Coming home!
I have not posted new blogs since late September. The reason? Knee replacement surgery! However, I am now home, healing, and retuning to writing, blogging included. So, excuse the absence and look for new blog posts!
October 30, 2013 By Leave a Comment
October 13, 2013 By Leave a Comment
A Person of Privilege
Originally published in The Catholic Times, Oct. 13, 2009
The thought came suddenly. “I am a person of privilege.” I don’t know where it came from or why. I had just turned onto the 670 ramp driving to work. The day was beautiful. Sunny. Cool. But there it was. A reminder that most in the world do not share my position.
Thoughts kept spinning: I live in a place where roads are drivable. Our infrastructure could use a shot of public funds for upkeep, but all in all, I’m usually able to drive where I need to go. And there’s the matter of a car. I have a one. Eleven years old, my little Civic keeps humming along. And I have a job that helps make ends meet.
I live in relative safety, not fearing that a bomb will go off in a parking lot or that a terrorist group will target a mall or movie theater nearby. It could happen, of course, but not as likely here as somewhere else on our troubled planet.
I’m white in a country still plagued with racism. In other categories I fall in the “normal” range. I have an education, healthcare, a pleasant place to live, and food in my refrigerator. What percentage of the human race has so much? Sobering thoughts on a beautiful fall morning.
An article by Jim Wallis of Sojourners reflected on the message of love and service Pope Francis speaks both with his words and actions. A quote from his homily during Mass celebrated at Lampedusa on July 8, spoke to my sense of privilege:
“The culture of comfort, which makes us think only of ourselves, makes us insensitive to the cries of other people, makes us live in soap bubbles which, however lovely, are insubstantial; they offer a fleeting and empty illusion which results in indifference to others; indeed, it even leads to the globalization of indifference. In this globalized world, we have fallen into globalized indifference. We have become used to the suffering of others: it doesn’t affect me; it doesn’t concern me; it’s none of my business!”
That’s the thing about privilege. It’s like Pope Francis’ soap bubbles, separating those on the inside from those on the outside. Bubbles are invisible to those living within. Privilege is usually invisible, too. It’s an accident of birth, something so ingrained that those who have it don’t know they do.
That was me, that lovely morning, until a voice sounded within.
Then came the readings a couple of Sunday’s ago. The prophet Amos finds fault more with the complacency of those living in luxury rather than with the lifestyle itself. They were wrapped up in their own lives and didn’t notice what was happening around them. Luke’s gospel story of the rich man and Lazarus strikes a similar theme. Maybe the rich man didn’t notice Lazarus at his doorstep. If he did, the poor man’s plight didn’t concern him. Until, of course, they both died and Lazarus enjoyed the embrace of Abraham while the rich man suffered the torments of hell.
What are people of privilege asked to do? First, we are called to notice. To become aware of our special place on this planet and realize this place is gift. To become aware of the suffering around us, in our cities, our country, and across the oceans. What comes next, I don’t know. It must be different for each of us. I heard a woman speak at a convention last month. She felt called to walk the streets of Chicago and eventually opened a home for prostitutes. Inspiring, but not for everyone.
Pope Francis responded to Father Spadaro’s question in the Pope’s first official interview: “What does the church need most at this historic moment?”
“I see clearly that the thing the church needs most today is the ability to heal wounds and to warm the hearts of the faithful; it needs nearness, proximity. I see the church as a field hospital after battle. It is useless to ask a seriously injured person if he has high cholesterol and about the level of his blood sugars! You have to heal his wounds. Then we can talk about everything else. Heal the wounds, heal the wounds…. And you have to start from the ground up.”
Nearness and proximity. Leave our bubbles and walk with others. That’s what the woman in Chicago did. Then listen and have the courage to respond, trusting God to speak and to guide each of us along our way.
© 2013 Mary van Balen
September 14, 2013 By Leave a Comment
Music in the Air
Musicians on Royal Street
Even before getting out of bed in the morning, I hear music punctuating the other sounds of New Orleans waking up for a new day. One man sings, unaccompanied at the entrance to a store across the street. Soon a horn or two is heard. Maybe guitars. By lunch time, no matter where you walk, you are entertained by the gift of musicians sharing their talent and passion.
