Mary van Balen

September 9, 2018 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Rev. Graetz: Standing Together for Justice

Rev. Robert and Jeannie Graetz Photo: Mary van Balen

I browse New York Times (NYT) headlines in the mornings even though the news is often depressing and stirs anger and frustration rather than wonder at new-day possibilities. But one morning in August, I was surprised by a headline and photo of an old friend, Rev. Robert Graetz. “Bombed by the K.K.K. A Friend of Rosa Parks. At 90, This White Pastor Is Still Fighting,” it read. The article, by Alan Blinder, included an interview with Robert and his wife, Jeannie.

After being ordained a Lutheran minister in Columbus Ohio, he was assigned to his first pastorate in 1955—Trinity Lutheran, a predominantly Black congregation in Montgomery, Alabama. There he was practically the only white minister who publicly supported the bus boycott and as the NYT headlines reveal, he and his family paid a price. According to Jeannie, threats began “As soon as the Klan and the Klan-type people knew that we were involved.”

Back in Ohio

The Graetzes moved back to Ohio a few years later. They lived in a simple house nestled in the woods of southern Ohio. Robert wrote a monthly column, part of the “Point of View” series that ran during the 70s and 80s in the Catholic Times, the diocesan newspaper of Columbus, Ohio.

I knew Robert from reading his columns (and his first book, “Montgomery: A White Preacher’s Memoir”), but in October 1992, we met at an alternative observance of Columbus Day. The 4-day event was led by Indigenous Peoples. Covering it for the Catholic Times, I saw Robert, and we shared lunch and good conversation.

Rev. Graetz spoke at some Martin Luther King Jr. Day services I attended over the years. So, in the early 2000s, when I was an adult educator for a family literacy program severing poor, mostly single, young parents, Robert was my first choice to be an MLK Day speaker for our students.

Rev. Robert and Jeannie Graetz addressing a group of students

Photo: Mary van Balen

He and Jeannie came and shared stories, not only of their time and roles in Montgomery and the bus boycott, but also of their continued work for causes of justice and equality. It included the fight against racism and embraced other forms of injustice: sexism, income disparity, oppression of minorities based on ethnicity, sexual orientation, or anything that separates persons as “other.” Their message was written large on a tablet displayed beside them as they spoke: R.A.C.E.– Respect All Cultures Equally.

It wasn’t only the “big” message that touched my students. It was the little things. “Did you see how Jeannie slid that cough drop across the table to him when he started to cough?” they asked. Her simple act deeply moved those young parents who had been abused for most of their lives. They insisted that we drive up to Columbus to hear him preach at St. Philips Lutheran Church.

I enjoyed reading the NYT article that morning and learned that the Graetzes now live in Montgomery. It was good to remember people who inspired. Who walked the walk. People who did their best to love as Jesus loved and to take a stand against oppression and injustice when they saw it, despite danger to themselves and their family.

Divisiveness, violence, and hate that swirl around us today are disturbing. When asked for his thoughts about what was happening in Alabama and across our country, Robert said it’s “…one of the most dangerous periods of time I’ve ever been through in this world.” Sobering from one who has lived through tumultuous years of the Civil Rights Movement.

Hope

Photo of the bus Rosa Parks was riding when she refused to give up her seat.

The bus Rosa Parks was riding when she refused to give up her seat. Now at the Henry Ford Museum, Dearborn, MI.

Yet there is hope. During a 2011 PBS interview, Robert observed that many people thank Jeannie and him for what they did. He’s quick to point out that it wasn’t only what “they” did. He gives credit to the Women’s Political Council made up of Black American women who started the bus boycott and all those who were involved. “It was 50,000 Black people who stood together, who walked together, who worked together, who stood up against oppression,” he said. “If it had not been for this whole body of people working together, this would not have happened.”

At the end of the NYT article, he said that seeing two people getting together and smiling was a source of optimism for him.

I take these two thoughts to heart. Today we need to “be peace” where we are, in the little moments, showing love and support. Like Jeannie and the cough drop, you never know when small kindnesses will touch someone’s heart.

But we also need to work together as we speak out and stand up for justice today.

