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

PHOTO: MAURICE FLOOD

Whoever is not with me is against me, and whoever does not gather with me scatters.
Lk 11:23

This verse reminds me of another, two chapters earlier in Luke’s gospel. Jesus’ disciples saw someone casting out demons in Jesus’ name, and they tried unsuccessfully to stop the exorcist who was not one of their group. They told Jesus about it and he said, “Do not prevent him, for whoever is not against you is for you” (Lk 9,50).

The temptation of the world is to divide its people into “them” and “us,” and that process begins early. As children we are quick to point our finger at someone else as deserving of blame: “I didn’t do it; they did!” I remember one day years ago, sitting on the floor with my younger sister in the large bedroom we shared with another sister, a brother, and a grandmother. We must have been making too much noise playing because mom had called up and in her no-nonsense tone told us we had better quiet down.

We leaned against the footboard of one bed, touched our toes to the sideboard of another, and made a pact: We will NEVER forget what it was like being a child as our mother obviously had. My own children would say I had forgotten long before they were born. What is natural bonding and response to growing up is different from the hateful divisions that are purposely created by adults.

Flagrantly putting walls around “us” to keep “them” out was condoned by our society when “them” equaled “Black.” Skin color is not the only attribute that marks people as “other,” though it is the most obvious. Language and ethnicity give rise to discrimination and division. These prejudices continue today, sometimes more subtly, and include less conspicuous populations like transsexuals, the poor, and mentally ill. Divisions can become hateful even between religious denominations, faiths, and political parties. Wars are fought over such differences.

Jesus was not concerned with such classifications. Instead, he was focused his mission of bringing God’s Kingdom. Jesus was interested in intent and actions, not who was intending or doing. Do our actions bring love and unity to God’s people or do they plant fear and division? Do our actions help bring the kingdom or do they impede its coming? Perhaps we need to focus on what mattered to Jesus: the heart.

Jesus didn’t ask about his apperance or sexual orientation. He didn’t need to know if he was well educated or wealthy. The exorcist was contributing to the work Jesus had come to do. That was enough for him. It should be enough for us.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

Photo: News One

However, take care and be earnestly on your guard not to forget the things which your own eyes have seen, nor let them slip from your memory as long as you live, but teach them to your children and your children’s children.
Dt 4, 9

In today’s Old Testament reading, these and the verses that follow tell of Moses reminding the Israelites of the day God gave the Ten Commandments and the instruction to observe them in the Promised Land. Moses tells the people to remember and to teach their children not only about the wondrous way the commandments were given, but also about the responsibility to live by them.

We teach more by our actions than by our words. What are mine teaching? I have false gods that rob time and attention from the Holy One? Do I keep the Sabbath? Do I reverence others? The commandments are deeper than their literal meaning, and Jesus summed up them up along with the Law and the prophets in his two great commandments to love God and love neighbor.

These verses remind me of a magnet on my friend’s refrigerator. The souvenir from the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. is black with three phrases written in small orange letters: The next time you witness hatred; the next time you see injustice; the next time you hear about genocide. In large white letters interspersed between the phrases is the sentence: THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU SAW.

Do I think about and remember what I see in the world around me so I can “teach my children?” or do I go about my days as if no one slept homeless on the streets, or lived with cancer because they can’t afford health insurance, or were hungry because they have no jobs? Do I remember the times I have heard others speak with hatred and derision of those they fear or do not understand? Do I not only enjoy the fruits of the earth, but also live in a way that helps insure they will be here for future generations? Do I speak up when I see injustice? Do I take time to communicate my concerns to leaders who make laws and determine policy?

What do I do with my time? With my gifts? What do I remember about God’s great commandments? What am I teaching the children?
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN

Make known to me your ways, Lord:
teach me your paths.
Guide me in your truth and teach me,
for you are God my savior.
For you I wait all the long day,
because of your goodness, Lord.
Ps 25, 4-5

How do we learn God’s ways or discern God’s paths? How do we learn Divine truth and allow it to guide us through life’s daily challenges as well as times of life-changing choices?

For me, quiet prayer is the answer. I read and pray Scripture, practice Lectio Divina that is not only prayer, but also informs my writing. I try to use my gifts in service of God and others. But, even those activities, well intentioned as they are, are not the same as sitting quietly with my Compassionate Friend and being drawn deeper into the relationship that gives me life and purpose.

Much prayer is focused outward toward God and others. We try to pray for others and to keep their needs in our hearts. We take the energy and clarity we find to fuel our work, our efforts to bring peace, to care about those we love who struggle or need support.

All these practices and good and important. Yet, we need to be quiet, to retreat from the outside world and remember ourselves in God’s Presence. We need to listen to God’s words of love for us, feel God’s embrace, and know God’s way.

Like the Psalmist, we may long for Holy Guidance as we make choices and live our lives, but we cannot hear it in bustling activity and constant “noise.” We must sit at God’s feet, like Mary of Bethany, enjoy the closeness and listen with our hearts.