In the early days of motherhood, I found myself taking an interest in the steady stream of ads and apps that promised to help my husband and me stay on top of our piling-up chores. Seemingly every household task could be subcontracted for a fee — offers to pick up, clean and fold our laundry; handymen to put together new furniture; sleep experts to sleep-train our toddler; a bevy of meal-kit purveyors, each vying for my attention with promotional postcards and sign-up bonuses.
I was becoming immersed in a self-help world of books, essays and podcasts that encouraged busy parents with full-time careers to outsource as much as they could to optimize what truly mattered to them — in my case, being really good at my job and having the maximum level of quality time with my family and friends. I no longer wanted to return home after a long day of work to cook a meal for the family (or have my husband do it either). And if outsourcing domestic labor meant having less money, it also meant doing less of what I didn’t want to do so that I could do more of what I did want to do.
We have a modern-day obsession with efficiency. Market research projects that 80 percent of dual-income households in America will use some kind of cleaning service in the coming years. And though there have been precipitous fluctuations in growth rates, share prices and usage statistics (especially during and after the pandemic), the gig economy, which includes convenience platforms like Grubhub, TaskRabbit and Instacart, has seen consistent growth in recent years.
It wasn’t until I read “The Wisdom Way of Knowing,” by Cynthia Bourgeault, an Episcopal priest, that I began to wonder if something was getting lost in our culture’s emphasis on time management. In the book, Ms. Bourgeault describes her rationale for how she organized a retreat for participants seeking to deepen their spirituality: “On Eagle Island, certainly, we could have doubled the instructional time and hired out the cooking and chores. It would have been vastly more efficient. The only problem — at least if the road maps we were following are correct — is that none of the sacred alchemy would have taken place.”
Such an idea isn’t new; it finds its roots in many ancient spiritual traditions, including the Christian tradition of the Benedictine monastic order. Indeed, it lies at the heart of the unofficial Latin motto of the Benedictines, “Ora et labora” (“pray and work”).
As Western Europe fell into political and cultural disarray during the early Middle Ages after the fall of the Roman Empire, some scholars claim that the Benedictines served as a steady but silent pillar through their devotion to “Ora et labora.” The Benedictines introduced cutting-edge agricultural methods that their neighbors were unfamiliar with, helping them to cultivate wastelands for food and welfare. And during a time when a majority of the continent was illiterate, the Benedictines promoted literacy and preserved classic manuscripts, laying the foundation for European universities. When the monks weren’t laboring in the fields or copying manuscripts, they were engaging in their regular spiritual practices of chanting, lectio divina (a contemplative method of reading the Bible) and meditation.
Today, Benedictine communities could outsource their domestic labor with the proceeds from visitors who go on retreats in their monasteries — but they don’t. On my recent visit to the Prince of Peace Abbey, a Benedictine monastery in Oceanside, Calif., I asked one of the brothers why it was so important for them to hang on to their domestic responsibilities when most of us find them to get in the way of more fulfilling and meaningful pursuits. He responded that their labor was a form of their bodies praying, in that way strengthening their spirituality.
The birth of my second child coincided with the start of the Covid pandemic, which led me to go on an 18-month family leave that far exceeded the standard eight-week leave I took with my first. As such, I got to experience life as a stay-at-home mom. I missed the professional growth my career provided but was distracted by the number of hours it takes to run a household where the family is fed, the house is put together, homework is completed, extracurriculars are attended and social lives are maintained.
A bit over a year into my second family leave, I was asked to consider becoming the senior pastor of a local church. “I just don’t know how I would juggle both,” I confided to a friend who was a full-time college professor and mom with kids the same ages as mine.
I am indebted to her for instilling confidence in me to take on a new role at a time when any more responsibilities seemed especially daunting. “I find that being a mom makes me a better professor,” she said. “The time away from work, when I’m with the kids, watching them at the playground or folding their laundry, is where my brain synthesizes all the information I receive at work or come up with ideas for my writing and research.” Her words instantly resonated with me. The idea for a book struck me like a lightning bolt when I was out on a walk with my newborn. I figured out a way forward in a gridlocked argument with my mom while I was washing the dishes.
Scientific studies provide evidence for this phenomenon. Researchers have found that we’re more likely to overcome a relational or work-related impasse not when we are hunched over our desks in rapt concentration or collaborating in a Zoom meeting, but rather on breaks when we do boring activities or when our minds wander. Approximately one-fifth of our most creative ideas emerge during those times. These studies also point out the harmful effects of mind-wandering, like when we get absorbed in negative thinking patterns; generative mind-wandering needs to be of an uplifting, playful sort.
Ms. Bourgeault’s theory that we must activate and nourish all three modes of learning — mind, heart and body — allows us to deepen our wisdom and spirituality. Our minds need intellectual stimulation, our hearts need to grow in emotional awareness and empathy, and our bodies need to labor for the well-being of ourselves and others. A life of pure leisure and contemplation (or the opposite, of constant labor) is lopsided, stifling healthy growth and development. I smile when I think of one of the Benedictine monks wearing his apron over his brown robe and serving the dinner he made for all 48 of us visitors between midday prayer and evening Compline.
There are still days (many days, in fact) when I resent household chores. When I’m picking up my kids’ scattered socks and shoes so that I can sweep the crumb-covered floor after they’ve gone to bed, I’m more likely to mutter curse words than have eureka epiphanies. And there are seasons when I need more outsourced help, like after the birth of my second child.
Yet I now approach my domestic labor differently. While I used to consider the work I needed to do around the house utterly expendable, I now see it as integral for my and my family’s happiness. Through my body’s daily offering, I bear witness to the belief that my private sphere is just as worthy of my attention as my public sphere and that my inner life is just as worthy of my care and labor as my outer one. And with each sock I put away, I trust that a sacred alchemy is unfurling.
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