Passsersby throw coins or a bill in the box or hat or instrument case lying open nearby. But the musicians play, paid or not. Their gift is my grace. My morning or noon or night prayer, reminding me to give thanks for life spirit that is freely given, not only by the street musicians, but also by the One who breathes life into us all.
September 14, 2013 By 2 Comments
Dooky Chase: Great Food and New Orleans Hospitality
“Try Dooky Chases” my friend texted me when she learned I was going to New Orleans. I almost didn’t. I was tired from a day at the CALGM conference and had missed everyone else going to dinner. Walking down the streets in the French Quarter and choosing one of the countless places to eat just a few steps away from the hotel would have been easier.
I had Googled “Dooky Chase” and read a bit about it. Founded in 1941, it was famous for the amazing food, it’s chef, Leah Chase (ninety years young), and her collection of African American art that covers the restaurant walls. Important meetings of civil rights leaders had been held there during the 60’s. It was one of the only places blacks and whites could eat together then. A pope and US presidents had dined there as well as famous artists, musicians, and sports figures. How could I not go?
Well, it was a cab ride away, and the longer I stretched out on my bed and read about the place, the sleepier I got.
“Mom, you have to go,” my daughter encouraged me over the phone after I told her about it. So, I pulled myself up, talked to the hotel concierge who checked to see if a table would be available, found a cab, and made the short trip across town. How glad I am!
Dooky’s was even better than I imagined. An unassuming brick building, restored of two long years after Hurricane Katrina, offered not only great food (I had the seafood platter but questioned my choice after smelling the fried chicken delivered to the table next to me…I wasn’t disappointed in my choice once I took a bite!) and art, but also New Orleans hospitality. After holding a couple of conversations across the aisle with other patrons, I was invited to join the fried chicken table by one of its guests whom I would soon learn was Tony.
The conversation was lively. I felt like one of the family. Not surprising according to our young waiter.
“When you’re in Norlens,” he said, “you’re family. We eat together and party together…”
“And go through hurricanes together,” Maria added.
Me, Susan, Tony, (from top)Clint, Maris, Miss Leah, David
They shared desserts with me (praline bread puddin’ and peach cobbler) and then Tony said, “She’s gotta meet Miss Leah.” everyone nodded.
That’s how I found myself in the kitchen, shaking hands with the Queen of Creole Cuisine, Leah Chase. The chef, author, and television personality was holding court in her kitchen where grateful customers and admirers came to thank her, ask her to sign one of her cookbooks, give her a hug and bask in her gracious smile.
My new friends insisted on waiting with me for twenty-five minutes until my cab arrived. While we waited I talked through a door into a room that held even more wrt work. An eclectic collection, it deserves to be catalogued.
“This is about one-third of her collection,” one of the waiters, Oscar, told us as he continued getting the restaurant ready for the next day’s business. “It is in the process of viewing catalogued.”
We wandered through more of te restaurant taking thin stained glass and sculpture. Oscar showe us one of his favorites, an Elizabeth Catlette print of Harriet Tubman.
“Dooky’s is a museum,” I thought. The staff were singing and doing a dance step or too as we waited. The cab arrived. After hugs and waves, I got in and returns to the hotel. I had had dinner, met new friends, enjoyed artwork, And met an amazing woman who has played a significant role in our history.
I walked into my room, flopped on the bed and thought about the people at the CALGM convention, working for civil rights for the marginalized in our society. Quite a night. Quite a road ahead.
September 7, 2013 By Leave a Comment
Candle, Cookout, and Poetry
“I have energy,” I thought as I drove home from work around 4pm. I noticed because lately, I haven’t. Maybe it was not using my CPAP machine regularly (no excuse for that) or that my shift was over before the sun set. Maybe it was the magnificent cool weather. Whatever, I had a spring in my step even after an hour of running errands. I decided to have a cookout.
