shame

I bought these shoes because they were cute, even if they didn't quite fit.
I finally admitted it was a bad idea and sold them.

Let's talk about shame.  You know those places in our lives where we feel ugly, stupid, useless, imperfect, slow, and lazy?  Those things we don't like to talk about?  Those are the places where shame can live.  In general, I am not a person who carries a lot of shame.  For the most part, I love the gift that is my life and bounce joyously into each new day (well, in the mornings I usually drag myself around sluggishly for a few hours, but by mid-afternoon I am close to bouncing).  However, the past few months I have felt a growing dread and dis-ease; it was shame and I didn't even know I was carrying it.  I finally realised it about 2 weeks ago when I saw it in another human being and identified with it.  Now, we all know that shame is counterproductive which is why none of us consciously goes the store, picks up a giant box of shame, pays for it with a flourish, and then displays it proudly in our lives.  No, shame likes to hide and it convinces us that we should hide ourselves as well.  It can seep into those cracks where we are not whole, where we feel insecure, where we are hurt, where we doubt, where we compare ourselves to others, and where we have lost hope.  And by covering it up, we give it space to grow.  

I could talk about a number of things of which I am mildly ashamed:  my changing body, my aging skin, my not-so-perfect teeth, my inability to look and act professional, my lack of knowledge in my field of study, my recent rejection from a publisher, not acquiring funding for three consecutive years, my forgetfulness, my meandering lack of career path over my life, my poor French-speaking ability despite years of lessons, my lack of discipline in eating and exercise, my tendency to sleep late...  you get the point. Some of these things are out of my control, so I just need to learn to embrace them instead of measuring myself against unrealistic expectations of perfection.  Other things on the list I can definitely do something about, but for whatever reason, I don't.  Most days these small things don't get me down because I realise that they are just part of life and in the grand scheme of things, nothing to complain about.  But one thing has been increasingly weighing me down: my inability to make any significant progress on a current reading list.  In preparation for my comprehensive exams in fall, I have to read over 60 titles.  After compiling the list (in consultation with my supervisors) in January, I figured I could get through about one-sixth of the list (10 titles) by the end of April.  Well, to date, I have read 2 titles.  There it is.  My shame.  I have several good excuses, but it doesn't matter.  What matters is that I feel like an incompetent loser.

The thing about shame is that it is relatively easy to displace through openness, forgiveness, implementing specific, realistic expectations, and engaging in positive action.  Last Friday night, I was talking to some fellow scholars/students at a Religion conference and one of the doctoral students mentioned that she was starting to tackle the reading for her comprehensive exams.  I spoke up and said that I was doing the same and finding it hard to get traction (that's as close as I ever got to admitting my shame).  A professor who was in on the conversation said that what she had done was chart out the entire reading list on a large calendar, writing in what she needed to read each day.  I nodded at the idea, calm and thoughtful on the outside, while inside I was screaming "I have to do this!  This will get me out of the hole!"  On Monday, I printed out calendars of the next few months and began to break down my reading list.  It took a fair amount of work because I had to confirm the length of books, the contents of chapters, and make sure I had access to all of the titles.  And yes, the guilt of not doing any reading that day because I found another "important" task to do was biting at my ankles, but I kept at it until I had a plan for the next month.  On Tuesday, I read the pages I had assigned for that day and after I finished, I completed the rest of the monthly charts, working late into the evening to complete them.  Today, I once again read all the pages assigned and was delighted to have a bit of time for some writing and editing tasks that I have been meaning to get to.  I am starting to think that I can actually do this!  And I no longer have to talk vaguely about my reading list; I know exactly when I will be done and how I will accomplish it, a bit later than I had hoped, but probably more realistic and productive.

A few thoughts regarding my experience.  

1. The first step in getting rid of shame is to get it out in the open.  Shame keeps you beating up on yourself with no end in sight, and the only way to get a more truthful perspective (and get free) is to let trustworthy people into that place. Then repent and accept forgiveness for getting stuck there.

