PHOTO: Syria Under Government Crackdown, Elizabeth Arrott public domain Seek the Lord while he is still to be found, call to him while he is still near. Let the wicked man abandon his way, the evil man his thoughts. Let him turn back to the Lord who will take pity on him, to our God who is rich in forgiving.
Mid-morning reading (Terce) Isaiah 55:6-7 © Universalis

Yesterday while at work, I caught a bit of television coverage of the continuing massacre in Syria. The video was heart wrenching: bodies of children, of families, huddled in death against blood-stained living room walls. I offered a prayer as I entered our fitting rooms to clean them out. On the other side of our department, I again checked on fitting rooms. The television there broadcast a different channel. This one showed a young woman, ecstatic over her game show winnings. People were cheering and the game show host was pleasant as ever.

I couldn’t shake the disquieting feeling that the juxtaposed visuals stirred in my soul. I felt slightly ill for the remainder of my shift and even on the drive home, the images stayed in my mind. Massacres have happened throughout history, but in this era of instant communication, disturbing images are flashed into our living rooms (and department stores) all day long. Bombardment with the world’s horrors can numb us to their reality, mixed as they are with the mishmash of media offerings.

What can a person do? I prayed for the victims, for the perpetrators, for those in powerful positions, that they might intervene to stop this senseless terror. But my prayer seems small and ineffectual in the face of evil. The rest of the world seems to roll right along, as the game show reminded me. The feeling is a bit like the astonished disbelief I feel while driving in the funeral entourage of a loved one and noticing that people are going about their routines. How can that be, when the world has suffered the loss of my beloved?

In today’s gospel, Jesus casts out a demon and is accused of doing so by the power of evil. Here we find the well-known response:‘Every kingdom divided against itself is heading for ruin, and a household divided against itself collapses.’ Jesus casts out evil with the power of God, of Good, of Compassion.

God’s presence alone can stop this unspeakable evil. How can we, can the leaders of the world, bring that Presence to bear? I don’t know. I write emails to government officials; I sign petitions. Today’s psalm from Terce reminds us that the Lord is still near, that God is rich in forgiving. So, I continue to offer my prayer, and try to bring that Presence to the people and places in my life. This seems futile, but today’s gospel ends with Jesus’ words: ‘He who is not with me is against me; and he who does not gather with me scatters.’

Perhaps enough small bits of Holy Compassion gathered together by people throughout the world will make a difference.

PHOTO: Syria Under Government Crackdown, Elizabeth Arrott public domain Seek the Lord while he is still to be found, call to him while he is still near. Let the wicked man abandon his way, the evil man his thoughts. Let him turn back to the Lord who will take pity on him, to our God who is rich in forgiving.
Mid-morning reading (Terce) Isaiah 55:6-7 © Universalis

Yesterday while at work, I caught a bit of television coverage of the continuing massacre in Syria. The video was heart wrenching: bodies of children, of families, huddled in death against blood-stained living room walls. I offered a prayer as I entered our fitting rooms to clean them out. On the other side of our department, I again checked on fitting rooms. The television there broadcast a different channel. This one showed a young woman, ecstatic over her game show winnings. People were cheering and the game show host was pleasant as ever.

I couldn’t shake the disquieting feeling that the juxtaposed visuals stirred in my soul. I felt slightly ill for the remainder of my shift and even on the drive home, the images stayed in my mind. Massacres have happened throughout history, but in this era of instant communication, disturbing images are flashed into our living rooms (and department stores) all day long. Bombardment with the world’s horrors can numb us to their reality, mixed as they are with the mishmash of media offerings.

What can a person do? I prayed for the victims, for the perpetrators, for those in powerful positions, that they might intervene to stop this senseless terror. But my prayer seems small and ineffectual in the face of evil. The rest of the world seems to roll right along, as the game show reminded me. The feeling is a bit like the astonished disbelief I feel while driving in the funeral entourage of a loved one and noticing that people are going about their routines. How can that be, when the world has suffered the loss of my beloved?

In today’s gospel, Jesus casts out a demon and is accused of doing so by the power of evil. Here we find the well-known response:‘Every kingdom divided against itself is heading for ruin, and a household divided against itself collapses.’ Jesus casts out evil with the power of God, of Good, of Compassion.

