It did not take long for word to spread through other Quaker academics that Chaim was no longer working. Although most of the talk was out of Chaim's earshot, there were a few informal approaches made by well-meaning Friends who were concerned about his mental state. Chaim just laughed it off.
"Think of me as insanely happy," he would say. "Life is an adventure, and I've never felt so much alive."
This led to comments about the need for Friends to submit their concerns to the wisdom of the meeting. "Right order" it was called. Chaim patiently listened, but then gently reminded them of early leaders who had acted contrary to the wishes of the religious hierarchy.
"The way I see it, the meeting wouldn't come right out and tell me what to do anyway," he said on one occasion. "The only reason for a clearness meeting would be if I wasn't sure about what to do; I don't have all the answers, but I've never felt so confident that what I'm doing is right."
Another problem with having a clearness meeting was that he didn't think he could explain what was happening in terms that anyone in the meeting would be able to understand.
Chaim's position as an elder, and his faithful service for the past 18 years in the Society, protected him from official opposition. It would be awkward for Friends to fault him on his intimate involvement with Aborigines. After all, they had been promoting the Aboriginal cause for many years, and now they had one of their own practically becoming an Aborigine himself. Surely this was not something they could officially oppose, and Chaim would teasingly remind them of this.
It could not yet be called a faith, but in the back of Chaim's mind, there was a hope that what he was going through would all lead to something dramatic, useful and powerful. Because of his Quaker tradition, he assumed it would at least start with some significant revelation in the meetings for worship that he attended each week. Nevertheless, although the meetings were extensions of the pleasure that he enjoyed during quiet times at home and with Aboriginal communities, and although there often was a "quaking" which he experienced in the meetings, like the rumblings of a volcano about to erupt, nothing came out. For months it seemed that what was happening to him was to be for him alone.
Then, at Yearly Meeting in Brisbane, six months after the fall of America, Chaim finally spoke. It was by far the biggest yearly meeting he had ever attended, due almost exclusively to the big changes in world affairs. It was not an ideal time to test his new understanding of spoken ministry, for a mistake in front of so many people could mark the end of his high regard in Quaker circles.
Neither was it the dramatic event that he had thought it might be. Inside his head what he wanted to say was bursting with authority and divine anointing, but spoken through his lips it seemed apologetic and weak. Only Chaim's ability to laugh at himself had carried him through it.
"Friends, I want to share something that's been happening to me over the past few months," he began quite earnestly. "I trust you won't be offended by what I'm about to say."
And then there was a painfully long pause as he sought for the next words. He had trusted that if he began, the words would come to him, but they were not. His speech was full of starts and stops.
"We're missing something... " he started, and then stopped, remembering the need to "keep low". He smiled sheepishly and started again.
"I mean, I feel we're missing something. Maybe it's just me.
"As a Society..." And he stopped again.
"Mmm, no, not as a Society. There's nothing wrong with societies. Sorry, Friends, I'm having some difficulty with this, as you can see." And he laughed at himself while others waited patiently.
"What if we stopped thinking of ourselves as a Society? What if it's just you and me and the Spirit? Are we really listening to the Spirit? Or are we the blind leading the blind? Each trying to guess what the others expect of us?
"Let me put it this way: Things are looking much better in the world at the moment. Peace, Unity, more equality. But I have a leading in the spirit that says something is very wrong out there. I feel it so strongly!"
Yes, Something is wrong summed up best what he wanted to say. Those three words came out strongly, confidently, but they were vague enough that no one could say he was being judgmental. So he repeated them.
"Something is wrong. I think I'd best leave it there." And he sat down.
The Spirit must have known how much his audience could bear.
Afterwards, most people seemed almost indifferent to what he had said.
There was some uneasiness, and Chaim could tell that a few people were mildly embarrassed, but that was all. On the other hand, three or four came to him privately and said with deep conviction that his comments had "spoken to their condition", which is Quaker parlance for spoken ministry that strikes a chord with a listener.
They did not say anything more than that, and so Chaim had good reason to wonder if he and they were talking about the same thing.
Something is wrong, he thought with the left side of his brain. That could mean almost anything. They could have been reading into it whatever was bothering them.
But the other side of his brain... the part that had learned to listen... felt encouragement ... reason to believe that his new lifestyle and the direction in which it was heading were part of a bigger plan.
Maybe there were others apart from the Aboriginal community who were hearing the warnings.