Hope in the New Year
January 16, 2019 By 10 Comments

Hope in the New Year

White and red vigil candles in Notre-Dame de Paris

Vigil candles in Notre-Dame de Paris
PHOTO: Mary van Balen

I like to celebrate Christmas—all 12 days of the season. So, while discarded Christmas trees line neighborhood sidewalks, mine still shines with white lights and carefully chosen ornaments. By the time you read this, Epiphany will have come and gone, and my tree will be back in the basement. But not yet.

This year I added a small book of daily readings to my holiday ritual: The Work of Christmas: The 12 Days of Christmas with Howard Thurman, by Bruce Epperly. It helped me reflect on Christmas well beyond the Advent struggle to keep mind and heart centered on God-with-us while busy with pre-Christmas preparations and dealing with holiday stress when the day finally arrived.

Christmas was especially enjoyable for me, filled with lots of family and company. Despite the activity, I made time each day to sit with this book. And when the holidays passed, family returned to their homes, and I returned to work, feelings of joy and hope that have been elusive, stirred in my heart.

2019 begins with dark days in our nation and in the world. Wars rage around the globe. Refugees, fleeing oppression and violence are being turned away from places once considered welcoming, including our country.  Division, fear and anger abound. The environmental crisis of global warming threatens catastrophic change for people and living things that inhabit the earth. Even progress that has helped clean up air and water is being turned back, profits more important than health.

Not much had changed between December 25 and January 1. So, where was this sense of joy and hope coming from? Why the easy smile? Why did grace and beauty pop into my view more often?

I thought it had something to do with the book, so I sat with it again and began reading from the beginning, searching for particular words or phrases that might have awakened these feelings.

Perhaps it was looking at Christmas through the eyes of an African American theologian and mystic born in Florida who grew up in the south during the days of Jim Crow. A man who knew oppression and could empathize with the oppressed and marginalized people in today’s world.

Or maybe, I thought, the words that recognized beauty in the midst of darkness helped me to become more aware of the beauty that resides in the world today. I kept looking.

Suddenly, these words filled my mind, pushing everything else aside: You are not alone.

The Pilgrims of Emmaus by Maurice Denis 1895 Color Lithograph – Columbus Museum of Art
PHOTO: Mary van Balen

I closed the book. That was it. Experiencing that truth over the past two weeks had made the difference though I hadn’t realized it at the time. Whether reading examples from Thurman’s own life, reflecting on the Scripture passages chosen and reflections written by Epperly, or living it with my daughters, family, and friends, I experienced the Epiphany revelation: God is with us. Always has been. Always will be.

And that is source of my hope.

It doesn’t make everything easy. Thurman didn’t sentimentalize Christmas. When he spoke of light coming out of darkness, he knew what he was talking about. Still, he had hope. In “The Mood of Christmas,” he reminds us that “… good is more permanent than evil.”

Epperly’s reflections focused attention on the reality that Christmas is not only blessing but also work, as Thurman’s poem “Now the Work of Christmas Begins” expresses. It is God’s work that we are created to do. Each of us. In our own way. In our own time and place. With our own gifts.

We do it together, sustained by countless acts of love and creativity. We live in the river of Grace that has flowed through all people and creation since the beginning of time. And it flows still. We contribute to it by being faithful and sharing the particular Grace we have been given.

Trusting that, trusting that God, indeed, is with us, allows us not only to have courage to contribute to that river of life in dark times as well as in light, but also to enjoy beauty and goodness along the way. And to hope.

©2019 Mary van Balen

Originally appeared in The Catholic Times, January 13, 2019 with different title

 

If you are interested in learning more about Howard Thurman and his spirituality, consider registering for the Howard Thurman Retreat Day offered by the Shalem Institute. I took advantage of this online retreat last year and highly recommend it. Thurman has much to say to us and our times. Follow the link above for more information.

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Thomas Keating and Centering Prayer
November 12, 2018 By Leave a Comment

Thomas Keating and Centering Prayer

beeswax candle burningI’m not sure when I began reading books by Thomas Merton. Probably late high school or early college. I’m also not sure how I discovered them. Though I was naturally drawn to contemplative prayer, the word was unfamiliar to me until Merton’s writings provided it. “Contemplative” was not something you heard about sitting in the pews on Sundays or even in religion classes. Not usually. Reflecting on that later, I never understood why. Christianity has a long, rich contemplative tradition.

 

Hunger for deeper prayer experience

Some of my friends from those early days, searching as college students do and longing for an alternative to rote prayers and rituals that, for them, had become mindless habit, explored meditation found in Eastern traditions. They hungered for a deeper relationship with God.

A way to sink deeply into that relationship is contemplative prayer. Not reserved for “special” people or for a few “advanced” souls as sometimes thought, it is simply resting in silence with the loving God who dwells within each of us.

I was lucky to find not only Thomas Merton, but also a small community that introduced me to classics in Christian literature like Teresa of Avila and John of the Cross and provided a vocabulary to talk about contemplative prayer. What a gift it was to finally have others with whom to pray and share the journey.

