A New Year’s Resolution: Always Open

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Originally published in the Catholic Times   January 19, 2014

Often on New Years, people make resolutions. According to a survey by the University of Scranton’s Journal of Clinical Psychology, about forty-eight percent of Americans usually make resolutions while only about 8 percent successfully keep them. Top on the list? Losing weight. Getting organized, spending less and saving more, and enjoying life to the fullest are next. Staying healthy, learning something exciting, and quitting smoking follow. Helping others achieve their goals, falling in love, and spending more time with family round out the top ten.

I’m not a list maker, but there are a few exceptions: If I don’t make a grocery list, I end up buying too much, and when I travel, I make a list of what I should pack. When working on a long-term writing project or composing a talk, I make notes, an unorganized brainstorming list at first that eventually takes shape.

At the beginning of the New Year, I sometimes open my journal, jotting down thoughts and goals for the months ahead. This year’s inspiration came as I shared the first dinner of 2014 with a small group of friends. Before eating, we joined hands while one spoke a blessing beautiful in its simplicity and breadth. Fitting for a new year, it included those present as well as friends and family far away, the gift of creation, the food, and the hands that prepared it, and thanksgiving for the Holy One who sustains all.

The words that stayed with me as I drove home later that evening were the ones inviting us always to be open and receptive to Grace, God’s Self, as it is given. This thought suggested a resolution different from those that commit us to change something in our lives, those that depend on our activity. We can do or not do something to achieve those goals. For example, many of us can develop the discipline necessary to eat less and more healthily. We can give our best efforts toward quitting smoking, learning something, or spending more time with family and friends. These things require us to do something.

The resolution playing in my mind that night was different. It called me to still my heart, not so much to do something as to be something: to be open, to be ready. I can’t make Grace come; I simply receive it when it does.

Unlike watching pounds drop away on a scale or playing a game with your family, becoming receptive to Grace is not something we can see or measure. Sometimes, even when Grace fills our hearts, we don’t know it.

This kind of “resolution” requires faith. Faith that the Holy One is always pouring out Divine Life, faith that this Fountain-Fullness never runs dry, faith that my soul is capable of holding such precious Gift.

Always being open to receive Grace differs from typical resolutions in another way, too. While many New Year’s promises call us to transform ourselves into something “better,” the resolution of openness tells us we are already “good,” good enough that God trusts us with Divine Life. We don’t do the changing. It is that Life that changes us.

© 2014 Mary van Balen

You Do Not Recognize

You Do Not Recognize

people-painting…but there is one among you whom you do not recognize...”  Today’s gospel reading  Jn 1, 26b

God among us, and we don’t notice: God who wanders in the streets looking for a homeless shelter on this snowy day. Who huddles lonely and forgotten in nursing homes. Who wanders into our stores to buy or just to be around other people, looking for a kind word or listening ear. Who lives next door but we don’t talk.

God among us, and we don’t notice: God who fills our classrooms. Who removes our garbage. Who cares for us. Who needs our help. Who’s our best friend. Our nemesis.

“Who are you anyway?” they asked John the Baptist. Not the Christ. Not Elijah. Not the Prophet who is to come. So who? “The voice of one crying out in the desert, make straight the way of the Lord.”  

“There is one coming whose sandal strap I am not worthy to untie,” he said. 

An endless list. One person we likely won’t think of is ourselves. We look outward, sometimes finding Divine Presence in others. Sometimes not. But do we look inward and expect the Holy One dwelling there? We know ourselves too well…or perhaps not well at all, but we think we do.

Did John know that the One who was to come, who had indeed come already, had always been dwelling in his heart?

This year I will do better, I tell myself. I will look with different eyes at the people who fill my life. I will slow down more often, and look within. I will recognize the One who is among us and who dwells in my heart. Whose life is my own.

This year I will do better. With Grace. I tell myself.

New Year’s Eve

New Year’s Eve

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

2013 was coming to an end and I was spending a couple hours of it with Dominican sisters and their friends. We sat in the chapel facing toward the altar and the large glass windows behind it that looked out into a wooded area. Tree trunks and branches sprouted white lights shining bright against the darkness.

