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Patriarchy’s Burden
I am a woman.
I live in a nation run by men; a nation that existed for nearly 250 years before women had to suffer to win the right to vote. I read a bible written by men, translated by men; Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, a bible infused by the language of patriarchy.
Yet I am a woman.
I live in a country where I can’t walk at night by myself, where I can’t hitchhike across the country or travel alone without the threat of danger, without being called foolish. I am a woman, yet I am bound by men, my path threaded by the expectations of man, imbibed with the message that a woman should be gentle, complacent and submissive.
I remember one Christmas as a child; I really wanted a remote control car. I carefully marked the page in the catalog that pictured the specific one I wanted and wrote it down on my Christmas list. When the anticipation of Christmas morning finally burst into reality, my little brother got it. I got an American Girl doll. In high school, college, in relationships, I stayed silent, though occasional circumstances seemed unjust, and I found myself being used by other people. I even told my parents once that I wanted to go to seminary and they said seminary was for men, not women.
I am a woman, yet my voice carries less weight than a man’s.
Now, I’m L.A. living as part of the Catholic Worker community, hearing for the first time the radical, transformative message of the Gospel, a message that calls for an all-inclusive table. Here, we begin that patriarchal prayer, the “Our Father,” with the words, “Our Mother.” Yet, is that little change supposed to validate femininity? Will the simple change in lexicon, a re-translation of the Bible that celebrates the female imagery of God and embraces the Holy Spirit as that beautiful female word ruah be enough to shift the existing hierarchy?
One beautiful sunny day at the Hippie Kitchen, where we serve our meals to a male-majority group, a man came up to me and asked my name. He shook his head and I asked what for. He told me that was a bold question and said that he had to know who this girl was that the men in the garden liked so much. I love to wander beneath our beautiful trees among tanned picnic tables and talk to the folks who come by to eat the food we serve. It’s not so much about serving food as it is honoring the dignity of a human person. It’s about living out the all-inclusive radical Gospel of Jesus.
Yet I am a woman and therefore subject to the objectification of man. I understand that it is a road that runs both ways, particularly in our line of service, yet I can’t help but to feel frustrated at how I am perceived because I am a woman and I am friendly! What am I supposed to do? Dress like a man, put a bag over my head in an attempt to distance myself from the overtures of the opposite sex? Am I to hide behind the serving counter, refuse to interact and get to know people?
To do so would steal the heart from our work. To hide would be to give in to the oppression of patriarchy that man is lord over woman. To hide would be to say that because I am a woman, I am not worthy of devoting my life to living as a disciple of Christ. Indeed, I can’t help but to feel that my ability to live out the Gospel, in any context, is automatically inhibited by the mere fact that I am female.
I refuse to do that, to let my work stand as nothing because I was born of some deceitful, lesser sex in the eyes of our culture, in the eyes of the writers and translators of the Bible. But the strain of patriarchy runs deeper than gender; it bleeds into the depths of humanity, a twisting black stain that warps our view of each other.
The Wise Mother herself help me, for I know that patriarchy’s burden rests as much in my own soul as anyone else’s.
