The only part I remember from skimming Handmaid Mary-Leah's John Chrysostom sermon on headcoverings which was very long, was that women should show proper shame in wearing them. Despite my automatic defensive reaction, including not reading it in more detail, I wore the new Russian scarf I bought on our cruise to Alaska to Vespers and Matins Saturday night at St. Seraphim's Cathedral in Dallas. We were there with George's god-father and his friend who were visiting our house this last weekend from Mississippi. I feel protected and hidden when I wear one, though not many women do at my parish. I feel ashamed if I'm in the minority in not wearing one. Like I'm exposed. But at my parish I stand up front and sing in the choir, and as none of the other ladies do, and the choir director looks at me funny (that's not all he does) when I wear one, I've quit as I'm a newbie in the choir and feel I should follow their lead.
Saturday night at the Cathedral I and the girls also stood on the other side from my sons, our male guests, and initially my husband after I'd venerated the icons on that side. But George came over to be with me. So for a few minutes I was segregated with a head covering. It was nice. But I feel at home at St. Seraphim's where head coverings are more frequently worn. When we visited the male Greek monastery in Kendalia a couple of years ago and I was forced to wear a head covering, which at that point I was very unused to, and stand away from George and the boys with a bunch of strange women in a Greek-only service, it was all too foreign and uncomfortable. And then we had to eat in a separate room, that was even more uncomfortable. I couldn't wait to leave.
I don't know if it is because I was raised with two brothers and a quiet mother, though she is very smart and well-read (Valedictorian and class president at Bob Jones University boarding high shool), or any other number of social, genetic, and freely chosen formative variables, but I enjoy male conversation. Actually my mother always said she preferred male conversation. So to be segregated away from it, to be told women shouldn't teach men (not that that is my goal), should be silent in church, that men should have dominion over us, that men have better camaraderie when women aren't around, makes me sad. But St. Maximus says that Christ Recapitulates and resolves the dialectic between males and females. Christ had very nice conversations with women. I especially like the Gentile woman who said, "even dogs get to eat the crumbs that fall from the table". Jesus liked that one too.
But to tie this to the post previous, I have anxiety about whether I am being appropriate or not when talking to men other than my husband. A line has been crossed before. And when I said before that I am deliberating whether to keep running or to be sad, this is part of that choice-making process. I have for the most part chosen to run ahead despite my anxiety, instead of being sad at having the cross of segregation. Peaceful but sad, or happiness cut short by anxiety. Maybe this is my cross. So should I even quit my blog which has co-ed readers, in addition to not commenting on male blogs, even though I find them interesting and intriguing? This is what I mean about facing that I am meant to be "alone", unless I'm wrong. A week ago I almost deleted this whole thing but George told me not to. I don't know.
Another thing to consider, my favorite thing about St. Seraphim is how he adopted the nuns at a neighboring monastery. He even invited them to spend the night in the chapel if the weather was bad. He called them his "orphans". That made me happy.
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