After a hymn stories were told of an woman whose son had shot a number of Amish children years ago before killing himself and the forgiveness she received from that community. Parent’s of murdered children had come to her son’s funeral, the first to greet her. Now, that mother takes her weekly turn caring for the most disabled of her son’s living victims. Forgiveness.

Another story. This one of Elie Weisel speaking of the moment he was finally able to forgive God for the holocaust, a moment when he realized God suffered as God’s children suffered at the hands of other members of God’s family. For fifty years, he had been unable to forgive.

Nelson Mandela’s  words were remembered: “Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies.”

Peace, these sisters were reminding us, begins in our own hearts, in our ordinary choices. Peace begins with forgiveness, of others, of ourselves.

We sat in quiet for a long time, in the presence of one another and of God. I tired to lose myself in the infinite embrace of the divine. I practiced centering prayer. I breathed in and out, slowly. I felt my own hurt. I tried to feel it and to forgive those who put it there. I became aware of hurts I have caused and hoped someone, somewhere could forgive me, too.

I opened my eyes and looked around me. Movement outside caught my eye. Deer were walking through the glowing trees behind the altar. Not a sound anywhere. The rows of chairs were sparsely occupied by women mostly much older than me: Retired teachers, musicians, and  professors.  Artists. Women who had given their lives to God and to the church which, I am sure for  some anyway, was a cause of pain and hurt. But here they were , a small community, tucked away in some corner of Ohio, praying for peace. Trying to be peace. How many other corners of our country or our world were filled with people, sitting quietly, hoping to learn how to live peace and bring peace and honor God with it? Quiet convents and monasteries. Living rooms and bedrooms. Chapels and city streets. Hospital rooms and party rooms.

We sang the office and then shared snacks and conversation in the common dining room.

For the moment, the world was a more peaceful place.

 

Feast of the Holy Family When You Are Divorced

Feast of the Holy Family When You Are Divorced

by Richard Duarte Brown

by Richard Duarte Brown

I have been divorced for a few years, and unhappily married for many more. So, for quite awhile, this feast was a challenge for me as I sat through homilies that excluded my experience of married life. Today, thankfully, the priest mentioned a wide variety of families beyond the nuclear family. He mentioned those dealing with divorce and with abusive marriages. He also mentioned those who are single, both by choice and by circumstance. The Healthy Children.org website lists eight different configurations for families with children including single parent, grandparents as parents, adoptive/foster, and same sex families.

As I sat and listened to the readings, I reminded myself that I am a member of many families: my family of origin which blessed me with love and wisdom to raise my children as well as to deal with pain and disappointment in my own marriage. I have a family of three wonderful adult children who will always be a deep part of the fabric of my life and who bring me joy and encouragement. I have an extended family of brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, and aunt and cousins. And then there is the family of friends that reach far and wide across the continent and the oceans. There is a parish family who welcomed me for a special evening and meal before midnight mass.

Paul’s letter to the Colossians spoke of another family: The huge, diverse family of the children of God. All other families rest in this one. It is the one Pope Francis calls us to embrace and serve with our lives. It is the one we celebrate when we pray together as a parish or in small, intentional communities.

Sometimes, that big family is a bit too “out there” to feel warm and embracing when you need that. But “close up” families don’t always supply that either. No matter where we find ourselves today: single, divorced, happily married, or suffering through an abusive relationship that is best ended, we can remember we are part of a wonderfully large family of the One who made us all. If we are blessed with support and love around us, we are called to reach out to those who are not. Families, at their best, look out for one another. We are called to be a family at its best.

 

Pope Francis’s Urbi et Orbi Message

Pope Francis’s Urbi et Orbi Message

urbi et orbi 2013Pope Francis addressed the “City and the World” today in the traditional Urbi et Orbi message as thousands gathered to here him and receive the Christmas blessing. (read it here)

Francis asked all to join their voices with those of the angels at the birth of Jesus, singing God’s praises and promising peace on earth. He then gathered all the hurting world into God’s embrace, naming victims of war, especially children, and then the elderly, battered women, and the sick. He named countries suffering from war and violence today, refugees like those who perished at Lampedusa, and children forced to become soldiers. The pope also prayed for the earth, so often exploited by greed.

