Grace in the Moment

March 12, 2020 By Mary van Balen 2 Comments

Lent: Letting Love Enter In

On Ash Wednesday I took tentative steps into the Lenten season. I wasn’t sure what disciplines to embrace, but that morning I lit a candle and sat quietly in prayer before going through liturgical readings for the season. I attended a noon service and stood in line to receive ashes on my forehead, remembering that I was dust and someday, to dust would return.

After work I made a few calls checking on a friend who had undergone surgery for a broken hip, chatting with a daughter who was celebrating a birthday, and catching up with someone I hadn’t seen in a while.

Then again, a prayer candle burned as I read through the lectionary one more time. Lent is full of powerful readings.

They include passages that remind us the most important commandment is to love and care for others, especially the least among us. And when we do, Jesus tells us, we are caring for him. Isaiah insists that the sacrifices God wants aren’t the drooping of ash-covered heads or the rending of garments.

That’s not the drama the Holy One desires. No, the desired actions are more along the lines of freeing the oppressed, sharing food, taking care of the marginalized, being civil in speech, and working for justice – all facets of the Love commandment.

There’s the Samaritan woman who’s the first to recognize Jesus as the Messiah. After accepting the truth about her own life and also the love offered to her by Jesus, she hurries back to town, telling everyone that she has met the Messiah, right over there at the community well.

Instructing the people to repent of their wrongdoing, Nineveh’s king showed humility and sincerity that changed God’s mind about destroying the city. Queen Esther beseeches God for help in foiling the enemy’s plan and turning her husband’s heart in order to save her people.

These are just a smattering. But in the midst of the more grand and familiar passages sits a small one from Isaiah, just two verses. They grab my heart. Maybe it’s the simple comparison of the life-bringing fall of rain and snow onto the earth to the transforming entrance of God’s word into the universe:

Just as from the heavens / the rain and snow come down / And do not return there / till they have watered the earth, / making it fertile and fruitful, / Giving seed to the one who sows / and bread to the one who eats, / So shall my word be / that goes forth from my mouth; / It shall not return to me void, / but shall do my will, / achieving the end for which I sent it.

I’m not sure how that works, but it is hopeful in a time when hope is difficult to find.

This passage reminds me of short poem, Indwelling, by Thomas E Brown, an 19^th century scholar, teacher, poet, and theologian born on the Isle of Man.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

If thou could’st empty all thyself of self,

Like to a shell dishabited,

Then might He find thee on the ocean shelf,

And say, “This is not dead,”

And fill thee with Himself instead.

But thou are all replete with very thou

And hast such shrewd activity,

That when He comes He says, “This is enow

Unto itself – ’twere better let it be,

It is so small and full, there is no room for me.”

… … …

The connection between the two? Indwelling suggests to me why God’s word does not return without doing what it was sent to do. It is a living Word that dwells within each of us. As Brown writes, the more we empty ourselves of false selves, of cluttering activity, the more Divine Love can fill us and do its work.

We participate in the Word fulfilling mission – as Jesus prays at the Last Supper – to bring all together in love, united with the One who sent him.

Whatever disciplines fill Lent, may they be ones that allow more Love to enter in.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: emptying, grace, hope, humility, indwelling, lent, living Word, love, open

February 13, 2020 By Mary van Balen 7 Comments

Proximity and Hope

“Nocturne Navigator” Alison Saar, 1998
Collection: Columbus Gallery of Art “…commemorates those involved with the Underground Railroad…The figure’s billowing skirt, illuminated from within, shows the constellations of stars that would help guide the fugitives on their nighttime journey, while her heavenly gaze and outstretched arms suggest a mix of anguish, prayer, and gratitude.” (from museum signage)

A movie or book can be transforming. For Black History Month, I’m sharing an experience with both. In January, I attended a movie with friends: Just Mercy.

Based on the book Just Mercy: A Story of Justice and Redemption, written by Bryan Stevenson and published in 2014, the movie centers around Stevenson’s representation of death-row inmate Walter McMillian, appealing his murder conviction.

Stevenson is a Black public interest lawyer who, after graduating from Harvard Law School, went to Alabama to represent those who had been illegally convicted or poorly represented at their trials.

Just Mercy is powerful and sometimes difficult to watch. If you don’t think racism’s roots are deeply embedded in this country when you walk in, you’ll be questioning your assumption when you walk out. But the movie isn’t only about the fear, hatred, and oppression that has been visited upon Black Americans since their forced arrival as slaves. Or how fear and ignorance disfigure the oppressors. Its main message is about accepting truth, about hope and the possibility of change.

