Woman as God’s Potter

Amongst the women were several who thought they had known each other since childhood. Others had joined the group in recent years, the wives and partners of colleagues who had moved to Didsbury, Withington and south Manchester for work. Nearly all were professionals, teachers, a nurse, a doctor, two administrators and one who described herself as a simple housewife. What brought these women together was their faith in God, the goodness of the world, and themselves. Never loud or arrogant, each of them was in their different ways secure in their belief in a loving, merciful and forgiving God. This evening as every Thursday was their retreat, a personal reflection on their inner selves, a chance to review and confirm their place in the world. 

Maggie was large and confident, with a personality to match, Carol slight, thoughtful, and cautious; they were sisters apparently with little in common. Peg, a teacher with enormous energy and insight, and Patsy, quiet but businesslike, were working on their lump of clay. Their hands, not used to this activity, were red with the firm but damp material. Their knuckles ached as they kneaded the lump into a representation of themselves. The offertory of the Mass which was to follow would be their opportunity to share a picture of themselves with the group, to unveil their contribution to family, friends and those with whom they worked. Irene’s sculpture was clearly a house or home, Peg’s an intertwined rope. Maggie was working on a pregnant figure, Carol on an intricate design. Only Patsy was struggling, not with the clay, but with her vision of herself. Committed and selfless, she found it hard to see her qualities represented in a piece of clay. She tried shapes, animals and plants, but not one was her. The lesson from St Paul began and ended. The gospel of Matthew, the calling of the apostles, fishermen, farmers and tax collectors was no help. Still Patsy worked on her clay, more and more conscious of the others, mostly content with their sculptures. The prayers began. Bernie offered her brown leaf, asking the Lord’s help wherever the winds of life blew her. Carol prayed that her attention to detail would enable her to pick out those too proud to ask for help. Irene offered her house with the open door as a symbol of refuge for those in need. Peg’s rope had become a mosaic for the harmony of peoples and races. Maggie’s pregnancy had gone full-term and her clay figure was labouring with the inequalities of our society, issues of poverty and empowerment. All put their work and hopes and fears before their Lord. 

As for Patsy, increasingly confused by the clarity and openness of her friends, the tears ran gently down her cheeks wetting and softening the lump of clay. She offered it up and said her prayer, asking that whatever the Lord wanted of her, she would find the strength. Sister Muriel accepted the object, recognising in it and in the woman before her, a chameleon, someone with the skill of responding to every change of circumstance, of adapting to each and every challenge. 

Lord, whoever, whatever and wherever you are, forgive us our arrogance and selfishness; help us open our eyes, ears and hearts to the needs of our world. Amen