This article is excerpted from Alyson Huntly’s new book, Naomi’s Daughters. The book contains a collection of stories of women who are looking for ways to bridge the generation gap while maintaining their Christian values.
Peggy Foster set up mugs on a tray for her friends in Martha’s Circle. She deliberately used the regular everyday mugs. Last time Spirit of Sophia met they’d used the Centennial tea service and they had chipped a gold rim on one of the cups. While Betty and Mary cleared the remains of the pie dough from the counter, Mavis wrapped the last of the pies. “That’s four hundred peach pies ready to go,” announced Mavis proudly. “Martha’s Circle has done it again!”
Peggy was just about to make the tea when Janet O’Neill came into the kitchen, with three year-old Meagan in tow. “Hello ladies,” she called out. “Just coming to check on the juice supply for Sunday.” Janet paused to admire the pies. “Wow, will you look at this! You must be so proud. I wouldn’t know what to do with a pie crust if it hit me in the face!” Meagan, who had a very good idea what one did with a pie crust, began poking the edge of one of the pies.
“No Meagan, don’t touch,” said Janet, as Mrs. Turner hastily moved the pie out of reach. “Well, gotta run. Blaise has his first soccer game this afternoon, and I’m supposed to be helping with snacks. See you tomorrow!”
Peggy Foster sighed. She liked Janet, and she knew she was having a hard time, but she couldn’t help being annoyed by her all the same. Meagan seemed out of hand, and Blaise was one of these children they called “attention deficit.”
“In our day, they called it ‘bad behaviour’ and parents did something about it,” she’d said stiffly once to Mrs. Newberry.
The women were just clearing away the last of the tea things when Jodi Morrison came into the kitchen. “Camille said it would be okay if I picked up my pie order early,” she announced. “The Spirit of Sophia group is meeting at my place tonight and I thought some of your wonderful peach pie would be a real treat.”
Someone else who wouldn’t know what to do with a pie crust if it hit her in the face, Mavis thought to herself. A whole group of them, in fact! How could a woman reach the ripe old age of forty-five and not know how to bake a decent peach pie? But at least they wouldn’t be chipping the Centennial china.
Mavis had once suggested that Spirit of Sophia come and help with the annual pie baking. She’d even wondered if they would like to learn how to make a nice peach pie for themselves. Now hadn’t that idea taken off like a lead balloon. Too busy, they’d said, making it clear they were definitely not interested in doing much work around here, but they had offered to make a donation ”in lieu of pies.”
“At least they’re meeting and there’s a group of them,” she thought, trying to be generous. But somehow every time Spirit of Sophia met, something happened that irritated her. It wasn’t just the chipped cup, it was other things as well. That huge purple banner of ladies dancing that appeared in the sanctuary right where the memorial flag was supposed to be. Or the time Spirit of Sophia led the Lord’s Prayer and changed the words to Mother-Father-God.
Peggy didn’t so much mind the Lord’s Prayer, though she too hated the purple ladies. Mostly, Peggy resented the fact that the Sophia women seemed to have lots of time to meet for their spirituality thing but no time to help bake pies or take a shift on kitchen duty. It was hard not to be resentful of a group that only seemed interested in doing what they wanted to do, and not picking up any of the load the rest of them were carrying.
Peggy hated the pie baking. She looked at her wrinkled, peach-stained hands. Her feet ached. She would be glad to get home and put her feet up. Sometimes she wondered what would happen when the women in Martha’s Circle began to run out of energy. “We’re not as young as we used to be. We won’t be able to carry on with this forever, but then what?” she worried. Spirit of Sophia sure didn’t seem likely to pick up the torch when they were ready to pass it on.
Jodi Morrison put on the cups and forks, still debating with herself about paper plates. In the end she decided on china. She’d save the dishes for tomorrow morning. She was lighting the candle as the doorbell rang. It was Clare Douglas. Clare greeted Jodi with a big hug. “How’s it going with Rebekah?” she asked, but Jodi didn’t have time to reply before Anna and Joanna came in.
