Tag Archives: work

Merry

I was not looking forward to Christmas. I am exhausted from a year of politics, work, grief and loss, anxiety, activism, editing, marking, failing at housework and estrangement from some. My year has also had meaningful work, writing, beautiful food, roses (I mean literally), music and most of all love so I am not looking for pity but I am tired and anxious and I am always unmotivated about cleaning and it takes a lot of self-coaching now to even cook.

Added to this my children are now adult or almost-adult men and I don’t want to be the woman in their lives who “makes the Christmas magic happen”. I hate the memes about that on Facebook equating self-exploitation with love meanwhile the same women posting that about their mother are in tears and in some cases closet drinking because of the pressures of Christmas. We circulate to each other the “greater love hath no woman” myth of the perfect Christmas and the patriarchy wins once again by what we label “love”.

So I said “nope” to that and we did minimal cleaning (I insisted the sons help but I did not give up my whole freedom either to do it for them or to police them). We divided up the cooking tasks (after initially looking unhappy with it they all pitched in quite happily). We kept presents to a minimum (with some people asking for a donation to their favourite charity instead of more stuff to try to find a space for),

Christmas eve I was meant to go to church. I love my church community and I was all set to do my duty but I felt heavy-hearted at the way for feasts to official church takes us over. In fairness, it is people WITHIN the community that want and value (and ask for) this but some privately and very quietly have said to me “we shouldn’t need a priest coming in, we are quite capable and should have someone from the community ordained. But ordained we (mostly women and some married men) are not. So to avoid Christmas and Easter being the usual “leftover” the crumbs from the table of grace we ask a priest to come in and help us

The one we ask is quite a nice person too. He does it very well and very respectfully and I have no problem with him personally (neither does anyone else). He still runs with out liturgy and our “reflection”. He is what I think a priest should be and was one of the first people I was able to talk honestly about my vocation. He reproved someone for interrupting and trying to silence me and he has been very respectful ever since. So I have no problem with him at all as a person and kind of as a priest too- except we should not have to bring someone in.

Now that my dad is a priest I have all the complicated feelings of betrayal and abandonment around that. I tried to bury them deep but this year they have started coming out more and more…but this is not a good place to unpack that. But it’s a factor in how I relate to the other priest who lives in the same house as him.

All of this means that I was going to go to Christmas Eve church with duty not joy. It’s a happy sort of duty to be with the community because they are spiritually my family but I generally don’t see them anywhere else except church. Over the years the community has accepted my children’s misbehaviour as well as my transgressive and evolving theology and terrible attempts to decorate the altar when it is my turn. They’ve accepted me at times in bare feet, talking too much, crying or poor (also I think sometimes poised, intelligent and almost-neat…at least that’s what I attempt now). But when my eldest son started making cashew and lime-based sauces in the kitchen and offering me Irish whisky and my youngest came in from working in the garden and decided to order take-away food I decided to join them. I am good at feeling guilty so I felt guilty but there is was again.

I looked at the clock it was time to get ready for church and I said “nope” to that,

The third one I still feel guilty for so I won’t discuss it, but there was one other thing I said “nope” to this Christmas. I was preserving my mental health and the healthy boundaries around some off-duty/rest time that my last psych told me to. I was doing what I was role-modelled as a child. See how defensive I am? I still feel guilty but to have done anything else would have made the day an ordeal. I will have that ordeal but for Christmas I was off duty (mostly).

