PHOTO: “HEPATICA” by MARY VAN BALEN

Do not remember the former things,
or consider the things of old.
I am about to do a new thing;
now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
Is 43, 18-19

I was driving home and complaining to the One who claims to love me and watch over me, like sparrows, lilies, and hairs on my head. Most of my seventy-some job applications had disappeared without a whisper into the silence of cyberspace, and the few responses that had come back said, “Thanks, but no thanks.” Going to graduate school was a desirable alternative to finding a fulltime job, but that, too, was unsure.

“I am sick of not knowing what to expect,” I blurted out.

Tears threatened to overflow as I passed shabby billboards and last years corn fields while thinking about jobs I had done in the past and how they might help me find employment now. “Maybe I could go back into the classroom,” I thought. I am an enthusiastic, creative teacher, but conversations with friends working in schools were often filled with complaints about constant evaluations, excessive record keeping, curriculum determined by high stakes testing.

“Would it be too much to ask for SOME idea of what is ahead for me?”

God wasn’t talking.

I could waitress, having put myself through school working in a variety of restaurants. I smiled wryly remembering my daughters concern about that plan, thinking I am too old to keep up the hectic restaurant pace.

“In upscale restaurants, you have to remember everything, Mom. You can’t write it down,” one said. I guess she has doubts about my memory. Fair enough. Sometimes, I do, too. What else have I done? I rummaged through my past; I’ve done lots of things: taught elementary school, worked as an enrichment teacher and afterschool program director. I have been a camp counselor, a retreat center cook, and a GED teacher.

Panic squeezed my stomach and made me sick. Being jobless and going through a dissolution was wearing me down. I picked up the cell phone and called my sister.

“Hi, I need you to talk to me about having faith, trusting God, and all that. God isn’t talking to me, and I’m worried that I won’t be able to afford school; I’ve been holding onto that as a for-sure option if no work comes through.”

“Don’t put all your eggs in the grad school basket,” she said. “God may have something completely different in mind for you. You have to be willing to let that door close.”

She was probably right, but I don’t’ think she understood. I could handle letting one door close, even a favorite door, but I felt like every door was closing. I was getting claustrophobic. Something somewhere had to let light in.

Isaiah reminds me: “I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?”

No, I don’t, not really. Holy Mystery, what keeps me from seeing what is unfolding before me? Give me patience and faith to believe that where I see nothing, you are busy bringing forth a new thing.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO:MARY VAN BALEN
Then the temple police went back to the chief priests and Pharisees, who asked them, “Why did you not arrest him?” The police answered, “Never has anyone spoken like this!” Then the Pharisees replied, “Surely you have not been deceived too, have you? Has any one of the authorities or of the Pharisees believed in him? But this crowd, which does not know the law—they are accursed.”
Jn 7, 45-50

Something exists in the Roman Catholic Church called “sensus fidelium,” or “the sense of the faithful.” It is not something we hear much about, but it means that the affirmation of a particular doctrine or teaching being in keeping with the deep understanding of our faith is in keeping with the resides not only in the intellects and knowledge of theologians and church authorities, but also in the hearts of ordinary faithful Christians. Their acceptance of the teaching is evidenced by the incorporation of it into practice. When a doctrine or teaching is not accepted or when it is actively resisted the magisterium should review it: It may not be in keeping with our faith and experience of God, or the doctrine may have been poorly communicated, blurring the truth it attempts to express.

I am reminded of sensus fidelium when I hear the Pharisees question the temple police in this reading.Certainly, the ordinary devout Jews were beginning to wonder about Jesus and entertain the thought that he might be the Messiah after all. These people’s hearts were not skewed by desire to maintain power and status. They were not self-righteous and certain of the correctness of their understanding of the Torah as the Pharisees were. These were plain people, perhaps many uneducated, who were starting to know something not primarily with their heads, but with their hearts, moved by God.

People like that pose a threat to those in power, either political or religious. The same is true today. Trusting the sense of the faithful takes deep faith in the Presence of God within all. While the Church acknowledges the reality of sensus fidelium, it often has a difficult time hearing its voice.

For example, a new English translation of the Roman Missal soon will be used in the celebration of the Mass. Many voices throughout the Roman Catholic Church, lay, religious, and ordained, are expressing dismay and asking for the implementation to be delayed. The language is not that of modern English speakers. Why the change? Some say it is to insure a stricter adherence to the Latin Bible. Jesus didn’t speak Latin. Latin is already a translation of a translation. The sense of the faithful is saying the new Roman Missal will not enhance the faithful’s ability to participate in the Mass in a more meaningful way. It may well have the opposite effect.

