How weighty do I want to be?

In this time of life, the word “weight” has a double meaning. The most obvious refers to poundage. It seems that the older I grow, the easier it is to put on the pounds, and the harder to take them off. And what’s here on my body is distributed in strange configurations. It’s like a heavy weight (that word again) is pressing down from above, making me shorter and spreading me out. When buying new clothes, it’s not just color and style I consider, but what the garment is able to hide. I tell myself that at this age, none of that should matter. But for some reason, it does.

The second meaning of the word “weight” has to do with a serious dose of wisdom some older people exude. We respect these older gentlemen and ladies, not just for their white hair and slow deliberate manners, but because the experiences they’ve lived through seem to have given them a perspective worth heeding. When they speak, we listen. The weight of wisdom.

Quakers have a special take on this kind of weight. They refer to certain people as “weighty Friends.” As a young Friend, I observed that these awesome creatures were mostly old and mostly men. Since then, my perspective has shifted and I recognize many women who gained this reputation, not all of them elderly.

Quite a few years back, in an elders meeting, someone referred to me as a weighty Friend, and everyone solemnly agreed. No one even snickered.

My first reaction was shock (unexpressed in typical Quakerly fashion). My second reaction was laughter (silent, of course). I thought of “Fat Quaker” as a likely synonym, but my need to diet was not extreme at the time. If the pudgy-cheeked man on the oatmeal box were only frowning, he would be the perfect model.

My third reaction has been a lot of pondering and reflecting. I still don’t have it all figured out. I realize that although “weighty Friend” is a uniquely Quaker term, the concept is universal. There are those in every denomination, social group, or extended family whose wisdom is obvious. They are people who have earned wide respect through a life well-lived. They carry a certain moral weight.

But I am a Quaker and “weighty Friend” is one of those delightful Quaker terms that’s fun to say, although the exact meaning slips and slides around a bit. I ask myself, is this remnant from early Quakerism still meaningful? Helpful? And what does it mean in reference to me?

I love the old traditions, even the archaic words. Some of them carry an ambiance of holiness, order, and, yes, Quaker culture. Some still manage to be useful, even after all these years. Maybe “weighty Friend” is one of them?

How am I to hold this term in reference to myself? To be honest, I don’t feel ready to adopt this as part of my identity. Perhaps this just shows my occasional resistance to growing older. Do I also have to grow more solemn, stern, and stereotypically Quaker? I certainly don’t always feel wise.

Actually, I’ve known some older people who were not only wise, they were funny as well. Sometimes hilariously so. Maybe humor is a part of wisdom? If asked if I wanted to be known as funny or as wise, I think I’d answer, “Both, please!” Could one be both weighty and light-hearted at once? I hope so.

As to whether or not I’m really becoming “weighty” as I age, some words from the Apostle Paul come to mind. (By the way, if Paul had had the foresight to have become a Quaker, he would have been a weighty one.)

Here are his words: “By the grace given to me, I say to every one of you: Do not think of yourself more highly than you ought, but rather think of yourself with sober judgment, in accordance with the measure of faith God has given you” (Romans 12:3). And, “Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better [weightier] than yourselves” (Philippians 2:3).

This gives me perspective. I think “weighty Friend” or even “weighty older person” may be a helpful concept, as long as I apply it to other people. But I don’t need to wonder whether I am or not. It’s not for me to say. If anyone ever calls me that again, I’ll either chuckle out loud or keep my chortle silent, depending on the sensibilities of the person addressing me.

Having worked that through, I feel so much lighter.