So we had a small low-key lunch (with far too much food) that was all vegan. Decorations was one bunch of flowers I bought myself for submitting an article (it’s what I always do) and another vase with a sprig of pine that the cockatoos threw at me and a sprig of holly that crawled over the fence from the neighbour’s yard. I put on a playlist of choral songs interspersed by children’s songs, retro music, modern tracks and even joke songs. My son ended the evening playing his new computer game (second-hand from his brother) in his room with three empty tubs of vegan icecream stacked next to him and a spoon (oh to be 17 again!). I read my new book “Feminist theology from the third world“, which my kids had burst out laughing when they saw and they said “That’s so mum isn’t it? Typical”. I felt cosy about that though, they know who I am. We went for a walk in the evening and there was a woman and a little girl, both in hijabs delivering junk-mail (a job my sister used to do and sometimes I would walk with her and help her). “Happy holidays” I said to them while my youngest son glared at me for randomly talking to strangers and embarrassing him. The woman grinned at me as if she had no idea what I said but decided I was harmless, she might not have understood English judging by the expression on her face. I started the usual guilt about “It’s not a holiday for them they are clearly working” in my own head but then I heard a clear voice speak back to the guilt and say “it’s not an observation, it’s a wish for them to HAVE a happy holiday, if not today then on their own choice of day”.

My son chatted to me of worker’s rights and of redistributing wealth and I suddenly thought about what this Christmas had been. My three children all wanted to see me, even though I was not providing lavish presents or taking responsibility for all the food (they had to help). All three of them took an opportunity to sit or walk with me and talk about things I care about and ask about things I care about. I did the same for them too of course but that’s in the “mother” job description (besides which when I look at those handsome young men I still see the baby that used to need me so much). All three showed a connection with me over ethics, humour and a confidence in my work in the world (and therefore hopefully their own). We talked about the earth, human diversity, politics, death and generousity (also a lot of puns and teasing). I had avoided church for the reasons discussed above and because living with a “Christianprime minister and other members of parliament makes me a little less devout myself. But “church” my own family as a community of faith and practice was with me and therefore so was the sneaky and hope-inspiring Wisdom of Godde.

I reflected last night on the people I love and the people who love me but more significantly the people with a big enough love to love the world. I thought about Freedom Hill Sanctuary, where the humans were forced to suddenly evacuate without their four-legged friends and they were distraught with guilt, fear and grief. They came back to a charred mess of buildings but the animals had been wise enough to take shelter in the dam. I thought of all the awful stories, but the small spots of happiness and hope. I thought of firefighters all around the country and again felt guilt because it’s been a tough year for me but much tougher for some others. I thought of little girls imprisoned over Christmas by a “Christian” government and how such cruelty hurts the whole community.

I found myself not praying for the big things but for little insignificant things that matter only to me. I felt Godde like a wall against the guilt that such self-reflection sometimes engenders. I thought of my nutroast with a stuffing inside made of breadcrumbs and I thought of the Syro-Phoenecian woman gathering her crumbs of grace with dignity. “Dogs”. As a vegan I see dignity in a four-legged child of Godde too. And I thought how the world needs loaves and loaves of the Bread of Heaven for refugees and fire-fighters and thirsty rivers and farms. But that did not mean that there was not an abundance of crumbs for people’s small hopes and relationships also. And that survival is in the loaves but joy is sometimes in the crumbs that make stuffing for the festival-food. God wants our small happiness as much as the larger picture of social justice and a thriving ecosystem. The new mother Mary, thought less of Herod or Caesar on Christmas night than of her baby’s perfect little toes and perfect little eyelashes and dove-like little newborn cries and her own exhaustion and how good it was to give the baby to Joseph for a few hours and sleep.

I woke up this morning to see what a friend had posted on Facebook. “I’m not Christian, but the story of a baby born in a shed who grows to an adult who leads the downtrodden against oppression is a story of triumph over adversity, of love over hate, of compassion over cruelty. ” Typical of Wisdom coming out in a self proclaimed “non-Christian’s” post. This person went on to say that the worst is not inevitable and our efforts are never futile and that we should radically orient ourselves toward hope and community-action in the coming year. I am reading that, unable to see the difference between that and “Christian” in the real sense, just as I cannot detect Christ in any sort of law that allows bigotry and hatred or that keeps selling out our earth and communities for fossil fuels.

Whether in the crumbs or in too many tubs of icecream Merry Christmas to you and yours. May the barred gates spring open, may streams flow in dry places and may there be Bread for all.

Thanks be to Godde.