This is one current example of those in power not trusting the Spirit working in ordinary faithful, who, as the Pharisees of Jesus’ day said, “do not know the law.” How many insights, truths, and revelations have been lost through the ages because they did not come from those educated in theology and the Scripture studies or those in positions of authority?

Today’s reading challenges us to examine what we truly believe about the God’s Spirit working in all the members of Christ’s body. We must be open to listen to wisdom coming from all places along the hierarchical strata. It also challenges us to be aware of the Spirit working in our family, co-workers, friends, and even enemies and to learn to trust in her guidance.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO:MARY VAN BALEN

Now some of the people of Jerusalem were saying, “Is not this the man whom they are trying to kill? And here he is, speaking openly, but they say nothing to him! Can it be that the authorities really know that this is the Messiah? yet we know where this man is from; but when the Messiah comes, no one will know where he is from.”
Jn 7, 25-27

Today’s reading skips some of the “good parts,” picking and choosing verses. The reader will miss Jesus’ brothers chiding him about not going to the festival of Booths in Judea, saying he should go since “no one who wants to be widely known acts in secret…show yourself to the world” (4).

Jesus says he won’t go because people there want to kill him, but after his brothers leave, Jesus goes in secret.He doesn’t keep a low profile for long; soon he is preaching in the temple, astounding listeners with his wisdom. He takes them to task for objecting to his healing a man on the Sabbath when according the law of Moses, a man may be circumcised on the Sabbath.

Jesus’ remarks and the authority with which he spoke had people wondering if perhaps he was the Messiah. One problem: They knew where Jesus was from. When the Messiah came, no one would know his origins.

Of course, in hindsight, we know those listening to Jesus were making a big mistake. They only thought they knew where he came from, and they all knew nothing good came out of Nazareth. A carpenter’s son had meager “Messiah” credentials.

We may be quick to judge those in Jesus’ audience, but reading this story I thought of places held in low esteem in the USA today. West Virginia and Appalachian jokes abound, while for some it is the uppity East or West coast that is the source of people who do not share “American” values or who are too snooty. Sometimes family of origin cause people to judge others. “Oh, she’s one of so and so’s children,” and eyes roll as if that explains failures of character or accomplishment.

What about immigrants? Mexicans, Somalians, or Iraqis to name a few. Do we have expectations of people who come from those countries? Even our current President, Mr. Obama, is under suspicion by some who question his birthplace and his parentage. Is he fit to be president?

As unbelievable as that sounds to me, some citizens of this country have a difficult time with a man of Mr. Obama’s mixed race background occupying the highest office of the land.

We should not be too quick to judge the people in Jesus’ day for their ignorance or the people we meet in our own lives for their places or families of origin. Each human being carries some part of the Divinity in her soul. Every person has a gift that will enrich the rest of us. Let’s expect the best, the unimaginable: Christ comes to us in “the least” as well as in those society might deem “the most.”

PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN

Praise the Lord!
O give thanks for the Lord, for he is good;
for his steadfast love endures forever.
Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel,
from everlasting to everlasting.
And let all the people say, “Amen.”
Praise the Lord!
P 106, 1; 48

Today’s Psalm begins and ends with praise, but in between is a long list of Israel’s unfaithfulness and sin. From grumbling in Egypt to worshipping a golden calf to adopting the gods and rituals of the pagans, God’s people forgot the Holy One’s work in their lives and in the lives of their ancestors. They forgot who they were: God’s own people. Forgetting who we are is easy to do: Our lives are busy and stressful; our country and the world struggle with injustices, hatred, and violence. Without roots sunk deep into the history of God and our ancestors, we do not see the Sacred in our midst; we do not remember that we are glorious children of God.

Jesus tells those who will listen that they do not see what is in front of them. John the Baptist gave testimony to the One who was to follow him, and his testimony was true. “He was a burning and shining lamp, and you were willing to rejoice for a while in his light. But I have a testimony greater than John’s” (Jn 5, 35-36). Jesus was doing the work he was sent to do, and while those works were testimony to his divinity, many were unable to recognize it.

We need to be still, remember, and know that God is with us as God has always been, offering forgiveness and love because we are children of the Holy One. When we do remember who we are, our works will be testimony to the greatness of this Loving Presence and will be joined to Jesus’ life work of transforming the world.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

MY MOTHER AND GRANDMOTHER

But Zion said, “The Lord has forsaken me, my Lord has forgotten me.”
Can a woman forget her nursing child, or show no compassion for the child of her womb?
Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you.

Is 49, 14-15

These verses evoke sweet images of a mother nursing her child and caring for the young one she had carried in her womb. Whether or not one is a mother, the metaphor is powerful. Yet, I think that many of us who are mothers may have a deeper appreciation of these words than those who have not experienced the long wait from conception to birth and the miraculous moment of bringing new life into the world.

