Woman or Lady

Can’t you remember how we were brought up to believe we couldn’t do it? 
So many “No’s.”  A proper young lady could not be seen in that kind of place or do that kind of activity. Certain kinds of people we were sheltered from in the name of being protected. We were taught to be polite and smile. Tears, anger, public emotion were discrediting. We must be delicate, demure and correct. Legs crossed only at the ankles. 

Also at this moment in time, (1950s) the word “Woman” was almost derogatory. Anyone called woman - as in that woman who - was looked upon with disgust. We were bred to be ladies. Right off, I decided I didn’t want to be a lady like my mother. I wanted to be woman. It seemed much more curious and exciting. It had adventure in its soul.

About the time when I graduated from St. Catherine’s Boarding School for Girls in Virginia, I decided I wanted to find out what this secret world from which our mothers were so desperate to protect us was about. Then I figured out that it was the world of men. We were supposed to stay out of it. The man’s world was a strange and curious environment from which ladies were excluded.  There were dark paneled clubs with high ceilings for men only. There were certain sports only men could play, jobs only men could do. Women might get grease in their hair and dirt on their hands during wartime. But we were told only men had the capacity to make business and economic decisions. Therefore it was more important to get the boys into university. All a woman needed was a finishing school. I went to one of those. I don’t think I got finished. Or polished or whatever it was. I had been in all girls schools from kindergarten through my Bachelor of Arts degree at Hollins. 

Even in church, there were those things ladies should do - wear hats, gloves, stockings, girdles. Neither women, nor ladies, could participate as clergy. They could sing in the choir. Or play the organ. Teach Sunday School. But in our day, women had to watch their step when it came to religion. We had to keep our opinions to ourselves even when we saw in the Bible we must be subservient to our husbands and that we were never to speak up in church. 

Hold on here. I thought. I don’t think I feel this way. But, at that time, I didn’t think there was anything I could do about it.  I just sort of kept on increasing in size and age and did the things that came along with it like everyone else. I think the jumping off point (the “I can’t take it anymore” point) was when I had to be a debutante and participate in the Cotton Carnival as a princess to the carnival president.  Alas. This was just too much. I hated it. I hated the social thing. So the next year, I was working as a summer intern at a newspaper. Mother didn’t like the idea. A lady didn’t have a career. A lady had to prepare to be wife and mother. What was really great about the job is they didn’t throw me in the society section, which was where women worked.  Female reporters were women, not ladies. So, for this newspaper,  I was one of the first females, you might say, working off the city desk where the news came in and the men reporters wrote the stories. Wow. Sometimes they’d throw a scoop my way. Send me out on the street to get a story. It didn’t seem ground-breaking to me at the time because it wasn’t something I asked to do. It just happened, like a lot of things. And I got to follow Elvis Presley around during his summer activities. 

Somehow, God gave me courage and He gave me a really slobbery, vulnerable heart. My gosh. I wept at anyone’s sad story and then anxiously handed over whatever I could to help. At an early age, I wanted to make a difference. I felt guilty because I had so much, especially as I learned more and more about those out there who lived in less graceful and abundant circumstances. I couldn’t stand the way black people were treated. I  was furious the way my mother complained about her servants all the time. I didn’t understand why the black people couldn’t come to our church when God was supposed to love all people. And I really got disturbed when we learned about the constitution - All Men are Created Equal. Something was wrong. When did equal apply? And what about Women? Where women equal, if not ladies? 

I sort of fell into the man’s world. Not intentionally. I was involved for a number of years in professional sports - ice hockey, football, soccer teams. I worked as a journalist in many of its aspects.  In the ‘70ties, when I was in my thirties, I had been married, divorced and  re-started a career - that which a lady was not supposed to have . I worked on the Women’s Page at the evening Memphis daily. Hay. That was okay. We did serious stories about women who were rising to the forefront and doing things. It was no longer chic to sit home and lounge in designer clothes and serve tea at Tupperware parties. Women needed to contribute to the community, to serve. I could buy that. I even remember when one of my fellow women reporters fought to open an Abuse Center for women. That was really something. It was coming out into the open that women were being violated by their husbands. They needed a place to be consoled and to escape to. 