The movie includes Stevenson’s 1989 founding of the nonprofit Equal Justice Initiative (EJI), located in Montgomery, Alabama. According to its website, EJI is “… committed to ending mass incarceration and excessive punishment in the United States, to challenging racial and economic injustice, and to protecting basic human rights for the most vulnerable people in American society.”

In talks across the country, Stevenson names hope as one of the four things necessary to effect change. He calls it a “superpower” and the enemy of injustice. “It is what makes you stand up when someone tells you to sit down.”

He names another element necessary for change: proximity. In a speech at Penn State in Abington, Stevenson gave this advice: “We need to get closer to people who are suffering and disfavored so we can understand their challenges and their pain. We can’t create solutions from a distance. Decide to get closer to people who are suffering, marginalized, disadvantaged, poor. Only in proximity to those who are suffering can we change the world.”

Reading this, I thought of Pope Francis’s call, early in his pontificate, for priests to be close to the people they serve: “This is what I am asking you — be shepherds with the smell of sheep.”

Jesus lived that out. He spent time with ordinary people and those on the margins. He counted fishermen and tax collectors as his early followers and included women in his close circle of friends and disciples. He ate and drank with sinners, much to the dismay of religious leaders who kept their distance.

I’ve also been reading Howard Thurman’s book, Jesus and the Disinherited. A Black theologian, pastor, and spiritual mentor to Martin Luther King Jr., Thurman reminds us that Jesus was marginalized. He was poor, and he was a Jew in an occupied land. Jesus knew the suffering of those on the edge, or as Thurman might say “those with their backs to the wall.” He devotes a chapter to fear and its effects on people.

But Jesus’s response to marginalization was not fear. It was not violence. It was love. It wasn’t separation from those who were suffering. It was proximity. He showed us how to love and to serve our neighbor—who is everyone.

He spoke the truth. He healed on the Sabbath. He said the Kingdom of God is within us. He had hope and faith in the One who sent him and in the power of compassion. He stood up when he was told to sit down.

This month is a good time to reflect on our history, the state of our country, and the divisiveness that is increasingly expressed in violence against “the other” – not only Blacks, but also Jews, LGBTQ+ people, the poor, and immigrants.

If you’re able, see the movie (or read the book). Read Howard Thurman. They invite us to ponder how we can, as Isaiah admonishes, remove oppression, false accusations, and malicious speech from our midst; to ponder how can we share our bread with the hungry and give shelter to the homeless.

They challenge us to follow Jesus’s example of walking with the marginalized and of love, to believe that love will cast out fear and bring hope instead.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: "Just Mercy", Bryan Stevenson, civil rights, compassion, Equal Justice Initiative, equality, hope, Howard Thurman, Jesus and the Disinherited, justice, LGBT, love, marginalized, racism

January 16, 2020 By Mary van Balen 6 Comments

Finding Hope in 2020

photo of color lithograph by Maurice Denis 1870-1943 Shows Shows

The Pilgrims of Emmaus by Maurice Denis, French 1870-1943 Color lithograph
Photo: Mary van Balen

People long for hope, for peace, for cooperation. While some are bent on stirring up distrust, and spreading fear based on dividing the world into “us” and “them,” most of humankind is looking for a better way in 2020.

Many I talked with over the holidays desire an end to such divisiveness. Some Christmas cards I received included handwritten notes expressing that hope. How do we get there in the midst of issues facing us today? I don’t know. Looking at the big picture, I’m often at a loss.

I turned to the Scriptures, reading through the Roman lectionary’s January passages. One line from the first Letter of Saint John made me stop, not because it inspired, but because I didn’t understand what it was saying: “Beloved, we are God’s children now; what we shall be has not yet been revealed. We do know that when it is revealed we shall be like God, for we shall see God as God is.”

How can we become like God just by seeing the Holy One? I pulled commentaries off the shelf. Not much help.

So, I sat with it. I didn’t try to figure them out, just let the words sink in. That night, I wrote in my journal:

Slowly, God’s gaze draws forth in our souls the reflection of God that we are. Resting in that Presence, we become aware of the Holy One looking at us with love and recognition of God’s heart within our own.

I thought of loving looks from people in my life. Not a response to something you did, such a look simply celebrates the reality of you. When experienced, you know its power to help you become your best self.

I carried the scripture’s words around for another day and in the afternoon saw “It’s a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood,” starring Tom Hanks as Fred Rogers. I was hesitant about an actor playing the iconic figure, but the story drew me in. I wasn’t disappointed.