I speak from experience. As a young adult, I was sure I would never marry in spite of my parents’ deep love for one another and my mother’s fulfillment in her role as mother. When some of her female children and later grandchildren decided to marry late or chose advanced degrees and careers over starting a family, she shook her head and wondered why. For her, no career or degree could match the accomplishment of raising a family; it was the highest calling. Later, she was passionate about her job as a teaching assistant for mentally handicapped children. They became her extended family.

I was not interested in devoting so much of my time and energy to children. I had other things to do. Among my four closest college friends, I was the only one who declared I would never marry or have children. You guessed it: I was the only one who did!

Pregnant with my first, I debated about staying home or going to work after the baby was six months old or so. I worried about bonding with her. I still wanted to write, work for the Church, and go to graduate school. I had been part of an intentional community committed to serving the poor.

After the birth of my first child, I needed about sixty seconds to make the decision. I could never have imagined the overwhelming love that filled my being when my little girl was laid on my chest, the profound connection that has never left. My desire to serve God’s people started with my family. Mom knew that, though she never would have used those words. She knew a mother’s love was about as close to God’s love as one could get. Her selfless giving was something I could not appreciate as a twenty-something. I had to grow into her wisdom.

Could a mother forget the child nursing at her breast? Could she be without compassion for her children? I have had enough experience in life as well as in work with social services to know that some wounded women have been unable to love their children as the mother in these verses. They can even abuse their children, but that is not a response of mentally healthy mothers.

When I read these verses from Isaiah and reflect on my motherly experience, I can take hope and joy from the knowledge that I am loved like that by the One who gave me life. © 2010 Mary van Balen

MEMORIAL BRONZE SCULPTURE BY CONNIE BUTLER

Now in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate there is a pool called, in Hebrew Bethzatha, which has five porticoes. In these lay many –blind, lame, and paralyzed. One man was there who had been ill for thrity-eight years. When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be made well?” The sick man answered him, “Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up; and while I am making my way, someone else steps down ahead of me.”
Jn 5, 2-8

Jesus must have been puzzled by a man who had been lying by the water for thirty-eight years. “Do you want to be made well?” was an appropriate question. One might think the man was too lazy to hurry to the water, or maybe enjoyed his plight. Someone must have been bringing him food and water to survive for years. Perhaps he liked not having to work or care for himself.

His answer was none of the above, and it made me stop. “I have no one to put me into the pool…” He had no one to help. Jesus took care of that with a word. He had no need of the water; his word had the power to heal.

I think of so many people in our world “lying in the portico” like those suffering from the earthquakes in Haiti or from famine in those in Africa enduring famine. In our own country, many people suffer from lack of affordable or available healthcare. They have no one to help. As St. Theresa of Avila said, we must be the hands and heart of Jesus in this world.

Those suffering tell us they have no one to help.

What will we do?
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN
The official said to him, “Sir, come down before my little boy dies.” Jesus said to him, “Go; your son will live.” The man believed the word that Jesus spoke to him and started on his way. As he was going down, his slaves met him and told him that his child was alive.So he asked them the hour when he began to recover, and they said to him, “Yesterday at one in the afternoon the fever left him.” The father realized that this was the hour when Jesus had said to him, “Your son will live.”
Jn 4, 49-53a

Before assuring the official that his son would live, Jesus had rebuked him for his need for a sign in order to believe. As it turned out, the man believed before he had the sign: his son’s recovery.

I am not as trusting, though I try. My biggest problem is trusting God with my young adult offspring. When children are young, parents have more control. Their words are truth, their instructions eventually followed. Young adults have seen their parents’ clay feet, know they are full of misinformation as well as good intentions, and listen to suggestions with appropriate skepticism.

This is frustrating, especially when a young adult who once barely filled her mother’s cradling arms is facing challenging times and difficult decisions.

I wish, after placing my children in Jesus’ care, I could turn and walk away like the man in John’s gospel. The official pleaded with Jesus for the life of his son, and when Jesus told him not to worry, the man didn’t. He simply began to walk home.

The scene plays differently in my life. I hesitate. Restate by request to make sure God understands. I turn to leave and remember something else I should say. God may be God, but I am a mother. Eventually I make my way home, with a few glances backward to see what God is doing. I also don’t usually receive the same affirmation the official did when his servants rush up to tell him the good news: His son has recovered. My “signs” are slow to come, if they come at all, and the more time that passes without a “sign,” the more I find myself wondering about prayer and if it is just me talking to myself.