I put brats in a pan of beer to precook and simmered canned baked beans with onion, mustard, and molasses. The grill was heating up and I tackled dishes left in the sink. Then, when I put the brats on, I placed a candle on the outside table and sat down to read some poetry and drink the Heineken I hadn’t used to cook the brats.
Pink clouds streaked the sky. Swallows dipped and soared. And Mary Oliver took me to dark summer ponds covered with lilies. (“The Ponds” in New and Selected Poems, p92-93.)
I plopped a couple of brats into whole wheat buns slathered with Dijon mustard, scooped baked beans into a little bowl and mounded the remaining space of my plate with some chips.
My neighbor has been sharing tomatoes, and even though the one I sliced was sweet, I sprinkled a little sugar on one slice to remember my mom and dinners around the table when I was a child. We always sprinkled tomatoes with sugar. Maybe it was a ploy to convince the kids to eat their vegetables. I enjoyed the taste and the memories.
So, I sat, munching dinner under a darkening sky and reading “The Ponds,” marveling along with Mary Oliver at the light of countless lilies floating on dark summer ponds. [Read more…]
September 6, 2013 By Leave a Comment
The Grace of Friendship
Originally published in The Catholic Times September 8, 2013 Volume 62:42
The invitation appeared in my email: A birthday party for Mike. I’ve known him since I was eighteen. Then we both played guitar, sang, wrote songs, and energized the local “folk Mass” movement after Vatican II. He and his wife, Patty, welcomed me into their home, and I babysat for their young children who clamored for Mike’s attention when we practiced music there. Patty always came to the rescue. Over the years, my guitar has seen less use. Mike’s is always humming.
Having made adjustments to my work schedule, I picked up a friend and we drove together to the party. Mike was turning 75.
“Couldn’t miss this,” I said as we traveled from one small berg to another.
My friend nodded. “There are plenty of things in life that are hard, that bring tears. We must celebrate the happy moments. What brings life, and joy,” he said, his voice as Italian as the gift of wine resting at his feet.
Light and Irish music poured out of the American Legion as we walked toward the door. The evening was an embarrassment of riches: Greetings, hugs, and friends gathered to tell stories and catch up on one another’s lives. Food and drink kept coming, and everyone joined in a refrain written for the occasion. Mike, Nick, and Anne, who have been singing together for years, treated us to a few songs while the singing Ladies of Longford took their break. More music. More conversation.
Driving through night on my way home, I thought about friendship. What is the grace of friendship? What moves someone out of the mass of acquaintances into that treasured group? Into one’s heart and soul? [Read more…]
September 3, 2013 By 1 Comment
August 18, 2013 By Leave a Comment
Truth Tellers
Cry of the Prophet Jeremiah on the Ruins of Jerusalem by Illya Repin 1870
King Zedekiah was a bit of a “waffler” when it came to Jeremiah. First, he gave the prophet over to those who wanted to put him to death. “He is demoralizing the soldiers who are left in the city,” they princes told the king. Jeremiah was proclaiming the truth he had heard from God and predicting the fall of Jerusalem. Not welcome news.
After the leaders had lowered Jeremiah into an empty cistern full of mud, a court official came to the king and pleaded for Jeremiah’s life. The king told him to go, get help, and pull Jeremiah up out of the cistern before he died.
Ahh…such is it with truth tellers: Reviled and revered. In and out of favor. Then and now.
To be a truth teller is to risk ridicule, abuse, even death. We have seen in out our own day. Truth tellers like Martin Luther King, Jr and Sr. Dorothy Stang gave their lives for speaking the truth. Countless others who stand up to injustice pay a high price.
Today’s gospel made clear the risk one takes in being a follower of Jesus: “Do you think that I have come to establish peace on earth? No, I tell you, but rather division. ” LK 12, 51. Sounds harsh. Not what we expect. But, when you think about it, when one stands firm in truth, resistance follows. Especially from the powerful. It is rooted in fear.
