Faith Versus Feminism: Women in the Catholic Church

When I was about ten years old, I sat in our pew (third from the front, right next to the organ where my mom played the hymns of the week) and whispered to her that I wanted to be an alter boy. She gave me one of her amused looks and replied that of course I could not be an alter boy because I was, in fact, a girl. As you can imagine, I was not a fan of Catholicism from that moment on. That was c.1984, my first act as a feminist and the beginning of the end of my life as a believer.

It was only a few years later when the Catholic church in my hometown in Saskatchewan did allow girls to serve on the alter, I’m sure out of desperation rather than any kind of progressive views. It wasn’t until 1994 that the official cannon was modified to allow women to serve at mass, although local Bishops still had the final say.

Of course, there is a long history of discrimination against women in the Catholic church, so it shouldn’t have surprised me when I can across an article this week stating that once again, the Vatican has declined to allow women to become deacons.  

According to the article, “Opponents say ordaining women to the deaconate would signal the start of a slippery slope toward ordaining women to the priesthood. The Catholic Church reserves the priesthood for men, saying Christ chose only men as his 12 Apostles.”  Although the Bible does not explicitly forbid women from entering the priesthood, Catholics site the apostles as precedence. Just another great example of cherry picking from the Bible when it suits your purpose.

And while it still surprises me that strong, intelligent women continue to support the church, there are from time to time mini-rebellions, like this story of a group of Catholic Nuns in Spain who were excommunicated over a lengthy and complex battle with the Vatican over ownership of their convent, or this recent story of three nuns who were put into a nursing home against their wishes and broke out to return to their convent. It might just be my obsession with The Sound of Music, but can’t you just picture them, their habits blowing wildly in the wind as they make their break for freedom?

Without the labour of women, Catholic churches would be hard pressed to survive. According to the article, “Catholic women do the lion’s share of the church’s work in schools, hospitals and passing down the faith to future generations, but have long complained of a second-class status in an institution that reserves the priesthood for men.”  I can vow witness to that statement, both my mother and my grandmother spent hours at Catholic Women’s League meetings, cooking for the various church bake sales, community suppers, and funeral lunches. They dutifully took their turn in the church-cleaning rotation. It was my grandma who insisted that we pray before meals, eat fish on Fridays, and she was the only person in my family who I ever saw touch a rosary.

I guess I wasn’t so much surprised with this most recent rebuff of women’s rights as I was incredulous that this is still happening at all. There are currently over 1.4 billion baptised Catholics world-wide (of which I am counted as one). The Catholic Church is worth tens of billions of dollars, and according to the Vatican is actually growing in numbers (mostly in Africa and Asia). I wish I could say that this would be a blow to Catholicism, but it’s much more likely that the millions of Catholic women around the world will practice whatever mental gymnastics they need to justify their support of this antiquated system, and once again defer their human rights to the powerful men making these decisions.

In Defence of EDI

EDI stands for Equity, Diversity, and Inclusion. It seems ludicrous that these concepts should need defending, but these are the times we live in. There are a lot of misconceptions about the work of EDI – and it cannot be summed up in that hour-long workshop they brought into your workplace.

EDI work is in the thousands of hours we have spent challenging the systems that make our world so much more difficult for some folks than others.

EDI is the curb cuts that make it possible for your wheelchair to get across the street.

EDI is why we (finally) have so many advances in women’s health.

EDI is why women have the right to choose.

EDI is the reason we have so many beautiful shades of makeup.

EDI is why we have finally (I hope) stopped fat shaming and slut shaming our girls.

EDI is why an Indigenous student can come from a Reserve and into a university and get the support they need to navigate a foreign system so that they can get a degree (and yes, they still have to pass all of their classes just like every other student).

EDI is the reason many of us applied and got jobs that growing up we were told were not for people like us (and yes we had the qualifications for them).

EDI is the reason your ADHD kid can get through school.

EDI challenges the idea that we are all born with the same opportunities in life.

EDI professionals are not perfect, the same way that all plumbers are not perfect. But the sum of that work should be respected and appreciated, because whether you want to admit it or not, someone you know and love has likely had a better life because of it.