Reading his words, I sensed his desired to gather all into the loving embrace of God; his hope that all would experience that love and holy Presence. His use of the words “God’s caresses” were particularly tender, and he hoped all would feel them. We don’t feel them in a vacuum. We, citizens of the world, are responsible to give glory to God not only in word, but more importantly, with our lives “spent for love of him and of all our brothers and sisters.”

In a departure from the script, Pope Francis included non believers in his call for prayer for peace, asking them to join with people of all faiths praying for peace by desiring it in their hearts: ” And I also invite non-believers to desire peace with that yearning that makes the heart grow: all united, either by prayer or by desire. But all of us, for peace.”

This pope knows all humanity is in this together. We need one another, no matter the faith, denomination, or no faith. All for peace.

Amen.

Song of Songs: God Waits with Desire

Song of Songs: God Waits with Desire

Song of Songs IV by Marc Chagall

Song of Songs IV by Marc Chagall

Here he stands behind our wall,

gazing through the windows,

peering through the lattices.  Song of Songs 2

 

These words from today’s readings became my Lectio word for the day. This book is full of vivid images, and I liked to imagine God lingering behind the walls I construct, gazing at me. Seeing what is good and beautiful and waiting for me to return the gaze.

I know how love and desire can fill a gaze. I know the feeling of love bursting out, pouring through my eyes upon the one I love. I have felt the warmth of such a gaze and the fullness it creates within my heart. I have known this with another. I have known it with God.

Imagine, the Holy One, standing near, beholding you and your unique beauty. The Holy One calling you out to yourself as well as to the One Who Made You. In God’s eyes you are magnificent. Love, God’s and our own, helps us to see the beauty with as well as within those around us. Such love helps us see the beauty of creation.

Pondering these words makes me pray for an open heart, not only to receive Love, but to pour it out onto others.

I See Him…Though Not Now

I See Him…Though Not Now

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

 

I see him, though not now; I behold him, though not near…

Numbers 24, 17a

 

This morning, to find a place for prayer and Lectio, I pushed aside the mess on the dining room table, lit my candle as a safe distance, and sat down.

I Love Balaam. He is described in today’s reading as one whose “eye is true,” a man from the enemy camp. A man overwhelmed by God and thus speaking oracles, he “sees” what is true- though not with his eyes. With his heart. For the One he sees “…is not near.” But he is coming.

My prayer?

Holy One, open my heart. Still my soul so that all I see, and all I hear…So that stillness made in the midst of clutter (physical and mental) cannot block my view. For I know something Balaam did not: Your are near. You are within and without. Amen

Being Present. Being Still.

Being Present. Being Still.

smartphone clipartAs readers of my column and blogs know, I am big on being present to the moment. On being still.  I remember once, years ago, lamenting to Mike Collins, then editor of The Catholic Times where I have published a monthly column, that email and voicemail were taking a toll on us. We had to be available 24/7 and we didn’t physically connect with one another as often when an email would do.

He reminded me of that comment ( and column) years later when I attended his mother’s wake.

“Hi Mike. I haven’t seen you for ages,” I began.

He smiled his wry smile and said, “I remember a columnist who once wrote about the insidious effects of email on personal connections. She emails her column in now and I rarely see her.”

I must have blushed, at least a little.

Today’s op-ed in the New York Times by Sherry Turkle, “The Documented Life,” reminded me of my objection and of the reality of succumbing to technology’s siren. (Well, I still have an ancient flip cell phone. No face-time for me. That may change since the hinge of the phone is broken and has the annoying result of cutting off conversations or stopping them before they get started by “hanging up” as soon as I open it up.) I have had many dinners and conversations interrupted by cell phones, texting, the need for face-time etc etc. Not that such things are inherently bad, but they impinge on the present moment, the physical moment. Yes, face-time, texting, and conversations with someone you don’t often see is a “present moment” when you are engaged in it. But often, it comes while previously engaged with someone in the flesh. Or in a moment of engagement with the world around us.

