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Viewpoint For women -- and men
By PAIGE BYRNE SHORTAL
I remember the day, indeed the exact
moment, I realized that my church was sexist. For years I denied the obvious. A
convert, I didnt want to risk losing the comfort of my new home in the
Catholic church.
I left home too young and, after drifting a while, I wandered into
the Catholic church. I loved it. I was just 21, idealistic and ready to give my
life to something. The church provided roots, the meaning I was seeking, a
worldview that made sense, purposeful work and beauty.
Within a few years I was working full-time for the church and I
made a bit of a name for myself as a choir director and liturgist. I was one of
the youngest members of the Archdiocesan Liturgy Commission and ridiculously
proud of a number of firsts: the first lay woman on our parish
staff; the first woman to sing from the sanctuary of our cathedral; the first
woman to sing a solo on a St. Louis Jesuit recording; my
parishs first lay choir director. I was a real go-getter.
The fateful moment came while reciting the Creed: I believe
in one Lord, Jesus Christ
For us men and for our salvation he came down
For us men and for our
For us men.
I couldnt get past it.
I had a dreadful thought: What if its true? What if we mean
exactly what we say? This is, after all, the Profession of Faith. Surely, we
would want to be as accurate, as truthful as possible. Maybe this home I had
found wasnt so comfortable after all. Maybe I had fooled myself into
believing I was in the living room when all along I was out in the
servants quarters -- or worse.
I began a list, evidence of the obvious that I had somehow
overlooked: that the church was all about men. The scriptures were written by
men, interpreted by men and about men. The popes were men, as were bishops,
priests and all the spiritual directors I knew. The laws were written by men,
interpreted by men, enforced by men. The prayers were prayed by men.
In those days, girls couldnt be altar servers. Women visited
the sick, but couldnt anoint. Heard confidences, but not confessions.
Served the poor, but werent deacons.
And, of course, God was a he and he sent
his son. At that time, to me the Spirit was an it. Two
men and a bird.
Thus began the angry years. Though I managed to keep a relatively
sanguine public persona, I was seething inside. A young priest was assigned to
my parish. He was talented and charismatic -- and younger than I. How I
resented him! Ive since apologized to him for making him so much the
target of my frustration, but the first time I got my paycheck signed by him, I
realized that every priest that walked into the room would outrank me. The
stained-glass ceiling loomed over me. My poor head was constantly bruised.
Five years ago came a time of self-assessment. After almost 20
years in one place, it was hard to imagine doing anything else, yet it was time
to move on.
I took a years sabbatical during which I shopped for other
churches and considered a degree in counseling or not-for-profit
administration. Then one evening my husband announced, I miss your
ministry. And I did, too. The language of liturgy had become my first
language; this strange church, my home.
And so for four years now I have served as the pastoral associate
in a parish in rural Missouri. My pastor doesnt always understand the
issues of women in the church, but hes fair and hes passionate
about his vision of the church -- a vision I mostly share with him. He loves
the liturgy and he appreciates my gifts, respects my passion and gives me
access to all the rooms to which he holds the key.
I envy priests sometimes, especially the entrance into
peoples lives their collar allows them. It is a rare week when I
dont long to preach, especially here where our overworked priests admit
how tired they are of preaching three, four, five Masses a weekend. But it is
also almost weekly that I pray, Thank you, God, for not making me one of
them. For then I might not see what Ive been given to see. The
gospel of revelation to the least ones is true, and in this one respect, I am
among the least.
Ive learned a few ways to cope, but they arent quick
fixes. Discrimination is humiliating, a pain that will bring you to tears or
rage or despair. With that, I offer what has helped me survive and even thrive
in this church:
- Adjust your focus. So many good churchwomen avoid the
gatherings of community because they find the presider annoying. I understand,
but that is equally clericalist. Ive disciplined myself to look away from
center stage. The church isnt only in the robes on the special chair. The
church is all around, offstage and in the wings, and if you focus there,
youll never lack for inspiration.
- Develop all your voices. While the ceiling is low and likely to
remain so for a long time, there are many rooms in this old house. Women called
to ministry must enter as many of these rooms as we can. Denied the presider
chair, I learned to preside over the sung prayer of the Mass and created other
moments of common prayer. Denied the pulpit, I write a weekly column for my
parish bulletin that parishioners openly refer to as homilies.
Im called on for counseling and spiritual direction, to facilitate
meetings and to lead Bible study groups. I teach in the catechumenate and offer
an occasional course for our local continuing education program.
- Remember the greatest commandment. As difficult as it is, I try
to love. Its not that Im not angry anymore. Mostly my anger is on
behalf of the people who look for bread and sometimes are given stones by
well-meaning men who just dont bake. Sometimes the anger is petty -- like
the time the church calendars arrived and the names of the clergy were listed,
including our part-time deacons, while mine was omitted. I dont bury my
anger, but I channel it carefully now, trying not to punish individual men for
the sexism that also victimizes them; I try to love them.
- Embrace the cross. To leave might be more comfortable and
safer, but may also render us homeless. To stay and stay quiet may turn our
home into an alien land. But if you stay and share the vision, you will become
part of a community where Jesus is surely present, the community of prophets
whose reward is the same as his. This is the cross were invited to take
up. And the pattern seems to be that religious leaders only embrace the true
message of the prophet after a crucifixion.
- Do not fear to hope. While I dont expect much in my
lifetime, I think the church is achangin. Its hard to tell
what the Holy Spirit is up to, but the seminaries are almost empty. Whether the
Spirit is calling women to the priesthood or to fundamentally change the
institution of Holy Orders, the fact is most ordinary folks dont have a
problem with women leaders. In fact, given the chance, they welcome them.
To keep my balance it helps if I meet regularly with a support
group of a few good women, read publications with worldviews similar to mine,
and spend a lot of time with my husband who respects and assists me in my
ministry and keeps a bountiful garden and peaceful home. Our sons are proud of
my work, read my column with appreciation and prefer the Masses I sing. The
oldest, who would make a fine priest, once told me that he has considered the
vocation, but couldnt imagine serving a church that wouldnt let his
mother speak. To this day, I remember that conversation with tears welling up.
I pray that tomorrows young women and men wont have to make such a
difficult compromise between the truth they know and the church they love.
Meanwhile, this year I will observe 25 years in ministry. While we
lay types dont have jubilees and our institutions dont
throw us parties, I think I just might find a way to celebrate.
Paige Byrne Shortal is a pastoral associate in a parish in
rural Missouri. Her e-mail address is pbs@fidnet.com
National Catholic Reporter, February 23,
2001
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