Northwest Yearly Meeting of Friends (Quakers)

My name is AJ Schwanz. These are my sons, Judah and Abel. And I’ve had to explain
things most of my life.

My parents, transplanted from Alabama to the West some thirty-five years ago, have “funny” accents. When people asked where they came from, Mom told me to say “Southern Idaho.” My brother and I grew up with the Southern tradition of saying “yes, ma’am” and “yes, sir”, receiving approving nods from elders but mocking comments from peers.

My family is small, which for much of America is an anomaly in itself. But growing up in the heavily Mormon and Basque-populated city of Boise, second glances only increased.

My faith community background comes from attending Quaker churches. Not a prevalent or well-known denomination in my childhood hometown. Many classmates asked about oil changes and oatmeal boxes. In a grade school of 700, I knew two other Quakers: my brother and the librarian who tried to dye her hair black but often it turned out more green.

It wasn’t easy being in the minority: I often found myself relating to my classmate Bill, the only Catholic. When I made the switch from public grade school to a private Christian middle school, I expected to find myself in a more understanding, sympathetic crowd. However, during a discussion of capital punishment in my eighth grade Government class (in which I was the sole individual against the act), my teacher used words to dismiss and belittle my beliefs. I realized again that I do a lot of explaining, and much of it doesn’t feel received or understood.

As a Quaker I was learning the value of both individual and corporate life. Vacation Bible School taught me about being and working with those I didn’t know. Children’s Yearly Meeting shaped the understanding of my history, teaching me about Bible characters and Quaker saints. Bible Quizzing gave me opportunity to be exposed to God’s word, facilitating a transformation through memorization (egged on not a little by a competitive motivation). Pastors and teachers and other adults talked to me as an individual, a respected part of the community, and gave me a place to contribute and work out my theological ideas.

In high school I moved to Newberg, affectionately known as “Quaker Mecca”. Holy Moley. I met more Quakers in one day than I had in my lifetime! Hannah, a friend from Youth Yearly Meeting (as well as a Friend of several generations), adopted me and showed me around. For the first time ever I didn’t have to explain: values, worship expressions, history, beliefs, passions… among these people I found a place where I fit.

I participated in youth programs galore. If it was offered, I was there. My friends, or rather my faith community, lived all over the Northwest. Our times of worship and spiritual formation during camps, conferences and service projects were more influential and transformative than my Sunday morning worship gathering. While filling out the “home church” section of college applications, I was tempted to put “Northwest Yearly Meeting” because that felt more like my “church” than any other Monthly Meeting gathering.

The thing about fitting in is that you often don’t have to explain anything. Things are understood, and sometimes with that unspoken understanding comes habitual, unintentional non-action. Then I attended George Fox University, and to my surprise, many students had never heard of Friends. Due to my years of being around folks “just like me,” I found my “explaining muscles” to be sorely out of shape. Following graduation I moved back to Boise, and a co-worker who was Jehovah’s Witness calmly told me one day: “We’re so much alike.” “Who?!” “Quakers and JW’s. We hold a lot of the same values, and we’re both so misunderstood.” I found myself speechless, which sadly I think he took as agreement. I no longer could translate my values and faith into explanations: I was used to being understood.

Since then I’ve married, relocated back to Quaker Mecca, and become the mother of two boys, ages 4 and 1.5. God’s been kind in helping me establish my “parental feet” because, really, I don’t know what I’m doing. We’ve said prayers before bed and read children’s Bible stories (some are really hard to stomach, because they gloss over the hard or gory stuff… the stuff that makes the Bible so real). We attend a worship gathering on Sunday mornings, attempting to sit together through a service (which mostly consists of trying to distract one child with activities while shoving food in the mouth of the other – not necessarily so centering). And when my oldest asks why we do some things, sometimes my explanations fail me: “we do it because we always have; it’s what you do.”

But then there are the moments, you know, Those Moments. Both my children love to pray before meals. They may not fully know what they are saying, but they understand that it’s important. My eldest will bring me my Bible at breakfast time, knowing I like to start the day off with reading Scripture, while my youngest loves turning the crinkly pages when I leave it out within his grasp. My eldest loves to sing about Jesus loving all the little children, “red and yellow, green and brown” (he doesn’t quite have the words down right) as the youngest joyously dances along. We relish the opportunities our faith community has provided to give to others who need help: from participating in Advent Conspiracy to making the Newberg Friends Walk an annual tradition (organized by some of the young people of our church to raise money for EFM outreach, and pictured to the left). My children are exposed to Scripture, to values, to a faith that is transforming them into the image of Christ for the sake of others. I will never forget offering up my sons to be dedicated to the Lord. We stood in front of a faith community that committed to partner with us to strengthen and nurture and equip these precious children to be the men of God that they were created to be, to be salt and light to the rest of the world.

When I find myself living life unintentionally, when I find myself not being able to answer questions, when I don’t know why I do what I do, I need to reevaluate. But I hope that within my community (family, church, and the Yearly Meeting) there will be space intentionally created to provide a foundation for growth and a challenge to act. Though my children will have different experiences than I did, and though they may express their faith and values differently than I have, I pray that we will respond to God’s calling through this partnering of actions and words, that this will be our life’s explanation.

Questions for Discussion:

1. How have you experienced “family” and “community” with your church?
2. How did the church invest well in your, or your children?
3. What could have been done better? What do you long for from your church?

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