Quakers Western Australia

19/04/2026

John Woolman reminds us that true faith does not start with certainty, but with a stirring a quiet movement of love that draws us toward one another. Not to fix, not to judge, but to understand. To listen deeply enough that another person’s life, their spirit, their story, begins to matter as much as our own.

In a world shaped by division and fear, this kind of love asks something costly of us. It asks us to slow down. To step closer. To be changed by what we encounter.

And perhaps, in that humility, in that willingness to be led rather than to lead, we find ourselves becoming more gentle, more open, more at peace.

Love was the first motion…
What might it be asking of you today?

31/01/2026

In 1660, George Fox and early Friends offered a revolutionary testimony to the world: that the Spirit which guides us the Spirit of Christ is unchanging, peaceable, and true.

At a time when war and violence were the norm, Friends declared a bold and unwavering commitment to peace. Not as passive avoidance, but as an active refusal to harm a faithfulness to the inward Light that calls us toward love, justice, and truth.

This remains our witness today. In a world still torn by war, division, and fear, may we continue to trust in the Spirit that leads us not into battle, but into reconciliation, healing, and courageous peace.

18/01/2026

In the heart of Quaker faith lies a radical conviction: that the Divine breathes within each of us not distantly, but directly. That beyond dogma and noise, beyond striving and certainty, there is a Living Voice that speaks into the stillness of our being.

Caroline Stephen reminds us that to hear this voice to truly listen requires surrender. Not only of sound, but of self. The soul learns to breathe in God’s rhythm only when we are willing to be still, to be alone, to be present.

Silence, then, is not a withdrawal it is a communion. A yielding to the mystery that we are never alone, and that the Light we seek has been quietly kindling within us all along.

16/01/2026

In this powerful QuakerSpeak video, Friends from around the world speak with clarity, tenderness, and conviction about what it means to be a faith community in this century one led by love, shaped by justice, and grounded in continuing revelation.

They challenge us not to hide our light, not to soften our witness. To be bold in truth, humble in spirit, and open to the discomfort that transformation asks of us. To welcome seekers not only with words, but with the work that love requires of us publicly, courageously, and faithfully.

As one Friend reminds us: "At the centre of it all is not Quaker practice. It is love."

QuakerSpeak is a weekly video series. New video every other FRIDAY! SUPPORT QuakerSpeak! https://quakerspeak.com/donate/SUBSCRIBE for a new video every oth...

15/01/2026

In a world that constantly pulls at our attention, Quaker worship offers something radically countercultural: stillness.

Rick Ells reminds us that being constantly on high alert dulls our deeper capacities our intuition, empathy, and wisdom. Centering is not a luxury; it is a return to ourselves and to that of God within us.

Before we can welcome the sacred, we may first need to clear the space. To let the noise settle. To ready the inner room.

May we each find moments today to gently lay down the weight of the world… and centre into presence.

11/11/2025

Today, as the world commemorates November 11, a day marked by history for the armistice that ended World War I, we find a moment of deep reflection in the Quaker community. In the spirit of our long-standing commitment to peace and non-violence, this day holds a special meaning.

The Quakers, or the Religious Society of Friends, have always stood as a beacon of peace in the tumultuous seas of conflict. Our history is steeped in the pursuit of peaceful resolutions, holding firm to the belief that war and violence are fundamentally incompatible with the spiritual life.

On this day, we remember not only the end of a great war but also the continuous struggle and advocacy for peace. We honour those who have suffered in conflicts, and we reaffirm our dedication to creating a world where such suffering is no longer necessary.

Let's use this November 11 as a day to reflect on the true cost of war and the enduring value of peace. We encourage friends, families, and communities to join us in contemplation, conversation, and action towards a more peaceful world.

In the spirit of understanding and compassion, we extend our hands and hearts to all those working towards peace. Together, we can build a future that honours the dignity and worth of every person.

If "War is not the Answer" what is? Diane Randall of FCNL (Friends Committee on National Legislation) talks Quaker pacifism, pentagon spending, and the mili...

09/11/2025

Julian of Norwich lived in fourteenth century England, in a time of plague, social unrest, and war. As a young woman, around the age of thirty, she fell gravely ill and received a series of “shewings” visions of Christ on a single day in May 1373. She recovered, and later, as an anchoress enclosed in a small cell beside St Julian’s Church in Norwich, she spent years praying, listening, and writing what became Revelations of Divine Love the earliest known book in English by a woman.

Her life was pared down to essentials: three small windows one to the church for worship, one to the street to offer counsel, one for simple necessities. In that simplicity she looked steadily at suffering, sin, and fear not to deny them, but to ask what Love might say in their presence.

The line many of us carry from Julian is this: “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” She did not write it from a comfortable century. She wrote it as someone who had seen death corridors and lived within the ache of her age. For Julian, these words are not wishful thinking; they are the echo of a Presence she had come to trust.

Julian asked the hard questions: Why suffering? Why sin? How can all be well when so much is not well? What she heard was not an explanation but a promise. She uses an old word behovely to say that God can meet us even in what is “fitting to be faced,” the very places we would rather avoid. Not that harm is good, nor that wrong is excusable, but that Love can reach us there and work towards a wholeness we cannot yet see.

Her writing is full of tenderness. She holds a small hazelnut in her palm and sees “all that is made,” fragile and tiny yet kept, loved, sustained by God. That image steadies me. Our lives, our world, feel so small and breakable. Yet Julian says: what is made is held; what is held is loved; what is loved is kept.

