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.

PHOTOS: Mary van Balen ‘The rich man replied, “Father, I beg you then to send Lazarus to my father’s house, since I have five brothers, to give them warning so that they do not come to this place of torment too.” “They have Moses and the prophets,” said Abraham “let them listen to them..” “Ah no, father Abraham,” said the rich man “but if someone comes to them from the dead, they will repent.” Then Abraham said to him, “If they will not listen either to Moses or to the prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone should rise from the dead.”’
Gospel: Luke 16:19-31

Sometimes I think if only God would speak more clearly, I would be able to find the path to follow, the job to take, the place to move. Luke’s gospel tells me otherwise. God is speaking. The difficulty is more on the listener’s end.

The story about a man stranded on the roof of a house during a flood comes to mind. He is sure God is going to save him, so when someone comes in a boat, a helicopter, and a raft, he declines their offer of help: “God will save me,” he says. After he drowns and goes to heave he walks up to God and complains: “You said you would save me. What happened?”

“I sent you someone in a boat, a helicopter, and a raft. What else did you want?”

The man could not see God’s hand in the offers of help missed his chances. Luke is saying the same to the rich man who begs Abraham to send Lazarus to his brothers’ house to warn them not to repeat the behavior that landed the rich man in hell.Like God says to the stranded man, Abraham brushes aside the rich man’s request: “No, your brothers have Moses and the prophets. What more could they want? If they don’t heed their words, they would not believe someone, even if he were to come to them from the dead!”

We have God’s word. We have the Spirit dwelling within. We have spiritual companions who have listened longer and perhaps more deeply than we have oursleves. God has come to live among us, to show us the way.

“Mary,” I hear Luke telling me, ” listen. Learn to listen and you will no need a special sign, or God’s voice echoing in your ear.”

Listening. Lent is a good time to remind ourselves of the importance of the quiet prayer of listening. Surely, God is happy to hear our thanksgiving and praise, our needs, our pain. But we cannot learn how to follow Chirst if we do not listen.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen It is you that the Lord our God has chosen to be his very own people out of all the peoples on the earth. It was for love of you and to keep the oath he swore to your fathers that the Lord brought you out with his mighty hand and redeemed you from the house of slavery, from the power of Pharaoh king of Egypt. Know then that the Lord your God is God indeed, the faithful God who is true to his covenant and his graciousness for a thousand generations towards those who love him and keep his commandments.

Deuteronomy 7:6,8-9

Todays short reading from Liturgy of the Hours speaks to us of God’s loving care and faithfulness. Perhaps because sleep evades me more often at night lately, Divine watchfulness and compassion is particularly important as I turn off the house lights and crawl into bed.

I am including a beautiful prayer from Jim Cotter’s “Prayer at Night’s Approaching.” It’s simplicity and confidence in God’s presence has helped me let go of the day’s unfinished business and the future’s unknown to find rest and peace in God’s embrace.

Lord,
it is night.

The night is for stillness.
Let us be still in the presence of God.

It is night after a long day.
What has been done has been done;
what has not been done has not been done;
let it be.

The night is dark;
Let our fears of the darkness of the world and our own lives rest in you.

The night is quiet.
Let the quietness of your peace enfold us,
all dear to us,
and all who have no peace.

The night heralds the dawn.
Let us look expectantly to a new day,
new joys,
new possibilities.

In your name we pray.
Amen

PHOTOS: Mary van Balen You visit the earth and water it,
make it abundantly fertile.
God’s stream is filled with water…
…Thus do you prepare the earth; you drench plowed furrows,
and level their ridges.
With showers you keep the ground soft,
blessing its young sprouts…
your paths drip with fruitful rain.
The untilled meadows also drip…

Morning Prayer Ps65,10-13

Last night, I lay in bed listening to the storm. Thunder rumbled, lightening illumined pulled window shades, and rain pummeled the roof. Storms at night comfort me as I lay in darkness, trying to put the days events to rest. Rain. Water. Ancient symbols of God’s blessings fell all round me. Springtime earth soaked it up. So did I.

A few nights ago, I visited my sky gazing friend, Melanie, to celebrate the super moon. I arrived while she was still at church, so looping a monocular around my neck and sliding a camera in my pocket, I took a slow walk around her property.

The first thing I noticed was the boggy path, covered with earth-hugging green and oozing water at every step. I shifted my weight and watched the water run from one side of my shoe to the other. Eyes closed, I was still and felt God’s own life fill my soul, like water drawn up a thirsty stalk.

I made no effort; it was all the water’s work, carrying grace to empty places. I stood long, marveling at the energy and hope that invigorated me.

Bird calls drew my attention, and I nodded to my companions: cedar waxwings, doves, bluebirds, red-winged black birds, titmice, juncos, song sparrows, house sparrows, a skittish wren, and of course, grackles.

Melanie returned. We sat on her veranda, lit a fire in the chiminea, and ate homemade soup as we waited for the moon to make its appearance. It did not disappoint, rising big and orange through the trees. As it climbed higher, the moon looked back at itself from Melanie’s pond.

Birch logs glowed orange, smoke rose to the sky, and we sat, two friends saturated with spring blessings.
©2011 Mary van Balen