Similar column published in the Catholic Times, Columbus, Ohio. 9.9.2018

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: civil rights, equality, hope, inclusion, Jeannie Graetz, justice, LGBT, love, Martin Luther King Jr., Montgomery Bus Boycott, Rev. Robert Graetz, Rosa Parks, social justice

August 9, 2018 By Mary van Balen 10 Comments

Ordinary Life, Extraordinary Grace

Oil painting of wood and stone cabin in clearing in Autumn woods by Marvin Triguba, 1986

Painting of Koinia, oil on canvas, by Marvin Triguba, 1986

Sometimes an ordinary event becomes an extraordinary grace. That happened to me last week, and I’m grateful. Horrible headlines, day after day, overwhelm. I couldn’t finish reading an article about the violence and abuse that drove Honduran families to risk everything and take a chance on making it to the United States. Some did, only to be turned away. Pope Francis’s declaring the death penalty inadmissible in all cases and changing the Catholic Catechism to reflect that teaching was hopeful. Still, I felt worn out as I sat down to write.

I’d just spent a couple of weeks mentally residing in December, researching Scripture and writing a homily to be published for the second week in Advent. Pulling myself back into August, I read through the week’s liturgical texts for inspiration to write. Lots of feasts and interesting saints, but sometimes your spirit is too tired to do much, even with an embarrassment of riches.

I looked out the window, thinking about nothing in particular when suddenly, the image of a beautiful oil painting came to mind, and I smiled. It changed everything. Here’s the story.

Last week, I had the pleasure of delivering that painting to a couple, Mike and Patty, my friends since I was a college student. It wasn’t just any painting. It was created by a mutual friend and artist Marvin Triguba, a master at capturing the essence of his subject—in this case, a small wood and stone building sitting in the woods near Ohio’s Hocking Hills. We called it “the lodge” but it was really a repurposed cement block garage.

For decades, this building and the surrounding land had been the gathering place for a small community – including Marvin, Mike, and Patty – and their friends. We shared potluck dinners, singalongs, bonfires, and late-into-the-night conversations about God, belief, and what being faithful looked like in our world and in our lives.

The painting had belonged to yet another friend and community member, Fr. Mario Serraglio, who died just a few months ago. It needed a home, and I could think of none better than with Mike and Patty. Before taking the painting to them, I spent time contemplating it and remembering.

It wasn’t just the community gatherings that stirred my spirit. There were times I came alone to pay attention wild flowers or to play guitar and sing my prayer. There were snowy days when I skipped classes at the university and drove down to walk through the woods and along the pipeline that ran over the hills. In the early days, a ramshackle house stood on the property too, and that’s where I stayed. After my walks I slid a chair close to an old gas heater that struggled to warm the house. I read poetry and wrote in my journal, sipping tea until sunset. Some nights the stars took my breath away.

Years later, I shared the place with my family, spending birthday weekends in October and February there. Two of my daughters used flint and steel to light a fire in the lodge’s large stone fireplace and banked it each night, keeping it going for days. We roasted apples, took walks, read books, played Ping-Pong, and enjoyed one another’s company. No TV, phone, or radio.

Detail of oil painting of cabin in an Autumn woods, by Marvin Triguba, 1986

Detail of painting by Marvin Triguba, 1986

The longer I looked at the painting, the more memories floated into consciousness. Ordinary things: autumn leaves falling while woodpeckers hammered away at hollow trees; white trillium announcing the coming of spring; my first taste of oxtail vegetable soup; tall weeds heavy with dew sparkling in the morning light.

Marvin had an amazing way of painting light. He once said that was just how he saw everything and wondered aloud if everyone didn’t see that same way. I don’t think we do. Or we don’t slow down enough to really notice. Just like we don’t always recognize and reverence the Divine Presence in ordinary life. In people. In creation.

But it’s always there, the sacrament of encounter that feeds the soul and brings hope when it’s hard to find. Like the disheartened Elijah wakened by an angel and instructed to eat the divinely supplied hearth cake and water that would provide energy for his long journey, we are invited to waken and be nourished by Holy Grace offered always and everywhere if we have the heart to see it and the courage to take it in.

The words of Brother Lawrence, the 17^th century Carmelite come to mind: “In the noise and clatter of my kitchen, I possess God as tranquilly as if I were upon my knees before the Blessed Sacrament.”

Amen.

