Ode to Woman

Feminism has always fascinated me. Being raised by strong women whose circumstances forced them to “step-up,” I have always been surrounded by able, hard-working women. These women proved to me an invaluable lesson in my youth—that women are capable creatures. And I respected this creature—one that could care for me in maternal and providential ways. This reality meant I always found myself perplexed by sexism and questions concerning equality for women. But I also respected this creature not only because of what good it could do for me, but also because of what harm it could bring to me. We respect fire enough to avoid it and be careful around it.

I have never been without an operative philosophy of woman. Some of these philosophies have been very tragic, very pessimistic; others very misguided; others very cautious and untrusting. Sometimes my damning and cursing the entire race of women has been postponed only because of the presence of my grandmother and aunt in the world and my life. Women, like any creature, are capable of inflicting much pain upon souls and the world. And I think the pain inflicted by a woman on the world and upon our souls is doubly-hurtful not because it is quantitatively different, but qualitatively different. I have always wanted to love the women around me—even the most rough and edgy. There is something distinctively unique (at least for me) found in a woman—something we expect to be inspiring and mysterious. And when we come to the realization that the grace we seek from our encounter is withheld or already dead, we are crushed. This has been the case with many of the women in my immediate family. We want to love them, and deep down we know we do, but there is a hesitancy, because women can not only hurt, but mortally wound. Especially mothers, sisters, and lovers.

Reconciling where and how I feel about women has always been a struggle of two extremes. I know that at one point I abused my authority as a track and cross-country coach and commenced what seemed more like an athletic “no-girls-allowed” club. I never had any good things to mention about women to the young men under my care and simply advised them to focus upon other things exclusively, entirely, and eternally. Maybe, I thought, if I could form these boys into self-sufficient young men they might not need a woman. At the opposite extreme of men-loving-&-women-hating was the misguided phase of woman-loving-&-men-hating. For five years I thought maybe I could reconcile women with the world by directing Eve Ensler’s “The Vagina Monologues.” Maybe women were simply oppressed, misunderstood, and needed a venue to say whatever, wherever. Maybe this would shed light on the plight in my mind—perhaps it would all eventually make sense by the time the curtain fell. This opportunity afforded much insight into women—it brought me into contact with many, with many ideas, and many discourses—but I never have been able to point to the redemptive value (if any) that existed in this work. We raised a small fortune for domestic violence shelters, and we assuredly inspired many—but what harm did we do? Like advising a young runner to avoid women, to what avail is it to let women be immodest and vulgar on a public stage? Was this simply anger being disguised as medicinal?

Dear God, what is this creature that you have graced the world with? What is this helpmate suited for us? She is, indeed, a mystery. But mysteries can elicit two results: attraction and repulsion. I never could figure out what made women tick. I couldn’t fathom how a creature with such capacity to build and destroy could ever take up the latter as I often saw her doing. And so I revolted and recoiled. She was a mystery to run from, not to. This was certainly one attractive aspect about seminary (and still is, for that matter). Celibacy isn’t so much a white-flag of surrender as it is a declaration of neutrality, avoiding a quagmire. When you avoid one mystery, you find another—one that appeals, that attracts, that offers you growth. Personally, this has been what the Church has offered me this past year. It has called me out of myself and presented me with something of significance to embrace—something not prone to wounding, but keen on fulfilling. It is exactly as St. Paul describes it: “a great mystery.” Yes, yes, indeed.

How surprising and intoxicating, then, for all the voids the mystery of the Church filled, for all the wounds She healed, for all the growth She promised to foster, to find an even more intriguing mystery elsewhere. And where, of all places, but in a woman?! What has been revealed is the magnificent and optimistic ability that women can have. Their mystery resides in their double-edged nature. One edge can hurtfully cut, but the other edge can craftily sculpt. It is this latter ability that I have not known until now (and the ability we innately know and expect women to exhibit). Its potential far outweighs the possible harm. Nobody likes the depths that heartbreak can cast one into, but we cannot forget to temper that against the ecstasy of love. We forget all too easily the peaks compared to the valleys. Of course, nobody likes being low; but we only know we are low because we have been brought down from above. One cannot fully love Grace without the Fall, I imagine. We were not made to trudge and mope in valleys, although we will spend our fair share of time in them. But simply because this is where we find ourselves currently, or most often, does not mean we belong there. Summits are our home. They are high, they are hard to get to, they are scarcely honed into a precise and narrow pinnacle, and they possess a great apex from which to hurl even the slightly careless down. Yet, difficulty to maintain, and reach, likewise, does not mean we do not belong there. “Hardship is the pathway to peace.” There is nothing noble or special about letting gravity affect you. Rocks have this capacity. But there is something special about scaling and climbing “by slow degree…more and more.” Acorns become oaks only by reaching away from the place they comfortably know and towards an uncertain height. Potential is precisely not act because it asks for more than you currently find. It necessarily carries with it the ability to succeed, as well as the ability to fail. To become means we must let go.

With this in mind, I was blessed with the opportunity last week to speak to the young ladies of St. Cecilia Academy where I hesitantly approached the topic of femininity and being Children of the Light. Nervous and somewhat intimidated, I wondered what a former woman-hater turned director of the Vagina Monologues might offer these women on what womanhood was all about. Well, come to discover, being a woman is all about having the potential to truly change the world—to follow in the revolutionary footsteps of Our Blessed Mother. “When man loves woman, it follows that the nobler the woman, the nobler the love, the higher the demands by the woman, the more worthy the man must be” (Fulton Sheen). Women are a two-edged sword—and it is by their standards that the world moves forward (or backward), depending on how they wield the sword. Women can maim. But they can also be revolutionarily artful. These are the creatures that, after all, can create and foster life! Whatever man wishes to be, it will be found from within the mystery of woman. The self-sufficiency I preached to my student-athletes for so long to keep them from having to engage with women was precisely incorrect. Man can only be sufficient in union with woman. We are nothing without them—their standards, their nobility, their demands. We pursue only the greatness they are willing to make manifest in this world. If it is saints we wish to be, our example and impetus will be at their bequest. When a woman enlists you to become a saint your life’s work is established and nobly ordained. Women will call us out of our old selves to pursue them in the world and affect it, them, and ourselves all at the same time. It was this single speech that made the most sense of a lifetime of confusion and fouled attempts of articulating a true philosophy of woman. Yes, “my soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord” and the greatness of women, too, for that matter…