How might this speak to us in meeting today? Perhaps like this: the promise that “all shall be well” is not a demand to feel better. It is an invitation to keep company with the One who is making things new even while they are not yet new. In the silence we are not asked to tie a bow on reality; we are asked to lean our weight onto a deeper Reality.

If it helps, here are queries for the quiet:

Where is my heart carrying a “not yet” that needs companionship rather than a quick fix?

What would it mean, today, to live as if Love is at work beneath what I can see?

Is there a small act of trust an apology, a boundary, a kindness, a letting go that aligns me with the hope Julian speaks?

Julian’s confidence is not glib. It is spacious. She trusts that the last word belongs to Love, and that in the meantime we are invited to practice the grammar of that last word: patience, truth-telling, mercy, courage. In our Quaker way, we might say: let the Inward Light show us where to stand, and then stand there gently.

Friends, may Julian’s witness steady us. Where our world feels brittle, may we remember the hazelnut small, yet held. Where we are tempted to despair, may we hear again the promise that does not cancel sorrow but keeps company with it: All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.

06/11/2025

This counsel says, “Where there is genuine tenderness, an openness to responsibility, and the seed of commitment, God is surely not shut out.” I hear that as a mercy. It reminds me that the Life is not allergic to our humanity; God is not kept outside the room when love is inside it.

We often reach for rules when we are anxious about relationships and sexuality. Rules can feel safer than trust. Yet this passage invites a different measure: tenderness, responsibility, and the seed of commitment.

Tenderness: the steady practice of seeing the other as precious, never a project.

Responsibility: consent, truth-telling, accountability for the impact of our choices.

The seed of commitment: not a grand promise we cannot keep, but a real intention to care for the good of the other over time.

Can we not say, it asks, “that God can enter any relationship in which there is a measure of selfless love?” I think of the small, ordinary ways selfless love shows its face: listening without preparing a defense; slowing down when the other is tired; telling the truth kindly; stopping when a boundary is named; making room for growth, grief, and change. Where these are present even imperfectly something holy can breathe.

And then the gentle caution: is not every generalisation we make qualified by this? The Spirit deals with persons, not categories. Our testimonies integrity, equality, peace, community are not blunt instruments. They are lenses. They ask us to see the particular: this person, this moment, this leading, this limit. The Light does not erase discernment; it deepens it.

If it helps, try these queries in the silence:

Where is tenderness asking to be practiced here by me?

What responsibility is mine to take today?

What small seed of commitment am I able, honestly, to plant and tend?

How is selfless love inviting me to act, or to refrain?

Friends, let us be gentle with one another’s journeys. Some arrive married, some single, some partnered, some seeking, some healing. What matters is not our label but our readiness to let love take the lead. When tenderness is real, when responsibility is owned, when even a seed of commitment is present, God is not shut out.

So may our bodies, our choices, our promises, and our boundaries be places of prayer. May our speech be plain, our care mutual, our power used for the other’s good. And when we falter as we will may we return to the measure of selfless love, trusting that the One who is Love remains patient with us.

02/11/2025

I am helped by the reminder that we come to meeting not because we are already settled, but because we need to be. The Advice invites us to come “even when we are angry, depressed, tired, or spiritually cold.” I notice how easy it is to wait until I feel better, clearer, more together. Yet it is often on the days I feel least ready that I most need to sit among you.

In this silence we are not asked to perform. We are asked to bring our whole selves. If anger is here, it can sit beside gratitude. If weariness is here, it can rest beside joy. If faith feels thin, we can borrow each other’s courage for a while.

There are times when I do not have words, and even my prayers feel like empty hands. Then I remember: I can ask for, and accept, the prayerful support of others. I can lean into the faith of the meeting. It is a humbling thing to be held to trust that when I cannot lift my heart, the community can hold it lightly, tenderly, without fixing or explaining.

The Advice points to prayer that rises from a deep place in the heart not loud, not showy, sometimes more like a spring under ground than a river on the surface. It may not change our circumstances, but it can change the shape of our being within them. That kind of prayer often brings healing and unity not by erasing pain, but by making room for it inside a larger wholeness.

I think of this meeting as a hearth. We bring different fuel: a stick of joy, a branch of sorrow, a log of confusion. Laid together, something steady takes light. We warm one another. We are nourished by a heat no one of us could make alone.

“Let meeting for worship nourish your whole life,” the Advice says. I hear that as an invitation to carry the quiet with us. When I leave here, can I let this stillness season my words at work? Can I let this tenderness guide how I speak to family? Can I let this patient listening shape how I listen to myself?

So today, if you have arrived bright and thankful, welcome. If you have arrived tired or cold, welcome. If you cannot pray, let us pray around you and for you. If you cannot sing, let the meeting be your song. Together we seek that deep spring in the heart the place where suffering and gratitude can both belong, and where the Spirit makes of us one people.

May this message feed us enough courage for the next hard conversation, enough gentleness for the next sharp edge, enough hope to keep turning up, even when we do not feel ready. And may we agree, quietly, to keep holding one another, week by week, until the Light finds us again.

22/09/2025

How often do we rush through our days, hoping for clarity, reassurance, or a sign forgetting that the conversation with God has already begun? This gentle reminder from Lloyd Lee Wilson invites us to pause, to listen, and to trust that we are already being spoken to.

God does not need to be summoned. The divine presence is already reaching out patient, persistent, and present.

Sometimes all we need to do… is pay attention.