They kicked their shoes onto the mat. “What a week!” moaned Joanna. “I had Nicky home from school two days and now Sam has the same bug! And I’ve got that major presentation for the finance department on Monday!”
“Boy am I glad those days are gone,” said Jodi. “Now the only kid crises I have are the ones I can’t do anything about!” Jodi’s girls were both in high school this year, but Rebekah, Jodi’s youngest, was almost failing. Jodi had told the group at the last meeting that she strongly suspected a drug problem.
“Hey, pie! Did you get this from the church?” Ann pulled up a chair at the table.
“That was brave of you, Jodi,” remarked Clare. “Lucky you didn’t have to stay and make them. Did they mention the teacup?”
“No, I’d already offered to try to replace it but they said you can’t get that pattern anymore. They’ll probably just lock up all the cupboards again.”
“Hi. Sorry I’m late,” Lucy hung her coat on the back of a chair. “By the way, we got another letter about kitchen patrol.” There was a collective moan from the group.
“I don’t see why we can’t just add a couple of hours to Ed’s time. I’d rather pay him to clean the kitchen when he does the rest of the basement.”
“They don’t like that idea. I think they think it’s a huge luxury even to have a caretaker,” said Lucy. “They want each women’s group to take a turn once a month.”
“It makes me feel like Mum is telling me to clean up my room,” said Clare.
“They won’t like the way we clean it either,” Jodi added. “And what if we chip another golden goblet? They’ll probably lock us out of the entire building.”
“Is Janet O’Neill coming tonight?” Lucy figured it was better to change the subject.
“I don’t think so,” Jodi replied. “She doesn’t like to get a babysitter on the weekends the kids are with her.”
“Those are the times she probably most needs a break,” remarked Lucy.
“To tell you the truth, I’m a bit worried about her,” said Anne thoughtfully. “She seems so overwhelmed at the moment.”
“It’s always like that, when you first separate,” said Clare, who had reason to know.
“Yeah, but I mean really overwhelmed,” Anne replied.
“Not like the rest of us who are just average, everyday overwhelmed,” quipped Jodi, but she made a mental note to give Jane a call.
In 1790, Margaret Mead published a remarkable little book called Culture and Commitment in which she outlines what underlies the present generation gap. In previous generations, children and youth learned primarily from their forebears, says Mead. Culture and knowledge were passed on with such unchanging continuity that knowledge would have seemed almost to be inherited. Change was so slow that it was barely perceptible. The old were needed to guide the young; the young learned all they needed to know from the old.
In certain circumstances this traditional mode of passing on culture breaks down. Events such as environmental catastrophe, emigration or the introduction of new technology create situations in which the older generation, once essential to the passing on of knowledge and culture, become in some way redundant or out of step with the changes that have taken place. The old are no longer the experts; they no longer know any more than anyone else how to survive in the new environment. The younger generation is forced to learn and adapt primarily with its own resources. Mead sees this kind of situation as a transition to our present era in which the young, rather than learning from their elders, are in fact teaching the old how to adapt to the rapidly changing world of the technology-driven twenty-first century.
The result is a generation gap. The Naomi’s Daughters workshops gathered United Church women of all ages to reflect on their differences and to explore ways of bridging the gaps in communication and understanding that they experience. What we found is that careful listening, story-telling, acknowledging and appreciating differences rather than judging or ignoring them, working separately as well as together, valuing diversity, and seeking a better understanding of one’s own culture can all help to build common ground.
Alyson C. Huntly is a diaconal minister in the United Church of Canada. She is the author of The Gentle Dark, Daring to be United, and The Painted Trunk, as well as Naomi’s Daughters, all published by the United Church Publishing House. She is available to conduct “Naomi’s Daughters” workshops. She lives in Gloucester, Ontario.
Congregational Life Vol. 7.2 May 2001