In which our heroine/vilainess changes tack…

This week quite a lot of things happened. On the micro-scale… I managed to offend someone whose good opinion I really care about. My most trustworthy and hardworking colleague suddenly chucked a sickie and I got to teach a class I don’t usually get. I realised more about my own privilege. We finally got what felt like some winter weather (and I didn’t like it).

On the slightly broader scale- levels of discontent are rising. One of my friends got a job she really deserves. One of my children applied for an exciting job. Vegan diets and composting are on the increase and people are turning away from plastic bags. But only some people, and this is sad. Extinction rebellion staged a “die in” in work hours and it was well attended (but not by me).

On the larger scale. We have a “Christian” prime minister and a small and beloved Tamil family is being squeezed out of their loving neighbourhood and out of the country. The children are being traumatised even more than they have been. Another “Christian” man is trying to get out of serving his prison sentence for child sex offences. It is hard to believe him innocent given the weight of the evidence and his own lack of insight about sex-crimes within the church hierarchy. I am not reassured by our “Christian” leaders as the sea levels rise. I am stunned that we would “protect our borders” against bright little girls and their parents but open the gate and put the welcome mat out for Adani and Equinor.

I don’t know where to turn for faith this week though, because the lectionary mumbles anachronisms and dogma- dangerous to an aware woman. If I even am a “woman” which is a whole other question. I feel I should make an effort to go “back” to church this week, to recapture something I used to love. I have marking and editing and writing and even a lecture to plan. I have laundry and shopping and cleaning and admin work to do.

I am sitting here drinking coffee and feeling adrift because it is not like I didn’t try the lectionary but it is abjectly failing to speak to me. It’s not reassuring. It’s not challenging. It’s just off-key and sort of smug at me. So where do I take this doubt and this still desire for goodness and love? Where do I take this floating, unmoored feeling? So many psychs over the years have told me to “trust myself” more, but that is hard enough with earthly things. How unsafe, even narcissistic it seems to have the “self” as an authority in spiritual things.

So if not myself, then what can I become aware of? The scrabbling of tiny rodents in the walls when I am trying to sleep? The orange and glorious sunset I can just glimpse from my “hot desk” as I leave work later and later each night? The reed that encircle the shining lake? The student who mentions Paolo Freire before I even do? The paragraph in a paper that I am marking that sounds like it was written by an expert? The bitterness of the too dilute coffee because I am neglecting household tasks like shopping? That elusive reference just outside the reach of my growing but still slow brain? The…(but no some things I should not dwell on even if they seem divine).

Is the net of ripples and circles that I call my “experience” of the world also a sort of lectionary? Can I read the life of God in it? How do I orient myself, in which direction is this “God/Godde”? Is it behind my back in the brave personal battles of one of the other casuals? Is it behind a closed door in an office of one of the “real academics”? Did it leave when we had the restructure? No. It is here. It is always where I am and I am happy to be here even when the hard work almost kills me. I bring it with me, like the roses from my garden that I put in the lunch room, but others bring it with them too. Others I think I know but that have hidden depths. It is in the “care” of teacher for student, senior staff for newer. It is in the enthusiasm of the first-year whose family never went to uni. It is in the ability to quickly understand of the Masters student. It is in the way I thought I was something remarkable, odd or special but everywhere here there are people like me.

It is in the laugh at myself for having been less (and more) than I thought. It is in the student who catches my eye and knows that I know that there is more to life than the four walls of the classroom. It is in temptation (dumplings, mexican food, chocolate brownies and the tavern). The life of Godde is our life.

It is in the fluffy ducklings who do not know the world they have hatched into. It is in the koalas who will be desperate for water by high summer. It is in the brown snakes who wreak such havoc just by appearing. It is in the dying trees and the grapefruit trees, giving their bounty to all and sundry (who can reach). It is in the view of the ocean and the too-blue for winter skies. It is in the library, in the hidden corners and rustling pages and even the annoying blip of someone’s mobile phone. The life of Godde may be beyond humans, but when we touch it then it is here in our lives. If it can be in a cultural text (bible or lectionary) then it can be in other texts too (email asking me to take a class, me trying to fairly word my response to someone asking for an extension).