2. The second step is to get help (again, from those you trust).  Shame focuses on the problem and never offers any viable way forward.  Find others who have dealt with similar problems and ask them how they got through it.  It is possible, it is always possible to find a way out.  

3. The third step is to act:  get a plan, be specific, be realistic, and then follow it, one day at a time.  Shame keeps us hiding, paralyzed, stuck.  Sometimes (this is what I tend to do) putting unrealistic expectations on ourselves without a specific and realistic plan sets us up to fail.  And when we fall short of this "perfect" plan, we feel like a failure and - bam - there's shame banging on our door.  

In case some of you think this sounds a bit like the 12-step program, you are not far wrong.  Here is a story I read last week recounted by Brennan Manning (in his book Ragamuffin Gospel) about a man named Phil who spoke up at an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.  It grabbed my attention.

"As you all know, last week I went up to Pennsylvania to visit family and missed the meeting.  You also know I have been sober for seven years.  Last Monday I got drunk and stayed drunk for five days."  The only sound in the room was the drip of Mr. Coffee in the corner.  "You all know the buzz word, H.A.L.T., in this program," he continued.  "Don't let yourself get hungry, angry, lonely, or tired or you will be very vulnerable for the first drink.  The last three got to me.  I unplugged the jug and..."  Phil's voice choked and he lowered his head.  I glanced around the table - moist eyes, tears of compassion, soft sobbing the only sound in the room. 

[ Others responded:]

"The same thing happened to me, Phil, but I stayed drunk for a year."

"Thank God you're back."

"Boy, that took a lot of guts."

"Relapse spells relief, Phil," said a substance abuse counselor.  "Let's get together tomorrow and figure out what you needed relief from and why."

"I'm so proud of you."

"Hell, I never made even close to seven years."
As the meeting ended, Phil stood up. He felt a hand on his shoulder, another on his face.  Then kisses on his eyes, forehead, neck and cheek. 

"You old ragamuffin," said Denise.  "Let's go. I'm treating you to a banana split at Tastee Freeze."

That's what happens when we stop hiding and reveal our shame to loving, trustworthy people.  We find a supportive community that wants to help us move forward.  

indirect learning

I meant to capture the window display, but got the streetview instead.

Hans Urs von Balthasar is "my guy."  And by this I mean that the Swiss theologian is at the core of my doctoral studies.  Frankly, a lot of the time I don't get what he's saying.  His ridiculously broad base of knowledge in pretty much every field of the humanities leaves me in the dust.  Nevertheless, when I am reading one of his more than 60 books, every few pages or so I come across something that strikes at the heart of the matter and I utter a "Yes!" and feel a slight shift in my thinking, like another piece of the puzzle falling into place.  More recently, I have begun to read a series of articles by 15 scholars compiled into a book entitled:  How Balthasar Changed my Mind.  This companion to Balthasar's writing has been delightful because of its easy, accessible style, and its ability to break Balthasar's incredible theological contribution into bite-sized pieces. It is written by scholars who, in essence, invite you to sit with them while they regale you with stories and explain profound and complex concepts in conversational language.  Though I am appreciating and understanding Balthasar more than ever through these writings, I am perhaps equally impressed with the skill of these scholars to transform a difficult subject into a friend.

How do they do it?  I believe some of the most effective teaching methods are the ones which result in indirect or accidental learning.  In other words, something is "caught" or "rubs off on" a student rather than being directly taught.  Here are some of my observations on a few of the effective teaching skills exhibited by these writers.  While there is nothing really new here in regard to educational methodology in general, it is of particular interest to me because these methods are not always evident in a field such as theology.

1.  Modeling ongoing learning.  In the introduction, Larry S. Chapp writes: "I will never make any pretense to truly understanding the full scope of Balthasar's theology or the intellectual currents of thought to which he was responding."  Phew!  Thanks, Larry!  I thought I was the only one who was relatively clueless!  When I read this, I immediately felt less pressure to "get it" and more relaxed about my topic.  A good teacher knows how to lower stress levels, and very often this is done by letting the student see the teacher's own process, incomplete as it may be.  An honest "I don't know" can go a long way when inviting others along on a journey of diligent learning; it can also significantly reduce the immense pressure to understand it all.  As a result, the amount of energy that might have been wasted in stressful worry and coping with feelings of inadequacy can now be harnessed for productive and creative learning.

