At the age he was when he wrote the libretto, how did Tim Rice manage to get his observations of humanity so note perfect? I’d take my hat off to him if it were not held securely in place by Kirby grips.
Plain dress has challenged me in so many ways. In my reading online and offline of Plain writers and thinkers, the Spirit has nudged me again into remembering what I know full well and find it more convenient to forget, that the wellbeing of humanity lies in community, and that community is sustained in part economically, and that means every time I spend money I should be thinking globally and acting locally. I should be choosing what is locally (and compassionately and sustainably and responsibly) produced. Every time I open my purse it should be with justice and peace and the wellbeing of creation in mind.
This weekend a huge supermarket has just opened its doors in the little parade of shops that serves the local community where I live. I felt sad to see the knots of people leaving the new store weighed down with its plastic carrier bags bulging with shopping, waiting at the crossing for the lights to change so they could go back across the road and return home past the smaller shops that stood unusually empty.
Today was the weekend for the Farmers’ Market in Battle (as in, Battle of Hastings), five miles inland from us, and Hebe, Alice and I had a merry time buying handmade Christmas presents, excellent vegetables, perfect bread and buns and – joy of joy – cake free of dairy produce; but otherwise entirely normal!
When we got home, Hebe made a big pan of veggie soup, then she and Alice went off to their archery class and I holed up in our garret making hats and re-hemming a dress that had shrunk fractionally in the wash.
The Badger got the fire going later on, and I started some knitting (having rung my mother to remind me how to do moss stitch) before we all clattered of to the theatre to see one of our local amateur operatic and dramatic societies put on a fine production of Jesus Christ Superstar at the theatre in Bexhill (5 miles west along the coast).
So it’s been a day of celebrating what has been grown and made in our neighbourhood community, or made at home with our own hands. It rejoices my heart that the Plain way is wise to the reality that the wellbeing of humanity is served well by protecting and nurturing the small and the local, the ways that are immediate and earthy, the work of our hands and the lifting of our voices in song. The Plain people have always spoken for the shy and the wild, the wonder of earth and sky, snow and sun, wind and weather, the grain in the fields and the beauty of the woods and the hills.
Plain dress, this clothing that speaks softly to me as I go about my day, has been a reminder to consider the journey of each coin I spend and see that it blesses my community, to listen to the voices behind each product I purchase – are they vibrant with the confidence of a good job done well; apples harvested at just the right time, baked goods made on the premises in the old-fashioned way, textile goods sewed with artistry and imagination? Or are they capable of expressing nothing but the wailing of the dispossessed, the broken, and the downtrodden?
This – in everyday life – is where the Plain Quaker Eucharist is: in the testimony of every decision I make; in the ways I spend my time, my energy and my money, Christ whispers, ‘Remember Me. When you eat, when you drink, when you gather together – remember Me.’
This is why the Plain way is a slow way, accepting what is small and humble. The hasty, swollen, hustling rush and tear of Mammon leaves us no time to notice, no time to reflect. It grabs for the most money, and hands over its precious gift of time with eager hands to get a higher rate, and for what? Mighty White bread in plastic bags, holidays with Ryan Air and Easy Jet, and lovely injection moulded plastic toys to give the little children. The cheapest of everything in exchange for the dearest possession we have: our time in this beautiful world.
I thank God for the Plain way that tells me to forbear, to let things go, to move slowly, keeping rhythm with the seasons, loving the earth and blessing the community. I thank God for the Plain way that reminds me the joy of childhood is not in a sliding heap of toys mass-produced in a factory to sell in a chainstore, but is in mud pies and rockpools, a family’s voices raised in song, helping to make pastry and learning to be gentle with animals, laughing at silly jokes with Daddy and settling down to share a story book with Mummy. So is evil weakened and the good raised up.
And I thank God that tomorrow will start with Quaker silence in a circle of faces I am learning to love.