God come to my assistance. Lord make haste to help me.

Images on newscasts and online bring the widespread devastation ravaging Japan’s Northeastern coast into our homes and hearts, but I had another, more personal connection. On March 7, I stood in line at Tokyo’s Narita airport, buying boxes of green tea and a drink to keep me going until Delta Flight 620 would return me to the States through Minneapolis/St. Paul. Four days later, passengers on the same flight were among the last to depart Narita before the airport was closed down. I read they waited seven hours after boarding before the plane was given the go ahead to take off.

As I viewed video and listened to reports, I wondered about the young women who worked at the kiosk where I made my purchases and the crowds of travelers I had seen returning to their homes in Japan. How many of them were headed to the Northeast? What once would have been regarded as remote has been made more immediate through travel and technology. Some of the first images broadcast to the world were taken on cell phones. We no longer need spectacular photos of our planet from outer space to realize that we are one human race bound, one people of God.

As I prayed morning prayer and then searched through the Liturgy of the Hours and Mass readings to find something, some wisdom that spoke to the tragedy.I read and reread until suddenly becoming aware of the introductory prayer common to them all. An ancient prayer, it says it all, “Help!” in a more elegant, poetic way: “God come to my assistance. Lord, make haste to help me.”

I cannot imagine how those living in areas demolished by the quake and tsunami feel. What happens to one’s heart while looking at piles of debris that were once home and neighborhood? What happens to one’s faith when the closest sources of water, food, and shelter are miles and miles away?

After the first flood of gratitude that you are still alive, how do you face the future without becoming overwhelmed? With communication lines disrupted, what fear accompanies the long wait to hear from loved ones?

Another quote comes to mind, this time from St. Teresa of Avila (1515–1582)

Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
Compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.
Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
compassion on this world.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

There are many ways we can respond to the disaster that has befallen our sisters and brothers. Here are a few links to charitable organizations that are responding to this crisis:

Habitat for Humanity

Donate through Catholic Relief Services

Soles for Souls

© 2011 Mary van Balen

In the eyes of God our Father, pure unspoilt religion is this: coming to the help of orphans and widows when they need it, and keeping oneself uncontaminated by the world.
James 1:27 Afternoon reading (None)

Unlike those who sport yellow, pink, or green varieties,I am not a wearer of plastic bracelets. I have been tempted, though, by Sojourner’s WWJC? campaign and confess to donating $3 to send one to my Senate and House representatives.

While not pretending to understand national budget complexities, I do believe that many cuts proposed in the current budget before the Congress are unconscionable to those striving, however imperfectly, to follow Jesus’ teachings on caring for the least among us.

Today’s reading from Isaiah 58 poses and answers this question: Why fast when God seems oblivious to our efforts?

The answer? Our idea of fasting and God’s idea are, no surprise, not the same. Giving up chocolate, not eating between meals, or exercising more (modern equivalents of “hanging one’s head like a reed” or “lying down on sackcloth and ashes”) seem low on God’s list. Instead, Isaiah offers this list:

…Is not this the sort of fast that pleases me
– it is the Lord who speaks –
to break unjust fetters and
undo the thongs of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
and break every yoke,
to share your bread with the hungry,
and shelter the homeless poor,
to clothe the man you see to be naked
and not turn from your own kin?”

True, we are each called to personally respond to the poor among us,even grouchy neighbors or irritating family members. And “poverty” can refer to mental illness, loneliness, and abuse as well as homelessness and hunger. As members of society, we also have the responsibility to witness to Jesus’ call to care for the poor to those in positions of power, to those who will vote on how tax dollars will be spent, or dare I mention, be raised.

Many politicians on both sides of the aisle are claiming Christian values as their guiding light when they face decisions on how to cut the deficit. Today’s readings, and the gospels together, have a common message: We are judged by how we care for the least among us. What we do for them, we do for Jesus.

While I offer a couple of links at the end of this post to provide food for thought, nothing compares to spending time prayerfully reading Scripture and sitting quietly with God, discerning how we can make a Lenten fast this year that will bring us closer to God and direct our lives to join in Jesus’ work of bringing the Kingdom.

