Silent and Radiant

This past Summer I spent time reading several Quaker writers. I started with the biography of George Fox (the founder of the movement back in the 17th century) and then moved on to some of the works of Isaac Pennington, Robert Barclay, John Woolman (an American hero), Rufus Jones, Douglas Steere, and Elton Trueblood.

Good people. We should all know them better. I think they have a word for many of us. They certainly did for me.

Looking back on these writers, some of the descriptors that come to me are centeredness, self-regulation, dignity, intellectual acuity, generosity, and humility.

Somewhere in my summer readings I came across a comment made by Marius Grout, a 20th century French Quaker who said,

“I believe in the influence of silent and radiant men and I say to myself that such men are rare. They, nevertheless, give savor to the world …. Nothing will be lost here so long as such men continue to exist.”

I am captured by this thought. Silent and radiant … giving savor to the world. Typical Quaker-speak, I’d say.

Savor, a word used sparingly, means taste or flavoring, maybe even sweetening. It speaks of something which, while not used in large quantity, greatly influences things. Thus, rephrasing Grout’s line, a few silent and radiant (persons) properly placed, make a huge difference.

We evangelicals are hardly known for our silence. Our branding implies proclaiming, declaring, even persuading. But it opens up the possibility that we can very easily be a rather noisy people even when we don’t have much to say. Words without substance and authenticity equal irrelevance.

The value of looking beyond one’s own immediate tradition (in this case to the Quakers) is that see qualities and perspectives that you wish you could import into your own experience. In this case the qualities of silence and radiance attract me.

I only know a few Quakers: some personally, others through my reading. But I have always admired, even envied, the depth of soul I have found in them. I’m sure they have many imperfections, but I’m not inclined to search for them.

Traditionally, Quakers hate war and love peace-making. They encourage rational thinking and cast a suspicious eye on excessive feelings. They practice community and accountability and frown on flamboyant individual initiative. They believe that God dwells deeply in the human heart and speaks up into one’s life. They are reluctant to buy into the notion of total depravity. They have an extremely high view of Jesus Christ.

Here’s Rufus Jones—one of Quakerism’s best:

“Let a person’s inner being be fortified with a faith in God and all his creative powers are quickened, his marching strength is heightened and his grip on everyday things is immensely increased. It is as though he had tapped a hidden reservoir of power.”

John Woolman, an 18th century American Quaker) whose journal everyone ought to read, once approached the home of a southern Quaker plantation owner where he had been invited to dine and spend the night. He suddenly became aware that there were slaves working in his host’s fields.

Woolman, one of the first American Christians to declare his opposition to slavery, immediately changed his plans. Saying nothing to anyone, he chose to sleep that night at the side of the road because he would not accept hospitality from a slave-owner. Woolman’s choice to “sleep” outdoors said all that was needed. You could conclude that Woolman was one of the silent and radiant ones.

I’m going to suggest that Marius Grout did not mean to imply that silent people never utter a word. John Woolman was a lay-preacher, and he was not reluctant to speak plainly to individuals and gatherings as he did to the plantation owner the next day. But he was no waster of words, nor did he say things—as some politicians and preachers do—that he had to later disown or apologize for.

Another French man (not Quaker), Henri Matisse, the artist, once said, “Artists should have their tongues cut out.” I think Matisse was saying that artists should never try to explain or defend what they have done. Their work should speak (radiate) for itself. I would think that Marius Grout would have smiled on this thought. It’s, well, “Quakerish.”

Which brings me to the word radiant. Such a beautiful word. It describes an invisible influence that streams out of and away from a person. Like the radiance of the sun. Or the radiance of a candle in a very dark room.

The men and the women of the Bible and those who followed them down through the centuries were usually radiant people. Mary, Jesus’ mother, is a great example. What she said mostly was spoken in private, but her words counted. And everyone knows what a difference (radiance) she made.

Could silent and radiant apply to Jesus Christ?

I think so. Hear Peter: “When they hurled their insults at him, he did not retaliate; when he suffered he made no threats. Instead he entrusted himself to him who judges justly.” Or Paul: “(He took on) the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. And being found in appearance as a man, he humbled himself and became obedient to death—even death on a cross.”

Why would Marius Grout have said that such silent and radiant persons are rare? Probably because it usually takes a bit of suffering, a lot of discipline, and a strong conversion (plus time) to produce them. And churches today? Well … you know.

Can I confide a little dream that came out of my Summer reading? That all over North America, small groups of men and women with a serious desire to perpetuate the radiance of Jesus Christ would begin to gather and ask if we do not need a freshened understanding of what it means to be silent and radiant persons who are a savor in this world.

I guess this little dream comes not only from reading the Quakers but from watching too many news broadcasts and seeing how many ways empty, noisy people are ruining things. Marius Grout’s words haunt me. “Nothing,” he said, “will be lost here so long as such men (those who are silent and radiant) continue to exist.”

So how could we make sure they continue to exist? Maybe those Quakers I read this summer could offer us a bit of help.

Gordon MacDonald is editor-at-large of Leadership Journal and chancellor of Denver Seminary. He lives in New Hampshire.