Christmas night post

Seven days before Christmas Eve I joined my old friend Bridget to sing Christmas carols.

Backing up some: Bridget was a colleague during during my employ at the Quaker retreat center circa 2012. She is a practicing (and exceptionally devoted) Quaker, and earlier this month she invited me to sing Christmas carols with her monthly meeting in the Philadelphia exurbs. In going willingly I probably forfeited the rest of whatever goth cred I had left, but what the hell. I like spending time with Bridget and besides, I was promised cookies and hot cider.

The evening was the antidote to a month of recorded & compulsory Christmas music at the workplace. Singing the seasonal standards ("We Three Kings," "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer," "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen," etc.) in a meeting house with a group of the Christian faithful (even if I am myself an atheist and apostate Episcopalian) who WANT to sing is the polar opposite of having recordings of the same songs pumped into your workplace eight hours a day. Fellowship makes the difference. So does contributing to and experiencing the music as a living shared event rather than as a digital artifact. For about 45 minutes I actually enjoyed these songs again.

Afterwards I chatted with Bridget and with a gentleman named Chip, who I believe was one of the meeting's elders. I asked him how old the meeting house was, and in the course of his answer he related a story about the pair of farmers who were responsible for its construction. As luck would have it, a version of the story is on the meeting's website (and was probably composed by Chip himself), but it was more striking to hear it told. Some people are better orators than authors.

But in the spirit of the season, I'd like to share an excerpt of Chip's story here:

Today, the Pocopson creek flows unrestricted through Chester County farmland until it reaches the Brandywine. This was not always the case. Towards the end of the 18th century a water-rights dispute arose between two Quaker farmers. Isaac Baily’s farm was upstream from that of Richard Barnard and Baily had built a dam for his own irrigation purposes. Unfortunately, this dam significantly restricted the flow and had a serious impact on the availability of Richard Barnard’s water.

Water use rights clearly identify Barnard as the injured party. However, all of his attempts to explain this to his neighbor were met with contentious replies. Quakers (Friends) were loath to take anyone to court, let alone another Quaker. Thus, no legal action was taken and other Friends became involved, but Isaac Baily remained intransigent.

This state of affairs caused much frustration to Richard Barnard. One day Barnard described the issue to a traveling Quaker Minister. The response was brief but pointed. The minister said “Richard, more is required of some than others.” This answer precipitated some deep reflection. After some consideration and prayer, the next step became clear.

Early one morning Richard Barnard collected a bottle of water and cloths before beginning the hike upstream to his neighbor’s farm. He arrived and knocked on the door, only to find out that Isaac Baily was still in bed. Undeterred, Barnard pushed forward, entered his neighbor’s bedchamber and expressed a deep desire for friendship. To consummate this friendship, Barnard announced his intention to wash Baily’s feet. At first, the response to this overture was the same contentiousness that Baily had become known for. Barnard had to be quite insistent to accomplish his purpose. However, as Baily’s feet were washed and then dried, a calm fell over the scene. Afterwards, Baily rose, dressed and accompanied Barnard to the door.

The day did not pass before Richard Barnard overheard the work of the dam being breached so that the water could flow unrestricted. The story does not end here. Richard Barnard and Isaac Baily soon became fast friends. Several years later, Barnard broke his leg in an accident. This kind of event can be devastating for any farmer whose livelihood depends on physical activity. Fortunately, Isaac Baily was there to invest much of his own time and effort to sustain the Barnard farm through the crisis.