This is a slightly edited version of the original published in the Catholic Times, August 12, 2018

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: creation, encounter, faith, grace, Grace in the Moment, hope, light, Pope Francis, Presence, present to the moment, spirituality

July 12, 2018 By Mary van Balen 5 Comments

Thank You, Mr. Rogers

When my oldest child was three, friends with a son about the same age asked how I liked Sesame Street. I admitted that neither I nor my daughter had seen it. We rarely turned on the television, but after hearing other young parents extolling the show’s merits, I watched. The constant fast pace and short snippets put me off. (A former elementary teacher as well as a mother, I knew kids had longer attention spans than that.) Later, I came to appreciate what the show had to offer, and Sesame Street and other public television shows became common fare. But at first, if we were going to watch children’s television at all, I preferred Mr. Rogers.

“Preaching” with his life

It was the pace. The real time. Taking time to let a story unfold without interruption. And the calm kindness and grace of Mr. Rogers himself.

After delaying seminary training to work in the new field of television, he eventually was ordained a Presbyterian minister to be an evangelist to children through the media. But Fred Rogers was no televangelist.

While St. Francis of Assisi probably never uttered the admonition attributed to him, instructing his followers to preach at all times and to use words if necessary, those words come to mind when I think of Mr. Rogers. His faith was integral in his life and it informed every show. But when the cameras rolled, he didn’t mention Jesus or make religious statements. Who he was, what he did, how he spoke to his young audience, how he reverenced all (each child and of course all the “neighbors”) spoke right to heart.

Tikkun Olma

On the one-year anniversary of 9/11, he came out of retirement briefly to record a public service announcement addressing parents about how to talk with their young children about such tragedy and violence. Like the rest of us, he wondered what he could do in the face of such overwhelming evil.

With pain and sorrow in his face, he reminded parents to reassure their children that they would do all they could to keep them safe. He recalled his mother’s words: “When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, ‘Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.’”

He looked at the camera and said we are called to be tikkun olma, a Hebrew phrase that means “repairers of creation.” It includes the sense of cooperation with God in mending the world, restoring it to wholeness.

You are special. So is everyone else.

In today’s world, those words are powerful. Rogers had spent his life using his particular gifts and grace to help children understand they were loved, each a special, unique creation cherished by God. He was acknowledging a foundational truth of Christianity: God dwells in each of us. We are all loved and carry a spark of the Divine within.

The Hindu word Nameste says it: The divine in me bows to the divine in you. Acknowledging this truth about ourselves and others makes atrocities like separating immigrant children from their parents unthinkable. Judging others to be less than because of skin color, ethnicity, social standing, or education cannot stand when we recognize the dignity of all.

In an interview for Christianity Today, Rogers said “The underlying message of the Neighborhood is that if somebody cares about you, it’s possible that you’ll care about others. ‘You are special, and so is your neighbor’—that part is essential: that you’re not the only special person in the world. The person you happen to be with at the moment is loved, too.”

Today we desperately need to heed the gospel message of “love your neighbor” and the Good Samaritan parable’s understanding of just who our “neighbors” are. Mr. Rogers spent a lifetime being that neighbor to millions of young children and their parents.

Be a helper. Be tikkun olma. And if you have the opportunity, treat yourself to the movie, “Won’t You Be My Neighbor.”

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment

June 24, 2018 By Mary van Balen 4 Comments

Jesus Spoke Truth to Power. We Are Called to Do the Same

tPainting by Gaye Reissland of diverse group of poeple with hands held high forming a heart shape with their fingers while approaching the Statue of Liberty.

Gaye Reissland acrylic on canvas 26″ x 12″
Painted for the Columbus Crossing Borders Project

Father James Martin, in a Facebook post, calls out all those complicit in the the grossly inhuman treatment of the migrant children being taken from their parents who have crossed the border: “Even then, all those involved in this will have to beg forgiveness from God. Because in the fullness of time, the ones in trouble will not be the migrants. It will be those who sinned against them.”

The Vatican won an international prize for its short video on migrants and refugees from the International Social Advertising Festival or Publifestival awarded its “Best Strategy in Social Action” prize. The video’s poignant images and words remind us of the preciousness of all human life, the potential of every human person, and the imperative to welcome, protect, promote, and integrate (not assimilate!) those who come to us.

But what do we see? Thousands of children separated from their parents. People, adults and children alike, put in fenced “cages” or tent cities while the adults wait for an expedited hearing to learn their fate. All around the world, refugees turned away despite the horrors they are fleeing.