God’s presence alone can stop this unspeakable evil. How can we, can the leaders of the world, bring that Presence to bear? I don’t know. I write emails to government officials; I sign petitions. Today’s psalm from Terce reminds us that the Lord is still near, that God is rich in forgiving. So, I continue to offer my prayer, and try to bring that Presence to the people and places in my life. This seems futile, but today’s gospel ends with Jesus’ words: ‘He who is not with me is against me; and he who does not gather with me scatters.’

Perhaps enough small bits of Holy Compassion gathered together by people throughout the world will make a difference.

Like the Water-Wendell Berry

LIKE THE WATER
of a deep stream,
love is always
too much.
We did not make it.
Though we drink till we burst,
we cannot have it all,
or want it all.
In its abundance
it survives our thirst.
IN THE EVENING WE COME DOWN TO THE SHORE
to drink our fill,
and sleep,
while it flows
through the regions of the dark.
It does not hold us,
except we keep returning to its rich waters
thirsty.
WE ENTER, WILLING TO DIE,
into the commonwealth of its joy.

Thoughts of thirst, water, and joy stay with me these days. I think I am thirsty for many things, but it mostly boils down to God.

I attended Mass with a friend this morning, for the first time in a couple of weeks. It felt wonderful. The readings brought forth images of a thirsty desert people drinking water gushing forth from a rock, and a Samaritan woman entranced by her conversation with an interesting Jewish man who promised to give her living water, water that would forever quench her thirst. Naturally, she was curious.

Dry myself, I sat in the pew and let the words soak me like rain. I loved hearing about the complaining people who reminded me of myself, wondering if they had come out into the desert to die. No, no. Love would not bring them that far only to allow them to perish from lack of water. No. For the beloved, water from a rock.

Or eavesdropping on a conversation between a thirsty Jesus and a woman who had a bucket to draw water from Jacob’s well. I could imagine holding a bucket up to my lips and taking long deep drafts of water that would slide down my throat and drip from my chin. An abundance of water.

The physical water would be good enough, but today I was inundated with the abundance of Love as well. The drink that slakes the longing for what is complete and whole. The Holy Mystery.

I gulped down the words and the sermon, delivered by an unusually gifted preacher. I felt the hands that held my own when we exchanged peace. I savored the host and relished the warmth of the wine. I rejoiced in reconnecting with a friend I hadn’t seen for over thirty years, and common friends that rejoiced in the reunion.

A friend and I shared homemade baba ghanouj and quinoa pilaf. We took a long walk along neighborhood streets soaking up sun and discovering a small park.

I called a friend at his monastery to see how he was doing. (Too much lifting at 90. He is tired out!)
My daughter and her friend came over bearing gifts of unbelievably delicious cup cakes made with lots of butter, cream, Baileys, Jameson, and Guinness in honor of St. Patrick, of course.

Love always IS too much. But today, I am luxuriating in its abundance and offering prayers of gratitude for the joy that it holds for us all.

PHOTO: Elizabeth van Balen Delphia – Bean Creek Funny how a piece of mail that arrived late could be just on time. Two weeks after the beginning of Lent, a one-page reflection on a program for the season appeared in my mailbox. Sent from the Benedictine Abbey in North Dakota, Assumption Abbey, it contained exactly what I needed to jump start my already waning efforts at keeping Lent. I had begun the season with a half-hearted intention to refrain from eating candy or desserts and a more sincere plan to regularly post Lenten blogs.

The candy and desserts fast was easily broken when I had dinner at a friend’s home and was served something sweet. Benedictine hospitality would see the dilemma and come down on the side of reverencing the host. Of course, after breaking the fast once, I could find lots of reasons, perhaps not so Benedictine, to indulge. There was the potluck at work to raise money for a summer food program for children. I had to taste a couple of the goodies. And then a coworker bought a Godiva raspberry filled dark chocolate bar and offered me a couple of squares. You get the picture.

I have been somewhat more successful with blog posts if I compare my success to the number of Advent posts, though they were so few that the victory is hollow. So what was my problem? Two weeks in, Lent was a bust and to be honest, I didn’t mind that much.