2.  Incorporating humour.  One of my favourite anecdotes in the book is from Larry S. Chapp's time in minor seminary when he was struggling with the theological understanding of the modern world.  One of his teachers, a "curmudgeonly German and a convert from Judaism," called him into his office and tossed a copy of Balthasar's Love Alone is Credible on the desk.  The young Chapp asked, "Who is this guy?"  The teacher responded:  "Never mind that.  Just read it.  It will make you less stupid."  I laughed out loud when I read this.  There is something to be said for humour in the learning process.  Humour opens a back door, it seems, where truths and insights can slip in almost unnoticed while our mouths are open in laughter and our minds are skipping in delight.  Suddenly, we find ourselves poked in the ribs, and we see or know something that just a laugh ago we didn't. In addition, anything learned through humour is more memorable, and due to the enjoyment factor, provides a pretty powerful incentive to continue learning.  Humour produces openness and openness is the beginning of learning.

3.  Showing instead of just telling.  Much of learning (especially theology and philosophy) can rely heavily on passing on information in a rather straightforward, unadorned manner.  But true teaching, in my opinion, always "puts on skin."  Martin Bieler writes about being a high school student in Basel and buying a few of Balthasar's books from a local bookstore.  The bookseller noticed his interest and told him that the theologian lived not far away.  Bieler bravely wrote to Balthasar and the great scholar immediately responded with an invitation for Bieler to visit him at his home.  At their first meeting, Bieler was struck by Balthasar's friendliness, his childlike ability to be astonished at things, and his willingness to spend time discussing various topics with a young man interested in theology.  Bieler says that he never left Balthasar's house without being given a book, very often from the theologian's own publishing house.  It is apparent that Bieler's generous and meticulous interpretations of Balthasar's work are based on his encounter with a generous and meticulous man.

I want to be a teacher that offers a lot of opportunities for students to learn in these ways.  Most of the time, it just means being myself and being open and unafraid.  May life be filled with many moments of indirect and accidental learning sprinkled liberally throughout the more deliberate exercises which are required of us.

"Balthasar has always acted like an intellectual antihistamine that simply allows me to clear my mind of clutter and to see things more clearly." - Larry S. Chapp

Quotes taken from Rodney A. Howsare and Larry S. Chapp, eds.  How Balthasar Changed My Mind: 15 Scholars Reflect on the Meaning of Balthasar for Their Own Work.  New York:  Crossroad Publishing, 2008.

beyond faithfulness

I have been reading Gregory Boyle's Tattoos on the Heart.  It is filled with stories from the Catholic priest's twenty years of working with gang members in central LA, an area known for its high concentration of gang-related murders.  The stories of founding Homeboy Industries and offering gang members an alternative lifestyle are inspiring, funny, touching, and they garner my deep respect for all that Boyle and his staff and volunteers do for their community.  And the love and patience with which they do it.  But as poignant as the stories are, I don't totally identify with them.  After all, gang life in central LA is pretty far removed from theology studies in Montreal. 

And then I came to the chapter called "Success."  And things got close to home real fast. Boyle begins with these words:  "People want me to tell them success stories.  I understand this.  They are the stories you want to tell, after all.  So why does my scalp tighten whenever I am asked this?  Surely, part of it comes from being utterly convinced that I'm a fraud."  Yes, indeed.  Homeboy Industries, a non-profit organization, relies on funding to meet its operating budget (about 1/3 of the funds come from their businesses which employ ex-gang members: businesses like a café, a bakery, a screen-printing shop, a graffiti removal crew, etc.).  And funders like to see evidence-based outcomes; in other words, success stories.  Boyle goes on to tell stories with heartbreaking endings, stories where gang members take one step forward and two back, stories where innocent bystanders catch bullets, stories where mothers are undone with grief and small children are left motherless.  They are not pleasant stories and yet, they need to be told. 