Martin’s and the Vatican’s messages are profound calls to action. But as an ordinary person, not one with political position or money or influence, I increasingly find myself wondering what I can do not only in response to the immigrant/refugee situation, but also in the general climate of deconstruction of policies and initiatives (e.g., eliminating environmental protections and withdrawing from the Paris Climate Agreement) that have slowly guided our country over its relatively short existence toward a more responsible, ethical democracy—as the Preamble of the U.S. Constitution states, “to form a more perfect union.”

I don’t have answers. I pray and try to bring compassion and respect to daily encounters with the people I work with and meet. I call and write my congressional representatives and donate what I can to campaigns. I vote and attend rallies. But these actions seem small.

Some people I know have launched bigger projects, trying to put the issues before the public (Columbus Crossing Borders Project, Through the Checkpoint). One of the project directors lamented, “But it seems like nothing in the face of what’s happening.” What can we do? The answer is different for each one of us. But we must do something.

“If you lose heart, /when adversity comes your strength will only be weakness./ Rescue those being led away to death,/ hold back those who are being dragged to the slaughter./ Will you object, ‘But look, we did not know’?/Has he who weighs the heart no understanding,/ he who scans your soul no knowledge?/ He himself will repay a man as his deeds deserve.” Proverbs 24, 10-12 (The Jerusalem Bible)

Can we find “heart” in the support and example of others? Can we share strength in our communities of faith and love? Can we nurture hope in one another? In the midst of struggle, can we be strong together? Can we raise a chorus of voices that cry out for justice?

We cannot say to God, “Oh, I didn’t know it was this bad.” God knows better. The evidence is everywhere.

“Bad men need nothing more to compass their ends, than that good men should look on and do nothing.” (John Stuart Mill 1867)

It’s nothing new. When we see wrong, we must say something, do something. Jesus spoke truth to power. We are called to do the same.

Filed Under: The Scallop

June 20, 2018 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Three Simple Gifts

A mason jar with pink wildflowers and some greenery along with a small bowl of sand holding a tea light candle all sitting on colorful rectangle of fabric resting on a white table

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
Centerpiece SDI Conference 2018

Originally published in The Catholic Times, June 14, 2018

Recently I attended the Spiritual Director’s International Conference in St. Louis. The keynote speakers are well-known in the area of spirituality, and I looked forward to the breakout sessions, especially one on storytelling. To top it off, travel was a road trip with a good friend filled with hours of great conversation.

After we checked in to the St. Louis Union Station Hotel—a breathtakingly beautiful example of late 19^th century architecture, stained-glass windows, gold leaf, and all—and enjoyed dinner, we made our way to the ballroom that served as the gathering place for plenary sessions. In the first half-hour, we received three gifts.

Silence

First came a call for the hundreds of spiritual companions to move into prayerful silence—not the usual kickoff activity for a large conference. Quiet prayer is a common thread found at the heart of all faith traditions, and it was integral to the entire weekend, repeated not only at every whole group gathering, but also at most of the breakout sessions.

Silence to quiet our “monkey-minds,” filled with thoughts crashing around in our heads. For five or ten minutes or longer, we acknowledged and released the interior noise and sank into precious moments of true silence, being still in Holy Presence.

In a world of noise, confusion and conflict it is necessary that there be places of silence, inner discipline and peace. In such places love can blossom. Thomas Merton

In Silence God ceases to be an object and becomes an experience. Thomas Merton

Music

And then there was song. To be honest, I don’t remember what music opened the conference. Over the weekend we experienced many types: hymns and chants, instrumentals, songs that washed over us and songs that invited us to join in. I do remember the sense of joy that gently filled me as I sat that first evening, slowing down from the trip and settling in, emerging from silence and feeling music lift my spirit.

Music can be part of everyday life. We turn on the radio, stream songs from an app, or plug in our playlist. Often music is background sound. Our attention is elsewhere: Driving to work or fixing dinner. That’s good, but intentional experience of music is different, whether you’re singing, playing, listening, or moving to it.

Recently, a dear friend came to visit and brought a small book I had made for her years ago holding songs I’d written over decades, guitar chords and all. She asked me to sing them.