Then Brother Alban Petesch’s reflection was dropped in my mailbox. His suggestion that nurturing a sense of joy and gratitude is a Lenten practice hooked me , and I read on. He contrasted happiness and joy. Happiness , like ripples on the surface of a stream, can sparkle and shine, but comes and goes. Joy, on the other hand, is like the strong deep current that keeps the stream moving no matter what the surface shows.

Actually, I thought, the deep current CREATES the stream, doesn’t it? I mean, without that motion moving the water along you don’t have a stream. You have a pond or something else.

The image hit home. I have been struggling with happiness lately, or perhaps more accurately, with its fickle nature. I am fine, and then something happens (or doesn’t) and tears come and water the empty hole, amazingly heavy, that is lodged somewhere between my heart and my stomach. I say “water” because the thing seems to be growing.

That “deep down” current is what I am really longing for. It is God’s Presence within, no matter what is going on without. It is Spirit that creates me, like current makes the stream. I crave that Presence and not eating sweets isn’t helping.

Usually, the abiding sense of the Sacred, comes naturally to me. A gift, but not without cost. In her book, “Still,”Lauren Winner recalls a friend remarking on his wife’s similar natural receptiveness to God’s presence: “…to be naturally anything can make one not have to undergo the training necessary to make that which is immediate a habit” (102).

Lent is a time of training. Perhaps if I linked not eating a proffered delicacy with a prayer of gratitude, giving up sweets might help me feel the strong current pulling at my heart. Or maybe waking up each day and giving thanks, being present to those in my life and responding to their need rather than dwelling on my own would be enough. That’s a problem with happiness: It keeps one drowning in “self,” in past and future, abandoning the only reality – present.

I look at the amazing photograph my sister took one winter in Northwestern Ohio, and ponder these things. How many surface layers of that stream were frozen and caught on trees and plants along its bank? Over the winter months, the creek shrank, less water flowing, more given up to surface ice, going nowhere.

In the spring, the ice will melt and perhaps once again become part of the stream. Perhaps the solid pools of water will be sucked up by thirsty roots. Either way, Bean Creek keeps flowing. The deep down current does not die in winter. It courses on still, not visible perhaps, but keeping the waters alive.

In my winters, Presence abides, offering joy. Engendering hope. Calling forth gratitude. Happily, I still have four weeks of Lent to go!

Click “Works” tab to view my book Today is the feast of Saint Katharine Drexel, daughter of one of the wealthiest families in the United States in her lifetime. She was born in 1858 into the wealthy banking family, one of three daughters. When her father died, she, along with her sisters, inherited 90% of his fortune (He had tithed the rest to charitable organizations.)

Katharine shocked the world by founding an order to serve Black and Native Americans. While in some ways politically incorrect by today’s standards, she was a woman ahead of her time. She used her fortune to establish schools across the country, including Xavier University of Louisiana. Still in operation today, it was one of the first all black colleges and it trained many teachers who then worked in the schools Katharine founded.

Today, we can look at her example of using what she was given, both her natural talents, spiritual gifts, and monetary resources, for the common good. High society was scandalized by her choices and when she entered a religious order, her decision was front page news.

Almsgiving is a traditional Lenten discipline. Katharine’s life challenges us to take a deep look at our own. How do we use our gifts? How do we respond to the poor and marginalized of our time?

Katharine’s life story is interesting as is that of her family. Check out my biography of Katharine and other resources to learn more about her journey.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen I didn’t know the aftermath of divorce would be so difficult, just like I didn’t know my marriage would be untenable. It isn’t what I miss. Surely the good that came of the marriage took root and lives. And of course there are my grown children. No, it is not the missing. It is the acceptance of who I am and where I am that is the struggle.

As the Carmelite poet, Jessica Powers writes in her poem, “To Live with the Spirit,” I am learning to be a listener. Throughout my life I have tried to be a listener to the God Within, so perhaps a more accurate account of my present journey is learning to be a better listener: One who trusts, one who is more comfortable with silence.