Boyle quotes Mother Teresa:  "We are not called to be successful, but faithful."  And this distinction, he writes, is necessary to weather the ebb and flow of his vocation, and I would add, of life.  Boyle continues: "If you surrender your need for results and outcomes, success becomes God's business.  I find it hard enough to just be faithful."  And here is where it gets really real for me.  I spar with the "results and outcomes" monster fairly regularly, and though he bloodies my nose on occasion, he usually loses the fight.  However, faithfulness, whom I have long considered a close friend and ally, seems to have become distant in the past few months.  I carry guilt over my lack of diligence in my schoolwork, fret over my lack of consistent writing, chide myself over my slowness to tackle a reading list, feel numb about my lack of self-discipline in prayer, and struggle with small doubts about my ability to teach, my worthiness as a scholar, my desirability as a wife, and my ability to effectively assume a leading role in a faith community.  At times life doesn't feel like success, and I'm okay with that.  But if I lose a grip on faithfulness...

"Success and failure, ultimately, have little to do with living the gospel," Boyle says. "Jesus just stood with the outcasts until they were welcomed or until he was crucified - whichever came first."  This slipping of faithfulness, then, however big or small it may be (and I realize in the grand scheme of things mine is rather small), has opened up an unlikely opportunity for me: to stand with the faithless and say, "I know" instead of standing in judgment and saying, "I'm disappointed."  As long as I can remember, I have stood on the side of the faithful and never on the side of the faithless.  Aside from very brief moments, I have never felt the guilt, the powerlessness, the fatigue, the inertia.  All Jesus asks, Father Boyle suggests, is "Where are you standing?"  Today, I am standing in an uncomfortable, unfamiliar place, the place of the less than faithful.  Perhaps it is a place of greater grace than I previously thought.  Perhaps it is a place to identify with (instead of look down on) the "difficult and belligerent."  Perhaps it is a place to witness the "slow work of God" from the inside.  It is no surprise that even here, I find Jesus standing with me saying, "I know." 

other

Table of food: Christmas dinner with my family

I try to live by the motto that life is not about issues, but about relationships.  As a result of this, I don't engage much with hot topics or comment much on world events or what's on the news.  Frankly, I usually have very little to add to the conversation, other than to ask God for grace, help, healing, and wholeness.  Coming down on one side or the other of an issue is never that helpful, I find.  However, a few things I have read lately about how some Christian groups are condemning, excluding, and judging certain people have pained me deeply.  As a result, I have begun to do some thinking about how we treat others.  And by "others" I mean those whom we disagree with, those whom we don't understand, those whom we don't like, those whom we think are a blight on society, etc. You know who I'm talking about. 

Since I profess to follow God, I believe that I should learn how to treat others by looking at how God treats others.  Let me begin with a brief look at holiness (thanks to James Patrick Holding and Jo Bailey Wells for the following points which I have adapted).
1) Holiness means uniqueness.  No one and nothing else is like God.  Being made in God's image means that we, as humans, carry some of this uniqueness.  And that which is unique requires unique accommodation: it is to be treated with special care and attention.  This explains some of the rigorous directives given regarding the worship of God and the care of the temple items.
2) Holiness means belonging to God.  Someone or something is holy because of their association with a holy God.
3) Holiness means living with God. Not only is holiness about being associated with God, it is about being in the presence of God.  In other words, the closer the association, the more intimate the connection, the more holiness comes into play.  This means that holiness is linked to the characteristics of God, two of which are purity (100% wholeness, no mixed ingredients) and light (no darkness).
4) Holiness radiates outward.  While holiness is, in a sense, a boundary that separates God from everything else, holiness is not closed off.  Holiness, like light, glows and radiates outward.

