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.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen “Even now, says the Lord, turn to me with your whole heart, with fasting, and weeping, and mourning. Rend your hearts, not your garments, and turn to the Lord, your God. For God is great and merciful, slow to anger, rich in kindness, and relenting in punishments…” Joel

“Brothers and sisters: We are ambassadors for Christ, as if God were appealing through us…Working together, then, we appeal to you not to receive the grace of God in vain. For he says: ‘In an acceptable time I heard you, and on the day of salvation I helped you. ‘ Behold, now is a very acceptable time; behold, now is the day of salvation.” Paul 2Corinthians

“And your Father who sees in secret, will repay you.” Matthew

The Hebrew word, “shub” used in the reading from Joel, is often translated “return.” But, in this reading Joel gives no indication that he is asking the people to return from a particular transgression. Rather, he implores them to “turn” to God, to ask God’s help in dealing with the devastating drought and plague of locusts that has disrupted all aspects of their lives. I changed the translation of the word in the reading above.

Pondering what seems the slight difference between “turn” and “return” has been fruitful for me this Ash Wednesday. Return” brings to mind distance, the need to traverse space, physical or in this case, spiritual, that separates. On the other hand, “turn” indicates that one need only change orientation or look in a particular direction to connect with the object of desire.

What strikes me is the truth that God is present to us in every circumstance, in every moment. The Holy One has not removed the Divine Self from us, requiring long journeys or difficulties to “come back.” Just the opposite is true. Through the wonder of the Incarnation, Jesus reveals that God dwells not outside of us at all, but rather in our hearts, in our center. We have only to turn and become aware of that Presence within.

Such closeness means God is with us when we are not aware of that Holy Presence as well as when we are. God stays with us in our darkness and difficulties, even if they are of our own making as well as in our light and joys. God is with us always. As Francis Thompson concludes in his poem “The Hound of Heaven,” we cannot escape the Love of God.

Holy Love dwells within. Our Lenten practices do not bring us “back to God.” God has never left. Instead, they quiet us, removing us from activity so we can hear the Voice. That is our fasting. They slow us down so we have time to look. They turn our gaze to the Indwelling in those around us and in the world we live in. That prompts our almsgiving. They provide opportunity to realize the we rest in the Holy Mystery. That is our prayer.

Unlike the pharisees in the gospel reading today, we are not to look for reward from others. Notoriety is not our goal. For Christians, the goal is always oneness with Christ. Our Lenten practices serve to deepen that relationship that is constantly available to us. As Paul reminds us, we have no need to wait to begin such disciplines: Now is an acceptable time.

“…now is the day of salvation.,” he continues. As we embrace this Lenten season, we can remember that the salvation we seek is not our own, it is redemption of the world, of which we are a part. God’s indwelling makes that possible. Holy Love that animates all is our hope.

Blessed Lent.

PHOTO: Jennifer Holt While in Pittsburgh visiting the Carnegie Museum of Natural History, I enjoyed the exhibit, “Read My Pins,” a display of over 200 of Madeleine Albright’s collection of pins and photographs of her wearing them as she conferred with world leaders. Ms. Albright, it seems, used the pins to alert those she met to her mood, purpose, or hope. It began after Saddam Hussein’s government controlled media called her an “unparalleled serpent” after she criticized the leader. The next time she met with him, she wore a snake pin, a symbol of new life, though I doubt that was the message she was sending.

She mixed whimsy with pointed commentary, wearing pins of everything from flowers and dragonflies to wasps and American eagles. She wore a large zebra pin that lay across her shoulder when she met with Nelson Mandela, in honor of his homeland, and a trio of “see no evil, here not evil, speak no evil” when she conferred with Putin, who took offense.

The use of jewelry for more than the sparkle it adds to one’s attire is not reserved to Madeleine Albright, though she may have raised it to a new level. Engagement and wedding rings give testament to marriage. High school or college class rings declare an allegiance to a particular time in one’s life and a particular place of learning. Hardly “jewelry,” the rash of colored plastic bracelets proclaim everything from one’s faith to one’s favorite causes to all who notice.

I have often worn jewelry to remind me of people, places, and relationships. They have become what Catholics call “sacramentals,” things that remind us of God and help us to experience that Holy Presence with us.

I wear my mother’s class ring that my father wore while he was overseas during WWII when I want to remember their love for one another and for me, or when I feel particularly in need of their faith in me and their support. Mom gave me her engagement ring before she died, and I wear it now remembering both my father who gave it to her on her dinner place surrounded by family, and my mother who wore the gift from the love of her life. My parents were my first “sacramental,” sharing God’s love and presence in my life. As I grew they continued to be the source of much grace. If God loved me the way they did, well, I was in good shape!

I wear jewelry from places I have visited. Those pieces remind me of the diversity of the people of God. From the Buddhists of Thailand to the monks of Minnesota, they are all children of one God and have blessed my life in countless ways. The beauty of creation around the world comes to mind when I wear an opal one daughter brought home to me from Australia or the traditional silver earrings from Sardinia. Of course, wearing gifts from others also makes me aware of the important place they hold in my life and the grace they bring to it.

Most of my small collection are pieces that carry meaning beyond their appearance. This is true of the latest addition purchased when I recently visited a friend in Yellow Springs, OH, sometimes called the city still lost in the 60’s. It is a delightfully “hippie” town, home to Antioch College and Ha Ha Pizza where one can enjoy the fare with whole wheat crust and organically grown toppings. I could not resist taking home one of their pizzas for dinner, and while they were making it, I walked up the street to explore some of the shops.

The proprietors of a small used bookstore, “Dark Star,” met me with smiles and knew immediately of books by my newest favorite mystery author.

“We’re big mystery fans ourselves. I think we have four of those in paperback.” They did, and I bought them all. We exchanged pleasantries, and I poked around a bit before heading to my next destination. As I walked up the street, I heard a man playing a congo drum. He was sitting in front of a small mom and pop grocery store playing away with mittened hands. The locals seemed to know him and chatted with him as they walked by. I looked over and smiled at him and then entered a small jewelry story, “Ohio Silver.”

I had been there before and, as always, enjoyed peering in their display cases and looking at earrings made from Ming Dynasty porcelain shards wrapped with sterling silver to hang on chains or from your ears. I found the case that held polished fossils and then, I saw what I could not resist: dangly earrings made from a meteorite that impacted the earth in Japan.

They were the only pair she had. I tried them on and thought about it. Here was something that had hurtled through space hanging from my ears. They looked good. Rubbed to a gentle shine, they were angular and irregular and beautiful.

“I’ll take these.”

She placed them in a purple box along with the card that told where the meteorite had been found and secured the lid with a stretchy silver cord. I placed the box in the bag of used books and walked back to Ha Ha Pizza.

“This is the most expensive pizza I’ve ever had.”

The baker smiled. “Where d’ya stop?”

I told him about the bookstore and my new earrings.

“Cool,” he said.

That night I shared the pizza with my sister and her husband and wore the bit of space rock on my ears.

Now, when I want to remember that I am but a small part of an infinitely large story, I wear them. When I want to be reminded of the wonder of creation and the One who put it in motion, I wear them. When I feel like celebrating life and its mysteries, reverencing what I cannot understand but what pours grace upon me, I wear them.

I don’t have the the amazing collection of pins that Madeleine Albright shares with us in her exhibit and book by the same name, but I have my own collection of sacramentals that speak to my heart.