PHOTO: Mary van Balen But Zion said, “The LORD has forsaken me;
my Lord has forgotten me.”
Can a mother forget her infant,
be without tenderness for the child of her womb?
Even should she forget,
I will never forget you.

Is 49,14-15

“No, my mother is bringing my lunch over,” my second grade daughter told the boy who had offered to share a sandwich. We had been running late that morning, and I didn’t have time to pack her lunch.

“Don’t worry, honey. I will bring it over before you head to the cafeteria,” I said when I dropped her off at school.

I am not sure what waited for me at home, but the hours passed and I completely forgot about taking over a lunch.

“No thank you,” my daughter said with a smile when one of her teachers offered to buy a lunch for her. “My mother said she would bring my lunch over. She won’t forget.”

I don’t remember if I completely missed her lunch hour or if I made it during the last five minutes, but suddenly, I remembered my promise, threw together a lunch, and rushed it over to the school which was across town.

A sad little girl met me in the hall.

“You forgot me, mom,” she said sadly. She might as well have stuck a knife in my heart. On the drive home I told myself all mothers forget sometimes, but still I felt horrible. No one wants to disappoint those they love.

Today’s first reading is full of the Lord’s promises to the prophet and to God’s people: He will provide food and water so they will not hunger or thirst; he will protect them; he will even cut roads through the mountains for them. The passage ends with the beautiful reference to the love of a mother for her child. God promises not to forget.

That promise is hard to believe. Like my young daughter, we have all been disappointed in those whom we trust. We have all felt forgotten by family and friends. We have all felt alone. How can we believe that the Maker of the Universe will not forget us? How can the Mother of All keep each of us in mind?

Such belief is a choice.

Despite life’s difficulties, I believe God’s love is fierce; it is constant. A mother’s love for her child is a reflection, however imperfect, of God’s ever mindful love of her children.
© 2011 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen Along the bank of the river I saw very many trees on both sides. Wherever the river flows,every sort of living creature that can multiply shall live,and there shall be abundant fish, for wherever this water comes the sea shall be made fresh. Along both banks of the river, fruit trees of every kind shall grow…
Ez 47,7;9

Therefore we fear not, though the earth be shaken
and mountains plunge into the depths of the sea.
R. The Lord of hosts is with us; our stronghold is the God of Jacob.
Ps 46,3

The water that feeds the river in the first reading comes from the sanctuary and restores arid land to fertility. What lives in the water and what grows on its banks will never fail. God is its source.

The responsorial psalm speaks of disasters. While the images used are meant to represent all types of calamities, verse three brought the recent earthquake and tsunami to mind.

One reading presents an idyllic picture of fecundity and peace. The other, destruction beyond imagining. What do they have in common? The Presence of God.

Divine generosity is easy to see in the first: life, abundance, and in later verses, food and medicine. God’s Grace is more difficult to comprehend in the second. Why would the earth shake to its depths and mountains tumble into the sea? Where is God in the midst of death and destruction?

The eyes of faith see what physical eyes miss: God is With Us always, as promised from old, as manifest in the birth of Jesus, and as celebrated in his death and resurrection.

God’s faithful Presence is not obvious when we look from places of suffering and despair. During those times we must draw on faith, on recalling God’s walk with us in times past. “Therefore, we fear not,” the psalmist sings. No matter what happens, God is our refuge.

Our Lenten practices are meant to open the eyes of faith, to strengthen our faith. In the midst of his agonizing death, Jesus wondered aloud why God had abandoned him. Still, he died with faith, handing his spirit over to the God he could not feel or see, but whom he trusted to be there to receive it.
© 2011 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: NASA

Thus says the LORD:
Lo, I am about to create new heavens
and a new earth;
Is 65,17

Yesterday I read an AP article Tweaking the climate to save it: Who decides?about a group of scholars, scientists, philosophers, lawyers, and politicians who gathered in Chicheley Hall in a remote English countryside to discuss the possibility of reflecting sunlight away from earth in order to counteract global warming.

As Kenyan earth scientist Richard Odingo said, playing God can be tempting. Another countered with the remark that the whole idea was unsettling. The problem is that not enough is being done to reduce greenhouse gas emissions, and unless that changes rapidly, disaster could result if a “Plan B” is not in place.

The problem with Plan B is, well, we are not God and we don’t know what long term effects of such a “sunshade project” would be. Who would decide what to do and when? Researching technologies does not mean they should be used, but humanity has been down that road a few times: If it is possible, it is usually done.