No spoilers here. I’ll just say there was a lot in that movie about the power of being in the presence of Love.

As the packed theater slowly emptied, I walked down the steps, stopping as a woman in front of me helped a much older one navigate her descent. The middle-aged woman guided her friend to a walker that was sitting behind a row of seats at floor level.

“Go ahead,” she said to me, “This will take a while.”

“That’s ok,” I replied. “I’m not in a hurry.”

She smiled. “Well, how could you not be kind after watching that movie?” I nodded. “Fred Rogers is the closest person to Jesus Christ I’ve ever seen,” she said.

Her comments mingled with the words of Saint John: How could you not be kind after seeing that movie? Watching someone truly seeing, accepting, loving … it changes us. If seeing a movie could make folks a bit kinder, what happens when one “sees” God as God truly is?

And wasn’t watching the story of Fred Rogers caring about others also seeing a bit of God – God who lives and works in and through us? Isn’t that what we’ve been celebrating this Christmas season: the ongoing incarnation and our call to participate in it?

We become more like God the more we see God, the more God’s love moves through us. That’s where hope rests: in God’s transforming Love.

The First Letter of Saint John is full of reminders that we are called to love, that we cannot hate others and love God at the same time, that it isn’t enough to believe in the Christ. Our actions must mirror those of Jesus.

However we participate with it, however we speak truth to power, however we look at others with love and acceptance, we are participating in the work of healing and salvation. Hope is trusting God to make it enough.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: compassion, Fred Rogers, hope, Presence, quiet prayer, seeing, The Pilgrims of Emmaus, transforming love, trust

December 5, 2019 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Advent Listening

I am poring through Scripture readings and books while preparing for an Advent retreat, revisiting favorite writings and discovering new ones. As readers do, I filter the words through my current state of mind, faith, and being. A passage that held deep meaning five years ago provides little inspiration this time around. On the other hand, something I had passed over before jumps out from the page and speaks to me. Of course, there are passages that always touch the heart.

An essay in Madeleine L’Engle’s Miracle on 10th Street: & Other Christmas Writings provided the “word” for this reflection: “Advent is about listening.”

I usually think of this season as a time of waiting or keeping watch for something that is coming. While listening is part of active waiting and of remaining alert for what is to come, lately I’ve noticed my lack of practice—at least of the deep listening Madeleine writes about.

I listen for things like the washer or dryer buzzer alerting me that the load is finished. The oven timer lets me know food needs to be checked or removed. My mobile phone signals the arrival of a text message, email, or call with a distinct sound for each. But really, I don’t actually listen for these. They are loud enough that the intricate inner workings of my ear (a miracle in itself) hear them whether or not I’m paying attention. These examples are more “hearing,” I guess.

Then there is the “mother’s ear” that is remarkably attuned to her children’s soft whimpers or cries that alert her that some loving attention is needed. Sometimes she just knows. This is closer to the “listening” of Advent, rooted not simply in sound waves and anatomy, but in soul and attention.

Advent listening attends to more than sound. It listens for meaning, direction, and movement deep down in our center. We listen with the ear of the heart as St. Benedict instructs in his Rule’s prologue. We listen for the Divine within us, the Christ, without knowing what exactly that will sound like or if it “sounds” at all.

A few weeks ago, I saw the movie “Harriet.” (See it if you can.) It revealed much about the most well-known conductor on the underground railroad, Harriet Tubman. She was born into slavery, escaped to freedom, and returned to the South 19 times, freeing around 70 others. (These numbers vary depending on the source.) A remarkable woman in countless ways, she seems to me to have been an “Advent listener.”

She said she didn’t travel alone. The Lord travelled with her, sometimes speaking to her and guiding her to safety. Many people thought she was delusional, but her story never changed. When asked what it was like to hear the voice of God, she said sometimes it was soft like a dream and sometimes it stung like a slap in the face. Either way, she needed to pay close attention to it before she knew what it meant. It led her by safe paths; it directed her to return to the South again and again.

The messages came unexpectedly, sometimes while she was leading a group, sometimes when she was asleep. The thing is, she heard it. Deep-down, she was listening with the ear of her heart, all the time. Open. Ready.

Harriet’s story reminds me of this passage in Isaiah: “Whether you turn to right or left, your ears will hear these words behind you, ‘This is the way, follow it.’” (Is 30, 21)

We will hear if we are listening.

Our world is noisy and keeps us busy. We “hear” lots, but listening is difficult. These weeks before Christmas are even louder and busier than usual, filled with marketing messages bombarding us from television, radios, and computer screens as we hurry about our preparations.

