We remember the disciples taken by surprise by the rush of Roman guards come to arrest our Messiah, who urged us to put away our swords. We tell stories of a young George Fox wandering England looking for spiritual teachers until all his “hopes in them and in all men were gone.” We survive by telling stories. We keep ourselves centered and calm by remembering others who found a path through uncertainty and assured us they were held up by a Comforter.
I’m pretty used to the standard rhetorical paths of Quaker stories after so many years as an editor but every once in a while one comes along and knocks my socks off.
I’ve written before4 that I’m not a fan of the “when to speak in meeting” flowcharts Friends sometimes post in the meetinghouse to discourage vocal ministry. One is expected to test an incoming message against half a dozen queries and only speak if they can clear them all in the space of an hour. A lot of newcomers see these and decide to just keep quiet.
Christine Hartmann was just one of these new attenders. She writes “after studying all this, I decided to hold off speaking in meeting, if at all possible, for fear of getting it wrong.” She was so careful and so scrupulous that her silence almost cost her her life. I’m not kidding. Literally. Read the article. Wild, wild.
(Yes, there are disruptive newcomers who give inappropriate ministry in Quaker worship. In my experience they’re rarely the ones sitting down and studying flowcharts. The visitors these charts deter are the careful and thoughtful ones who are already tying themselves in knots wondering whether they should speak. These are the folks you want to encourage.)
