The York County History Center stack stands proudly beside the York Quaker Meeting house - the oldest house of worship in the county. Jamie Noerpel Photo.
My luncheon with Quakers: Research for upcoming York County History Storytellers’ Night – Dec 4
“I’m not religious,” I confess to Lamar Matthew, a friend of the York Quaker Meeting House.
He smiles at me. “Neither am I,” he responds with a chuckle.
Lamar and I walk through the oldest, continuously operating house of worship in the county. He’s giving me a tour of the Quaker Meeting House on West Philadelphia Street, next to the newly opened York County History Center. I’m here prepping for our upcoming York County Storytellers Night on Dec. 4 at 6:30 p.m., and Lamar has agreed to show me around. But before we go inside, my son and I wait for worship to conclude.
The building I’ve walked past 100 times
It’s noon, and my one-year-old son, Otto, and I wait outside the 18th-century building – one that pre-dates the Revolutionary War. The eastern portion of the structure was originally built in 1766 followed by the western addition in 1783.
The Friends had gathered the hour before to worship. For them, worship begins when the first person sits quietly in the meeting room. Unlike many other congregations, there is no programming. They sit in silence and reflect on their faith. Instead of a preacher, Quakers turn inward to “the Light of God that is present in each one of us.” It reminds me of group meditation.
Once worship concludes, feasting begins. My friend, Madeline Mirasol, greets me at the front door. Otto and I enter the brick building that I’ve walked past a hundred times. I’m not sure what I was expecting. Plain clothes like the Anabaptists? Freezing cold floors that lacked heating? (I did pack an extra jacket for my baby).
I finally get to see inside York’s oldest house of worship
Lamar and I sit down in a very warm room, next to the room for worship, to eat. Every Sunday after worship, the congregation enjoys a potluck lunch together. I hope the carrot roll I bought from Dottie’s on Bull Road blends well, and it does. I sink my fork into the delicious homemade rice and curry and potato casserole and begin peppering Lamar with questions.
I ask him: Is their congregation also experiencing a declining in membership as are some others across the country? If so, how do they attract new followers? “We attract rather than promote,” Lamar says. People find the faith. Like my friends Madeline and Rusty Mirasol who started attending regularly two years ago. Like me, they didn’t consider themselves religious. But they felt at home when they first walked in the doors.
In fact, only one friend has “birthrights,” or found themselves born into the faith. The other 15 or so Friends in attendance that day converted to Quakerism. Or rather, “convinced” as Lamar corrects me.
During the Vietnam War, many people were “convinced” to join the congregation and the meeting house erupted with pacifists boycotting the conflict. The peace church also attracted protesters. During the war, vandals kicked in doors and broke windows. “But here we are,” Lamar tells me as he looks around the room. “We patched it back up and went back to being a faith community.”
“Where are all the Bibles?” I ask Lamar, noticing the benches are only decorated with purple seat cushions. Turns out they don’t rely on them. Lamar says the Bible has been used by too many to hurt people, and Quakers believe God’s light comes from within.
Interestingly, those yellow pine benches – the ones Otto keeps climbing up and then down – are from a meeting house in Virginia that dates back to the 1720s.
The backyard is just as impressive
The three of us make our way outside to the graveyard to walk among the 250+ graves. But I only see a few dozen stones. Lamar explains that many Quakers don’t use headstones, choosing instead to be buried in unmarked graves. “You should be known for the deeds you’ve done and not the monuments overtop of your dust,” he says.
Along the back edge of the property, Lamar shows us to a new tree sprout: A York Imperial – the famed apple from York made famous by a Quaker. Two hundred years ago, a group of school boys rooted around the base of the apple trees on the Johnson farm then then located in the borough of York. It was near the end of winter, so the fruit should have decayed months ago – but the apples were edible. They devoured the tasty treat with haste – imagine a juice of this fruit in the 1800s when fresh fruit wouldn’t have been available for months.
The boys’ treasure inspired Mr. Johnson, the farmer, to give specimens to Jonathan Jessop, a nurseryman and Quaker, so he could graft stems of apples to form a new hybrid. It was first called Jonathan’s Fine Winter but later changed to “York Imperial.”
As I mentioned, I’m not a religious person. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t feel the warmth and spirit of this holy site. Upon reflection, I realized this was the first house of worship Otto ever visited. Not only did my lack of faith not set us on fire, but we felt welcomed and frankly, at home. I wasn’t even planning on writing a blog post but felt moved to do so after meeting so many “Friends.”