Advent is about listening deeply. Dark nights, candlelight from our Advent wreaths, sweet smells of holiday baking, or long winter walks can provide a bit of quiet. But even in the midst of activity, with practice, the ear of our heart listens to the whisper of the Sacred within: Have hope. God-with-Us is here. Follow the Word.

You can buy Mary’s collection of columns, Reflections for Advent and Christmas: A Grace in the Moment Book, from Biblio Publishing at info@zippublishing.com 614.485.0721.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: Advent, attention, deep listening, God-with-us, Harriet, Harriet Tubman

October 13, 2019 By Mary van Balen 1 Comment

Wisdom of the Good Pope John XXIII

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Friday, October 11, is the 57^th anniversary of the opening session of Vatican II. It is also the fifth time the Catholic church celebrates the feast of Saint John XXIII.

Almost 12 when the Council began on October 11, 1962 and a student in a Catholic school, I knew something important was happening. This was partly because the teachers talked about it: the first council called in nearly 100 years. The pope said it was time to “Throw open the windows of the church and let the fresh air of the Spirit blow through.” No one knew what it would look like, but we knew change was coming.

But, more than the talk and the tangible changes, it was the man himself who stirred my heart and imagination from the start. The rotund Angelo Giuseppe Roncalli, whose parents were peasant farmers, greeted the world with a smile when he emerged on the balcony and said his name was John. He looked happy, and approachable, like a grandpa. A little girl when he was elected, I liked him. I liked to see pictures of the pope who laughed and seemed so full of life.

Much is written, and rightly so, about the accomplishments of his short papacy and profound effects of the council he called. His ability to see good in the contemporary world moved the Catholic church beyond its deep distrust of modernity. His humility, hope, positive view of the human person, and the recognition of the universal call to holiness speak to me as I ponder his life today.

Here are a few quotes that I’d like to share.

“Prayer is the raising of the mind to God. We must always remember this. The actual words matter less.” There are times when we can be still, recite favorite prayers, pray with our communities at Mass, other liturgical celebrations, or simply around the table. But there are also times when we can’t. When our work or families or situations demand our attention. When we are emotionally worn out or just trying to survive. But we can for a moment, “raise our minds to God.” No words needed.

In his spiritual diary, Journal of a Soul, St. John XXIII wrote: “I am not St. Aloysius, nor must I seek holiness in his particular way, but according to the requirements of my own nature, my own character and the different conditions of my life.… If St. Aloysius had been as I am, he would have become holy in a different way.”

And there are as many ways to become holy as there are people. Vatican II reflected this wisdom in affirming the universal call to holiness. We each have a spark of the Divine dwelling within. God has placed the Spirit in our hearts and depends on us to give it away in the work of transforming the world, in Christ’s work of bringing the kingdom. We won’t be St. Aloysius or John the XXIII or any other saint you can name. But like them, we can be faithful to the unique expression of Divinity that we are made to be.

“Now more than ever, certainly more than in past centuries, our intention is to serve people as such and not only Catholics; to defend above all and everywhere the rights of the human person and not only those of the Catholic Church; it is not the Gospel that changes; it is we who begin to understand it better….The moment has arrived when we must recognize the signs of the times, seize the opportunity, and look far abroad.”

These words are as true now as they were when spoken from his deathbed on June 3, 1963. We are called to defend the rights of all human beings, people of any faith or none; people everywhere, including on our southern border and in places of poverty, war, violence, and natural disasters. And we are always beginning to understand the Gospel better. It’s part of the evolution of spirituality.

As we remember Pope John XXIII and the Council he convened, let us heed his call to recognize the signs of the times, seize the opportunity, and find hope and courage to look far abroad.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: acceptance, change, humility, inclusion, Pope John XXIII, prayer, spiritual evolution, spirituality, Vatican II

September 27, 2019 By Mary van Balen 8 Comments

Deeds Come First

Peter Claver, a 16^th century Spaniard, was canonized by the Roman Catholic church as a saint in 1888, but he is not well-known. He was born in 1581 and entered the Jesuits there in 1601. In 1610 he went to the missions in America, landing in Cartagena, a port city in what is now Columbia, that was a major stop for slave ships. He was ordained in 1616 and spent his life serving the 10,000 enslaved Africans who arrived every year.

Claver considered himself a slave to the slaves and began ministering to them from the time the ships docked. He made his way into the hold, encountering people who had survived the most horrid conditions imaginable. (About one-third of them didn’t.)