Reducing greenhouse emissions is hard work. It requires changes in lifestyles, in worldview, in energy production. President Obama recently laid out an energy plan that included aggressive research and development of alternative fuel sources. Such research has been proposed for decades with little actually done about it. Doing something now is imperative, but I wonder if it is too little too late.

Knowing that such a group has seen the need to convene and discuss what had been unthinkable in the past is unsettling. Are the people of this planet able to come together to address such a dilemma? Evidence suggests not.

“We have a lot of thinking to do,” the Kenyan Odingo told the others. “I don’t know how many of us can sleep well tonight.”

We have a lot of praying to do, too.
© 2011 Mary van Balen

Jesus MAFA The man answered and said to them,
“This is what is so amazing,
that you do not know where he is from, yet he opened my eyes.
We know that God does not listen to sinners,
but if one is devout and does his will, he listens to him.
It is unheard of that anyone ever opened the eyes of a person born blind.
If this man were not from God,
he would not be able to do anything.”
They answered and said to him,
“You were born totally in sin,
and are you trying to teach us?”
Then they threw him out.
Jn 9,30-34

How dare a sinful man try to teach anything to the Pharisees? After expressing their outrage, the Pharisees threw the man out. What little regard they had for the miraculous that stood before them! What blindness they exhibited; those who claimed to see!

The man cured of blindness stuck to his story and refused to repeat it again when it was met with unbelief. He was unbowed by the authority of those in positions of power not because of his learning or holiness. He stood unflinching before them because he knew what he had experienced: Jesus rubbed mud on his eyes, commanded him to wash it off, and now, blind from birth, he could see. Who can argue with that?

Pharisees, evidently. Those so caught up in rules (can’t heal on the Sabbath) or threatened by what they cannot control or understand.

The blind man has something to teach all of us. We should trust in our personal experiences of God-with-Us. Those experiences most likely did not occur in a church building. Perhaps they did not happen “according to the rules.” Those moments may not have resulted in physical miracles, but they healed hearts. They renewed spirits. They gave strength.

Today is Latare Sunday. We are more than halfway through Lent. Rejoice! the Latin word commands. This is a good day to reflect on the gospel and remember times God has touched us through prayer, through others, through the glories of creation. We remember times when God has walked with us through suffering, or remains our sole hope.

We read the gospel and pray to have the eyes of our hearts open to recognize God’s transforming Presence within us, rejoice, and rest in that comforting embrace.
© 2011 Mary van Balen

King David “The Pharisee took up his position and spoke this prayer to himself,‘O God, I thank you that I am not like the rest of humanity — greedy, dishonest, adulterous — or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week…But the tax collector stood off at a distance and would not even raise his eyes to heaven but beat his breast and prayed,‘O God, be merciful to me a sinner.’
I tell you, the latter went home justified, not the former;for everyone who exalts himself will be humbled,and the one who humbles himself will be exalted.”
Lk 18, 11-14

Still, you insist on sincerity of heart; in my inmost being teach me wisdom.
Ps 51,8

Attributed to King David, this penitential psalm asks for forgiveness after David’s affair with Bathsheba. David recognized his sinfulness and offered his broken heart, asking God to wash away his guilt and to allow him to remain in the Divine Presence.

Recognition of personal sins and brokenness need not bring despair, but can allow one to open his heart and accept God’s mercy and Grace.

The Pharisee in the gospel reading presents a heart very different from that of David. The Pharisee’s heart was full of himself, prideful and arrogant. He saw no need for God’s forgiveness. He was thankful not for God’s mercy, but for his own excellence.

A heart filled with self has little room for God. It has little chance of growing in wisdom.

Lent is long. Perhaps we have not been as faithful to our chosen disciplines as we intended to be four weeks ago. Maybe Lent has made us more aware of where we fail. We may be tempted to become discouraged, to give up.

David’s example teaches us to do otherwise. Even one anointed king to lead God’s people falls. He does not give up, but remembers God’s faithfulness and asks to cleansed from his sin, to be made whiter than snow.

He trusted God’s infinite love. We can, too. God desires not perfect hearts, but humble ones, ones with room for Grace to enter.
© 2011 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen “Three snows after the forsythia blooms”

How long will it last, O Lord?
Will you be angry for ever?
Will your anger blaze up like a fire?
Mid-Morning (Terce) Ps 79,5

My grandma, Becky, used to share this folk wisdom about forsythia and snow each spring as we waited for warm weather to arrive and stay. While on a walk this morning, I saw these forsythia blooms capped with snow that fell the day before: “One,” I counted.

