PHOTO: J. Scott Applewhite/AP

There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
the holy place where the Most High dwells.
God is within her, she will not fall;
God will help her at break of day.
Psalm 46 (from President Obama’s speech)

President Obama delivered a powerful speech in Tuscon yesterday as he remembered those killed and wounded in Saturday’s shooting rampage and called Americans to respond to the tragedy in a way that would honor the victims. His words were eloquent and heartfelt. He spoke with the humility he recommended to all Americans.

After remembering each victim and recognizing those who assisted at the shooting scene and the medical staff who ministered to the wounded, Mr. Obama turned to inward reflection as well as the need to move forward.

Such a tragedy, similar to the sudden loss of a family member, moves us to reflection on our lives, how we treat others, and how we can change for the better in our public and private lives. Indeed, Mr. Obama’s words and presence created a feeling of intmacy and “family” among those listening to his words.

His speech helped me believe that change in political discourse is possible. Perhaps civility and respect in debate is not a lost cause. He sounded a call to work together for the common good, and as a good leader, helped us believe that we can do it.

Looking at the good qualities of our nation, government, and people in general through the eyes of the child, Christina Taylor Green, helped us see again the good in the world. He exhorted us not to look for an easy explanation or to point fingers at those who think differently than we do, but to search for answers in a way that in a way worthy of Christina.

Mr. Obama asked us to react in a way that lives up to the expectations of all our children. Using Scripture again, he referred to Job looking for light but finding only darkness. We cannot understand the presence of evil in the world, but we are responsible for how we live our lives combating the darkness in our own corner of the world.

I hope his words inspire us all, particularly those in Congress, to go forward willing to listen and to tackle the challenges we face without demonizing those with whom we disagree.
© Mary van Balen 2011

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
“Getting ready for the snow storm?” I asked as I handed the customer her bag of Cuddle Duds long johns.

“Yes, and I’m going home and making a big pot of chili for dinner.”

“I’ll be over,” I joked. She laughed as she walked away, but I couldn’t get a big pot of chili out of my mind. Actually, it sounded so good I decided right then that I was going to stop at the grocery after work, buy the ingredients, and make myself a big pot of chili.

Funny how something as simple as that can lift one’s spirits. I smiled for the rest of the afternoon and enjoyed every moment of browning meat, onions, and green pepper before adding tomatoes and beans. The chili needed to simmer and I treated myself to a cup of tea and time to read some of “The Week.”

My sister unexpectedly stopped by and we visited while spicy smells filled the house. At nine o’clock I ladled out a steamy bowl of chili, topped it with extra sharp cheddar, and crumbled saltines over it all.

Ahh. I uncharacteristically took small bites and savored each one. How often do I eat without even noticing the flavors, textures, and aromas? Too often. I closed my eyes and gave thanks for a place to live, to cook, and for the wonders of chili on a cold winter night.
© 2011 Mary van Balen

IMAGE: The Baptism of Jesus by He Qi

As soon as Jesus was baptised he came up from the water, and suddenly the heavens opened and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and coming down on him. And a voice spoke from heaven, ‘This is my Son, the Beloved; my favour rests on him.’ Mt 3, 16-17

In his book, “The Baptism of Jesus in the Jordan,” Kilian McDonnell OSB calls Jesus’ baptism a boundary event. It was a “…bridge-burning event – the boundary cannot be recrossed- representing a radically new orientation in the life of Jesus.” p4-5.

In the gospels, Jesus came to the Jordan an unknown, or as McDonnell says, “an anonymous face in the crowd.” After the baptism, he is singled out as “the one who is to come,” “My beloved Son,” “the servant of Yahweh.” Some scholars hold that his baptism was the moment when Jesus came to understand who he was. Others say he came to his baptism already knowing his identity and mission.

Either way, the direction of his life changed from that moment. No longer a carpenter from Nazareth, he was a prophet, teacher, healer, preacher. His path was set before the water dripping from his body had dried.

As I pondered this feast and Jesus’ message of repentance with forgiveness already manifest in his being, I considered my own life. What have been my boundary events? What has given new direction to my journey? What has been an occasion of increase in faith and self knowledge? What has profoundly affected how I live faithful to my knowing of God and my ministry?

The decision to marry? The choice of my lifelong partner? Surely anyone who is a parent knows that the moment of your child’s birth is a boundary event. Nothing is the same again. Accepting the opportunity to live and work for two semesters at the Collegeville Institute. The recognition that a marriage has ended and the decision to legally declare it so is also a life changing event.

