Harpies, Shrews and Amazons

I first heard the phrase "Angel in the House" about seven years ago, perhaps longer. I wish I could remember who exactly wrote the article in which I found it, but it was a lady blogger's reference to the type of woman who generations ago was the angel in the house. The blogger's description of such a woman gave me the impression of a sweet, innocent yet strong and loving caretaker, a God-fearing homemaker such as my own beautiful mother. I would go so far as to say my mother was the angel in our home. She was selfless, caring, patient and long-suffering. She was devoted to God and her faith and devoted to my father. She sacrificed herself for me in my faults, illnesses and rebellions. Neither I nor my father were particularly easy to handle all the time, and she put up with us with grace and kindness. She wasn't a perfect cook or housekeeper, but her "angelic," loving disposition made up for it beyond measure. At the moment, my mother is terminally ill, and could leave us at anytime. I am convinced that she already has a toe in heaven, if not a whole foot. I truly believe that she is in purgatory right now, suffering as she is, and maybe even started the journey through fire when I was born. I am only half-joking.

Anyway, I've been longing to be as good as she, and though I daily fall short, I keep the phrase "the angel in the house" in mind every time I shake off the dust of my failures and try again. So I did a teeny bit of internet browsing on the subject. What I found was a tad disappointing: feminist rants against the original poem (written by Coventry Patmore about his dearly beloved deceased wife Emily) where the phrase originated, feminist conjectures about the damage done to women by the poem's influence on Victorian society, etc. Having read the poem and finding nothing untoward in it, I firmly uphold the idea of the wife and mother as the angel in the house, just as religious sisters would be the angels of God's house. It's not a bad model at all, even with the flowery language and idealistic imagery.

It got me thinking about the ranty, angry feminists. What are they in their homes, if they are in their homes at all? I am not there, so I can't say, and I don't hear enough about feminist homemakers to know, but what I see in the public square is a horde of harpies, shrews and amazons. Screeching, hollering, nitpicking, blaming, whining, blustering, elbowing, stomping and walking/talking over others. That's what I see and hear. I'm speaking generally. Not every woman who believes in feminism behaves in such a way, and many women might consider the feminist philosophy to be the default "correct" moral position and haven't given it much additional thought. I'm not writing about them. I'm writing about the ones who are loud, proud, even the ones who are only moderately loud and proud: The women who wear the feminist label with a capital F, regardless of their noise level. 

I am repulsed by it, frankly. It's the total opposite of what God calls women to be in His word. It's the opposite of what anyone should be, really, but women in particular are called to be kind, gentle and bearing an undisturbed spirit. That's what the "gentle and quiet spirit" means. How thoroughly stressful and exhausting to be a ranting feminist. What inner peace dwells there? What gentleness?

I have no love for the picture of "the modern woman." She is masculine, jaded or angry, self-righteous and self-seeking. Just because it's "now" doesn't mean it's good. To me, "time" is something that only exists on this temporary earth. It means nothing to me that "times have changed." God is eternal, and His instructions are likewise. I don't care what people think if I take bits here and there from various periods of the past as my own interests, standards and goals. I don't care what they may think if I want little or nothing to do with new-fashioned values, "culture" and time-wasters. I find myself distancing from some people and from certain situations. I don't feel it's needful or edifying to always be in the thick of conversations, events, or other such noise. It doesn't mean I'm not there for people or willing to help others. It simply means I try to guard my tongue, ears, eyes and my time. I want my life to consist of honest work with my hands, pure and lovely conversation, wholesome, high-value music, and time spent with God. It's important for all Christians to uphold pure, holiness-minded standards for clothing, music, movies, entertainments and other such outside circumstances. I digress.

The angel in the house is not a poor, helpless prisoner of a misguided patriarchy of the past. She is a lady of faith and substance interested in learning the gentle way, the way of my dear mother, and the way of the Blessed Virgin Mary. If there ever was an angel in a house, it was the Blessed Mother. Why don't more Christian women seek to emulate Her, the woman conceived without sin so as to be a pure vessel for the Son of God? The one who said to the angel, "May it be done to me according to your word," and was the example of humility and selfless charity? Even non-Catholic Christians couldn't argue with that. She is the model which my mother took for herself; Mom has a great devotion to Mary. The fruits are evident, and I wish I had that same gift for grace and patience to be like them both. I continue to pray for the grace to be like my earthly and heavenly mothers. And I certainly pray for my inclination toward shrewish behavior to be transformed into angelic sweetness, for the sake of my soul and that of my husband.