Give this a read. And think about it. What’s your experience? Share if you’d like.

 

 

We Wait Because We Hope

We Wait Because We Hope

Advent Wreath: PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Advent Wreath: PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Originally published in the Catholic Times, Dec. 15, 2013    vol. 63:11

Advent is a time of waiting: Waiting for Christmas and waiting for God to gather us all to into the new life of resurrection.

The past few months have given me a new perspective on waiting. I had full knee replacement surgery and have spent time waiting for healing and for pain to fade. It has. Waiting for the knee to move without stiffness and effort. That’s coming, bit at a time. I was prepared for the work required to help move through the physical challenges even if it some times seem slow. This is active waiting, not sitting around until all was well, but doing the hard work of therapy, incorporating new exercises and routines into life. I expected that once on the mend, the trajectory would move consistently in one direction: Better. The reality has been more like a roller coaster ride, with ups and downs with plateaus thrown in now and again.

What I was not prepared for was the mental and spiritual challenges that came with the experience. Fighting depression and discouragement has been as important as doing heel slides. Someone told me that the drugs used during surgery and later to keep pain at bay contribute to the mental stress. Moving through this part of healing requires as much work as keeping the knee limber.

As I move through this personal time of waiting, I find myself pondering the meaning of waiting in general. Why do we continue to wait when outcomes are not what we expect? What do we wait for when reality of day-to-day life is difficult or, as it is for many people on this earth, overwhelming?

We wait because we have hope. There’s no sense in waiting without it. We hope because we have memories of something good. Of someone trustworthy who kept a promise. You can’t hope for something unless you trust you are going to get it. Those people who first enable us to trust may well be our mother and father. If that’s not the case, they could be a brother or sister, a teacher or a friend.

I wondered about young Mary who accepted God’s invitation to become the mother of God. Mary, who waited for nine months as her child grew within her womb and who trusted in the promise spoken by the angel: He will be great. He will be given the throne of David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever. He will be called holy, the Son of God.

She knew the prophecies. What was she expecting? How did she imagine the promises would be accomplished? She worried when he stayed behind in Jerusalem to sit and talk with the teachers in the temple. Was she surprised when he became an itinerant preacher or when he raised the ire of powerful religious and political leaders?

As his life unfolded, hers did too. She listened and watched, prayed and pondered. Not knowing how it would all turn out, she went on living and trusting that God is faithful, even as she stood at the foot of the cross. Her people had endured much suffering. They had a lot of practice waiting.

One of the Hebrew words we translate as “wait” has as its root a word meaning, “to bind together,” as in twisting. You twist everything good in your life together, making a chord out of all the strands you can gather. And you hold on.

Mary held on. She gathered strands not only from her life, but also from generations of those who had gone before. The Hebrews suffered in Egypt and the desert, but they arrived at the Promised Land. With the Psalmist, she could say, “I waited patiently for the Lord; he inclined to me and heard my cry.”(40) or “I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope…O Israel, hope in the Lord! For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with him is plenteous redemption.” (130)

I’m glad Mary and her people are part of my story. As a Christian, I add their strands to those gathered from my own life. I draw strands from my family’s stories and faith. Together our chord is strong. As we work to do our part in bringing Christ into this world, we also wait. We are able to wait because, in the end, we are one family and we hope for one thing: The fulfillment of God’s promise of Love and Life.

© 2013 Mary van Balen

DEEPENING:  He Stirs Forth

DEEPENING: He Stirs Forth

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

 

 

Silence, all mankind, in the presence of the Lord! For he stirs forth from his holy dwelling.  Zechariah 2, 17

(OT reading from Mass)

 

These words resonated deep i my soul. Startled. Awakened. I am asked to be still. Demanded to be silent. Why? To listen. to watch so I don’t miss the wonder of our Creator/God stretching, moving, emerging from the Holy Dwelling –  which is, of course, the human heart. My own heart.