The image I have of Peter Claver is one of a man moving among the people, providing food and water, medicine and care as he treated their physical wounds. “Deeds come first, then the words,” is a quote attributed to him. His life bears that out. It was attention to basic human needs that came first. Only later, using translators and sometimes pictures, would he try to communicate with the Africans some ideas of Christianity and God’s love for them.

Through his deeds and words, Claver treated people with respect, honoring the dignity due every human being. No exceptions. That’s the lesson of his life that stays with me today.

While 400 years have passed since the first slave ship arrived on our shores, the repercussions of slavery remain. Racism is deeply embedded in our country and continues to deny this most basic right to our African American sisters and brothers, challenging us to respond.

Dehumanizing people, marginalizing them is all too easy. The list of “reasons” is long: People look “different,” speak another language, embrace a faith different from our own. Fear of difference, threats to one’s way of life, ignorance—These are on the list, too.

Painting by Laurie VanBalen, Project Director and Producer of Columbus Crossing Borders Project

As I thought of Peter Claver’s instinctive action to first alleviate human suffering, the plight of refugees at our Southern border came to mind. They come mostly from Central and South America, fleeing unspeakable violence, poverty, and fear for their lives. How are they met?

I spoke with Sister Barbara Kane, a member of the Dominican Sisters of Peace in Columbus, Ohio. She and others in her community have traveled to El Paso to serve as they could.

She spoke of refugees’ long waits in enclosed areas (some liken them to cages) until they have their Credible Fear Hearing (when the refugee states what has driven them to seek asylum.)

“The enclosures have concrete floors, are kept at 60 degrees, and are so small people are packed together, unable to lie down to sleep,” Sr. Barbara said. People receive little food. Yet, despite the great needs, no one is allowed inside to help.

After the Credible Fear Hearing, people are sent back to Mexican cities to wait again until their sponsors can be reached, and background checks run. The cities are not equipped to house so many refugees whose stay can last for weeks or months.

Once sponsors are contacted and cleared, the asylum seekers come back to the U.S and are placed in hospitality houses. The Annunciation House is where Sr. Barbara served.

“That’s where volunteers finally meet the refugees and offer help. We provide a hot shower, clean clothes, food, and a bed to sleep in,” Sr. Barbara said. Eventually, volunteers drive the refugees to the airport or bus terminals as they begin the journey to their sponsors. With fewer people making it through to this point, volunteers may have time to listen to the refugees’ stories.

“I came away convinced that the vast majority of these parents just want their children to be safe and secure and to have a future,” Sr. Barbara added. “They’re not gaming the system. They’re not bad people. They’re good, loving parents.”

If you, like me, are unable to go to the border to help in person, there are a variety of ways to support those who do. A quick Google search will provide many options. Sr. Barbara offers these suggestions for donations:

Donate directly to the Annunciation House at their website: annunciationhouse.org/contact, or send a check to 1003 E. San Antonio Ave., El Paso TX 79901-2620.
The Diocese of El Paso ministry, Diocesan Migrants and Refugee Services, Inc. accepts online donation: dmrs-ep.org; or mail a check to DMRS, 2400 Yandell Dr. El Paso TX, 79903.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment, Widening Our Circles Tagged With: acceptance, civil rights, compassion, Dominican Sisters of Peace, equality, grace, hope, humility, immigrants, inclusion, justice, Peter Claver, Sister Barbara Kane, slavery

August 24, 2019 By Mary van Balen 10 Comments

Niksen: A Time for Be-ing

Woman in a chair looking out over a lake

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

There is a Dutch word for doing nothing: Niksen. I know this not because of my Dutch heritage but from an article that made its way to my email inbox.

What does it say about our modern sensibilities that an article about doing nothing and not feeling guilty about it was an internet hit? The value of multi-tasking is being reevaluated and the ability to say “no” to opportunities for going somewhere or doing something is beginning to look as desirable as saying “yes.” Perhaps we’re longing for some “be-ing,” not “do-ing,” time.

The contrast between “be-ing” and “do-ing” is nothing new. From high school days, I heard the phrase “Who you are is not the same as what you do.”

It made sense, but as life unfolded, allowing that truth to filter from head to heart wasn’t easy. In society’s eyes, one’s job reflects one’s worth: A professor is more important than the worker who maintains the school building. A mother who works outside the home is making a greater contribution than the one who chooses to work full time at home.

We value being busy. Our culture espouses achieving, earning what you get, and the idea that hard work brings success.

Not true. Some of the hardest working people aren’t successful in the eyes of our culture. They don’t make big bucks or hold prestigious positions. Sometimes they can’t make enough to meet basic needs. There are lots of realities besides work that factor into “success”: race, privilege, opportunity, socio-economic status, and just plain luck to name a few.