Alberta government changes to transgender policies – and why this should matter to atheists, skeptics, and all Albertans. 

This week, Alberta Premier Danielle Smith announced sweeping changes to gender-affirming care and sex education in our province. So why should a group of skeptics care about this? Because they fly in the face of evidence-based care. And because the groups driving these changes are basing their decisions on antiquated religious belief systems.

In fact, the two most sensational topics – top and bottom surgery and hormone therapy – are not really changes at all. Alberta health-care providers currently follow the World Professional Association for Transgender Health standards of care, which already generally advise waiting until people are 18 to undergo such therapies.

So why do this? I believe it is a smoke and mirrors game to slip in the other changes. And those changes are significant.

The new rules would require parental consent and/or informing parents when a student would like to change their name or pronouns. The fact is some kids are not safe to tell their parents they are exploring their gender identity, especially those growing up in fundamentalist religious households. In many cases, this will lead children to remain closeted.

Puberty blockers have been used for decades, are reversible and are generally considered to have a low-risk profile by delaying puberty, thereby giving individuals the opportunity to explore their gender identity. There is some evidence that taking puberty blockers may inhibit bone density, but none that confirm a decreased bone density persists after treatment. For those suffering from gender dysphoria, the benefits of the use of puberty blockers may outweigh the potential side effects.

Both of these things, puberty blockers and allowing kids to explore their gender identity through the use of different pronouns and names, are tools that can be used to ensure that people do not make rash decisions to alter their gender. They give kids and their families longer to thoughtfully consider their options in a safe and supportive manner. They allow kids to experiment with an identity before making a life altering decision. 

Another change will require parents to “opt-in” for any instruction that involves gender identity, sexual orientation, or human sexuality. Opting in creates an additional administrative burden on the teachers and creates a barrier for families who already struggle to keep up with the mountain of correspondence required from schools.

Currently, “under section 58.1 of the Education Act, parents must be provided with notice where courses of study, educational programs or instructional materials, or instruction or exercises, include subject matter that deals primarily and explicitly with religion or human sexuality.” The new policy is broader, using the language “any instruction”. Also under the rules “all third-party teaching materials on gender identity, sexual orientation or sexuality will need to be approved in advance by the education ministry”. Will this include an English teacher assigning a novel that features same-sex couples? Will it include a staff member mentioning that they spent time with their partner on the weekend? It may not be clear, and many teachers will simply avoid including these topics in their curriculum just to be sure.

None of these recommendations follow best practices. They fly in the face of scientific evidence and recommendations from the medical community. So where did these recommendations come from? The provincial government consulted with Alberta Parent’s Union, an organization lead by Jeff Park, who also has ties to the Parents for Choice in Education, Home School Legal Defence Association Canada, and Liberty University, a Christian institution based out of Virginia.

When the government is setting policy based on the input of religious fundamentalist groups, it is time for us to pay attention.

Courage and Fear

Last summer, I visited the Superstore garden centre to pick up a few more plants for my yard. It was just before they close their garden centre, so everything was on clearance. I took full advantage, stuffing my cart to the brim before heading back to the parking lot.

Because I had so much stuff, I pulled my cart into the empty parking spot beside my car and starting transplanting my purchases into various nooks and crannies available in my vehicle. A few minutes later, a couple in a small red car pulled up behind me and started screaming.

“Move your cart! We’re trying to park.”

I looked around and noted several empty spaces in the lot, ignored them, and continued to fill my car.

“You bitch! Move your goddamn cart!”  Their yelling got louder and more vulgar.

Now, the old me would have been mortified. The old me would have felt ashamed for inconveniencing another human being. The old me would have moved the cart tout de suite and then apologized to the mean couple in the red car.

But the new me paused, considered the ridiculousness of the situation, and chose to ignore their violent challenges. In fact, the new me actually slowed down a bit, taking extra care in the placing of each of my prized new plants.

After a few more curses and threats, they drove around and parked about 5 steps further than they would have had they parked in the spot beside my car. As they walked by me, the man said “You are a real bitch.” I just smiled and said “stress like this is going to kill you.”

