Patricia S. Taylor Edmisten was raised and educated with the traditions of the Catholic faith. But in later years, she began to question this faith on which she had relied for most of her life. In A Longing for Wisdom, she probes her conscience and presents writings about women, particularly their diminished role in the Catholic Church. In this collection of poetry, prose, memoir, and essays, Edmisten addresses a range of issues relating to women: ¿ The uniqueness of women's talents, burdens, and sorrow ¿ The failure of the hierarchy of mainstream churches to recognize the contributions of women in the Church's history ¿ The widely accepted relegation of women to peripheral rather than central roles within churches ¿ The unexamined unease the hierarchy and some priests exhibit toward sexuality-their own and women's-contributing to injustice within the Church and society Challenging, thought-provoking, and inspiring self-examination, A Longing for Wisdom calls for Church reform in an era where conventional wisdom has taken precedence over the wisdom of Christ.
A Longing for Wisdom
One Woman's Conscience and Her ChurchBy Patricia S. Taylor EdmisteniUniverse, Inc.
Copyright © 2010 Patricia S. Taylor Edmisten
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4502-5972-9 Contents
In Praise of Wisdom (scripture)...................................1Preface...........................................................3Madonnas (scripture)..............................................9Neither Male nor Female (scripture)...............................37Impure Places (scripture).........................................51Lamentations (Csar Vallejo)......................................57The Tragedy of Abortion (essay)...................................85Family Photos.....................................................89Anticipating Grace (scripture)....................................105Afterword: Letter to Patrick (correspondence).....................115About the Author..................................................117
Chapter One
Madonnas
My book opens with poems and stories about brave women. You will recognize the biblical figures, but I also write about unsung contemporary women, all valiant in their own ways. I pay homage to these women by referring to each one as "my lady," the original Italian definition of madonna.
"The first man never finished comprehending wisdom, nor will the last succeed in fathoming her.
For deeper than the sea are her thoughts; her counsels, than the great abyss."
Sirach 24:26–27
Hagar was the Egyptian woman given by the pharaoh to Sarah, Abraham's wife. You'll recall that both Abraham and Sarah were advanced in years and could not have children. But how would Abraham become the father of Israel if he didn't have a son? Scripture tells us that Sarah gave Hagar to Abraham, and that Hagar conceived a son, Ishmael, who Moslems believe to have been their first prophet and the ancestor of Muhammad. We know that, according to Mesopotamian laws at the time (present day Iraq), any offspring of the coupling of Abraham and Hagar would be considered Sarah's son and Abraham's heir. We know that Sarah greatly resented Hagar who, apparently, lorded her pregnancy over Sarah. Ultimately, after Sarah birthed Isaac; after she expelled Hagar and Ishmael into the desert; after they were near death from thirst; after the Lord's messenger appeared to Hagar and told her not to be afraid, that God would make of Ishmael a great nation, and a well appeared so that they could drink, Hagar took Ishmael by the hand, and they continued their journey. Ishmael went on to become the ancestor of the northern Arab people.
Hagar's Voice
How did it feel, Hagar, to be offered to
Abraham by his own wife, the woman
you served? Did you protest, knowing
any child you bore would be hers?
How was it to lie with the ancient man?
Was he tender with you, or did the tent
poles shake and the goat skins upon which
you lay abrade your smooth apple ass,
the only part unblemished
by scorching sun and withering work?
Lost is your side of the story, after Sarah's
old ovaries finally released an egg and she
birthed Isaac. She expelled you and your
toddler Ishmael into the desert. Were you comforted
when the angel said your boy would change history?
Mary, the mother of Jesus, is the woman I revered as a child. She represented the pinnacle of womanhood. All Catholic girls were taught to model Mary's faith, gentleness, and obedience. While my relationship with her has changed (I no longer recite the rosary every night, a practice I did before falling asleep, well into my forties), I continue to honor her as a brave woman who bore her unorthodox pregnancy with pride and as a woman who gave birth the same way millions of poor women still do. Not only that, she raised quite a son. And, by the way, I still carry a rosary in my purse.
The House of God
The Holy Spirit anointed Mary's womb
to shape the House of God, la casita de Dios,
where woman's blood fed a divine embryo,
a divine fetus, a divine baby.
When nine months had passed,
Mary pushed Him into the carpenter's hands
and then, with swollen breasts,
she suckled God and man with woman's milk.
Martha is the woman we become when we're overwhelmed with
household and professional duties. Who among us would not have
preferred to be Mary, to sit at the Lord's feet? The Lord and Mary,
nevertheless, go to Martha for nourishment.
Martha
Host to Christ, she scurried around the
cook stove, making His lunch (and Mary's).
All Martha wanted was a little help,
a little understanding, but, like tired women
everywhere, who scold their children or
resent their husband's freedom, she got the
bum rap while Mary curled up at the Lord's feet,
just like Martha wanted to do,
but who would feed them?
In the Catholic Church, Mary of Bethany is often considered the same woman as Mary of Magdala, despite John (11:1-7) who makes a point of identifying her as the sister of Martha and Lazarus. This is just one example of how the names and histories of women within scripture have been eliminated and/or conflated.
Mary of Bethany
Adoring Mary, you recognized
His divinity, you poured fragrant
oil on His feet. So sensuous an act,
so profligate your gesture of love,
you must be that prostitute,
Mary of Magdala.
The Woman with a Hemorrhage
Jairus asked Jesus to heal his daughter,
but you waylaid Him in that clamorous crowd.
You had the gall to touch His garment,
you, an unclean woman who had been bleeding
for twelve years, had the audacity to stretch
out your arm and touch His clothing.
You had suffered greatly under many
doctors, and having spent all you had,
those guys still left you with a wounded womb
that gushed thick dark blood. Had you tried
to stanch it before you reached for Him
or had you lost all pride?
Who touched me?...