I slid a dusty guitar case out from under my bed, tuned the instrument and began to sing my way through the book. Surprise! Despite a few pesky chords, I remembered them all. Prayer.

Instead of enjoying a snippet of a favorite symphony while driving from here to here, once on retreat, I listened to it from beginning to end, eyes closed, focusing on nothing else. Transporting.

All of creation is a song of praise to God. Hildegard of Bingen

I play the notes as they are written, but it is God who makes the music. Johann Sebastian Bach

I mean to sing to Yahweh all my life. I mean to play for my God as long as I live. Psalm 104

Beauty

Next our attention was directed to the flowers on stage and the lovely centerpieces on each table. Early spring wildflowers, a single twig from a flowering tree or shrub, and a bit of green artfully placed in a clear mason jar. It sat on a square of interesting fabric and was surround by a few smooth stones and a small bowl holding sand and a single candle.

All had been gathered from her land and arranged simply by the woman responsible for “beauty” at the conference.

Beauty. In creation. In artifacts. In candlelight. In the people around the tables. It is good to be reminded to notice the beauty in our world, to celebrate it, to create it.

The fullness of Joy is to behold God in everything. Julian of Norwich

The Word is living, being, spirit, a verdant greening, all creativity. Hildegard of Bingen

Three gifts given and received in the first half-hour but that would last all weekend and beyond. They are yours, too, wherever you are. Yours for the taking.

A sense of the universe, a sense of the all, the nostalgia which seizes us when confronted by nature, beauty, music – these seem to be an expectation and awareness of a Great Presence. Teilhard de Chardin

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment

June 4, 2018 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Join Us for a Retreat: Journeys of Compassion

By Richard Duarte Brown

In these times when divisiveness and fear of the “other” is on the rise, nurturing our sense of compassion is increasingly important. It isn’t easy, though. Blame. Anger. Shutting people out. These responses may rise more quickly than a compassionate one.

Join me and international retreat presenter, Rick Hatem, for a retreat, Journeys of Compassion: A Response to Life’s Challenges and Opportunities, on Friday, June 29 from 7-9pm and Saturday, June 30, from 9am-4pm at the Martin de Porres Center, 2330 Airport Drive, Columbus, OH 43219.

Saturday’s retreat will complement the Friday evening reflections, but both sessions are complete in themselves.

Friday – Begins with quiet prayer and then using art and story, Rick and Mary will invite you to reflect on the “others” in our lives and in the world and how we can open our hearts to meet them.
Saturday – In addition to presentations and discussion, will include time for individual reflection and small-group sharing. There will also be an opportunity to hear about each other’s experience in the larger group. Optional: half-hour quiet prayer after lunch before the afternoon session.To register contact Rick: rickhatem@gmail.com Mary: maryvanbalen@gmail.com Pre-payment by check or credit card – All types of payment accepted at the retreat – Some scholarships available

Rick Hatem

Rick Hatem moved to Jerusalem in 1986 to work for peace with Palestinians and Israelis, engaging in dialogue with Jews, Muslims & Christians. His long involvement with l’Arche* began when he heard its founder, Jean Vanier, speak in Bethlehem in 1987. Rick joined the Bethlehem community, and when it closed in 1991, he returned to the U.S. and continued working with l’Arche in New York, Canada, and as a regional leader in the U.S., as well as by serving as a member of la Ferme Spirituality Center for three years in Trosly, France. Rick has worked as a spiritual director with the Henri Nouwen Society, the Spirituality Network, and other groups. He has led retreats in North America and Europe.

Mary van Balen is the author of four books, numerous articles, and has written the column “Grace in the Moment” for over 31 years. She holds an MA in Theology and was a resident scholar at the Collegeville Institute for Ecumenical & Cultural Research. Mary conducts retreats on topics including journaling and spirituality. She is a spiritual director, having completed the Spiritual Guidance Program at the Shalem Institute. Also an educator, Mary has worked as a classroom teacher, an enrichment consultant, and an adjunct instructor of theology. She has worked with abused women and single mothers in a federally funded poverty program for family literacy.