To this holy God, then, everything and everyone is other.  However, when we look at Genesis 1-2, we see a God who is invitational.  Though God is complete and self-sufficient, having need of nothing or no one, he invites the "other" into existence.  This is the creation story.  God also generously invites the "other" into companionship (Genesis 2).  This companionship involves freedom of choice, so we see God inviting the "other" to exercise their will.  When the different wills clash, a rift develops in the relationship (Genesis 3).  God then invites the "other" to be restored and makes a way to repair the relationship.  What follows in the rest of the books of the Bible is the continuing story of this restoration with all its ups and downs.  In Genesis 12, God invites the "other" into a covenant, a mutual relationship which has the following phrase echoing throughout the history of the Israelites: "I will be your God and you will be my people" (Exodus 6). 

This covenant includes three elements: invitation, promises, and boundaries.  God invites the "other" into relationship.  This relationship carries with it mutual promises and defines the places of meeting.  For example, if I invite Bob over for dinner tonight at 7 pm and he accepts, I am basically making a promise to have food prepared and he is promising to be present.  Being in a mutual agreement also means that other things which are in conflict with this agreement are excluded.  Bob can't be somewhere else eating at someone else's table at 7 pm tonight because that would be in conflict with our agreement.  The boundaries of our agreement also mean that when Bob is eating at my table, at my invitation, he agrees to abide by the basic etiquette of his host.  He does not throw food, he does not stab any of the other guests with his butter knife, nor does pick up someone else's chair and toss it out the window.  It's my table and not "anything goes" at my table.

The last point I want to add here is something I read in a blog by Richard Beck.  He talks about recovering our identity as Gentiles.  What this means is that we must never forget that we are not "by nature" the children of God.  We have been chosen and adopted.  We are the branches that have been grafted onto the tree.  We, who were outsiders, have been given the great gift of being invited into relationship with God.  We sometimes forget that our inclusion at the table of God was shocking and offensive at the time of Jesus.  Many of the ones already at the table (the Jews) were not impressed with this development, and quite a few of the letters written in the New Testament address this issue of who is "in" and who is not. 

So how does all of this relate to how we treat others?  First, all of creation has been invited to the table of God.  God, in his generosity, excludes no one from the invitation.  However, not everyone responds to the invitation and pulls up a chair (enters into a mutual agreement to be God's and make God their own).  Those who have responded to the invitation must not forget that this is not their table; they have not issued the invitation so they have no authority to exclude someone or demand behaviour tailored to their own personal preference.  What happens around the table (boundaries or guidelines) is determined by the host.  As at any feast, we are not to throw the food on the floor and stomp on it (not treat our gifts and resources with carelessness or disdain).  We are not to take up our butter knives and stab those sitting beside us (not harm fellow human beings).  And we are not to heave someone else's chair out the window (not deny someone else a seat at the table).  We are all outsiders.  We are all invited.  Everyone is welcome, but not anything goes. 

Let me always remember that I am the "other" and any connection I have with God is a gift, a generous, undeserved gift.  If God is invitational, I must be invitational.  What does that look like in my life?

do it again!

Buds on a tree this morning

I saw my first bud on a tree today.  Well, not exactly my first, because I have seen them before, but it was my first sighting this year.  It has been an extended winter and it feels like the whole earth is straining to catch a glimpse of the spring sun and feel its warm, nourishing rays again.  I know I am. 

Today I was reading G.K. Chesterton and Kathleen Norris.  Both of them have developed a gift for seeing the playful and holy presence of Christ in moments that many of us dismiss as mundane and ordinary.  Chesterton writes about the sun rising every morning in response to the call of the Spirit of God to "Do it again!"  He calls this repetition in nature a theatrical, heavenly encore. 

Similarly, Norris speaks about the mindless tasks of laundry and washing dishes as invitations to enter the temple of "holy leisure."  She says there is sacred potential in the necessity of repetition when we see these actions as occasions for renewal and playful abandon.  As children, we were excited by repetition, not bored by it.  We wanted to do things like play peek-a-boo, skip down the street, jump on the bed, or run into our dad's arms over and over again in order to keep on drinking from the deep well of joyful abandon we found in these particular activities.

