Recently I have been noticing and naming this as virtue signalling, the word used to describe the action or practice of publicly expressing opinions or sentiments intended to demonstrate one’s good character or the moral correctness of one’s position on a particular issue.

What are the stories we keep telling ourselves? What are the narratives taught in Sunday Schools?

LOOK OVER HERE, for example at the Quakers such as Elizabeth Fry who until recently was on the British £5 note who went into women’s prisons and improved conditions. So we are celebrated for reforming prisons (but where is the conversation about abolition?).

LOOK OVER HERE, at the Quaker Retreat centre in York famous for being ahead of its time in treating mentally ill people as people and leading the way in occupational health (but again, where is the conversation about social models of psycho-emotional health?)

LOOK OVER HERE, at the early Quakers who spoke out to abolish slavery and support the Underground Railroad movement, (but what about those who continued to own enslaved people beyond abolition and the way many Quaker businesses profited from the sugar trade built on the backs and deaths of so many people.)

LOOK OVER HERE, at the Quakers who spoke out about witch hunts in Salem, (but so late in the era, what was our part in early witch hunting in the UK and the US?)

LOOK OVER HERE, at the Quakers who were conscientious objectors (but what about those of us who are yet to divest our money from banks which support the arms trade?)

LOOK OVER HERE at the Quakers able to take environmental action and put solar panels on our roofs and buy organic food (and yet how do we judge those who can not afford to make such choices?)

LOOK OVER HERE, at me virtue signalling by being critical and trying to stay woke and on top of the curve of the moral spectrum and be on the right side of history…

My faith taught me from an early age to virtue signal, to learn how to show I was an ally rather that to actually be one and to teach me how to be exceptional white middle class woman. Although being a Quaker also teaches me as an adult to hold the complexity of history, to speak and seek the truth and to know my complicity in oppressive systems as well as my part to play to dismantle them, i am acutely aware of the omissions we choose to conveniently not emphasise and the ways in which we have a duty to start digging and sharing more of the dirty as well as squeaky clean parts of our individual and collective past and present.

In 2021, British Quakers collectively committed (Quakers don’t vote but rather make decisions rooted in silent worship) to becoming an actively anti-racist community and inclusive and welcoming for non-binary and trans folk. This was based on realising the Quaker Testimony of Equality is not necessarily enough to ensure actions reflect values.

In 2022 this was added to with a minute made in the yearly meeting gathering that made first references at the national level to financial and other reparations for how Quaker institutions have profited from and continue to proliferate oppressive systems such as slavery.

The decision making process of Quakers is slow but it does enable us to evolve and react and reflect the practices and morals of the present day. This means we can perhaps virtue signal more than other Christian denominations and faiths, but how does it actually translate in practice?

There is a famous Quaker phrase, what does love require of us?

Right now it requires discomfort, actions, humility and accountability. Love requires us to have courage to really live our faith.

At the intersection of my Western, White, and Evangelical identities, I inherited a worldview in which I saw myself as the one with something to offer. Underneath the pretense of generosity was a belief that I had more resources, more knowledge, more faith, and more wisdom than others. Why, I was even in possession of the way, the truth, and the life. It was my duty to share it all with those less fortunate – or perhaps less blessed – than myself.

But this mindset doesn’t actually honor the recipient. It reserves the honor and the comfort for the host. It allows me to see myself as the altruistic hero and the benevolent savior while perceiving the other as destitute and downtrodden. It reinforces the hierarchy of power and upholds the supremacy of my perspectives and my culture. It is this mindset that has led Christians to become the chaplains of world domination, in the words of Rabbi David Jaffe.

Though it may seem drastic to draw the line from being the perpetual host to world domination, the threads of pride and power hold it all together. But Jesus showed us a different way. Reverend Rene August describes the way of Jesus as one of self-sacrifice rather than self-preservation. Jesus was not one to hold onto power, even though it that was rightfully his. Instead, he modeled humility for us in taking on flesh, in becoming the servant rather than the host, and in considering the interests of others above his own.

Canon Sarah Snyder reminded us that Jesus was always the guest. He entered into our world, sat at the tables of both Pharisees and tax collectors, received financial support from women, and relied on the kindness of strangers as he traveled around. In doing so, Jesus honored those who hosted him. He upheld their dignity as he drew out their hospitality. When others had disregarded the people on the margins of society, Jesus affirmed that they were worthy and that they had something to offer.