Psalm 62, from today’s Morning Prayer, comes at this same truth from another angle: “In God alone be at rest, my soul, for my hope is from her…Trust God at all times, O people. Pour out your hearts before him, for God is our refuge…”

Jessica Powers writes that the soul who lives with the Spirit “…walks in waylessness, unknowing;/it has cast down forever from its hand/the compass of the wither and the why…”

That’s my problem. I want to know the “wither and the why.” I want to know where my books are going (or not). I want to know why I work at a job that makes involvement in other regular activities impossible. I want to know how long. I want to know just where this path is taking me anyway. At the moment, I can’t see very far ahead. I want to know because in the answers I look for validation, for purpose.

I have more to learn about being a listener. Perhaps that fact is precisely why I am in the places I am. But there I go again, wanting to know the “why.”

I am not proposing that one do nothing, no planning, no job searching, no writing or sending out manuscripts. Still, in the midst of working and the activities of our daily lives, the Spirit is speaking.

Lent reminds me to listen. And to trust.

Solar engineer at the Barefoot College For I was hungry and you gave me food; I was thirsty and you gave me drink; I was a stranger and you made me welcome; naked and you clothed me, sick and you visited me, in prison and you came to see me.” Then the virtuous will say to him in reply, “Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you; or thirsty and give you drink? When did we see you a stranger and make you welcome; naked and clothe you; sick or in prison and go to see you?” And the King will answer, “I tell you solemnly, in so far as you did this to one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did it to me.” MT 25

…… …… …… …… …… …… …… …… …… …… …… …… …… …… …… …… …… ……

Recognise to whom you owe the fact that you exist, that you breathe, that you understand, that you are wise, and, above all, that you know God and hope for the kingdom of heaven and the vision of glory, now darkly as in a mirror but then with greater fullness and purity. You have been made a child of God, co-heir with Christ. Where did you get all this, and from whom?
Let me turn to what is of less importance: the visible world around us. What benefactor has enabled you to look out upon the beauty of the sky, the sun in its course, the circle of the moon, the countless number of stars, with the harmony and order that are theirs, like the music of a harp? Who has blessed you with rain, with the art of husbandry, with different kinds of food, with the arts, with houses, with laws, with states, with a life of humanity and culture, with friendship and the easy familiarity of kinship?…Brethren and friends, let us never allow ourselves to misuse what has been given us by God’s gift. If we do, we shall hear Saint Peter say: Be ashamed of yourselves for holding on to what belongs to someone else. Resolve to imitate God’s justice, and no one will be poor. Let us not labour to heap up and hoard riches while others remain in need. If we do, the prophet Amos will speak out against us with sharp and threatening words: Come now, you that say: When will the new moon be over, so that we may start selling? When will the sabbath be over, so that we may start opening our treasures?
Let us put into practice the supreme and primary law of God. He sends down rain on just and sinful alike, and causes the sun to rise on all without distinction. To all earth’s creatures he has given the broad earth, the springs, the rivers and the forests. He has given the air to the birds, and the waters to those who live in the water. He has given abundantly to all the basic needs of life, not as a private possession, not restricted by law, not divided by boundaries, but as common to all, amply and in rich measure. His gifts are not deficient in any way, because he wanted to give equality of blessing to equality of worth, and to show the abundance of his generosity. Saint Gregory Nazianzen

My daughter introduced me to the Barefoot College, an amazing place and concept. No MA’s or PhD’s here. No diploma’s. People teaching people skills to share with their community, and not simple skills. Barefoot College “graduates” are solar engineers, architects, and dentists, to name but a few. I encourage you to click on the link and learn more about it.

Today’s gospel and the reading from Morning Prayer remind us of the necessity of living not for ourselves but for others; of not hoarding wealth, but being generous as God has been generous with us.In serving the least among us, we serve God. In seeing our gifts, the earth, and all we have been afforded by accident of birth (education, privilege, sustance etc) as given to be offered to others. We help bring peace to the world, as one of my daughters reminded me this morning, by first being at peace with oneself. That enables us to be at peace with others, to respond to others with compassion and openness. Step at a time, the circle of peace extends further and further out into the world.