* L’Arche is French for “the ark.” In 1964 a Canadian, Jean Vanier, began a home called l’Arche in northern France. He welcomed two men with developmental disabilities to create home with him in the spirit of the beatitudes. Since then l’Arche has grown into an international federation of 150 communities in 40 countries. L’Arche continues to create community with men and women with developmental disabilities and those who live and work with them. L’Arche is ecumenical, shaped and guided by the major Christian denominations. Internationally l’Arche is multi-faith. There are 18 l’Arche communities in the U.S. including one in Cleveland, Ohio. The last 10 years of Henri Nouwen’s life were in l’Arche near Toronto.

Filed Under: The Scallop, Widening Our Circles Tagged With: acceptance, compassion, grace, humility, inclusion, mercy, quiet prayer, retreat on compassion, spirituality

April 5, 2018 By Mary van Balen 2 Comments

Easter is More than History

Bouquet of bright flowers and cobalt blue glass water jug on table

Photo: Mary van Balen

Originally published in The Catholic Times, April 8, 2018

After the Resurrection, Jesus appeared over and over again to those who were closest to him. The gospel readings this week and through Sunday tell the stories. The women were the first to see him.

In Matthew’s gospel Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James and John walked in the early morning to the tomb. They were the brave ones who watched the angel appear like lightening, roll back the stone, and sit on it, frightening the Roman guards into a death-like stupor. They listened to the angel and hurried to tell the disciples what they had seen and heard. On their way, Jesus appeared to them, calmed their fears, and told them to instruct the disciples to meet him in Galilee.

In Luke’s gospel, the women were again the first at the tomb. They saw it was empty and spoke to the messengers of God about what had happened. The women told Simon and John who thought their story was nonsense, though Peter went to check it out and saw the empty tomb just as the women had reported.

In John’s gospel, Mary Magdalene walked to the tomb alone, and seeing it was empty hurried to tell Peter and John. They ran to the tomb and saw it was as Mary had described. John noticed the neatly folded cloth that had covered Jesus’ face and believed. The men returned home, but Mary remained, weeping in her grief. She entered the tomb, spoke with the angels who appeared to her, and then turned around. She saw Jesus, though she didn’t recognize him until he called her name. He instructed her to tell the others that she had seen him and to share what he had said to her. Mary was the first entrusted with the Good news of the resurrection. The first to proclaim it to the others.

Jesus continued to appear to his disciples. He walked with two travelers on the road to Emmaus who didn’t recognize him until they broke bread together.

He appeared on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias where some of his disciples had been fishing all night, to no avail. His instructions led them to an extravagant catch, and they shared breakfast on the beach. Jesus moved through locked doors where his followers were gathered in fear and confusion. He blessed them with peace and breathed the Spirit into them with his own breath. He ate with them, showed them his wounds, and later invited Thomas to put his fingers into them so he would believe.

Who do you identify with as you ponder these different accounts? Mary Magdalene who recognized Jesus when he called her name? The brave women, fearful yet persistent as they watched the angels and then met Jesus while on their way to tell the others? Or are you more a skeptical Peter and John? Disciples who just couldn’t fathom the truth of what was being said? Would you recognize the risen Jesus or think he was a ghost? Or maybe you’d be a Thomas who needed physical proof before he’d believe.

We have the advantage of hindsight. I’d like to imagine I’d be like the brave women, bearing the light of angels, listening through my fear, and proclaiming the resurrection. I’m not so sure. I would more likely have been found behind locked doors worrying about what was next.

Reflecting on these readings and placing ourselves in the scenes can be a good meditation but pondering where we encounter the suffering and the risen Christ today in our world is also important. Do we recognize the Divine in others? What opens our eyes? Do we see the wounds of Jesus in the wounds of others? In ourselves? When we do see, how do we respond?

What we celebrate is not simply history. Easter is not only an event. It is a way of living. It is Divine activity that reverberates through time and space and all creation. And we are part of it.

We are called to follow Jesus’s example in our world. To stand with the suffering. To embrace hurt and woundedness in others and in ourselves with God’s transforming love.

Jesus was murdered because he was faithful to being the Love of God on a planet that just couldn’t handle it. But that wasn’t the end of the story. Love is dangerous. It is hard. But in the end, it prevails!

Blessed Eastering!

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: compassion, Easter, faith, Grace in the Moment, inclusion, justice, love, mercy, quiet prayer, spirituality, spring

April 4, 2018 By Mary van Balen 4 Comments

Snowy Morning Prayer

Yes, as the rain and the snow come down from the heavens and do not return without watering the earth,

making it yield and giving growth to provide seed for the sower and bread for the eating,

so the word that goes from my mouth does not return to me empty,

without carrying out my will and succeeding in what it was sent to do. Isaiah 55, 10-11

Amen!