I emailed my cousin in the Netherlands to see what she thought about niksen and if, as the article suggested, it was a part of the Dutch culture. Jeanette responded quickly.

Talking about niksen was unfamiliar to her since it’s something the Dutch don’t think about a lot since it’s just part of their way of life. Unlike many Anglo-Saxon cultures, she said, they are not “ultra work focused.”

“What seems like the difference between our two cultures is that we take time to relax as a rule. We sit down for coffee in the mornings, lunch at lunchtime, and tea in the afternoons. Kids and teachers do the same in school. We incorporate moments free of duty into our days, and they work well for us.”

“Niksen isn’t planned. It is a way to feel free to stop doing things for a minute—or a little longer—and let your thoughts linger on,” she wrote.

It could be putting your feet up and doing nothing or watching rain pour down outside. It’s a bit of time to recuperate for ourselves.

Children can be a good example of that. One of my daughters recounted a morning she recently shared with a friend and two children.

American Dagger Moth caterpillar. Yellow with five bunches of long, black bristles.

American Dagger Moth caterpillar
Photo: Kathryn Holt

The children hurried through breakfast, looking forward to a promised time in the park. While there, they discovered a bright yellow caterpillar with five bunches of tall, black bristles. The kids were enthralled, and their enthusiasm was contagious. Soon the adults joined in, making little obstacle courses with sticks and leaves, clapping hands when the caterpillar went under rather than over, and apologizing when it fell from an offered stick.

Telling the story, my daughter’s eyes sparkled. “I was as excited as they were,” she said. “So much joy and fun just watching a caterpillar.” Sigh. “It was a wonderful little ‘vacation’ from my adult life.” Niksen.

I imagine that Jesus was good at niksen. Time alone in a boat on the lake or wandering in the wilderness wasn’t always filled with fasting, intense prayer, or planning his next move. I bet he spent plenty of time simply enjoying sunlight sparkling on water or watching clouds changing shape in the sky. From his stories we know he took time to gaze at flowers and observe nature. He liked kids and spent time with friends. The talk wasn’t always serious or the activity always purposeful. He let his thoughts wander and sipped tea or drank wine with friends. Simply resting in Grace. He was a “be-er” as well as a “do-er.”

It’s good to remember. Ecclesiastes says there is a time for everything under heaven. That includes niksen.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment, The Scallop Tagged With: be-ing, grace, Niksen, present to the moment, quiet prayer, re-creation, spirituality

July 28, 2019 By Mary van Balen 5 Comments

Do What You Are Doing

Liturgically speaking, summer is all “ordinary time.” It’s a break after the Lent/Triduum/Easter seasons that concluded with the feat of Pentecost. That’s fine with me. Summer is full enough without more events and expectations. Besides, I love “ordinary” time. It gives us breathing room to discover just how extraordinary ordinary is.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

There is a Latin phrase that provides wisdom for living and praying the “ordinary time” moments in our lives: Age quod agis or “Do what you’re doing.” Finding the origin of the Latin phrase was impossible. Finding its use was easier. It appears in things as diverse as the old western movie, Tombstone, Pope John XXIII’s Journey of a Soul, Saint Ignatius and Jesuit spirituality, and school mottos to name just a few.

Whatever you’re doing, do it with attention. Throw your whole self into it. It’s tempting to idealize this interpretation of the phrase, applying it to individual tasks. You know, if you’re folding laundry, well, concentrate on the laundry. Enjoy the smell and feel of clean clothes. Be grateful you have that neat stack.

On the other hand, such single-mindedness isn’t always possible and isn’t always the wisdom age quod agis offers at a particular moment. The recent family scene in the living room of my nephew and his young family comes to mind.

He and his wife were busy folding loads of laundry and sorting it into piles for each of their four children. They were preparing for a month-long trip to visit both sets of grandparents and, in addition to that, camping for a week. In the midst of their preparations, they offered hospitality to a visiting aunt, which would be me. And of course, all four children were around, talking to their visitor and taking care of their own preparations—which may have included cleaning rooms and gathering books to take. I leave it to your imagination. Not a lot of time there to sniff the laundry.

Life and prayer are a communal endeavor. “What you’re doing” can be one thing or a number of things. Those young parents were taking care of laundry while answering questions, directing activity, and making me feel welcome. Their “what you are doing” was being good parents while welcoming the visitor. They gave it their all.