As Isaiah reminds us:

“Then will your light shine like the dawn
and your wound be quickly healed over.
Your integrity will go before you
and the glory of the Lord behind you.
Cry, and the Lord will answer;
call, and he will say, ‘I am here.’”

© 2011 Mary van Balen

Watch the full episode. See more Religion & Ethics NewsWeekly.

Meet the Martinezes: One Family’s Reach for the American Dream

Jon Stewart and the Sheer Hypocrisy of FOX News on Teachers
by Jim Wallis 03-04-2011

Article from Reporter, official newsletter of the Lutheran Missouri Synod

PHOTO: Mary van Balen In the morning let me know your love, O Lord.
Lord, listen to my prayer:
in your faithfulness turn your ear to my pleading;
in your justice, hear me…
The enemy has hounded my spirit…
So my spirit trembles within me,
my heart turns to stone.
I remind myself of the days of old,
I reflect on all your works,
I meditate once more on the work of your hands…

Show me your mercy at daybreak,
because of my trust in you.
In the morning let me know your love…
Psalm 142 (143) from Morning Prayer

I am not a morning person. Ask anyone who has lived with me or even spent a few days in my house. I meet the morning with glazed eyes and when possible, a long time laying in bed working up to engaging in the day.

One of the problems I encounter in the early morning hours is battling worries and thoughts that come whooshing in, unbidden, filling an empty mind like air rushing into an open vacuum.

Rather than energizing me to rise and meet the challenges head-on, those thoughts make laying in bed all the more attractive…except when I do, everything seems worse. Impossible. Overwhelming.

Perhaps that is why this morning’s Psalm spoke to me. With the possible exception of sleepless late nights, early morning is the time I can most use the recognition of God’s love.

Embedded in the psalm is also helpful adivice: remember God’s Presence in days past; remember how God has been with me, helping me through other rough days. Remember, God is God. Always has been. Always will be. I am not alone.

Reflecting on this truth can help us during Lent as we enter honestly into the quiet room of our hearts. Being alone with one’s self is risky. We have to own the darkness we find there as well as the light.

For some reason, when I begin my days, I am tempted to act on the illusion that all is up to me. Remembering the Holy Presence in my history, in the history of the world, is more that entertaining pleasant thoughts or empty hope.

Remembering has power. It makes present again what has been present before. This will be my morning prayer for the next thirty-eight days: In the morning, let me know your love.
© 2011 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

But when you pray, go to your private room and, when you have shut your door, pray to your Father who is in that secret place, and your Father who sees all that is done in secret will reward you. Mt 6:6

I slid into the pew at my old parish church, choosing to sit where mom and dad had in the latter years their life. Looking over the sparse congregation, I smiled realizing that I had become one of the “gray-hairs,” a euphemism we had used as teenagers to indicate the preponderance of older people in the church.

When Mass began, I looked to discover who was responsible for the emotive singing and powerful notes pouring from the piano. After Mass I learned he is a student soon entering law school.

“He is wonderful,” my old friend said. “He is looking at different schools and will probably go where he gets the most financial aid. We want to keep him here, though. He is the choir director now…”

For the parish’s sake, I hope a local university makes him an offer he can’t refuse. The hymns he chose were familiar and I enjoyed the feeling of pushing strong, clear notes out from my heart. Most of the people were timid when it came to singing, but that didn’t stop me. I belted out the notes, hanging them in the air with abandon.

One of the hymns sung was Tom Conry’s “Ashes.”

“We rise again from ashes, from the good we’ve failed to do.
We rise again from ashes, to create ourselves anew.
If all the world is ashes, then must our lives be true,
an offering of ashes, an offering to you.

We offer you our failures, we offer you attempts,
The gifts not fully given, the dreams not fully dreamt
Give our stumblings direction, give our visions wider view
an offering of ashes, an offering to you.

Then rise again from ashes, let healing come to pain,
Though spring has turned to winter, and sunshine turned to rain,
the rain we’ll use for growing and create the world anew
From an offering of ashes, an offering to you.

Thanks be to the Father, who made us like himself,
thanks be to the Son, who saved us by his death;
thanks be to the Spirit, who creates the world anew,
From an offering of ashes, an offering to you.”

As we sang, I looked at the stained glass window across from me. One of many circumscribing the round nave, it depicts the Holy Spirit, the power within that enables us to “rise from the ashes.”