That is what Barefoot College does. The founder, Bunker Roy, was the recipient of a prestigious education in India, poised for high ranking jobs in government or industry. Instead, changed by time spent working digging wells in a poor village, he put his education and expertise to work creating educational opportunities for the poorest of the world. He was at peace with himself, able to withstand objections from family and friends. He knew who he was. He knew what he had been given. And he gave it back.

St. Gregory says there are no natural boundaries on this earth. What we have are not private possessions to be protected, but the property of all.

Something to consider when we choose almsgiving as a Lenten discipline. How much more we can give than money. How are we called to stay with the poor, to give away our gifts in the pursuit of peace? Are we at peace with ourselves? Time resting in God, time in prayer, will help us discover both.

I lift up my eyes to the mountains:
from where shall come my help?
My help shall come from the Lord,
who made heaven and earth.

He will keep your foot from stumbling.
Your guard will never slumber.
No, he sleeps not nor slumbers,
Israel’s guard.

The Lord your guard, the Lord your shade
at your right hand.
By day the sun shall not smite you,
nor the moon in the night.

The Lord will guard you from evil;
he will guard your soul.
The Lord will guard your going and coming,
both now and forever.

Psalm 121

As I read this psalm from today’s morning prayer, peace filled my heart. At first glance, I am not sure why. Despite the promises of protection from evil, plenty of evil and suffering weave in and out of life: mine, my friends’, every one in the world. Just turn on the news or listen to conversations. People are hurting. So, what happened to the Great Protector?

Praying with this psalm, I experienced a deep sense of God’s “being with.” In the midst of our illness and suffering, in the midst of war, drought, and famine, God is with us. In a sense, that seems small comfort. Certainly not the protective bubble we would prefer. Who would not like to keep those they love from suffering?

Yet, the words were deeply comforting. Facing our very human existence in a profoundly flawed world is more possible when we are not alone.

Who shares the Holy One’s love and compassion with you? How do you share Love’s Presence with others?

God will guard our souls, the psalm says. Our being, our center where the Holy One dwells. Somehow, despite physical and mental afflictions that still visit us, I find courage and hope in that truth

Wall transformation chapel guest house St. John’s Abbey, Collegeville, MN PHOTO: Mary van Balen “I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse. Choose life, then, that you and your descendants may live, by loving the Lord, your God, heeding his voice, and holding fast to him. For that will mean life for you, a long life for you to live on the landthat the Lord swore he would give to your fathers Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.” Dt 30, 19-20

In today’s first reading, Moses gives God’s people what seems at first glance to be a simple choice:Choose life or death; choose blessing or curse. Who knowingly would choose death or curse? I don’t remember where I heard or read this nugget of wisdom, but I have always remembered this thought: People choose good, or what appears to them at the moment to be the good for them. For example, sometimes when I am distraught, I choose to eat comfort food. Maybe a grilled cheese sandwich, or cookies and tea. I don’t need it. It might not be good for my body, but at that moment it seems to be what I need to feel better. Concerns about weight and cholesterol don’t enter my mind.

Did I choose wisely? Not really. After the sandwich is gone or the cookies have been savored with hot steamy tea, I am just as miserable as I was before. Maybe more so because that is when I remember weight and cholesterol.

Choices between blessing and curse are not as easy as Moses makes them sound.Discerning what IS good or bad for us is the trick. The devil is in the details. Our personal details. The choices often more significant that whether or not to eat comfort food: To stay in or return to an abusive relationship, to accept a job offer, to hang out with a particular group, to take prescribed medications, to order another drink…the list is endless.

Life’s choices do not come labeled “blessing” or “curse.” How do we choose wisely? In the verses preceding today’s reading, Moses tells the people that what they need to make the choice is not far from them. They needn’t go to heaven or across the seas to find it. What they need resides in their hearts and on their lips: heart. It is the Word.

The same is true for us. The Word, the very presence of God, is available to us. Not only in Scripture, sacrament, and prayer. The Spirit dwells in our hearts. Pours out grace through those we encounter, through the world we inhabit. Lent reminds us to look, to listen, to be still with this Presence. When we open ourselves to receive God’s Grace, we can be assured not that we always will choose most wisely or will recognize the good, but that God remains with us no matter the paths we take. Grace will help us become better at discerning.

We can live with hope because we live with Love.