Same with us. We might be students, teachers, employees, parents, or members of a community (vowed or not). We might be children, arranging care for an aging parent. And while it would be nice to give ourselves completely to a solitary walk on the beach, listening uninterrupted to a symphony, or gardening quietly in our yard, life doesn’t always happen that way. It’s more likely a hodgepodge of activity.

What ordinary time says to me is that’s ok. No, not just “ok.” That’s the path to holiness. “Do what you’re doing.” No matter what that is in the present moment, it’s where we meet God.

We celebrate feast days of a number of saints in July who were good at this. While the lives of all these virtuous predecessors can speak to the holiness of living fully the ordinary, everyday life, Benedict (July 11), Mary Magdalene (July 22), Joachim and Anne (July 26), and Martha (July 29), hold a special place in my heart.

Watanabe Sado (1913-1996) Tokyo. Stencil print on rice paper.Hangs in the Gathering Place at the entrance to Sacred Heart Chapel at Saint Benedict’s Monastery, St. Joseph, MN

Benedict for his great Rule written with emphasis on community as a way to holiness and his understanding of humility, compassion, and care for one another as spiritual disciplines right up there with prayer and fasting. Flexibility was key then as it is now. Mary Magdalene for her courage and deep love of Jesus. Hers was the woman’s voice that first proclaimed the resurrection to others who were disinclined to believe her. Joachim and Anne (or if those aren’t their actual names, the parents of Mary) for being good parents. Enough said! Martha, who often gets a bad rap for hanging out in the kitchen when she could have joined the others at the feet of the teacher. She took care of the nitty-gritty and, as one who has spent countless hours doing that, surely heard most of what was said!

Happy summer. Courage! Age quod agis!

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment, The Scallop Tagged With: age quod agis, grace, love, Ordinary Time, prayer, present to the moment, Saint Benedict, Saint Martha, Saint Mary Magdalene, Saints Joachim and Anne, spirituality

April 11, 2019 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

The Challenge and Grace of Embracing Truth

We are often afraid of the truth. Rather than experiencing it as a way to experiencing a deeper reality, we see it as something that up ends our world, threatens our sense of security, and even our sense of self. We have found a comfortable place to “fit in,” and we don’t want anyone or anything to disturb it. It’s how we make sense of the world.

Jesus brought the challenge of truth with him and he certainly disturbed the religious status quo of his time. Many religious leaders and officials didn’t see how they would fit in to his world view. They had narrowed their vision to see the world through their lenses of laws and rituals and understanding of history that made sense to them and that assured their place in it. Jesus and his truth were a threat and, as we observe on Good Friday, he was murdered for it.

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

April 10 was the anniversary of Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, (1846-1955), Jesuit priest, scientist (geologist and paleontologist), theologian, and mystic whose work informed his spirituality. Much of what he wrote and spoke about was unacceptable to some who had the authority to deny his ability to publish, teach, or lecture.

Despite the censure of his work, he remained faithful to his vows of obedience and to the church, as painful and disheartening as it was. After his death, his work was published and has informed much current theology and spirituality. If you are familiar with the work of Richard Rohr, to mention only one, you will have been introduced in some way to Teilhard’s theology of evolution on both a physical and spiritual level and the incarnation of God in all matter.

I have always believed that sincere seekers of truth, whatever their field of study, spiritual path, or human experience, will come eventually to the same place: The Holy One who is Truth.

In The Gallery of Paleontology and Comparative Anatomy, part The National Museum of Natural History Paris, France
PHOTO: Mary van Balen

One night, when my middle daughter was five, I went upstairs to check on her and found her wide awake.

“Mom,” she said, “I don’t know what to do. I love God, but I love science, too. Some people say that people and dinosaurs lived at the same time. That the Bible talks about everything being created at once. But dinosaurs and people didn’t live together. Paleontologists know that.”

She sighed “I don’t know which to choose, God or science.”

“The good news is you don’t have to choose,” I said. The Bible isn’t a science book. The writers of the Bible were telling stories and sharing history that pointed to the truth as they knew it about God. They were truth seekers.

Scientists are looking for truth, too. Sometimes they have to change what they thought because a new discovery proves it wrong. But they keep observing and experimenting.

All truth leads to God. So, you don’t have to worry. The Bible. Science. Truth. Eventually, they take you to the same place.”

She smiled. “I’m glad,” she said, then rolled over and went to sleep.

First photo of a black hole
Credit: Event Horizon Telescope Collaboration

Seeking truth and accepting it when it isn’t what’s expected takes openness and humility as well as courage. History is full of examples. In our own time, new discoveries and understandings in many fields challenge the status quo. What do we know of race, of the cosmos, of human psychology, of the effect of human activity on our planet? Truth is always drawing us forward into new territory.

