Spiritual Motherhood & Vocation
Dancing with mystery
It’s been a while since I’ve written here, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing. I try to share those external essays here when I have time for a conversation about them, so please do join in if you can.
“Spiritual motherhood” might be a phrase that conjures up images of nuns in starched habits - perhaps a medieval Abbess, or a missionary caring for orphaned children. It might be a phrase that has you drawing a blank: what is that, some kind of woo-woo mother earth goddess nonsense? Or maybe you’re pretty familiar with this idea, but it comes with a sting. I can’t have children of my own, but here’s the old ‘participation trophy’ being handed out again.
Outside of some very niche Catholic circles, I find that this concept is a new one for most people.
Our culture tends to approach manhood and womanhood primarily in political terms. There are battles being fought over the definition of ‘woman’ - who gets to hold that name for themselves, and why? - but underneath these political struggles lie what I like to think of as mystery. Understanding what it means to be a woman (and what it means to be a man) requires a contemplative stance. It requires reverence and respect for something in the created order that is revelatory of God. It requires clarity, yes, but also wonder. In short, it requires things that do not lend themselves to political discourse.
We have to hold on to the tensions: there are clear boundaries and there are things we do not fully comprehend. A woman is not a man, and a man is not a woman. “Mystery” is not a synonym for “mushy.” But once we’re clear on those boundaries, maybe we need to step back for a moment and wonder why God chose to make us as we are. How are we icons in the world, and how am I, personally, called to engage with this mystery?
As a young woman, I often felt like my choices were either (a) be one of the starched nuns or (b) have a dozen children. Honestly? They’re good options! But they haven’t been my options. And the longer I live, the more I begin to see that I have to discern my life, not someone else’s, and not some generic ideal.
Is Spiritual Motherhood a generic ideal? I think it’s better to call it a universal vocation for every woman. And like any vocation, it requires personal discernment.
There’s a lot to be said, but we’ve got to start somewhere. Here’s my piece on it over at Word on Fire. Just click on the link to read:
Do Women Have a Universal Vocation?
When you’ve read it, I’d love for you to share your thoughts. Have you ever encountered the idea of Spiritual Motherhood? Do you think it’s a helpful concept? How have you tried to engage with the mystery of being a woman (or being a man)?
"This spiritual reality of motherhood is the call, or vocation, of every woman, whether or not she bears children in her own body. Each woman, by virtue of being the type of human who is the place of welcome for others (whether or not she does or can actualize this potentiality in the context of a fallen world), is called to spiritual motherhood. It is not limited to those who are nuns or offered as a “consolation prize” for those who cannot have children: It is the primary way that a woman lives her womanhood. Metaphysically, a woman is a place of welcome for others, whether or not she physically does or even can do so." - These words of yours here remind me of St. Edith Stein's: " A woman's soul is fashioned to be a shelter in which other souls may unfold."
And though I don't entirely disagree with this statement of yours*, isn't the (main) goal of every human person to love and be loved? (As St. John of the Cross says, "In the evening of life, we will be judged on love alone.")
*"To be a virtuous human is the goal of every person, man or woman."
(Maybe this is me just overthinking...)
I enjoyed this essay of yours. I think defining womanhood is much more broad than biological alone. And I'm just sickened over men who, when they dress up like women, think they can claim to be women. It's as unlike a woman as is Puzzle the donkey when he is urged by Shift to wear a lion's skin in C.S. Lewis' The Final Battle.