The new year is an appropriate time to reflect on these questions and to think about Jesus’ response to his baptism. He went away to pray and face the temptations that could lure him away from his new path. He sought strength and understanding by spending time with the One who sent him and emerged from the desert a man committed to his vision.

Nothing deterred him. He went forward, not always knowing where he would sleep or what he would eat. Not knowing the “how” but sure of the “why” of his life.

Today’s feast encourages us to deepen our relationship with God and to respond to the Spirit moving in our deepest center. She will give us strength and courage to accept the place our boundary events have taken us and to walk our path with heart.
© 2011 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

“Have a good evening,” Kim said as I left work last night.

“I will. I’m going to a Christmas dinner with some friends.”

“CHRISTMAS? Girlfriend, Christmas is over. We are getting ready for Valentine’s Day!” she said, smiling.

“When I was growing up, the tree went up on Christmas Eve and came down after the Epiphany. That’s January 6th. I like to savor the holiday.”

Savoring it I am. A kindred spirit, Ann still had decorations up. The living room was glowing with a Christmas tree; candles and poinsettias brightened the room where we gathered, but the most delightful adornment was the people around the table sharing good food, conversation, and coffee. As Emerson said, “The ornament of a house is the friends who frequent it.”

We moved from dinner to prayer, reflecting on winter and the graces is brings: Accepting the gift of “being” rather than “doing;” trusting in hope that rests in tired souls like seeds buried in the cold earth; learning how to wait for change with anticipation of possibilities rather than fear; crying tears for lost dreams of our own and of others; giving thanks for friends and their loving support; learning when to let go.

After sharing blessings with one another and swapping small gifts, we stood around the baby grand piano and sang Christmas carols. Ann’s small but powerful hands drew rich music from the instrument and we all sang with our hearts as well as our voices. Bass, alto, and soprano mingled and lifted spirits. I don’t know how many people besides choirs still come together to sing Christmas songs, but I am thankful to call some of them friends, and a most precious gift of the season that still has two days to go.
© 2011 Mary van Balen

IMAGE: Theotokos “Eleusa-Kiska” by Simon Ushakov 1668

The shepherds hurried away to Bethlehem and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in the manger. When they saw the child they repeated what they had been told about him, and everyone who heard it was astonished at what the shepherds had to say. As for Mary, she treasured all these things and pondered them in her heart. And the shepherds went back glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen; it was exactly as they had been told. Lk 2, 16-20

On this feast of Mary, Mother of God, I imagine Mary pondering not only the birth of Jesus and what immediately followed, but also the countless mysteries of her life. This icon conveys closeness and warmth between Mary and her son. Both appear to look beyond what is immediately visible to some deeper reality. Perhaps what they see is Love, God’s desire for intimacy with us. The ability to perceive such grace comes from their relationship.

Jesus, safe in his mother’s arms, learns love and trust and openness to the One who sent him. Mary, whose faith enabled her to recognize the human face of God, continues to grow in faith as her son and his life lead her through experiences she cannot understand. She accepts them, and holds them in her heart that swells with pride and breaks with anguish.

Mary’s “yes” gave the Most Holy One a human body, a heart, a face we can look upon and recognize as one of us. Through her, we have been given a glimpse of God-With-Us in an astoundingly personal way. We, too, are invited to say “yes” to God’s desire to be one with us. Through our relationship with Jesus we too are graced to expereince intimacy with God. We are invited to ponder our lives and to see through them the Love that is the Source of all.

As the New Year begins, may we be graced with Mary’s vision, with her openness to receive God, and with her patience when we, like her, wonder at God’s mystery unfolding from our “yes.” May we trust as she did, even when life holds pain and hurt we cannot understand, that life can bring us to Good that is God. May we be a sign of that hope to others.
© 2011 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: The Living End
I weep and my eyes dissolve in tears, since the comforter who could revive me is far away. My sons are in despair, the enemy has proved too strong. Mid-morning reading Lamentations 1:16

This feast was always difficult for me, offended as I was by the injustice of these senseless deaths: countless young boys killed because they were born at the wrong time and place.

The birth of Jesus, Love incarnate, occasioned this slaughter, which is both foreshadowing of fear-induced violence engendered in some by his message, and a metaphor for those throughout history who suffer because of circumstance rather than consequence.