I grow weary with worry, emotionally worn out. I want to shake sense into my daughter and yell at God for lack of action. This is where a good Psalm of Lament would come in handy. I could pray the ranting, cursing words with feeling, and question God about the Divine whereabouts when it was most needed.

At least that is what the situation looks like from my point of view: Need, pleading, but no one close enough to hear or inclined to do anything about it. I can’t see the whole picture, and I desperately want to know it all turns out fine. I want to know that my children and I eventually reach the center of our labyrinths even if the journey is long and filled with countless turns and backtracking.

I want to believe what Julian of Norwich says so simply: All will be well and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.”

Lord, I want to believe. Help my unbelief!

© 2010 Mary van Balen

Look to him and be radiant

Ps 34 5a

This verse reminds me of recognizing Jesus as the primordial sacrament. I recently explored this understanding with my university students while discussing Vatican II’s implication that the Catholic Church has nine sacraments, not only the ritual seven. The first is Jesus, and the second is the Church itself.

In his book, “Understanding Sacraments Today,” Lawrence Mick states that Christian sacraments are the signs of God’s continual work in the world (83). The Incarnation of God, Jesus, is the primary sacrament through which God gives the Divine Self away to us and to the world. In Lumen Gentium, Light of the Nations, Jesus is the first light. Since he is no longer bodily present on the earth, the Church (in an inclusive sense) continues to be that Presence.

Only in the measure that the Church reflects Jesus can the Church be a light to world. A metaphor used to illustrate this relationship between Jesus and the Church is that of the sun and moon. The moon has no light of its own; only by reflecting the brilliance of the sun can it bathe the earth with its silvery glow. In the same way, only by reflecting God’s own glorious self can the Church provide the earth and its people with the gift of that Self. Without the Holy One, the Church is nothing.

The moon has a dark side that faces away from the sun, as does the Church, and whenever those who comprise the People of God turn from their source of life and light, they have no life to give away. The moon, of course, has no ability to change its orientation; its dark side remains forever dark. That is not so with us.

Ps. 34 calls us to look to God and be radiant. Each time we do, God’s gift of Self is poured out in new and wonderful ways, transforming the earth and all who dwell on it.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN

He will come to us like the rain,
like spring rain that waters the earth.

Hos 6, 3b

Winter is finally over, or so it seems. Snow piles are melting. Wild snow drops are covering the ground and a few crocuses have poked their colorful heads above ground. When I take the short cut to my car, the earth gives beneath my step. Some people are watching for the forsythia to bloom so we can quickly get past the folk wisdom of “three snows after the forsythia blooms.” Some people are not waiting. On the first truly sunny day that we have had since February, I have seen shorts and t-shirts and sandaled feet.

Even I, a winter-lover, enjoyed running errands without a jacket and opening doors and window blinds, allowing spring sun to flood the living room. My soul is ready for spring. Spiritually, this has been a long winter and often my soul has felt dry. Not that God hasn’t been raining Grace all along, but winter rain is cold. Rather than opening up to receive it, I sometimes close in on myself, like I do when I walk out into a January storm. I pull my coat around me and sometimes wear a hat to keep the water from soaking my head and chilling my body.

Winter rain has a purpose. Plants are nourished even when they lie dormant and unaware in the dark earth. God’s Presence, though sometimes difficult to embrace, feeds my soul whether I know it or not.

But Spring rain is warm and welcome. I used to delight in taking long walks in warm rains, returning home drenched and happy. Once I indulged in such a walk last year in Minnesota. I walked in the woods, looked at the flowers and green shoots coming up. Color looks more intense to me in the rain. The walk was one of rejoicing. Ice was receding from the lake, birds were sining and scavenging for nesting materials, already preparing for new life.

Spring rain brings hope for future harvests. I think hope is what makes spring arrive in the soul, opening it up wide to receive life-giving self. Hope is warm and expectant and vital. After a long winter, after a long Lent, I am ready for God to rain into my heart.

PHOTO: WORDPRESS

Open wide your mouth that I may fill it.
Ps 81, 11b

God’s instruction sounds so simple, but anyone who has tried to feed an infant or toddler who doesn’t want to eat knows better. Thus the silly games we play, making the spoon into an airplane, train, or other method of transport to deliver the food to the hanger, station, or whatever. We cajole, distract, and plead, all to no avail if the child refuses to open her mouth.

God is calling Israel to fidelity, reminding them of their delivery from Egypt, and lamenting their stubbornness. The Psalm ends with a mother’s hope for a softening of their hearts: “But Israel I would feed with finest wheat, satisfy them with honey from the rock” (v. 17).

The gift of Divine Self is always being poured out. It is a fountain of Love whose Source is inexhaustible. God’s desire is to find hearts open to receive it.
© 2010 Mary van Balen