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: creation, grace, Grace in the Moment, present to the moment, quiet prayer, spirituality, spring snow

April 1, 2018 By Mary van Balen 9 Comments

Lost Lent, Found Easter

Photo: Mary van Balen

This year’s Lent was not one of my best. Disciplines, a bit vague from the beginning, fell away early. Life simply “happened” as usual. I did write my columns, always a spiritual discipline I tell myself, and prepared for a presentation on compassion. But other resolves seemed to dissolve, swallowed up by illness, cataract surgery, and well, just life.

I don’t go to Holy Thursday mass anymore (always my favorite) because incense doesn’t agree with my lungs. Friday, after working in the morning and getting work completed on my car and feeling a bit guilty about my “lost Lent,” I decided to take an evening walk and pray with my steps.

The almost blue moon was brilliant in a clear sky. I cleared my mind and simply walked, mindful of the Presence which enveloped me and everyone else on our struggling planet. Trying not to think too much, just to be open, I found myself at the door of a local Catholic church. Lights were on. Lots of cars in the parking lot. I decided to go in.

I’m not sure where everyone was. Two women sat quietly in the front pews, one on each side of the center aisle. That was it. I sat in the back. The altar, usually draped with white or liturgically correct colored cloths was stripped bare. The tabernacle, which in Catholic churches usually contains consecrated hosts from previously celebrated Mass, stood empty, doors ajar. At the bottom of the steps leading to the altar was a crucifix flanked by two tall beeswax candles, flames steady.

As I focused on the crucifix, I became aware of how white the figure of Jesus was, white with auburn hair. I don’t know why, but it just struck me. I looked at the paintings that cover much of overhang above the chancel. White men. White Madonna. White child Jesus.

Last Supper #6 by William L. Hawkins
Exhibit: William L. Hawkins: an Imaginative Geography
Columbus Museum of Art
Photo: Mary van Balen

Suddenly I remembered the art exhibit I had seen at the Columbus Museum of Art (CMOA) a couple of weeks ago: William L. Hawkins: An Imaginative Geography. Hawkins was a self-taught artist born in Kentucky in 1895. He moved to Columbus when he was 21 and remained there for the rest of his life. His paintings are described in a CMOA description of the exhibit as “intense, playful, wondrous, quirky, and flamboyant.” What came to mind as I sat in church on Good Friday were the paintings in his Last Supper series. Eight of the nine he created are hanging in the exhibit

William L. Hawkins painting Last Supper #9

Last Supper #9 by William L. Hawkins
Photo: Mary van Balen

Thought to have been inspired by a painting on velvet that Hawkins had recovered from a trash bin, in which Jesus and his disciples were portrayed as Black men, Hawkins offers a vision of the Last Supper that is at once unique and universal. Unique in that the images are like none other I’ve seen depicting this iconic scene. They definitely don’t show thirteen white men gathered around the table.

The signage at CMOA stated that “…perhaps the greatest achievement of the Last Suppers is how, through his manipulation of paint and found mass media images, Hawkins took a story central to the Christian religion that had been whitewashed in the Western imagination and broadened it to include an almost universal cast.”

Detail from William L. Hawkins painting Last Supper #9

Detail from Last Supper # 9 by William L. Hawkins
Photo: Mary van Balen

Almost anyone seeing these paintings could identify with someone in them. They include men and women of many races. When collage was used, even the food on the table seems familiar. The pictures cut from newspapers or magazines, are of plates filled with ordinary dishes you might order at a restaurant or make at home. Everyone could find a place at this table. Of course, you’d have to be comfortable with diversity to enjoy the meal.

As I left the quiet of the church, the images of Hawkins Last Suppers came too. Along with the almost blue moon, the candles, the pleasant night air, the turmoil of our times, the candle flames, and the white Jesus on the cross, they had slipped into an opening in my heart and kept me company on the walk home.

Today, Easter, I celebrated with a diverse group of people packing the OSU Newman Center. My lost Lent was not an issue. No one there was wondering about how anyone had observed Lent. I don’t think God was interested either but was simply glad we had shown up at the table.