When I got home and told my then husband about this, he said that he wished he had been there to tell them off. I pointed out that had my 6 foot burly and hairy husband been with me, there is no way they would have yelled and threatened me to begin with. It is precisely because I was a lone woman that they felt safe enough to accost me in such a manner.

These are the situations that are for women to deal with, and women to react to. The old me, with her non-existent self-worth, would have cowered and caved. The new me, trying to embody a powerful, self-assured, and entitled (at least to put my groceries away) human, did not allow herself to be intimidated. But of course I was frightened. It is in this middle space of fear and courage, of power and intimidation, of privilege and subordination that I think most of the women I know live. 

The Reason for the Season?

I love the holiday season. Even though it is steeped in religious lore and rampant consumerism, I still celebrate by decorating the house and spoiling my loved ones with presents and too many cookies. But the holidays can also be a very difficult time for some – especially those who have left religion and miss the traditions (if not the supernatural beliefs and dogma that goes with them).

One of the things I don’t love is when I hear people complain that we have forgotten the true meaning of Christmas. And so, I thought I would dive a little deeper into the question – what is the “true” reason for the season?

As you are probably aware, many of the traditions we now associate with xmas (evergreens, food, lights, gathering with family and friends) originated not with the birth of Jesus, but with various midwinter festivities that existed well before. These festivals took place anytime between November when the harvest was in, to January when the days were noticeably getting longer. Evidence for the celebration of Saturnalia exists at least two hundred years before the lifetime of Jesus. Saturn was the Roman god of agriculture, and so it makes sense that his celebration was in honour of the harvest. Yule, or Jul, was celebrated in northern Europe by Scandinavian peoples. Scholars argue that the word means either “wheel” for the cycle of the year, or “sacrifice” or “feast”, referring to religious sacrifices or winter banquets. Both celebrations were marked by lighting candles and fires, greenery, gifts, and social gatherings. Old Norse celebrations of Yule also included traditions to keep evil spirits away such as sacrifice and candles. Evergreen branches were hung on doors and around windows in the hope that their prickly needles might ward off spirits.

Many holiday traditions did not originate in the nativity story, including the xmas tree, traditional foods, music, and partying. They have nothing to do with the so-called birth of Christ, and instead were a way for those in power to impose Christianity on their citizens while allowing them to continue their mid-winter traditions.

And why do we celebrate xmas on December 25th? The bible does not give any reference to the date of Jesus’ birth. Only Matthew and Luke provide brief nativity stories. Their accounts are very different from each other, with the exception of the claim of Mary’s virginity and the name of his stepfather, Joseph. From the second to the fourth century, Christians argued for dates in March, April, May, and November as the birth date. In fact, Christmas was not even celebrated by Christians until the fourth century under the rule of Roman emperor Constantine in his zeal to convert the empire to Christianity.

People sometimes ask me why I celebrate xmas if I am an atheist. There are any number of reasons: tradition, family, to break up the winter, for the food, for the music, because I love giving gifts, twinkly lights, and because I refuse to let the church co-opt what has been a time of celebration for thousands of years.

I am a Consumer

Today I went to use my printer. The black ink ran out, so I opened a new pack, put it in, and hit “resume”. After about 10 pages, my printer again told me that I was out of ink. I fought with it for about 15 minutes, then gave up. The new ink pack that I had just opened was faulty.  This was the first time this had ever happened to me.  It was also the first time I had purchased ink at Walmart.

So I took the ink out of the printer, got in my car, and went to Walmart to ask for a replacement. I didn’t have the receipt or the original box it came in, we buy the ink in a 2-pack, and I recycled the box when I used the first one. I told the man at customer service what happened, and he told me that he could not refund ink without the receipt. I asked to speak to his manager. I told the manager what had happened, and he told me the same thing as the first one – no receipt, no refund. I asked to speak to his manager. I repeated my story. Then I repeated it again. After about the 4th time, he got on the phone and on one of the computers to check when the store had last sold this particular kind of ink. When he got off the phone, he allowed me to exchange the old ink for a new package. The whole process took about 45 minutes, for about $25 of ink. A waste of time? Perhaps, but it’s the principle of the thing. And I was mad!