The combination of song, sacrament, and community worship reached into my depths and stirred a weary soul with hope: Hope for renewal of faith. Hope for prayer. Hope for knowing God in my present place.

As the Gospel reminds us, we are called to go to our private room and pray in that secret place. What more private place than our heart? There, without pretense, we can meet God and open ourselves to conversion of life. Whatever discipline we choose, may it lead us to deeper faith and willingness to offer ourselves for others as Jesus offered himself for us? May we emerge at Easter a clearer reflection of the Holy Presence to the world.

Part of my Lenten practice will be, as it was last year, posting a reflection each day on this site. This Ash Wednesday, I give thanks for the liturgical season that reminds us of God’s outpouring of Grace that enables us to grow in love and relationship with the Holy One. The Grace that enables us to “rise from the ashes” time and time again.
© 2011 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

What is good has been explained to you; this is what the Lord asks of you: only this, to act justly, to love tenderly and to walk humbly with your God.
Micah 6:8 Afternoon reading (None)

Most days, walking to the grocery means passing a beggar sitting at the top of the steps that lead to the metal walkway across the busy street. He is a young barefoot man with a scraggly goatee and dirty clothes. Sometimes he holds a throw away plastic cup. At other times he lays beside the cup and covers his face with his shirt. I don’t know whether it is a sign of humility, shame, or just an attempt to keep the bright sun off. I pass by making a mental note to keep some change in my hand on my walk back, but often I forget. Carrying plastic sacks of food, I walk past without adding to his daily take since unzipping my purse and rummaging through it to find coins or small bills is too awkward.

Poverty is all around this city. Families live in metal huts with no plumbing that sprout along alleys and streets behind store fronts and the plastic table and chair restaurants that spill out onto the sidewalks in the evening. Some street vendors have lovely carts refrigerated or piled with ice to keep fruits and meats cold. Some set up stands where they fry batter dipped bananas or bamboo and greens stuffed pastry. Others have little to sell and customers are few. How do they make a living? I wonder.

As I walk by the young man, I remember the anguish felt by my young children when we passed homeless people on the streets of Washington D.C. How could such a thing be possible, they asked? How could someone have no place to go?

Once, our youngest was upset as we exited the freeway and she saw a man standing by an off ramp holding a “Homeless” sign.

“What are we going to do?” she kept asking, until my husband stopped the car and got out along with our oldest daughter, walked to the man and gave him some money.

“That will help a little,” she said when they returned. “But what else will we do?”

Her question replays in my mind as I walk by the young man; when I see children peering out from dark doorways in crowded alleys. I think of our congress and cuts some are pushing to make in our national budget.

What does God call us to do?

The question remains:
“What can we do?”

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

I visited the Baan Kuhn Pranee project to purchase intricately woven bamboo baskets by women employed by the SUPPORT project in Phanat Nikhom District. On July 21, 1976, Queen Sirikit of Thailand established Supplementary Occupations and Related Techniques, popularly known as SUPPORT. For many years, the Queen had established cottage industries using her own money, enabling women living in rural villages and on farms to work from home or near home. The women were taught Thai crafts in danger of being lost. The results are baskets and fabrics of top quality and unique patterns and style. These women are paid a fair wage and are able to help raise their families out of a life of poverty.

In some of the SUPPORT projects, women with handicaps are taught the fine crafts giving them, as the Queen said, a chance at raising their self-value as well as earning a living.

In Phanat Nikhom, populated by Thai, Chinese, and Lao people, diversity of cultures is celebrated in the project. Baskets woven in styles of each culture are made and sold there.
The baskets I purchased are unlike any I have seen in other markets. Expensive, they are well worth the price, not only for the product itself, but also for support of the women and the goals of SUPPORT.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen On February 18, Buddhists in Thailand celebrated Makha Bucha Day or Sangha Day. It commemorates the unplanned yet simultaneous appearance of 1,250 disciples before the Buddha nine months after his enlightenment. They paid him reverence and listened to him before setting out around the country to spread the teachings which became the root of Buddhism.

“You lucky to be in Thailand now,” a friend of mine said. “February a holy month for Buddhists. You go to temple, buy lotus and candle, and walk with the people three times around temple.”