Through the years, I’ve spent a lot of time interrogating my own motivations and deconstructing my long-held beliefs, but I recognize that it’s hard to fully release my savior complex. It’s hard to let go of the notion that others need me while I remain self-sufficient. It’s hard to hold back when I think my education and my experience produce the wisdom that is needed. It’s hard to draw out the leadership and insight of others when it would require less time for me to just take charge. Even as I seek to love my neighbor by offering what I have, I acknowledge the ways that I maintain the status quo by holding onto power.

Now I’m left contemplating these questions…What does it look like for me to draw out the hospitality of others? How can I humble myself to recognize that others have something to offer me, something to teach me? How do I embrace my own discomfort and inconvenience in order to affirm the dignity of those who have been disempowered? How do I embody a life of hospitality that reflects Jesus’ example?

Featured Image by Libby Penner on Unsplash

When I think of power in the Christian context, what comes to mind are the words of St. Paul that “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Often I feel so much weaker and inadequate compared to the problems of the world and the healing they seem to require. Sometimes I feel inadequate to the tasks in my own life. Yet God tells us that we don’t need to be powerful; rather, we need to be channels and mechanisms through which His power of love and grace can touch others.

The Church also continually talks about ‘the preferential option for the poor’—that those who have less and are struggling deserve special care and support from those who have more. Jesus told us through His parables that to whom much is given, much is expected, and that whatever we do to ‘the least’ of His children, we do to Him. Whatever our situation in life, we always have some power to help others.  A kind smile or a compassionate word do not require high social position or finances.  Love is a gift God freely gives to us and which He wants us to freely give to others.

I first became active in interfaith engagement after 9/11, a life-changing trauma which spurred me to enter the field of peacebuilding and to work for greater understanding and friendship—and dismantling of negative misperceptions—between Americans and people in Middle Eastern and Muslim-majority countries. While I subsequently spent much time in the Middle East, I also realized that there is much we can do to promote interfaith friendship and understanding here in our own diverse American backyard as well. I helped to found the Interfaith Committee at my church, and for about 7 years, we hosted an iftar (dinner to break the Muslim fast during Ramadan) at our church for our Muslim neighbors, our own parishioners, and some guests of other faiths. I saw the iftars as a way not only to extend hospitality to our Muslim neighbors, but to support them on their own walk with God by providing a space for them to pray and practice their own faith traditions (while also providing a wonderful opportunity for mutual learning). Many wonderful friends and memories came out of these events, and I felt they provided a way for me to more deeply live out my Catholic faith through this way of expressing love for our neighbor.

Having done a lot of work in Pakistan, I heard a story once of a Pakistani Muslim man who saw a news broadcast about an American church which provided space for local Muslims who did not have a mosque to worship. He said he was so inspired by this that he went out, gathered other Muslims in the community, and went to visit and help repair a church in his community in Pakistan. Each such act of love like this can have a ripple effect of inspiring other acts of love, even far across the world, and how much that must please God.

This week, while listening to the wisdom of Irish peacemaker Pádraig Ó Tuama, I am faced with another realization, which is that “peace often looks like the escalation of creative conflict.” If all we’re doing in the face of conflict is trying to avoid that conflict in order to get to a point where we all agree, that is just a temporary, false sense of peace. Choosing to enter into conflict intentionally and with creativity is an act of love and a practice of peacemaking. As we do this, we must seek the truth about the other—through stories, by releasing our own assumptions and judgments about the other, and by choosing to see the humanity of the other. Reconciliation can only happen where there is truth.

Peacemaker Denise Bradley from the Corrymeela Community suggests that we ask the question “what is happening?” rather than “what is wrong with you?” for this allows us to listen with our hearts. It highlights our interconnectedness and the reality that we are experiencing the conflict in different ways. It paves a way for our stories to be told, and our stories to be heard.

This is a lot. It is one thing to listen to the wisdom of leaders and discuss it with this cohort of peacemakers who have become dear friends. What does this look like in “real life,” though? What does this look like in my own church where our congregation is divided, hurting, and where the Covid-19 pandemic is literally separating us from one another? How do we experience the vulnerability of community when we can’t even see each other? How do we experience the vulnerability of community when we choose not to see each other? How do we hear the story of the other when we refuse to listen to the other? When we fail to see the other as a bearer of the image of God? As beloved?

Rather than rush to find the answers, I am choosing to slow down, to breathe, and to not fear the discomfort of tension. Perhaps this is where restoration is to be found.

Image Source: https://lorenzoquinn.com/portfolio-items/tension/