I relish lingering cold weather, not one to bask in summer heat, but I know I do not share that sentiment with many in this mid-western state. Becky’s adage can also serve as a metaphor for spiritual life and vitality.

As we journey through Lent, we hope for the triumph of Easter Resurrection to fill us with joy and to strengthen our faith. Is Easter what does that? Or is it the waiting, the faithful perseverance of our journey that works this miracle in our souls?

Preparing our souls for Grace is like preparing spring gardens for seed. Tilling, clearing old growth, and breaking up clods of earth make beds to welcome seeds, sun, and water. Lent provides time for practices that do the same for our spirits, so when Easter arrives, we are ready to celebrate and receive the Spirit of the feast.

However, just as a Mid-west spring often is slow to arrive and must suffer snow and freezing temperatures, our spirits may not be ready by Easter Sunday. I have known Easters to come and go while my spirit feels as dry and empty as ever.

Then I remember Becky’s wisdom that even in springtime, snow falls. Like the bright yellow blooms, I try to remain hopeful and have faith that in God’s time, the Son will shine and my heart will be ready and open to bask in the warmth.
© 2011 Mary van Balen

So they grumbled against Moses. ‘Give us water to drink’ they said. Moses answered them. ‘Why do you grumble against me? Why do you put the Lord to the test?’ But tormented by thirst, the people complained against Moses. ‘Why did you bring us out of Egypt?’ they said. ‘Was it so that I should die of thirst, my children too, and my cattle?’ Moses appealed to the Lord.
‘How am I to deal with this people?” he said. ‘A little more and they will stone me!’
Ex 17, 2-4

After camping in a place without water, the Israelites complained, wondering why Moses had led them out of Egypt in the first place. From the hardships of the desert, slavery wasn’t looking so bad. At least slavery as they were remembering it at the moment.

Sometimes, having made choices that lead us to a particular place or situation in life, we can become discouraged with where we are and question why we chose as we did. Uncomfortableness of change makes the old and familiar appealing once again, no matter how bad they really were.

In the case of the wandering Israelites, they were wondering why Moses, at the command of God, had led them to a hostile desert. Was God’s hand in their escape from Egypt or not? If so, they demanded water to drink.

When life is challenging and difficult, when it seems to test us beyond our abilities to survive, we may have the same doubts about God’s Presence with us. Our “old life,” while not perfect, is preferable to one we are not up to living.

Moses was exasperated with the people, but God did not seem to mind. Instead of anger, God responded to their cries with a miracle: With a rap of Moses’ staff, God makes water flow from a rock. The people drank, and were reassured: God walked with them after all.

In my life, I sometimes cry out time and again without seeing or feeling a response. This time of God’s silence seems interminable. Yet, I continue to cry out. I continue to expect something good to happen.

Am I foolish? Unrealistic? Perhaps. Certainly in a reasoned or logical way, my persistence at prayer seems foolish. Sometimes I feel foolish and my faith wavers.

When I read this story, I can identify with the exhausted, thirsty people. I know what trying to keep three children satisfied can be like. Mothers traipsing through the dessert with young ones would have been tired beyond endurance if their husbands pitched camp in a place with no water.

I would like to say I identify with Moses, frustrated by their lack of faith. But, I know myself too well, and this stretch of my life has at times, seemed like a desert with no watering hole.

I need to remind myself of the good that has come from struggle and pain. Like water from the rock, blessings have gushed out of difficult situations. Not always as quickly as I would like, but in the end, I survive. Sometimes I even flourish.
© 2011 Mary van Balen

mid 4th century catacombs When a Samaritan woman came to draw water, Jesus said to her, ‘Give me a drink.’ …The Samaritan woman said to him, ‘What? You are a Jew and you ask me, a Samaritan, for a drink?’ – Jews, in fact, do not associate with Samaritans. Jesus replied:
‘If you only knew what God is offering
and who it is that is saying to you:
Give me a drink, you would have been the one to ask,
and he would have given you living water.’
‘You have no bucket, sir,’ she answered ‘and the well is deep: how could you get this living water? Are you a greater man than our father Jacob who gave us this well and drank from it himself with his sons and his cattle?’
Gospel Jn 4

Jesus’ conversation with the Samaritan woman was extraordinary. Not only was she a woman and a Samaritan, her history could suggest that she was of questionable character, having had five husbands and presently living with a man who was not. That she came to the well alone might be interpreted as her lack of acceptance by other women of her town since drawing water was a social as well as a practical task.