Who are today’s Holy Innocents? If they do not die from bombing raids, hostile fire, or explosives, children born in war-ravaged countries may die of starvation and disease. Those who survive carry mental and/or physical scars for the rest of their lives. Countless number of children born in countries overwhelmed with AIDS and other diseases die before they have a chance to live. And what of the effects of poverty on the most vulnerable among us?

When thinking of “poverty,” images of children in other, poor countries may come to mind. However, poverty engulfs an increasing number of people including children in our country. According the US Census Bureau, the poverty rate for children under 18 increased from 19% to 20.7% between 2008 and 2009. Approximately 15.5 million children in the US live in poverty, and that does not include the 460,000 who are not included in the count because they do not reside with relatives.

Perhaps my discomfort with this feast has more to do with my unintentional complicity in the poverty cycle in my own country than with the plight of young boys 2,000 years ago. What can I change? How can I live in a way that does not contribute to the suffering of Holy Innocents in my own time and place? What can I do to contribute to the solution?

I will ponder these questions of following the teaching and example of Jesus as time for “New Year’s Resolutions” approach.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: NASA

Something which has existed since the beginning,
that we have heard,
and we have seen with our own eyes;
that we have watched
and touched with our hands:
the Word, who is life –
this is our subject.
That life was made visible:
we saw it and we are giving our testimony,
telling you of the eternal life
which was with the Father and has been made visible to us.
What we have seen and heard
we are telling you
so that you too may be in union with us,
as we are in union
with the Father
and with his Son Jesus Christ.
We are writing this to you to make our own joy complete.
1Jn 1, 1-4

These words from the first letter of John capture the enormity of the improbable reality of the Incarnation: One who was from all eternity, One who was with the Father, has been made visible to us. Those who walked the earth at the same time Jesus did, not only saw the Divinity among them, but also touched him, ate with him, heard his voice, and spoke with him.

One might think that this would be enough, that nothing else could add to the joy or wonder of that experience. The last line in John’s letter speaks otherwise: “We are writing this to you to make our own joy complete.”

Seeing Love, knowing Love, living with Love is not enough. Love must be shared. Only then is the joy he brings complete. What the apostles desire is our union with them and with Jesus Christ, and through him, with the Father.

May you find many ways to share the Gift of Christmas with those you love and with the world.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
“How small and gentle his coming was. He came as an infant. The night in which he came was noisy and crowded; it is unlikely that in the traffic and travelers to Bethlehem, the tiny wail of the newly born could be heard.

God approaches gently, often secretly, always in love, never through violence and fear. He comes to us, as God has told us, in those we know in our own lives…”
Caryll Houselander, The Passion of the Infant Christ, p. 46

This Christmas, after a long day at work and then baking and cleaning at home,I attended midnight mass at my parish. Walking through the parking lot, I saw candle flames flickering behind stained glass windows, and voices of the choir and congregation singing Christmas carols drifted across the snow covered neighborhood. The area, a mix of business and poor homes, looked transformed by a fresh fall of powdery snow.

Once inside, I found some friends and sat with them as we prayed and sang our way through the liturgy. A few times while standing, when my mind began to wander or my eyes closed, I caught myself from falling, sleep having descended on my in a flash.

“Why are you here,” a voice seemed to say,”when you are so tired?”

I knew. I wouldn’t miss it. I love to celebrate in this little church where the mix of ethnicities, instruments, and voices fill the small building with energy and joy. A variety of real pines strung with tiny white lights provided a backdrop for the altar and creche. Even though I could not close my eyes and ponder the mystery of the incarnation for more that a couple of seconds without tempting sleep, the profound mystery of the incarnation seeped into my mind and heart.

God comes to me in this place and with these people, not only in the word and Eucharist, but in the people themselves. The Incarnation continues through all of us, through family, friends, and strangers. I might have been on the verge of sleep, but these people did not mind. We were gathered together to remember and to worship, and in doing so, we brought Christ to one another.

When mass was over and pleasantries exchanged, I drove home and snuggled under my covers. Tomorrow I would pick up one of my daughters who had traveled back to Ohio for the holiday. We would celebrate along with my dad and other daughter, then welcome a friend for an afternoon of games and conversation before heading out to my sister and brother-in-law’s to catch up with cousins and their spouses and a fiancee.

The day would be full and I knew I would be battling sleep again, but, for the moments before drifting into pleasant sleep, I was wrapped in sweet contemplation of the coming onto the earth of its Creator.