The amazing thing is that no matter how we got there, we all found our way to be together, to share faith, and as the presiding priest reminded us in his homily, to give thanks for the unimaginable love of a God who is crazy in love with all of us. To give thanks for Jesus’ willingness to remain faithful to who he had come to know himself to be…God’s own Love in the world, even when it led to the cross. And to believe that as we share in Jesus life and death, we also share in his love and resurrection.

Happy Easter!

Filed Under: Widening Our Circles

March 11, 2018 By Mary van Balen 2 Comments

God’s Love Is Always Big

Colorful abstract painting of people of all ages and races embracing

Acrylic – Richard Duarte Brown 2009

Originally published in The Catholic Times, March 11,2018

One of the scribes came to Jesus and asked him, “Which is the first of all the commandments?” Jesus replied, “The first is this: Hear, O Israel! The Lord our God is Lord alone! You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength. The second is this: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. There is no other commandment greater than these.” Mk 12, 29-31

For Jesus, it’s all about love. Love of God. Love of self. Love of neighbor. When asked which commandment is the greatest, Jesus quotes from Hebrew Scriptures. First from Deuteronomy, proclaiming that God is one and that love of God is the most important “law” in one’s life. Then from Leviticus, Jesus quotes from a long list of commands given by God to Moses and says “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” is the second great commandment.

There is it. Love. Nothing else is more important. Matthew’s gospel includes Jesus saying that “The whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments. It all boils down to love.

Of the three, I wonder if “loving self” might be the most difficult. It isn’t easy. And as Jesus knew, when we can’t love ourselves, loving anyone else is close to impossible. That tiny phrase “as yourself” carries a lot of weight.

Most of us are aware of our faults. We can become preoccupied with them and tied up in minutia, focusing on what’s wrong with ourselves and with others. We forget about love and end up fixated on rules, who’s keeping them and who’s not. We can even believe that God’s keeping score as we struggle through life. It’s easier than tackling “Love.”

Recently I spent an evening with a small group of women who had been gathering at one another’s homes for decades. Being mothers brought them together. Now grandmothers, they still meet, supporting one another and engaging with invited speakers. That night, I was the speaker, and our topic was “compassion.”

What struck me during our time together was that no matter how insignificant moments of love might seem, they never are. Encounters with Love are always transforming.

Once when I was about ten, I remember telling my mother she was “the worst mom in the world” and storming off to vent to her mother, who had always lived with us. I can’t remember what triggered my anger. (Mom was one of the best!) I do remember my Grandmother’s response.

She listened as I recounted my grievances. She didn’t interrupt or try to correct me. No lecture. No defense of Mom. After a pause she smiled and asked if I’d like to play a game of Canasta.

That was it. Love and healing came not with flash but with a game of cards. I couldn’t have worded it then, but her invitation said volumes about me being ok, someone she’d like to spend time with. Someone who was hurt and needed nothing more (or less) than graceful Presence.

In the scheme of things, barely a drop in the bucket. But love is never small. Once received, it changes the giver, the receiver, and ripples out.

I thought of my friend, a “missionary of Presence” in a small village in the Guatemalan rainforest. Her December newsletter recounts the transformation of women who were stigmatized by being alone, abandoned by their husbands, and left to provide for their families. She gave physical assistance but realized they needed more.

So they gather twice a month, read scripture, pray, share their stories, weep, and laugh. They know they are somebody. They are loved and now have more love to give away.

Love is powerful, but not easy. One woman in the small gathering I had been asked to attend made that point with a question. The Parkland school shooting had occurred just days before. “Do we have to show compassion to the shooter?” Silence. Then a number of voices said “Yes.”

With Love there are no exceptions. Such inclusive Love is hard to take. We’d rather draw lines, “them” on one side, “us” on the other. In some cases, it seems the reasonable thing to do. But God doesn’t see our lines. No one is beyond God’s embrace. Not our fault-filled selves, not those we close out, not the shooter.

By ourselves, we can’t be such love in a world that’s aching for it. With God’s love transforming us from the inside out, we can. After all, it’s God’s love we’re sharing.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment, The Scallop Tagged With: acceptance, compassion, equality, grace, Greatest Commandments, hope, inclusion, Ixcán, love, mercy, missionary of Presence, Presence, transforming love, unconditional love