Faith at Work
As a tiny child I remember going to church with mom, grandma, granddad, and on special occasions, dad. I was overwhelmed by the service, Roman Catholic, especially when Mass was spoken in Latin, a strange sounding yet strangely comforting monologue. It felt and sounded reverent. We knelt, we crossed ourselves, we sat, we stood with heads bowed, we wore a covering on our head, we dressed in our “Sunday” best, wore our best reserve shoes, and often socialized after Mass in the adjacent grammar school auditorium. All in our brood were taught to be quiet, reverent, respectful in church and in the presence of others in the church surrounds. There was a feel about church that somehow made it a special place.
I grew up in Catholic schools. Oh, those were the days of up staircases and down staircases, no patent leather shoes, sturdy oxfords and starched uniforms that scratched and left little welts around your neck. Grandma used to say that little discomforts of this nature were reminders to be respectful, to be on your best behavior, to be a 'good girl.' Don't misunderstand, I loved dressing up in my uniform and having my hair braided or swept back off my face. I wanted to look my best when I went to school. It was important. The nuns commanded respect and we displayed that respect, so they taught, by being well groomed and well behaved. We knew how to cue quietly and stream into the church adjacent to the school for early morning Mass and other services. Rules were rules and we understood our place. For the most part, we were good children, we knew how to behave and, perhaps because we feared the ruler or – worse yet – the yardstick, behave we did.
High school was the time for stretching the boundaries, for questioning the rules and finding our individuality. We had great times together, this small band of teens who had for the most part grown up together through grammar school and into high school. Several would go on to marry one another after graduation, some have children and grandchildren now attending those same schools. Others, myself included, would move far away and not return for many years. While in high school, I had the opportunity on more than one occasion to visit non-parochial schools and I remember being appalled at the seeming lack of respect for teachers and, more important, lack of self-respect and respect for peers. I can still recall how incredulous I was when a young man stood up and threw something across the room at another student during a history class I was visiting with cousins. I didn't like the feeling of insecurity that prevailed in those less than hallowed halls. I was glad my experience took place in a different setting. It never bothered me that we were viewed as being different by children and then young adults in our neighborhoods. We were a definite minority, with less than ½ of 1% in the state being Catholic.
Our home was in the midst of a Southern Baptist neighborhood and that had its challenges for us as Catholic children. We were often approached by well meaning adults who would insist that we attend Bible summer school or come to Bible Study on Sunday after our own church. My mom told us that our neighbors were just trying to save our souls because it was their belief that we were not part of the chosen few who would go to heaven. I do remember being made to feel somehow dirty and on occasion an outright sinner by some of our neighbors who, according to grandma, meant well. And this was as a young child. I remember these feelings when I talk about my faith with others. I always try to emulate what my grandma and my mother taught us, that we are called to live our faith by our example. They instilled in us at home the same respect and values our nuns had taught us.
Never mind the smooth sailing in high school. College was a whole new set of rules, most of which were just made to be broken or at least bent to an extreme. There were so many changes from any previous experiences that I for one was overwhelmed. I was lucky to have been assigned a roommate with whom I had attended high school so we could compare notes and decide what we thought was the right thing to do. We provided support to one another and that made our trek through 'the real world' of college a bit easier to navigate. I don't recall too many serious incursions.
Ah, then came the workplace. My first job was in the medical records department of a large local hospital. Anyone who knows hospital 'tradition' back 40ish years ago will recall that the medical records departments were typically in the basement, and just as typically the last stop before the morgue. We had three daily shifts in our medical records world. I often worked the 3PM to 11PM shift and would occasionally have to remain for a second shift if our night clerk did not show up for work. Therein was my first lesson in how people view personal responsibility differently, and how our culture, in this case the workplace, can accept such blatant disregard for others without repercussions. Because he was a student, the clerk was allowed to occasionally slip and I or another evening shift worker would have to cover for him through the remainder of the night until the 7AM shift arrived. It was actually 'creepy' wandering around in the darkened halls by the morgue in the middle of the night. Often nursing staff or doctors would literally startle us out of a sleep-deprived stupor to open up our huge electronic files and find a medical record that they needed stat. There were many nights when I didn't feel so forgiving towards my colleague, in fact I was sometimes furious. I did, however, try to keep my feelings to myself out of respect for the medical transcriptionists who also worked the three shifts along with me. We would share the burden of our colleagues negligence, picking up the slack his absence caused and sometimes we'd lapse into quick bursts of griping about this or that injustice or how it seemed he got away with so much while we didn't have that same privilege. Never once did we think to ask him where he'd been or why he'd been absent. And the boss never offered any excuses, only that we were to cover his shift. I know in looking back on those days that he was facing some difficult circumstances that were beyond his control and in fact, only a few years after I left that job I heard that his mom, who had been extremely ill for years, had died. He could have used our prayers rather than our disdain.