Merry Christmas!
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
One tradition I never have difficulty keeping is having last minute preparations to do on Christmas Eve. Try as I might, I am never quite ready by December 24. This year I am close, though. Today I decided to bake more cookies than I had originally intended to make.

My daughter was in the dining room, sewing away. Christmas music sung by Cambridge College’s King’s Choir played in the background. (We both missed other CD’s that are packed away or given to someone else. The Cambridge choir is technically perfect, but as my daughter said, lacks energy and enthusiasm. Eventually we turned it off.)

I pulled out my standard Christmas recipes, handed down from my grandmother to my mother to me. Ginger snaps were the first. As I worked in mom’s kitchen I remembered decades of Christmases when the house filled with sweet spicy smells of ginger cookies baking. I don’t think a more tasty breakfast exists than one of ginger snaps and tea.

This batch was the best I have made since moving back. “The oven was used to Grandma,” my daughter said. “It was HER oven and resented someone else. I guess it’s getting used to you.”

I can’t imagine how many cookies mom and my grandma Becky made over the years. As I moved through the room, washed loads of dishes, and scooped flour and sugar from her spun aluminum canisters, I could hear their voices, feel their presence.

Next came pecan balls. I used a food processor instead of the old glass nut grinder. As a child, I looked forward to grinding pecans. I think most of us as well as our children, liked feeding whole nuts into the grinder, turning the handle, and seeing the glass jar filling up with bits of pecans. Food processors are faster, but not as much fun.

Finally, my daughter and I began our Christmas ritual. I don’t remember when we began to make springerle cookies, but she and I have baked them for years. One must have the “anise gene” to enjoy them, and we do. One year, after struggling to pry sticky dough out of wooden molds carved with lovely designs, we hit on a non-traditional but efficient way of making the cookies.

“They could be round, instead of rectangular,” I said. My daughter agreed and we began using a biscuit cutter and ceramic cookie stamps. We have the routine down and turn out a hundred and fifty cookies in half the time we used to take. Still, mixing, rolling, cutting, and stamping late at night, can be daunting.

“It’s what we do,” my daughter said when I told her how tired I was and that I wouldn’t have done it alone. “We make springerles every year.”

Another tradition. Something that binds generations together, that gives us a sense of rootedness and belonging. Becky and Mom, and my daughter, and me. We were all in that kitchen, celebrating the holidays and making memories that are as sweet as the cookies.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
Why should I be honoured with a visit from the mother of my Lord? For the moment your greeting reached my ears, the child in my womb leapt for joy. Yes, blessed is she who believed that the promise made her by the Lord would be fulfilled.’ Lk 1, 43-45

The alarm sounded at 2:30am. For a moment, I couldn’t remember why. The eclipse! I bounded out of bed, stuffed my fluffy-socked feet into warm black boots, threw on my coat over the white robe wrapped tightly around me, and opened the door into the night. Crunching over snow, I walked to the backyard and looked upward.

Clouds. During the night hours, a solid lid of clouds had clamped down around my part of the world, obscuring the once in a lifetime view of an eclipsed moon hours from the winter solstice. I wandered to the front yard, unable to accept the obvious: This is one cosmic event I will not see.

Back in bed, I watched a live feed on NASA’s site for a while, then shut down the computer and snuggled under my comforter. Somewhere above me, something magnificent was occurring. A silver orb was glowing copper-red and the planet I rested on was passing between sun and moon. Not seeing the event did not negate its reality.

I remembered a conversation I had after Mass with my then 5-year-old daughter.

“It isn’t fair,” she said. “If Jesus is real, I don’t know why he doesn’t let me see him. Even for just a minute.”

I am not sure what I said to my little theologian who was always asking difficult questions. Twenty-some years later, different variations on the same theme occur to me. This morning’s eclipse provided an apt metaphor. Not being able to see something does not mean it is not there. Some realities are perceived by a sense that transcends the usual five. Some require faith beyond understanding.

In today’s gospel, both Mary and Elizabeth believed in a reality neither could comprehend. Elizabeth called her cousin “Blessed” for her faith in God’s improbable promise.

Resigned to missing the eclipse, I drifted to sleep knowing that it did not need my witness to dazzle others across the planet. I was reminded, too, that I had good company in not perceiving God’s hand in my present life events, or knowing what lay ahead. I am asked to believe in God’s promise, “I will be with you,” and I, too, am blessed.
© 2010 Mary van Balen