“Conventional truth” confronted Jesus as he entered Jerusalem. It made sense to his palm-waving, excited followers, caught up in signs and wonders. Of course, he would be King. It made sense to them, but not to Jesus.

Jesus refused to deny the truth of who he was. He had a message for all people, for all creation that transcended religion, politics and power. His work was to proclaim the radical love of God for all and in all.

That truth was hard for his followers to accept. It certainly turned their world upside down. For some it was too much to accept.

The same is true for us. Jesus’s message and our slowly evolving way of experiencing it is a challenge. It requires us to both let go and to accept. We can never understand God. But we can believe that always, God is drawing all things closer to the Divine Self until one day, we will understand that, mysterious as it is, we are one.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: climate change, creation, humility, inclusion, justice, love, Palm Sunday, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, radical love, truth, unconditional love

March 8, 2019 By Mary van Balen 6 Comments

Now Is the Acceptable Time

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

While reading some reflections by Richard Rohr on the presence of Christ in creation from the beginning, I was struck by the phrase “Christ-soaked world.” It brought to mind two Scripture readings from Paul used for the beginning of Lent: one from 2Corinthians and the other from Romans. In both, he draws from Hebrew Scriptures, and in both, reminds us of the immediacy of God’s presence.

“In an acceptable time I heard you / and on the day of salvation I helped you…” (Isaiah 49) “Now is an acceptable time,” Paul writes is 2Corinthians. “Now is the day of salvation.” Not yesterday. Not tomorrow. Now. This moment. Every moment. Because God has always “heard” and has always “helped.” From before time. That is who God is. Presence. Love. Always given. We didn’t miss it. We don’t have to wait for it. It is always poured out in and through us and creation.

In Romans Paul reminds us: “What does Scripture say? /The word is near you, / in your mouth and in your heart.” (Deuteronomy 30) God assures those listening that what is commanded is not a mystery or far away. “It is not in up in the sky, that you should say, ‘Who will go up in the sky to get it for us and tell us of it, that we may carry it out?’” It isn’t across the sea either. “No, it is something very near to you already in your mouths and in your hearts. You have only to carry it out.”

We may forget this. The Pharisees did. They didn’t recognize God in Jesus let alone the tax collectors and “riffraff” he hung out with. They expected to find God in “holier” places. The temple. The people who kept all the laws. People like themselves. Jesus confounded them with his insistence of spending time with the poor and marginalized, with his talk of God’s care for sparrows and stories of rejoicing over finding a lost coin or wandering sheep. Surely the Holy One was more discriminating than that!

No, not really. God is constantly giving Godself away because that’s what Love does. The incarnation in Jesus didn’t happen because people had made such a mess of things that only the sacrifice of his life could appease an angry God. No. As the thirteenth century Franciscan theologian, John Duns Scotus taught, Christ was always the plan.

Jesus showed us to what lengths Love would go, not to atone for sins or to be a scapegoat, but to be Love’s heart and human face on this planet. “See, this is how much I love you,” he said with arms outstretched on the cross.

These readings, reminders that God lives not far away but in the depths of our hearts at this very moment, set the tone for the Lenten journey. It’s not necessarily about giving up favorite foods or candy (though I wouldn’t mind losing a few pounds) or reading more Scripture, though it could be.

Lenten practice, whatever we choose, is about helping us grow in our trust that divine Love truly does live within us—not somewhere in the sky or across the sea. Lent is a time to listen. To discover what helps us deepen our relationship with God and to do it.

The focus is not personal salvation. It never was. It’s about becoming an uncluttered conduit of love and care for others and all creation. Jesus shows us that we are part of Christ and the work of “soaking the earth” with Love and Presence. As Isaiah tells us, the fast God wants is freeing the oppressed and unjustly bound, sharing our bread with the hungry, sheltering the oppressed and homeless, taking care of the other. (Isaiah 58)

This is the work Lent prepares us to do by reminding us to deepen our relationship with the Holy One who dwells within. Trusting it. Drawing our strength and hope from Love so we can be faithful to our part of Love’s transforming the earth.

This season invites us to take a breath, to nurture our spirits, mind, and body for this work. Now is the acceptable time.

Jesus’ life and eventual death attest to the struggle and danger of being radical love in a world that isn’t ready for it. But, as part of the Christ, that is our call.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: acceptable time, creation, faith, grace, Incarnation, John Duns Scotus, lent, love, Presence, quiet prayer, the Christ, trust