Years of working in many different disciplines with varying degrees of responsibility shaped my thinking on this young man. I often wondered just what made him behave as he did and why he was not called to task. I became more convinced that my intuition was correct and that he had somehow been burdened with taking care of his mom and he did it quietly, patiently, and without any obvious support or outside help.
As I began to take on supervisory responsibility I felt my grandma's nudging to lead by example. I would not think of asking someone to do something I myself was not willing to do. I tried to be fair to my team and respectful, while expecting respect in return. One young woman in a more recent job stands out in all my vast years of work experience. She was a rare and beautiful example of faith at work. I believe she was Mormon. She was quite young, in fact many years younger than my own children, when she came to work with us across the country from her home and family. She lived her faith in everything she did. She was always pleasant, cheerful, loving, caring and positive. And she stood firmly behind her belief. Never once did I hear her utter a profanity. In fact, she would gently encourage others not to speak obscenely in her presence. Asking that the offender instead substitute a less harsh or offensive word. One just knew how to behave around her, she commanded respect in a quiet, reverent way. You didn't feel that she was insincere and you didn't feel as though she was preaching. In the two years she worked with us, I never heard her slip and say an unkind thing about anyone. She and I used to talk of our faith often at lunch. She was unwavering, content, a beautiful young woman who was a credit to her beliefs. I wish my grandma and my mom had been here to meet her. They would have said, now there goes a young lady who lives her faith. When you strip away the trappings of tradition, dogma, doctrine, cultural differences, it is after all a matter of faith at work within. Thank you for blessing us, dear one!
I grew up in Catholic schools. Oh, those were the days of up staircases and down staircases, no patent leather shoes, sturdy oxfords and starched uniforms that scratched and left little welts around your neck. Grandma used to say that little discomforts of this nature were reminders to be respectful, to be on your best behavior, to be a 'good girl.' Don't misunderstand, I loved dressing up in my uniform and having my hair braided or swept back off my face. I wanted to look my best when I went to school. It was important. The nuns commanded respect and we displayed that respect, so they taught, by being well groomed and well behaved. We knew how to cue quietly and stream into the church adjacent to the school for early morning Mass and other services. Rules were rules and we understood our place. For the most part, we were good children, we knew how to behave and, perhaps because we feared the ruler or – worse yet – the yardstick, behave we did.
High school was the time for stretching the boundaries, for questioning the rules and finding our individuality. We had great times together, this small band of teens who had for the most part grown up together through grammar school and into high school. Several would go on to marry one another after graduation, some have children and grandchildren now attending those same schools. Others, myself included, would move far away and not return for many years. While in high school, I had the opportunity on more than one occasion to visit non-parochial schools and I remember being appalled at the seeming lack of respect for teachers and, more important, lack of self-respect and respect for peers. I can still recall how incredulous I was when a young man stood up and threw something across the room at another student during a history class I was visiting with cousins. I didn't like the feeling of insecurity that prevailed in those less than hallowed halls. I was glad my experience took place in a different setting. It never bothered me that we were viewed as being different by children and then young adults in our neighborhoods. We were a definite minority, with less than ½ of 1% in the state being Catholic.
