Reading it just made me sad. His dismissive tone towards women like me - a woman with a career I’ve worked hard for, that helps me live out the Gospels as best I can, that doing is a kind of prayer for me, and a woman with a husband and family I love and honor more than I can begin to articulate - makes me wonder if there’s a place for me in his Catholic world. To him I’m just a “working drone” who doesn’t define herslef solely by her kinship relationships. And who colors her hair.
Wow.
This Lent I’ve been asking myself some pretty hard questions about my faith and if there’s a place for me at the Catholic table. And I feel as if Fr. Simon just pointed me towards the exit.
Luna
I’m afraid I don’t understand this at all.
The Catholic Church claims to be the one, true, holy, catholic, and apostolic Church. This claim is either true or it isn’t.
If it’s true, you owe it your obedience, no matter how lousy it might make you feel and no matter how many lousy sinners you’ll be forced to encounter as a result of it.
And if it’s false, you ought not to be part of it, no matter how great it makes you feel or how many wonderful people also subscribe to it.
Either way, your personal feelings on the matter are irrelevant, because they are secondary to truth. Your feelings should be molded in accordance with the truth, not the other way around.
You say you’ve been asking yourself hard questions about your faith for a while now. It seems to me you are perhaps asking the wrong ones. Catholicism is not about making a place for you (although, being minister of the redemption and custodian of the truths revealed to it by Christ, it *does *have a place for you). *You *need to make a place for
Catholicism.
Personally, I cannot imagine what you’re going through that the harsh words of a nobody priest would rock your faith so badly. It must not have been very well anchored in the first place (and I say this out of charity, not acc. usation); not knowing what doubts are bothering you, I can’t comment further on them. But for myself, the statement that jobs are a matter of activity and vocations a matter of status has always been true, and uncontroversially so. To say that your identity is formed by your job is to say that you must change your identity every time you change careers, which statistically speaking is 5 or 6 times over the course of your life. That means you become a different you upwards of half a dozen times! What a barbaric situation that must be – indeed, what a barbaric situation it actually is, given what the statistics tell us about the plight of the unemployed, who quickly become alienated, bitter, depressed, and isolated; who, in a very real sense, lose their identity. By contrast, once married, you are always a wife, until your husband dies (as marriage, we know now, is an earthly sacrament only); and once a parent, you are always a parent, even if all your children die. Heaven itself cannot efface that bond.
Marriage and parenthood is a reflection of ontological status: to not be those things when you are actually called to them is to be incomplete. I will be incomplete until I am united to my wife (hopefully later this year) and we begin to discharge the duties of our office by having children. Can you say the same thing of your work, whatever that is? I can’t. I cannot say that I will be incomplete until I am hired on as a tenured researcher somewhere. I like my job and enjoy it, and it enables me to discharge my duties, but that’s it. Attaching any more value to it than that would, I think, be desperately unhealthy.
You say you are a mother and a wife, and good ones. Great. What is there to object to in the article, then? That he does not give sufficient accord to your work? But your work is of secondary importance no matter what it is. Vocations always come first. I would hope you can see that – I would hope you would give up your job if your family needed it. (This is as true of men, by the way, as it is of women, with the sole distinction that their vocation requires them to work in a way it doesn’t require women to).