Chesterton mourns the loss of this appetite for joy:  "For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony.  But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony.  It is possible that God says every morning, 'Do it again' to the sun; and every evening, 'Do it again' to the moon.  It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them.  It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we."

Similarly, Norris praises the simple rituals built into human existence:  "Each day brings with it not only the necessity of eating but the renewal of our love of and in God.  This may sound like a simple thing, but it is not easy to maintain faith, hope or love in the everyday. ... As a human being, Jesus Christ was as subject to the daily as any of us.  And I see both the miracle of manna and incarnation of Jesus Christ as scandals.  They suggest that God is intimately concerned with our very bodies and their needs, and I doubt that this is really what we want to hear.  Our bodies fail us, they grow old, flabby and feeble, and eventually they lead us to the cross.  We want life to have meaning, we want fulfillment, healing and even ecstasy, but the human paradox is that we find these things by starting where we are, not where we wish we were.  We must look for blessings to come from unlikely, everyday places - out of Galilee, as it were - and not in spectacular events."

Our lives are filled with ordinary tasks we do over and over again.  Often they become so much a part of our ritual that we forget that we do them.  Dean is always asking, "Did I close the garage door?"  He did, but he doesn't remember; it has become a mindless habit.  I try not to engage in mindless activities, but it is difficult.  The nature of human life is that we need to eat, sleep, wash, work, drive, and do a multitude of things like climbing the stairs and putting on our clothes thousands of times.  It is not easy to be excited about every dish I wash or every shirt I iron.  Chesterton writes about "wilful miracles." By this he means that those characteristics of nature which we suppose are automatic are perhaps the wilful (and joyful) enactments of someone's desire.  The fact that a bird lays an egg every time and not a fish is a "wilful miracle," a sign that someone is watchfully and wondrously enacting a beautiful and creative work over and over again.  Because he delights in it.

Yes, I would like my life to be day after day of "wilful miracles," of wondrous works done over and over again with great joy and beauty.  Let me exult in the daily rituals which invite me to participate in renewal, love, and this grand thing called life.  Let me rejoice over every bud as much as the first one I see.

Quotes from G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy and Kathleen Norris, The Quotidian Mysteries.

a bottle of water

The bottle of water I bought this morning

On my way to class this morning I stopped to buy a bottle of water.  I always go to the same coffee shop because it is convenient, well-priced, and I want to support the new management which seems to be trying really hard to change the mediocre reputation the place had before.  Anyway, this morning I walked up to the counter and waited for the server who was busy tidying something up at the back of the serving station. 

As I was waiting, another person walked up to the counter and stood on my right, closer to the server.  I watched as the server turned, greeted the other person, took their order, and made her way to the cash register (where I was standing) to complete the transaction.  I felt my mouth drop open and my head shake ever so slightly, my annoyance at being overlooked coming through in my body language.  I was here first, lady! 

The server smiled at me and indicated that she would take my order while the other person was fishing for money in their purse.  I avoided her smile, pouting over the slight I felt at not being served first.  And yes, I delayed giving her my order because I was annoyed at not getting prompt service.  It makes no sense at all, I know.  Shooting myself in the foot, as they say.  It was then that I realised I was being absolutely ridiculous, so I gave her my order.  In fact, the server and I said the words "a bottle of water" at the same time because she knows what I always get.  When she returned with the water, I gave her the money, a small tip, and a smile.  As I walked away, I reprimanded myself for taking offense at something so small:  "Really?  You're going to get upset over a simple thing like that?  You were distracted when you came in, you know, on your iPhone, so perhaps the server did not think you were ready to order.  And the other person was very decisive and quick, you have to admit.  No need to take it out on the server who was only doing her job and doing it with a smile."  Okay.  I let it go. 

Due to some childhood experiences, I can be sensitive to being overlooked, and sometimes I still react inappropriately to situations that trigger feelings of unimportance, smallness, and insignificance.  Thankfully, most of the time I catch myself and make a choice to respond with understanding and patience instead of taking offense where none is meant.