Our home was in the midst of a Southern Baptist neighborhood and that had its challenges for us as Catholic children. We were often approached by well meaning adults who would insist that we attend Bible summer school or come to Bible Study on Sunday after our own church. My mom told us that our neighbors were just trying to save our souls because it was their belief that we were not part of the chosen few who would go to heaven. I do remember being made to feel somehow dirty and on occasion an outright sinner by some of our neighbors who, according to grandma, meant well. And this was as a young child. I remember these feelings when I talk about my faith with others. I always try to emulate what my grandma and my mother taught us, that we are called to live our faith by our example. They instilled in us at home the same respect and values our nuns had taught us.
Never mind the smooth sailing in high school. College was a whole new set of rules, most of which were just made to be broken or at least bent to an extreme. There were so many changes from any previous experiences that I for one was overwhelmed. I was lucky to have been assigned a roommate with whom I had attended high school so we could compare notes and decide what we thought was the right thing to do. We provided support to one another and that made our trek through 'the real world' of college a bit easier to navigate. I don't recall too many serious incursions.
Ah, then came the workplace. My first job was in the medical records department of a large local hospital. Anyone who knows hospital 'tradition' back 40ish years ago will recall that the medical records departments were typically in the basement, and just as typically the last stop before the morgue. We had three daily shifts in our medical records world. I often worked the 3PM to 11PM shift and would occasionally have to remain for a second shift if our night clerk did not show up for work. Therein was my first lesson in how people view personal responsibility differently, and how our culture, in this case the workplace, can accept such blatant disregard for others without repercussions. Because he was a student, the clerk was allowed to occasionally slip and I or another evening shift worker would have to cover for him through the remainder of the night until the 7AM shift arrived. It was actually 'creepy' wandering around in the darkened halls by the morgue in the middle of the night. Often nursing staff or doctors would literally startle us out of a sleep-deprived stupor to open up our huge electronic files and find a medical record that they needed stat. There were many nights when I didn't feel so forgiving towards my colleague, in fact I was sometimes furious. I did, however, try to keep my feelings to myself out of respect for the medical transcriptionists who also worked the three shifts along with me. We would share the burden of our colleagues negligence, picking up the slack his absence caused and sometimes we'd lapse into quick bursts of griping about this or that injustice or how it seemed he got away with so much while we didn't have that same privilege. Never once did we think to ask him where he'd been or why he'd been absent. And the boss never offered any excuses, only that we were to cover his shift. I know in looking back on those days that he was facing some difficult circumstances that were beyond his control and in fact, only a few years after I left that job I heard that his mom, who had been extremely ill for years, had died. He could have used our prayers rather than our disdain.
Years of working in many different disciplines with varying degrees of responsibility shaped my thinking on this young man. I often wondered just what made him behave as he did and why he was not called to task. I became more convinced that my intuition was correct and that he had somehow been burdened with taking care of his mom and he did it quietly, patiently, and without any obvious support or outside help.
As I began to take on supervisory responsibility I felt my grandma's nudging to lead by example. I would not think of asking someone to do something I myself was not willing to do. I tried to be fair to my team and respectful, while expecting respect in return. One young woman in a more recent job stands out in all my vast years of work experience. She was a rare and beautiful example of faith at work. I believe she was Mormon. She was quite young, in fact many years younger than my own children, when she came to work with us across the country from her home and family. She lived her faith in everything she did. She was always pleasant, cheerful, loving, caring and positive. And she stood firmly behind her belief. Never once did I hear her utter a profanity. In fact, she would gently encourage others not to speak obscenely in her presence. Asking that the offender instead substitute a less harsh or offensive word. One just knew how to behave around her, she commanded respect in a quiet, reverent way. You didn't feel that she was insincere and you didn't feel as though she was preaching. In the two years she worked with us, I never heard her slip and say an unkind thing about anyone. She and I used to talk of our faith often at lunch. She was unwavering, content, a beautiful young woman who was a credit to her beliefs. I wish my grandma and my mom had been here to meet her. They would have said, now there goes a young lady who lives her faith. When you strip away the trappings of tradition, dogma, doctrine, cultural differences, it is after all a matter of faith at work within. Thank you for blessing us, dear one!
posted by Angelfish at 11:05 PM
<< Home