I did. Sandra and I took a taxi to a nearby temple. The young Thai driver parked the car and led us through the rituals. We wended our way through vendors of flowers wrapped with three incense sticks and a deep yellow candle. We walked past a few people selling small wooden cages of birds, or so it seemed. Actually, they were selling the opportunity to set the birds free, a symbol of peace and freedom for the people.

The procession, called Vien tien, moved slowly clockwise around the temple with the people remembering the Three Jewels of Buddhism: the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha. As I walked I again prayed to the Holy One who created us all for peace and justice in this world.

Once people have walked three times around the temple hall, they removed their shoes, climbed the steps and placed the flowers, incense, and candles before statues of Buddha.

I looked up at the full moon in a hazy sky, and then at the people gathering in the green space around the building, waiting for the monks to arrive to lead them in prayer. They gather to pray, to seek truth, to live good and holy lives.

We crossed the main street that had been blocked off and bought some festival food: a cup of juicy sweet corn, sugared and salted, and some small pastries topped with meringue and shredded egg, orange for spicy, yellow for sweet.

Once the monks arrived, the people became quiet. He began to pray. Sandra and I stayed a bit longer and then motioned to the taxi driver that we were ready to leave.

I looked out the window and reflected on my faith. Jesus came to reveal God’s compassionate face, the Divine love for every one, especially the outcast and poor, and to show us the way to live, allowing the Sacred Presence to Grace us and transform the world through us.

On their holy day, my Buddhist friends were reverencing the Buddha, his teachings, and the community of holy men and women who continued to teach his way. They reverenced the community of Buddhists around the world, past and present, who strive to be faithful to their beliefs.

I thought about my own community, my small group who gather each month to eat, pray, and encourage one another on our way. I thought about the little parish church where I celebrate Sunday liturgy along with a diverse group who welcome all, including me. I thought about the larger community of those past and present, who try to follow the example of Christ.

I thought of the people on this planet holding a myriad of beliefs, of so many journeys, so many hearts longing for Good, and I asked the Holy Spirit’s blessing on us all.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
My thoughts are not your thoughts,
my ways not your ways – it is the Lord who speaks.
Yes, the heavens are as high above earth
as my ways are above your ways,
my thoughts above your thoughts.
Noon reading Isaiah 55:8-9

I look over the ancient city bounded by sea and mountains, and think of the eternity of God. The Mystery. The One Who Is. The Holy One has known peoples from all times and places. Those of us who live on this planet in 2011, those who first walked upright and reflected on their own existence, and everyone in between.

I have walked archaeological sites in Europe and wondered at Stonehenge, touching the huge monoliths before ropes and restrictions made their appearance. I have walked into caves dripping stalactites and growing stalagmites from their floors. I have prayed in great cathedrals of Western Europe, and like the character, Lionel Louge, from “The King’s Speech,” have walked over great poets and authors in Westminster Abbey.

Those sites and experiences moved me to prayer and wonder, but walking in the midst of a culture so ancient and so different than my own provides a fleeting sense of the infinitesimal place I hold in the expanse of space and time that are but a moment in the eye of God.

Like Black Elk, the Oglala holy man, I realize that we are each but grass that withers on the hill. Yet, to the Divine Presence, we are each a treasure. How can this be?

“My ways are not your ways,” the Lord says. Each life, each age, each culture, every heart is precious. In a political climate that seems to relegate less importance to the welfare of the poor and vulnerable among us than it does to maintaining lifestyles of the rich and powerful, this truth is indispensable.

When I see Buddhist monks and people at prayer, remembering that God treasures each one of us, no matter our path to holiness, is important. Where we see “other,” God see’s beloved. As today’s afternoon reading reminds us: “God does not see as man sees; man looks at appearances but the Lord looks at the heart.”1 Samuel 16:7
© 2011 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
There is a variety of gifts but always the same Spirit; there are all sorts of service to be done, but always to the same Lord; working in all sorts of different ways in different people, it is the same God who is working in all of them.
1 Corinthians 12:4-6 from Mid-morning reading

Today, I walked to a Buddhist festival at a temple in Thailand. A friend who knows of my interest in spirituality suggested that I might want to see it. The evening was warm and humid after an afternoon downpour, but not unpleasant.