Many years ago, I vowed to stop shopping at Walmart. Aside from their questionable business practices and the exploitative way they treat their employees, I found their products to be sub-standard.

I remember the first time I noticed what I call the “Walmart Effect”.  Elizabeth had received a stuffed animated toy for Christmas – it was a character from a children’s show, and she had another one of the characters that we had bought for her from Toys ‘R Us.  The one she got for Christmas was from Walmart, and the difference was astounding. The materials were cheaper, the stitching started to unravel, and the whole toy lasted a fraction of the time that the other one from Toys ‘R Us did.  How was that possible? The packaging looked exactly the same. That’s when I found out that toys (and other goods) manufactured for Walmart adhered to a different and lower standard than those made for other retailers. They have to – Walmart demands such low costs from their suppliers that they have to cut corners in order to claim shelf space.

 But it’s not as simple as refusing to shop at Walmart. The “Walmart Effect” has infiltrated the supply chain. We find it nearly impossible to purchase anything that will last more than a year – we have replaced a fridge, a washing machine, a dishwasher, a blender, a pair of winter boots, a food processor, a bathroom scale, 2 toasters, the list goes on! Do you remember the toaster your family had when you were a kid? I think we had the same toaster my whole childhood. Now it’s something we regularly add to the grocery list.

We’ve started taking things back – even if we have had them for months. When our food processor broke, I did the same dance with store managers as I did regarding the ink – this time at Superstore. It happens so often that it would just be easier to stop expecting things to last and just replace things more often. But we simply don’t have the budget to do that, and unless we demand products that actually work, we are forever stuck on this hamster wheel of buying and throwing away sub-standard products when they break.  I am a consumer, but I’m pissed off about it.

The Dancer

I recently came across some old photos from my childhood. They were of me and three girls from my hometown, my dancing partners. We were fully sequined, striking poses in our bodysuits and jazz shoes. And as I looked at this picture, it was not the ridiculousness of the costumes that caught my attention – it was my lack of fat-ness. What I mean is, I remember taking that picture. I remember all of the pictures, all of the Friday nights spent dancing with these three beautiful girls, and I remember feeling gross, fat, and inadequate every single time.

I danced for eight or nine years with these girls.  I loved dancing, I loved the rhythm, the music, the flow of my body, the physicality. But every single time I donned my bodysuit and tights, I was ashamed of my body. And I compared myself to the other girls.  But looking at that picture, I was shocked. There I was, skin tight costume, and not an extra pound to be seen. No rolling gobs of fat protruding out of my stomach as I had imagined all those years. Just a beautiful young girl, ready to dance.

I was kind of in shock. How had I come to believe that I was the fat one? How had my self-perception become so warped? I’ve always described myself as the smart one.  In high school my best friends were not just pretty, but supermodel gorgeous – I didn’t compare and I was OK with that. In university I was the wing-man to my beautiful friends, they would lure guys to the table at the bar and I would attempt to engage them in some deep intellectual conversation.  I’m not fishing for compliments here, this was just my reality. 

Glennon Doyle Melton, in her memoir Love Warrior, talks about her experience growing up as a pretty girl. She says that as a little girl she “begin[s] to understand that being loved for beauty is a tenuous situation for a girl. Years later, when I become less beautiful, when I no longer have regal ringlets to pat or perfect skin to admire, when I’m no longer small and simple and precious, I wonder how I’ll ever be worthy of offering or receiving love.” (p.13)

Having early on solidified my identity as the smart girl gave me freedom to worry less about primping. Don’t get me wrong, I grew up a child of the 80’s and no stranger to hairspray. I spent many hours trying to get my bangs to reach ever higher altitudes. But I was never that into clothes, and was scared of make-up.  When I went to grad school, I consciously rejected the notion of feminine objectivity. I refused to wear make-up or “do” my hair. My uniform was a pair of overalls and hiking boots.  But I was never really free. I wore them as armor. A costume. As Glennon Doyle Melton says, I sent my “representative” out into the world, so that I could keep my lonely, scared, self safe from rejection and harm.

