Cleanliness and Godliness
Reflections on their virtues and shadows
“Cleanliness is next to Godliness.”
— John Wesley, 1791
I feel pain, shame, and turmoil within the deeper context of this aphorism. Cleanliness infused every cell in my childhood as compulsively practiced by my European-born mother. It pains me to recall that Mama attended to the sanitation of her entire house, to the exclusion of demonstrating affection, attention, and love to her five children.
Only in my present mind’s eye do I recognize that my mother possessed only few life affirming or joyful periods in her life given that she was a product of German ancestry, adherence to Hitler, and the heinous World War II trauma.
When she met my father in 1946 in Berlin, he provided an escape route from Germany to America, although it would be a loveless transition. Faced with the rigors of ultimately five children, social isolation, little money, and few friends, she exerted control in the only way available to her towards inanimate objects within her environment — countertops, floors, and all furniture surfaces. I believe that Mr. Wesley associated cleanliness with purity of the heart and soul, and this did not resonate with my mom.
My mother’s life was not fertile ground for developing a sense of connectedness to a higher power or any spiritual figure or practice. Mama, having been a Lutheran in Germany chose not to join my Father’s devout Catholic practices. During Lent, we would kneel at home and recite the rosary but my mother never joined. I never saw her step foot in a church, Catholic or Lutheran.
My mother never spoke of any of this and when my father was angry with her, he called her a Nazi. The divides that occurred between Catholicism and Lutheranism historically manifested themselves boldly in our house. My mother seemed atheist and that manifested in a lack of peace, connection to a God, or a deity. I am only coming to this topic as a 72-year-old ex-Catholic, and I did not think about this as a child.
Only years later can I empathize with and imagine the isolation, pain, and hopelessness she felt within. After her day’s work, little attention remained for her family. As contemplation of my past matured, I recognize that while law and order prevailed in our house, the toxicity from its emotional barrenness adversely impacted each of us, creating an early death for one, alcoholism for several, and a relentless work ethic for everyone, myself included.
With a lens, I view my mother as perpetually in turmoil, angry, and connected more to the inanimate rather than the animate moments in her life. Mama devolved into her secular interpretation of life and meaning, only into a clean world and I, along with my siblings, paid homage to her dictates under threat of physical or psychological punishment.
It was like my mother experienced her warm fuzzies of living from the sparkles of her labor, rather than kindly attention or intention from those around her. Only now as a senior citizen can I comprehend Mama’s total hopelessness, despair, and perhaps nihilism in her marriage, family, and adopted American life. I suspect she never achieved a sense of inner peace, gratitude, or happiness that could be seen in her face, her role as a wife, mother, or friend, and I view this as a great travesty.
Thus, the transmission of generational trauma that began with my mother’s German life transported itself to her home in America. Her children became her convenient victims for her discontent, something that I despised her for, yet can empathize with now. The inner life of my mother was diametrically opposed to a core belief of warmth, kindness, and love. This proverb catalyzes or instigates scrutiny in my mother’s life and the fallout with her children.
In 1962, when my parents divorced, our house became a shelter once again, albeit not one filled with liveliness and interaction, but at least one where we could study or read in our beds.
As a small child, I looked at the cleanliness factor as a dictate without recognizing that this focus alienated me both from my parents and my siblings. Order crushed our spontaneity, childlike learning, and sense of appreciation for ourselves and others. We all bore a glacier-like enclosure that took decades to melt away.
I felt so isolated coming home from school, since remaining inside the house was not an option, unless the weather was inclement. Mama banished us outside so she could finish her work. The message I internalized from her eviction of us was, “I am clutter, I am useless, and I am in the way,” a musing I think most of us shared.
One similarity my siblings shared with the inanimate recipients or victims of my mother’s compulsive cleaning, was the ritual of daily baths. The daily bathing routine symbolized an objectification of the human element into one more like the home furnishings. Was this my mother’s attempt to sanitize or purify us so that we were worthy of God’s attention?
Although no one can ever inhabit someone’s soul, my intuitive sense of my mother, having known her for 65 years, I believe that her soul felt little joy, little unity with God or peace, and only fleeting periods of happiness.
Although Mama chose domestic work as a housekeeper and cook for the wealthy, I feel sad knowing that she felt little equanimity in her life. She passed in 2016 and only recently can I forgive her for all she did not provide and empathize with her lonely and traumatized soul. I have made different choices than she did, but I am cognizant of her unique role of bringing a sense of beauty by caring diligently for those objects that surrounded her and now surround me.
In my own family of four, from 1985 to the present day, my husband and I kindly encouraged cleanliness and order, which was facilitated by a bi-weekly housekeeper. We assigned simple and attainable responsibilities to the girls — depositing dirty laundry in their hampers, clearing the table, and putting away their toys at night. No corporal punishment or unkind words accompanied our expectations. I am perplexed and amused to note today that one daughter is ordered and the other haphazard, each of which carries challenges.
It comforted me to note how easily my husband participated in the “keep it clean” environment, so that as parents we had a united front and participated equally in keeping a comfortable environment. Until 1999, while I worked the evening shift my husband watched the girls, supervised their homework, and fed them the dinner I prepared earlier in the day. This division of labor occurred naturally without conflict, for which I am grateful.
I appreciate an aesthetically pleasing and organized house, which speaks to an individual’s sense of pride and belonging. Conversely, when I enter a cluttered or messy house, I feel a surge of discomfort, which I mitigate usually by taking a seat and focusing on the conversation of the day or the relationship at hand. Both when I enter houses that are cluttered and messy, or those with small children with a scattering of toys, I rely on those sighted friends to navigate me to a clear and uncluttered pathway.
Through therapy and an altered life experience, a sense of cleanliness has become a necessary and requisite experience in my life, especially now that I am blind. Now with the encroaching effects of blindness, I am grateful for this ancient modicum of order. Order offers me predictability and safety as I traverse my house and identify objects situated in their special place.
One might say Mama lives on in a positive way, deep within my bones. I am careful or diligent about not imposing my need for order and cleanliness upon those loved ones in my world, as long as I can navigate my way to a safe space or chair. In summary, I reflect gratefully on my transition from cleanliness and order imposed on me, to creating an environment that I choose, and the creation of safety and beauty in my physical world that permeates my life, my heart, and my spirit.
