Enneagram Type 5 - The Investigator
Thinkers who tend to withdraw and observe
People of this personality type essentially fear that they don't have enough inner strength to face life, so they tend to withdraw, to retreat into the safety and security of the mind where they can mentally prepare for their emergence into the world. Fives feel comfortable and at home in the realm of thought. They are generally intelligent, well read and thoughtful and they frequently become experts in the areas that capture their interest. While they are sometimes scientifically oriented, especially with the Six wing, just as many Fives are drawn to the humanities and it is not at all uncommon for Fives to have artistic inclinations. Fives are often a bit eccentric; they feel little need to alter their beliefs to accommodate majority opinion, and they refuse to compromise their freedom to think just as they please. The problem for Fives is that while they are comfortable in the realm of thought, they are frequently a good deal less comfortable when it comes to dealing with their emotions, the demands of a relationship, or the need to find a place for themselves in the world. Fives tend to be shy, nonintrusive, independent and reluctant to ask for the help that others might well be happy to extend to them.
A year ago, I delivered a message at West Hills Friends the Sunday following the 2014 Northwest Yearly Meeting sessions. I was unusually optimistic, expressing hope that the expulsion that once seemed inevitable might be avoided, and unity restored among people who claim to be people of peace. A year later, West Hills has been kicked out, and I am processing an indefinite departure from West Hills. Here's a rough timeline:
In September of 2014, following the loss of Griffin Huber, I applied for membership at West Hills Friends Church. I'd not intended to ever apply, but in the midst of tragedy, Sarah and I both felt that we were just as affected by sorrow as everyone else, and to refuse to called a member, for me at least, felt like petty stubbornness. The process, as had always been explained from the pulpit, was that a person applies for membership by notifying the church elders of a desire to become a member. The person meets with 2 of the elders for a clearness discussion, which centers around 2-3 queries. The queries don't have right answers, but the discussion about them should make it clear to the applicant and the elders whether the person should be a member. It's also been said that becoming a member is simply recognizing that a person already is operating as a member. If the applicant and the elders are clear to move forward, the applicant is brought before the church to be recognized. People are invited to comment about the person for awhile, and finally an elder asks if everyone is clear to approve the person as a member. In the time we'd been there (2 years at this point), everyone who applied had become a member.
Sarah and I went through our process separately. I thought this was important, as our journeys and worldviews are very different, and our interactions within West Hills had been very different as well. I met with 2 elders, went through the queries, and we were all clear that I was already a member of West Hills, and we agreed to move forward. The elders met as a group, and all were clear that both Sarah and I should be members of the church.
We were scheduled to be brought before the church the Sunday before Christmas. The Wednesday before, we received an email from one of the elders that opened like this:
One thing I've learned about myself in the last year is that I'm awful at predicting my feelings. My initial response to the elder was essentially that this was no big deal. I could be patient, and understood why it might be hard for someone to handle an atheist as a member. I didn't feel much of anything about the matter until a month later when a listening meeting was scheduled for people to discuss the general topic of membership. At this meeting, I heard such gems as:
"This is Jesus' clubhouse. And if you're not cool with this being Jesus' clubhouse, perhaps this isn't the place for you."
"I recently sent (the pastor) an email asking, "Are we even a Christian church anymore?""
"If all it takes to be a member is to be a good person, someone could just join the rotary club."
Following this meeting, my emotions caught up with what my mind already knew. This was not going to work out. You can only clumsily try to fit a square peg in a round hole for so long. Eventually it becomes obvious that one of these things is not like the other.
My anger about the situation wasn't so much that someone had an issue with atheists. This is common. Fundamentalism isn't reserved solely for actual fundamentalists. I knew this already. What got me the most was that someone was allowed to exert control over me anonymously. I wasn't told who was objecting to my membership. They didn't have to face me, or know anything about how it might affect me. They got to complain without their name being known, then walk away.
(It's an unfortunate irony: People had enough information to block my membership because I did what everyone is constantly asked to do. I participated. I spoke. Had I never given a message, or been open about my ideas, I'd be a member right now, just like the other atheists who are members at West Hills.)
I stayed home for a few Sundays. The elders and pastors bent over backwards to apologize for how things went, and did their best to make me feel wanted. Eventually one of them told me enough information that I could figure out who was blocking my membership. I don't know if that made it easier, but it was nice to know. It wasn't anyone close to me. Wasn't even anyone I'd ever had a conversation with. Still, Quakers speak as a group. If they decide something, they do it with consensus. If they decide not to do something, like approve someone as a member, they also do that as a group, even if it's only a handful of people holding up the majority. This allows individuals to exercise an extraordinary amount of power over others.
For the last six months, I've waffled a lot. Some Sundays it seems like it would hurt more to show up somewhere unpleasant than stay home, so I stay home. Other Sundays I go because I miss people, and that's the best place to see them simultaneously. Either way, the trust is gone. The feeling of "I'm affected as much as everyone else" has been replaced with "I'm the only person in the last 10 years to have their membership blocked." That very few people knew about any of this didn't help. I've chosen not to speak about it publicly. I don't know how. There are people who are quite content to share their pain out loud, and eat up the attention this brings. I'm not one of those people. It's uncomfortable, and requires vulnerability, and I suck at both of those things.
Last week, Northwest Yearly Meeting decided to "release" West Hills from the yearly meeting. Some people felt like a freed hostage. But most felt some level of pain and rejection. As usual, at first, I felt nothing. I've been emotionally detached from West Hills for so long that I don't identify as one of them. This didn't feel like personal rejection.
As people began to express their feelings about being kicked out, my feelings started to surface also. But they haven't been feelings about NWYM. They've been feelings about membership rejection, and the loss of a trusted community. These people get to grieve their loss together. I had to deal with mine alone. I understand their pain, but in a way, I resent it. The group that rejected me has been rejected. While this isn't really what happened (the first part, anyway), it's how it feels. And it's hard to listen to. The membership process is still the same. It can still be used to bludgeon someone else. The gatekeepers can still gatekeep, and nobody knows they're doing it
I showed up to Quakerism looking for a way to quit being so afraid of death, and for my kids to be given the chance to ask God questions in an LGBT affirming place. That first part of that mission has been quite successful. Sarah will continue the second part. In the process, for awhile, I found a community of people that felt like they were my people. Eventually it became clear that they aren't. After all, Quakers think God is guiding the group decision making. With that as a central tenant, I was naive to think that as someone who doesn't think anyone is guiding anything, it would be possible to have both worldviews in the same church indefinitely. I'm persuaded that we have little to no control over our thoughts. Faith is a kind of thought over which I have no control. But to the faithful, thoughts matter more than anything else. To be faithless among people who need their faith more than they need people does not seem like a good match.
Shortly after the listening meetings at West Hills, my small group of elders talked about moving forward with my membership. They seemed mildly surprised when I told them I was no longer interested. With West Hills having been kicked out of NWYM, and with the elders and pastoral staff having no appetite to appeal that decision, I'm hopeful that people will understand why after all of this, continuing at West Hills seems like a poor decision. I've waffled too much already, and am likely to tell people different things about how I'm doing depending on the day they ask me. I don't think I can get clarity if I'm begging the question by continuing to show up. I'm giving myself the rest of the year to do other things with my time. I've got a lot more hiking to do and books to read. I'm hopeful that the time away will confirm that I'm making the right decision in walking away, or give me the perspective I need to try again.
Some day, I want to feel like this: