I woke up this morning with the hymn running through my mind: “Gonna lay down my sword and shield / down by the waterside. / Ain’t gonna study war no more.” I am on my way to stay at William Penn House in Washington, DC, and the story is recalled to me, how George Fox assured William Penn he must follow his own conscience regarding military service. “Wear your sword as long as you can.” At least that’s how I learned the tale.
Whenever I enter the political zone these days, I find myself on a ratchet scale — either fully armed and shielded, but uncomfortably overburdened; or weaponless and unshielded, but often uncomfortably open; or at times, I am located exactly at that moment of decision: Can I carry this sword anymore? Can I remain shielded? Can I? How can I?
Every city has its own personality. Washington is full of news and views and maneuvers. it’s hard-edged and fast-moving, less focused on long listening: at its best, such listening, when it occurs, is in service to advocacy and social change. The Quakers I know in Washington are dedicated, passionate change agents who often find that a quiet word behind the scenes speaks louder than a public display, or who take energy in taking the national stage to usher in a more beloved world.
That is deep and peaceful work, to step into the midst of noisy tumult, and to magnify the still, small voice within; to invite, and invoke, the better ideals of our nation in service of lasting social change.
May I find my feet in William Penn House next week, and may I go out and speak well, unguarded, in service of greater Love and Light.