I wasn’t a bra burner. I wasn’t a picketer. I wasn’t a protester. I didn’t join the push to be equal because it never occurred to me that I wasn’t. Telly Savalas of Kojak fame once asked me, “why are women fighting for 50 per cent when they already have 90 per cent?” It made me think. 

I had also awakened to the idea that it was great to be a woman. I didn’t want to be a man, although there was a time when women’s fashion looked like men’s clothes. I knew that I could use my Southern Belle charm and sense of humor to get through the door of a whole lot of places. It was true. And I usually got what I wanted. through letters, energy, respectfulness,  courage to have an inquiring mind. I paid little attention to my mother’s rules - don’t bother anyone. Don’t ask that kind of question. Don’t do that. It’s not ladylike.  I was always an embarrassment to her. I am sure I was a nightmare too. 

Skipping over life, we come to Uruguay. I went there because of a man. I stayed there because it seemed right for me. Then I got involved with the Anglican church, working with the poor, the street people, the sick in a way I was not able to do in my home town. All of a sudden, in the mid ‘90s, someone suggested ordination. I didn’t know what they were talking about - knowing that in my youth, a woman couldn’t be a holy person, unless she gave up everything and became a nun. I never considered why there were so many women called saints. I had not been taught their stories. So it was a real struggle to figure out if I could be worthy of representing the church. I had been brought up to believe I was unworthy to do just about anything, a lot because of the lady’s shoes my feet would not squeeze into. But somehow, I sort of backed into or was backed into ordination. I didn’t ask for it. It wasn’t a rebellious thing.  But when I found out that I was already doing what deacons do, it didn’t sound so bad. I had a lot of demons to fight, including a priest from Australia who questioned my purpose because I had financial stability. But, somehow, God must have willed it. I knew I had to work twice as hard - as women often have to do to prove they are worthy or right for a position. I knew I had to spend many moments in prayer, keeping the lines always open to God. But I never felt holy and I chose to be non-stipendiary, which means no salary.

When I was first ordained, I didn’t feel any spiritual revelation. But I thought, Wow,  now I represent God. First off, the Uruguay bishop refused to let me wear the collar as men deacons wore, even though I was the first woman ordained in the Southern Cone of Latin America. He didn’t like the look of a woman in a priest’s collar. It was masculine, he said.  It hurt me terribly because I interpreted it as saying I wasn’t good enough. One year later, he relented. Whatever, right away, I put behind me those insecurities and dedicated my life to the most forgotten of people. Those with Aids. Those in prison. Those who are hungry. 

My most incredible ministry has been behind bars in the men’s prison. I guess I’m the only person you know who wants to go to prison. When I finish a day’s work, my friends tell me my face shines. It’s true. No matter how bad things are at home, somehow going inside those clanky gates and being with these people who are desperate, forgotten and even dangerous, makes me feel worthy. I have no fear. I don’t know why. I don’t fear being taken a hostage. The 5000 plus  prisoners in Uruguay think that I’m the only person who really fights for them. And I do in all sorts of ways. I trust God will protect me. A few of the more powerful  -that could read dangerous - keep an eye on me too. I cannot judge these men and women. Others do that. I don’t even see their crimes. I see someone in trouble. And I’m blessed that I don’t fear them so then I can get on with what I’m there to do. Find their spirits. Stir up their souls. Give them a reason to improve themselves so they have a better chance to be good citizens and not delinquents. 

I deal mostly with males ages 18 up through men 75 years old or more. It doesn’t matter the age or the crime.  They join the theater groups, the art expositions, the computer classes, and the horticulture classes. Many come to share in the Eucharist, even though they don’t know what it is, sometimes.  It’s a bit wild. But I know God loves it. Last Christmas, because really, our Christmas carols aren’t known in Uruguay, I had no earthly idea what we should sing at the Christmas Eucharist behind bars. I found out they did know “Silent Night” in Spanish.  So we sang that song every time a song was called for in the Eucharist. It was just the same. 