This morning we had a guest speaker in class and she talked about the great freedom we all have: the freedom to love in all circumstances.  No one can take this choice away from us.  In good times and in bad, whether we are enjoying great success or things are being taken away from us, whether people love us and praise our efforts or they hate and despise us.  In every instance, we always have the choice to respond in love, offering kindness, grace, and a smile.  May I take advantage of this incredible gift of freedom more often.  Even when buying a bottle of water.

grading blues

On campus in summer

Last week I finished grading research essays written by my first year university students.  It is not one of my favourite tasks, I have to admit.  Oh, it starts out well enough.  As I read the first few papers I am filled with hope, eager to discover what the students have unearthed in their excavation of facts, texts, and philosophies.  However, by the end I am usually deflated, discouraged, and never want to see another essay.  After hours of grading, the mere misuse of a comma, an improper citation of a source, or a paragraph that extends longer than a page makes me grind my teeth, emit a primitive groan, and reach for another square of chocolate.  I get so tired of trying to decipher what students are trying to say and having to hack my way through a jungle of incoherent words (is there a point somewhere in it all?), that I want to put a big X on the page and tell them to start over.  In English this time, please.  But I don't.

Of course, there are always a few eloquent, well-structured, and thoughtfully researched essays which prevent me from losing my sanity, but they are few and far between.  I try to grade with mercy, remembering that a research essay is one of the most difficult assignments students will ever be asked to complete, but after awhile, even pity can't hold back the frustration that I feel building inside me when student after student seems to lack the ability to write a clear thesis or compose a topic sentence or follow a simple style guide.

The only thing worse than grading substandard papers is seeing the disappointment, shock, sadness, and demoralization on students' faces when they receive a low mark.  The last thing I want to do is demotivate students, but I can't give marks away for free.  I want them all to do well, I really do (what teacher doesn't?), so there is nothing quite so depressing as seeing a demotivated and deflated student, crestfallen and doubting their abilities.  But the fact remains that writing a research essay is demanding.  It requires a lot of diligence, attention to detail, clear thinking, hard work, extensive reading, careful editing, and most of all, practice.  And not everyone in a first year university course has had that practice.

Evaluating student's work against a static rubric is not ideal, I know.  But neither is being dishonest about the students' abilities to follow directions nor inflating their self-confidence when they have underdeveloped, superficial self-learning skills (good research is the foundation of self-learning).  I realise that part of the problem with the grading process is that it makes me feel like a bad teacher.  I am not perfect, but I am not a bad teacher.  I care about my students, I try to give them all the tools they need to learn, I try to make the study of theology accessible while preserving its mysterious and ineffable nature, and I use a lot of different teaching techniques that allow the students to come at the material from a number of angles (and keeps us from getting bored in class). 

Sometimes I (and probably my students) need a few reminders about the nature of learning. 
1.  Learning is not about getting a good grade, but about knowing more than I did at the beginning of the process.
2.  Learning takes time and never ends, so be patient. 
3.  Never compare myself (or a student) to others; this never ends well.  Either one gets inflated by a high standing (overconfident, proud, perhaps an increased pressure to perform well) or one is discouraged by a low standing (which is demotivating and can make one want to give up). 
4.  If I do something, do it to the best of my ability at the time.  Next time or the time after that, I will undoubtedly do it better.
5.  Appreciate lessons learned by correction (or error).  These are hard, but I won't forget them.
6.  Learning is a privileged journey.  Not everyone has ready access to resources like we do.  Not everyone has a positive and supportive learning environment like I do. Be thankful.
7.  Learning goes hand in hand with discernment, so make sure wisdom is part of any learning process; it's more than just getting an assignment right or doing well on a test.
8.  Be kind to your fellow learners (students).  At times one has to be firm, but one never has to be unkind.

Here are a few wise words from Proverbs 15:
Whoever heeds life-giving correction will be at home among the wise.  Those who disregard discipline despise themselves, but the one who heeds correction gains understanding.  Wisdom's instruction is to fear the Lord, and humility comes before honor.