“It is not power that corrupts but fear,” said Nobel Peace Prize winner, Aung San Suu Kyi. “Fear of losing power corrupts those who wield it and fear of the scourge of power corrupts those who are subject to it.”
We see fear at work in our society today, working to silence those who speak out against injustice. Who would shine light into dark places we would rather not see. Who give voice and presence to the marginalized among us. One example is the swift and ferocious push back against the passage of the California bill that gives protection to transgender students. Those whose voices protest the loudest are those who are uniformed and filled with fear. [Read more…]
August 14, 2013 By Leave a Comment
Need for Education: Transgender
Response to California’s new law (the first in the USA that provides statewide protection for trans students) makes something clear: The public needs education on what being transgender means. As I listened to news casts and read comments, one word kept jumping out at me. “Choice.” The perception of many is that trans people, whatever their age, “choose” to be transgendered.
Listen to CNN’s Brooke Baldwin who, while maintaining a neutral stance, began yesterday’s News Room segment with a summary of the new law stating that the trans student’s rights are “just based upon which gender a boy or girl chooses to identify with.” One of her guests, Randy Thomasson, president of anti-LGBT hate group, Save California, responded to her question about what he would do if he had a daughter who identified with boys by suggesting that such a child’s sexual confusion could be the result of abuse or abandonment. I am not taking issue with the helpfulness of professional counseling, but with the idea that one “becomes transgender” as a result of abuse in whatever form. In other words, it’s a choice. It’s “curable.”
The reality is, transgender persons, like all of us, are born with an deep innate sense of gender. Their body doesn’t match.
CBS NewsOnle’s report addressed the issue. While the opening statement still included the idea that school children choose their gender, the reporter, John Blackstone, interviewed an eighteen-year-old transgender student, Logan, and brought up the question of choice. Logan, of course, was clear. No one would choose such a life. No. Being transgender is not a choice.
Perhaps what will most help dispel the misconception that people choose to be transgender is what Masen Davis, Executive Director of the Transgender Law Center, mentioned on the CNN report: Getting to know a transgender person. “I realize that not everybody in America has had the opportunity to get to know a transgender person…,” Masen said. Fear and hatred are fueled by ignorance. Whether through getting to know a transgender person, watching stories of transgender persons on television specials or online, or reading those stories in books or other media, one of the first things a person will learn is being transgender is not a choice.
August 10, 2013 By Leave a Comment
Showing God’s Merciful Face
Fountain in Rome
PHOTO: Mary van Balen
Fountains are everywhere in Rome. Many famous. Many not. The amazing thing about them is their water is fresh, clean enough to drink. “Keep your water bottle,” my daughter advised when she saw me draining the last drop early in the morning. “We can refill it at the fountains all day long.”
How right she was. People of all ages crowded around the fountains, catching streams of clear, cold water in their plastic bottles. At some places, water in a bottle was not enough, and people put their heads under the spouts or stepped into the shallow pools to find relief from August heat.
I have to hand it to Pope Francis. Rome in August is not for the faint-hearted. His choice to forgo a month in the summer residence takes stamina. So did his trip to Brazil for World Youth Day and his good humor during a long press conference aboard the plane on his return to Rome.
What I find as welcome as water pouring out of Rome’s fountains is the kindness and humility coming from the heart of the new pope. While not signaling changes in Church teaching on homosexuality, which many hope will come eventually, Pope Francis shows God’s merciful face when confronted with the issue.
Responding to questions about the possibility of discovering a gay priest in his service, he said “Who am I to judge a gay person of goodwill who seeks the Lord? You can’t marginalize these people.”
Fountain in St. Peter’s Square, Rome
PHOTO: Mary van Balen
Later on, according to an AP article quoted in a post by Paul Brandeis Raushenbush on Huffington Post’s Religion page, he took reporters to task for asking about an aide who had beensuspected of involvement in a gay tryst ten years ago. That was not an issue of criminal behavior, as abusing children. It was a matter of sin, he said. When someone sins and confesses, God both forgives and forgets.
“We don’t have the right to not forget,” he said.
Refreshing.