If, at times, they don’t get the rhythm of one of our hymns,  they just  burst into a  Murga song. Those are particularly political and personal. They sing songs written to be sung by a male chorus acapella accompanied by three kinds of drums. It’s peculiar to Uruguay. It’s powerful. I can just sense God takes a break and watches these radical services. Sometimes my guys applaud after the sermon, or when the service finishes. It makes me feel good. I hope God feels good too. It’s been tough the past month. There was a riot in which 300 prisoners completely destroyed the major maximum-security prison. Finally the authorities had to get off their seats and do something. Mostly prisoners are forgotten. People aren’t prone to do social outreach in Uruguay. It’s devastating, and crime gets worse if only because of hunger. Now the public is saturated with prison problems and don’t have any more sympathy for the horrible conditions. They are too worried about their own falling incomes. Something’s got to give. 

I have never questioned where I’m going or why. I think this is important. I don’t consider it relevant anymore that I’m a woman working in a man’s prison. I’m called La Reverenda. To some I’m a mother or abuela; to others an angel. I fight their causes - especially when I see something special in them to cheer about.  I carry letters to their judges and to their families. I listen to their chatter about the horrible conditions and their consistent interest in getting out. I fight with the authorities to provide work opportunities and workshops so they can learn skills that will benefit them when they get out of prison. There is never any money for prison work. So I dip into my own pockets to get something done. I just bought 250 acrylic plates and plastic spoons so the prisoners being castigated for the riot have something to eat with. Someone has to do it. The state doesn’t. And, a fact is that all prisoners in Uruguay are released sooner or later. There is no life sentence. The worst is 30 years for someone who has killed two or three people.  So the need is to make them better not worse when they come out. Most people rather forget about’em and then cry when a purse is stolen, or a business is broken into. 

These past few months have been spiritually difficult for me. I encountered a truth: that I’m just like everyone else. I’m as wrapped up in sin, as weak before temptation, as incompetent and unworthy as the next person. I feel I have let God down. That I’m not what he wanted me to be. I know I’m not who the public think I am. They tried to make me into the Mother Theresa of Uruguay. I’m no where near that and don’t want to blight the good name of Mother Theresa. The fame that has come along with my prison ministry has cost me freedom and privacy. I can’t do the miracles the mothers of prisoners think I can do. I can’t heal people and stop them from dying. I’m just everyday like everyone else. I guess you might say, I’ve done a Peter thing - I looked down at the water and realized I can’t walk on it. So I began to sink. 

I most identify with the story about the Samaritan Woman. She was so imperfect. She had known men. I have too. She had not been very good at marriage. I haven’t either. She’s bold and doesn’t hesitate to question. I think maybe that’s in me too. And yet Jesus gives her time and space. He shares his heart with her. He encourages her. He allows her to believe in herself and then in him. It doesn’t matter that she is a woman of ill repute or that she is an unpopular Samaritan. These were not positive points in his day. Yet He accepts her for who she is and for her gusto. And He forgives her. Gosh. He forgives her. Nothing is so awful it can’t be forgiven by the love of Christ. Then he pours her cup full with his living water so she will never thirst again. 

I’m glad God made me a woman. I am delighted I didn’t have to be a lady. I stumble, and err, and say things I shouldn’t.  I spill things and make social fo-paws. But God uses me anyway. He uses any of us willing to say, “Here, Take me. Here I am Lord. Use me.”  I promise you, if you offer yourselves up to him everyday, He is there waiting. And he will send you to where you never thought you’d go. To do things you never thought you’d do. And to love in a way you didn’t know you had the capacity to love. It’s all in the heart. It’s all in forgiving others and looking at them through their damaged hearts, not their actions. It’s all in knowing Jesus is before you opening the doors. All you have to do is be willing and never say  “I can’t.” With God nothing is impossible. Everything is possible. Go in peace and love and serve the Lord. 
 

 ~ Rev
---------------------------------
audrey@audreytaylorgonzalez.com
www.audreytaylorgonzalez.com