I thought all this focus on “reality” would go somewhere that I would talk myself out of this spiritual dryness into some sort of “relationship” or some sort of ability to “believe” but the world appears to be dying and my children are in it. I am lost. I do not know how to find Godde or faith in any of this after all. I do not know what meaning any of this has apart from the twisted and difficult pleasure I get from my work. Am I becoming a workaholic? Maybe. I am pursuing this academic dream partly because it gives me joy but also because I cannot see Godde. Can Wisdom be here somewhere? I miss feeling like I knew where she was.

I will wash my clothes as early as possible and take the bus into work to do marking and other things. I love this. I want this. But I feel I ought to understand or touch something bigger in it all. Right now this is all I have.

Rushed thoughts from the midst of the chaos

Welcome to the sieve that is life, that will shake you up and demonstrate what quality you are as a person, as a God-being-image, as an agent who thinks and speaks and embodies values. So goes the first reading. I have seen much of this lately, people being shaken and the best or worst of them appear. I am working on being kind and tolerant of people who are flawed when shaken and thus able to cope with my own limitations too. Some people surprise and inspire me even under the greatest pressure. I would like to have that sort of courage and integrity. Based on picking up values from people we choose to spend time with and listen to I guess I have a chance of developing that way.

The psalm continues in this vein, telling us to be grateful to God and to keep our integrity because ultimately we will thrive or perish according to the health of our values and our inner self. I am not sure that real life always demonstrates this well, but on the other hand I was cheered when in answer to a question about her “legacy” at Writers Week Gillian Triggs said “I don’t think I am anywhere near finished yet”!!!

Maybe this is what: “They shall bear fruit even in old age” means.

I myself feel so week and fearful and dependant on others but maybe I can learn. Triggs talked of being mentored and supported at times, she talked of benefitting from systems that were there to support her. None of us can do it alone and I need to have some faith in the integrity (spoken and lived) of the people who are in my life.

The second reading talks about our human preoccupation with the deaths and hurts of this life but claims that through God we can hope through that to a greater depth of meaning and success. We have to find the incorruptible, immortal things to clothe ourselves in, and the implication is that these are values. We must be “firm, steadfast and fully devoted” to God’s work, but let’s remember that God’s work is not nitpicking the lifestyles of others but upholding the vulnerable (the “widow and orphan”) and loving those who need our love, calling to account the powerful (see eg the Magnificat), feeding and healing the world in LOVE. We must have integrity even in how we treat our enemies, we can attack the position and corruptibility of people like Cardinal Pell and decry the words of people like Andrew Bolt, but it is not God’s work to personally attack these people (although when victims of their crimes do it we should be understanding).

Death is swallowed up in the victory, the immortality (“legacy” if you like) of the good work we do. I want to think of immortality as some good people have left or are leaving the university I got work at, where I would have liked them to continue on and mentor and befriend me. Some people do remain who understand what has been achieved and my task is to hold firm. Things of value are larger than one person, they are larger than human cycles of loss and death. Meaning is never something we hold forever but always something we must chase and wrestle with and contest with others and find in fragments.

I don’t like that it is always so difficult, but the tone of the readings is comforting, that God will reward all our efforts even if the world does not.

The gospel mocks me for my reliance on my teachers. They also are human and “blind” as I am and I must learn to be equal to them and work like them not simply follow them (not even heroes like Gillian Triggs). The other side of the coin is that I as a teacher and a leader should not be grand about my own status, but should accept the rights of people to disagree with me, challenge me and find their own way to work alongside and not beneath me. It’s easy to always criticise others instead of looking at how we can contribute something of worth, or at what is blocking us from doing better.

But reassuringly if we are good and healthy on the inside (grounded in values) if we are fruit of a good tree (a tradition, a person, a way of being) then we in turn will produce good fruit. We will speak the truth of what we truly believe which is what we truly are. I will seek to embody (and ensoul) in myself love and radical, healing hope.

I am afraid for the future but God’s will be done. I will learn to stand fast!