As with most things (my stomach, my butt), my opinions have also softened with age. Studying cultural anthropology showed me that humans, like many other species, enhance our bodies with decorations as part of our biological drive to procreate.  We are driven to make ourselves more attractive to potential mates.  I don’t spend hours grooming, but I do make an attempt to look decent. I do, however, still spend hours thinking about how unattractive I am. My nose is too big. My stomach is too fat. My boobs are too droopy. These messages play in a loop in my subconscious. Eating away at my self-esteem without even having to make themselves seen.

It is amazing to me to think back now to that girl in the dance picture. She was already the victim of a patriarchal society who valued her for her looks above all else. She wove that message into her identity where it assumed primary responsibility for defining self-worth, above intelligence, kindness, tenacity, loyalty, hard work, and the many other traits that I could use to describe myself.  Is this where I went off the tracks? Where I began to associate my own value with being attractive? When I started to need the attention of a man in order to feel worthy? I need to expand my self-identity beyond “I am the smart one.”

Power and Sex

On March 29, 2016, I wrote this about the Jian Ghomeshi allegations:

“I honestly don’t know a single woman who has not been in an abusive situation to some degree. And yes, many men too. And it is sickening that we are still made to feel like we deserve it, like we asked for it, like it was no big deal, like it happens to everyone so we should just shut up. Sexual abuse (violence against women in general” is rampant, it is part of a cycle that has had decades, centuries to fester and cloud or even ruin the lives of those who have experienced it. Generations of families continue to feel the impact. If you have ever had that sickening realization that something is about to happen to you that you do not want, but have absolutely no control over, cannot stop because you simply do have the strength to overpower the person acting upon you, you understand the rage that this woman is speaking of. Enough already.”

Enough indeed. So here we are, almost 2 years later, post Ghomeshi, post Bill Cosby, and in the throes of yet another storm of accusations of sexual violence against another powerful man, Harvey Weinstein, having the same conversation yet again.

But something is different for me this time. Now I have an almost teen-age daughter. Last week she went to the school dance with a boy!! And I am terrified.

Last year one of my students came to meet with me after having been MIA for several weeks. When she arrived, she was visibly distraught, distracted, and looked run down. She proceeded to tell me the story of her sister and her sister’s roommate who had just been brutally beaten and violently raped by a powerful, semi-famous man who they had met at a bar that evening. This event was witnessed by the man’s friend who did nothing. Her entire family was almost destroyed by it. The whole thing took about 15 minutes, but they will never fully recover from the trauma.

I have never been raped, and for that I am grateful. I have had some close calls, I vividly remember one night with a guy who went too far, the weight of his body on mine as he pinned my arms to the bed, his whisper “I’m going to take what I want”, the clarity with which I realized that I was powerless to change this course of action, the way my mind sort of disengaged from my body until I was sort of watching the drama unfold – and then, someone walked in, and it was over, and I was safe again.

And then the secondary trauma when I realized that no one cared. Nobody thought it was a big deal. The unspoken message – you are blowing it out of proportion. And you sort of asked for it, didn’t you? Why were you alone in a room with the guy in the first place? Just let it go.  For Christ’s sake, don’t talk about it!

And so I was trapped in a catch 22 – I like sex. I like men. But I had to accept the consequences. When I was younger I was labelled “easy” – boys I thought liked me where just driving me out to some field to see if the rumors were true (they were not, but it didn’t matter, gossip trumps truth, at least in rural Saskatchewan).  When I did want sex with a guy I was actually dating, I had to pretend to be coy, gatekeeper to my panties and play the role of the good girl who was being talked into sex by the dominant man. We can’t have it both ways, right?

What can I learn about myself? My sexual drive was a source of shame, something to be hidden and suppressed lest the world know that I was a slut.

So what to teach my daughters? Love your body, explore your sexuality, but don’t let anyone take advantage of you. Be careful. Don’t send the wrong message. Be assertive. Know what you want and how to tell your partner.  Guard your reputation. Don’t come on too strong. No wonder we are in such a mess.

Contact

Phone: 587.351.5907   Email: Janaleemw@gmail.com   LinkedIn: linkedin.com/in/janaleemorris

All rights reserved.