Reading their conversation, one gets the sense of friendly banter. As the priest at Mass this morning commented: “He said, then she said. He said, then she said.” Jesus was not put off by her past or present for that matter. He seemed to enjoy the conversation and offered to her the truth that his disciples did not yet know: He was the Christ.
The woman believed Jesus and ran to tell those in her town about him. She is sometimes called the first evangelist, bringing others to belief through her words and enthusiasm. I doubt those in the town had seen her in quite this way before. People who may have held a low opinion of her before, found themselves listening to her compelling story and hurrying out to talk to the man who talked to outcast women and said he was the Christ. Her encounter with Jesus had changed her, made her word persuasive.

It began with friendly banter that turned into conversation and honest sharing. The woman admitted her past, Jesus revealed his identity, and the woman believed.

Sometimes we may be tempted to think that dramatic action is required to touch a heart or help it open to receive the love of Christ to another, but God is present in the quiet whisper of a breeze as well as a burning bush.

Rembrandt: Jesus The tax collectors and the sinners were all seeking the company of Jesus to hear what he had to say, and the Pharisees and the scribes complained.
Gospel reading Lk 15,1

Today’s reading is so familiar that I started skimming it rather than reading. Realizing what I was doing, I slowed down and began again. What struck me was the first line. What “type” of people gathered to hear Jesus? Outcasts, fringe types not the usual “temple” types it seems, at least from the reaction of the Pharisees and scribes.

What was Jesus saying that attracted such a crowd? He must have been speaking about things that mattered to them. Perhaps words of hope, compassion, understanding. Probably not words that piled more burdens on hearts already weary and tired. I wonder if those that gathered were surprised and pleased to find a rabbi who went out of his way to talk to them. Someone who didn’t mind their appearance or their lack of social status.

Who would be pressing to hear Jesus if he walked our streets today? What would he be saying?

The taxpayers and sinners sought his company. Jesus was someone they felt comfortable being with. Would they be comfortable with me? Would I be comfortable with them?

What draws us to Jesus? What does he say that speaks to our hearts? What do we have in common with those in today’s reading?

Lots of questions from pondering one line of today’s gospel.

Gentile Bellini “Annunciation” The angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man named Joseph, of the House of David; and the virgin’s name was Mary. He went in and said to her, ‘Rejoice, so highly favoured! The Lord is with you.’ She was deeply disturbed by these words and asked herself what this greeting could mean, but the angel said to her, ‘Mary, do not be afraid; you have won God’s favour. Listen! You are to conceive and bear a son, and you must name him Jesus… Mary said to the angel, ‘But how can this come about, since I am a virgin?’ ‘The Holy Spirit will come upon you’ the angel answered ‘and the power of the Most High will cover you with its shadow… ‘I am the handmaid of the Lord,’ said Mary ‘let what you have said be done to me.’ And the angel left her.
Luke 1:26-38

A friend of mine, poet Kilian McDonnell OSB, wrote a poem titled “In the Kitchen.” Here are a few lines:

Bellini has it wrong.
I was not kneeling
on my satin cushion
quietly at prayer,
head slightly bent.

Painters always
skew the scene,
as though my life
were wrapped in silks,
in temple smells.

Actually I had just
come back from the well,
placing the pitcher on the table
I bumped against the edge,
spilling water on the floor.

As I bent to wipe
it up, there was a light
against the kitchen wall
as though someone had opened
the door to the sun…

Hearing the story in Luke, or reflecting on some of the many paintings made of the Annunciation, we might be tempted, like the painters, to forget that Mary was a young girl, busy with ordinary chores of life in Nazareth. Was she frightened when she saw the light and realized what was being asked of her? Was she tempted to say “no” to the invitation to become a pregnant, unmarried, betrothed maiden? Did images of implications flash through her mind?

Her faith was deep and pure. Still, saying “Yes” was a brave thing, a profound thing for the young girl to say. She was giving herself away to her God and to a future that she could not imagine. She trusted God with her life which in that moment was forever changed.

When someone called Dorothy Day, founder of the Catholic Worker, “a saint,” her reply was: “Don’t call me a saint. I don’t want to be dismissed so easily.”

We should not dismiss Mary easily either, by imagining she was so different than us. It gets us off the hook of responding courageously to God’s call to us. Just as calling someone “a saint” puts her in a category of “other,” and makes her life not some much an example to be followed as an aberration available to a select few, thinking of Mary as the serene woman in Bellini’s painting can imply that we have an excuse for not following her example: She is different than the rest of us.

Indeed, she is different: She is the mother of God. Still, she was a human being and her “yes” came with great cost. This is not a day of sentimentality, but a day of challenge. A day to commit ourselves to saying “yes” despite the cost.