As I wandered through the temple grounds, many sights reminded me of parish festivals at home: children hoping to take a gold fish home, games, rides, and lots of food. Of course, plenty of things were different: Monks were chanting as were ever changing groups of laypeople who, after offering orange buckets filled with ordinary items for the monks daily use, knelt and joined in their prayer. No hotdogs or cotton candy, but roasted chestnuts and sweets that included sweet corn as well as chocolates.

Some people purchased a lotus flower, incense sitcks, a candle, and gold leaf squares before stepping over the lintel leading into a shrine of Buddhas. People knelt and prayed, stuck their candles in sand-filled containers and rubbed the gold of the Buddha images.

The evening was an interesting mix of booths, games, food, rides, and prayer. When I looked up the readings for today’s liturgy of the hours I was struck by what Paul had to say: One God, many people; different tasks, different people, same God working in them all.

Our world is groaning under the weigh of wars, struggles against injustice, and ravages of disease. Environmental challenges loom ahead of us. Partisan politics in this country stall work and honest debate in a variety of issues.

I don’t think the Creator of all the earth’s people overlooks one honest prayer or the one who uttered it. I think God’s Spirit resides in us all. No prayer is lost, no person is overlooked, no effort for love and peace expended in vain.

As Paul continues in 1 Cor.: “God has arranged the body and that there may not be disagreements inside the body, but that each part may be equally concerned for all the others. If one part is hurt, all parts are hurt with it. If one part is given special honour, all parts enjoy it.”

Tonight I had the opportunity to walk with a part of God’s body that I do not usually see. My prayer was for peace, for understanding, and for courage to work with those different from myself as well as those who are more the same. Only together, can we bring peace and justice to the world.
© 2011 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
This snowy winter day found me walking the streets of Charleroi, Pennsylvania. Actually, I was doing more slipping and sliding than walking. Anyone could tell by my gingerly pace and occasional grasp at a parking meter for balance that I am basically a flatlander who, while used to messy slush, had little experience with walking through it up and down hills.

I passed lots of empty storefronts and buildings for rent. I was looking for a place to stop for a hot cup of tea and maybe a sandwich. A look to the left revealed the golden arches; a look across the street showed a cheerful plump statue of a chef holding an “authentic GYROS” sign standing by the entrance to Paolos Pizza and Pastaria. As if to add balance, a blue scarfed snowman waved from the other side of the front doors, and pointed to a sign advertising a Sunday Pasta Brunch.

Avoiding puddles of dirty slush, I made my way to Paolos, local always my choice over chains. The neat interior was empty except for two people dressed in black eating lunch. I assumed correctly that they worked there. They both rose when they saw me, the woman hurrying toward the back, the man telling me to make myself comfortable anywhere I’d like. I picked a table, draped my coat over a chair to dry and sat on another so I could look out the front windows at the snowy street.

In a moment, a waitress appeared with the menu and returned with hot tea and water to take my order. She had been gone only moments when a man walked through the front doors and asked if Chris was taking good care of me.

“I’m not sure if it’s Chris, but someone is,” I said, hands wrapped around my teacup drawing whatever heat from it that they could.

“I’ll bring you soup to warm you up,” he said and delivered a steamy bowl of Italian wedding soup that deliciously chased the chill away. As I sat savoring the little meatballs, another customer wandered it.

“Hello! I bet you’re cold. Can I bring you a cup of coffee on me?”

Another customer.

“Hello sir. How ya doing? How about a big meatball while you wait.”

Soon my pizza arrived. I had no intention of eating it all. I would box up three of the six pieces I told myself, but as I ate and watched a TV with the volume off showing an old black and white Tarzan type movie, I thought taking two slices home would be fine. When the waitress came with the check I was guiltily eating the last slice. I had to confess.

“I didn’t plan on eating the entire pizza when I started, but it was so good…”

“Don’t feel bad,” she said. “I do that about twice a week.”

So, I didn’t. I paid the bill, walked across the street and snapped a photo. In a society that has become increasingly uncivil and impersonal, the stop at Paolos warmed me up with food and friendliness and a helping of hope for the future. If you’re ever in Charleroi give them a try, and tell them I sent you. You won’t be disappointed.
© 2011 Mary van Balen