Reclaiming Eldership: A Reflection

Some of my elders, Adria DiCapua and Joan Liversidge.

Within the Quaker tradition, the role of eldership is one of the most vital — and one of the most misunderstood — aspects of our communal life. As one deeply wounded, and routinely disciplined/eldered, Friend recently wrote to me, in opposition to elders: 

I think sometimes people feel entitled to the role of elder and therefore they need someone to elder and they are disappointed/sad/angry when you refuse to play the role they need in order to have arrived at the vaunted title of 'elder.'

Eldership, rightly understood, however, is not about hierarchy or control. It's about spiritual companionship. It's about being a Friend among Friends, holding space for the community to listen more deeply for the Divine together. Public minister Melinda Wenner-Bradley offers her reflection on an experience of eldership:

When FGC first told me (sooo many years ago) that they were sending 'an elder' with me to a workshop, I was like, 'why?' Then I experienced the profound presence of that person praying and holding the group, and I understood...This week, I'm hosting a workshop for Faith & Play Stories on the role of the 'doorperson' who I have always shared is not an 'assistant teacher' but is holding care for the whole room/space the circle of children are in -- I've come to realize they are serving as a kind of elder for the circle of children and the storyteller in that circle, and it's incredibly important to how this nurtures spiritual community.

Quaker elders aren't ordained or set apart the way clergy are in many other traditions. Instead, they are recognized for their spiritual maturity, wisdom, and faithfulness. They are part of the tapestry of Quaker community. Elders are called to nurture the spiritual health of the meeting and to help create spaces where discernment can flourish. This arises from our shared belief in the priesthood of all believers: that every person has the capacity to bear witness to the Light and contribute to the life of the Spirit in community.

Historically, we know that the earliest generations of Friends depended on elders in very practical ways. Traveling ministers — the John Woolmans of the world — relied on the hospitality and support of local Quaker communities. These relationships weren’t about paychecks or power; they were about mutual aid and shared trust in the Spirit's movement. This kind of grassroots support helped early ministers labor in freedom and focus. It’s important to remember that before the Quaker critique of "hireling ministry" — the paid clergy system seen as corrupt — there was a different vision altogether: a vision where ministry was upheld by the faithful because it mattered to everyone.

Today, though, the meaning and practice of eldership can feel complicated, especially among liberal Friends, especially in regard to public ministry. In many places, the title “elder” now carries a heavy, even negative, weight, as it does to the wounded Friend who spoke first in this essay. 

Too often, elders are seen, by themselves and by others, not as nurturers, but as gatekeepers — figures who stand in the way rather than walk beside. In our hunger for equality, we have sometimes mistaken leadership for domination and have become wary of anyone who takes up space in a visible way while still inviting quiet domination. We fear rupture so much that we stifle the vitality we desperately need.

The truth is, ruptures happen. In fact, they are part of faithful living. Friends historically have not feared breaking with the status quo when the Spirit led them there. But today, I worry that some among us have become more invested in preserving the institution than in listening to the challenging, renewing voice of God coming through others, especially the innovative, messy, or different. Too often, we confuse our own comfort with faithfulness. Too often, we mistake “peace” for the absence of necessary conflict. But we know this; it is hardly worth saying. Except we have made "elders" the guards of that status quo instead of the companions to faithfulness in community.

Zelie Gross has pointed out that “community is the most difficult gift we can offer God,” and I agree. Sometimes, in fear, we clip the wings of those who dare to soar. We participate, knowingly or not, in a kind of "tall poppy syndrome," cutting down those whose gifts shine too brightly for our comfort. We must do better. The testimony of equality isn't a call to uniformity or mediocrity. It’s a call to reverence the Spirit working in every soul — including those whose ministry challenges us. Elders make the way for such ministry. I don't know where I would be today if not for the elders who have called me out, called me in, offered comfort and challenge with curiosity and wisdom when I was in need of companionship in a very challenging ministry call.

I believe that we can reclaim eldership from its misuses and misunderstandings. An elder of mine, Becky Cromwell, recently told me a story about finding an elder in our mutual friend Bette while co-clerking a project to help recent refugees:

Bette was the expert, having worked with immigrants for many years. I leaned on Bette to help me navigate immigration bureaucracy. I acted impulsively and made many mistakes. Bette offered quick correction, without judgement, and empowered me to take effective action.

We both have elders and take a turn at showing up as an elder in the ministry of others. This is mutuality in the Spirit. 

From those growing up in Quaker spaces where elders were first-name friends who fostered honest conversation, I know that eldership can be a practice of deep humility and tender listening. It can mean championing those who are called to visible ministry — not silencing them. It can mean being a loving check when someone's gifts need guidance — not to shame them, but to help them grow. It can mean, as Martha Grundy says, calling the meeting out of “spiritual sleepiness” and into greater readiness for the Spirit’s surprising movement.

Is being an elder just something that happens, or is it a set of disciplines and skills? Being trauma-informed as elders today is not optional. It is essential. Our communities bear wounds, both old and new, and a faithful elder must be ready to accompany people through the messy, beautiful work of repair. That means being willing to face pain. It means being willing to let go of control. It means learning — and re-learning — to trust that God can and will speak through whomever God chooses, whether or not they meet our expectations. This requires discipline.

At its best, eldership is a ministry of midwifery: helping birth the next faithful steps a community needs to take. It is not about preventing change. It is about tending the conditions under which change can come through love rather than fear.

If we can hold onto that — if we can remember what eldership is really for — then we may yet offer one of the most needed gifts to our beloved Religious Society of Friends: a living, breathing community that listens for God, even when it costs us everything we think we know. Suggested Reading From This Entry:

In addition to the resources already linked in the body, Melinda recommends Spiritual Accompaniment: An Experience of Two Friends Traveling in the Ministry, a Pendle Hill Pamphlet by Cathy Walling and Elaine Emily