Later, I found the Desert Fathers and Mothers, The Cloud of Unknowing (written by an anonymous 14th century English monk), John Cassian, Julian of Norwich, and other mystical writers. I had begun to practice Lectio Divina and realized that my longtime journaling was part of my contemplative prayer journey (something I love to share at retreats and workshops). Time spent with Benedictine monks and sisters broadened and deepened my prayer experience.

The hunger for contemplative prayer among many Christians remains as deep as ever. Even if it’s not talked about much in parishes, there are many resources available today.

What prompted me to reflect on this was the passing on October 25 of Fr. Thomas Keating, at age 95. He is likely the most well-known Trappist monk since Merton. Keating is recognized for his development and promotion (along with others including M. Basil Pennington and William Meninger) of the centering prayer method of Christian meditation.

Beginnings of Centering Prayer

This prayer practice began in the 1970s at Saint Joseph’s Abbey in Spencer Massachusetts where Keating was abbot for twenty years. It was a prompted by conversations with young Christians, who, like my college friends, were seeking a prayer path that was meditative and transformative. They stopped by the Abbey to ask directions to a Buddhist meditation center that had been opened nearby in what once had been a Catholic retreat house. When Keating asked the young searchers why they didn’t look for a path in the Christian tradition, their answer was the same as my friends’ might have been: There’s a Christian path?

Keating talked to the monks at the Abbey about developing a method of meditation—based on Scripture and Christian tradition—that would be accessible to anyone, those beyond the monastery walls as well as inside them. The result is what is now known as Centering Prayer.

Resources

There are many resources available if you are interested in learning more about it; here are a few: Open Mind, Open Heart by Keating; Finding Grace at the Center by Thomas Keating, M. Basil Pennington, OCSO and Thomas E. Clark, SJ.; Centering Prayer and Inner Awakening by Episcopalian priest Cynthia Bourgeault. The Contemplative Outreach, an organization Keating founded in 1984, has a website full of information and resources. Some parishes have Centering Prayer groups that meet weekly.

Centering Prayer is not the only way to practice and nurture one’s contemplative life. As Fr. Keating wrote in a selection found on the Contemplative Outreach website addressing different approaches to meditative prayer: “In Buddhism there are a wide variety of methods (perhaps techniques would be a better designation). Why shouldn’t Christians have a few?”

There are more than a few! If you find yourself drawn to contemplation, Centering Prayer is one method to consider. It is popular, accessible, and practiced by hundreds of thousands around the globe.

Thank you, Fr. Keating.

©2018 Mary van Balen

Originally published is similar format in The Catholic Times 11.11.18

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A Place Where Grace Flows
October 11, 2018 By 1 Comment

A Place Where Grace Flows

Have you read something that stays with you, popping into mind out of nowhere, bringing insight to the moment? Recently, I read Pure Act: The Uncommon Life of Robert Lax by Michael N. McGregor. Lax was a great American poet and close friend of Thomas Merton. I took heart in Lax’s long search for the “right” place to live and write and his eventual realization that there was more than one. In his later years he made his home on the Greek island of Patmos, embracing poverty, free to write. If his work found its way to publication, good. But that wasn’t the goal. The goal was to be faithful and to write what was given to him to write, what was in his heart.

Not long after finishing the book, I read an interview of the author in “Bearings Online,” the Collegeville Institute blog. Answering a question about whether people should emulate Lax, McGregor said “No” and that his friend would never expect that. To live out of love was what mattered to him. No matter peoples’ circumstances or what they pursued, they should pursue it out of love. Then McGregor added, “For Lax, what was important was to put ourselves in a place where grace can flow, because once we do that, then things start happening.”

“To put ourselves in a place where grace can flow”—that phrase has taken residence in my heart. I think that’s what Lax was seeking while looking for the “right” place to write. And as he discovered, there is more than one.

Silhouette of woman standing on bank of the York River, Virginia, watching the Super Moon rising

Super Moon Rising Over York River, VA
PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Where are those places? Are they physical places or people we are with? “Both/and” I would say.

We might experience the flow of grace with family or in quiet morning hours while sitting alone with a cup of coffee and God, watching the sunrise. Maybe writing in a journal or practicing Lectio Divina. Perhaps our work opens us to grace. Volunteering. Painting. Immersion in nature. We know it when we find it. The important thing is to make sure we put ourselves there. Often.

I read another post, this time from the “On Being” blog, by Erin O. White. For her, the small church she attends is a place where grace flows. She describes it this way: “… church isn’t about order or quiet or even ritual so much as it is about showing up. For yourself, for God, and for the people around you who need to feel—just as you do—that the blessings and burdens of being a human are not theirs to bear alone.”

That’s what the flow of grace does. It binds people together, experiencing God dwelling within every person and in creation. Indeed, “things start happening.” It creates interior spaciousness. It enlivens. When we are open to that flow, everything is prayer.

But, there can be times when the usual places don’t work. Something may happen to turn a place where we once encountered grace into a place where that can no longer happen. Then it’s important to move on.

Sometimes an event or circumstance shakes us to the core, and we feel isolated. Grace seems stuck. In those moments, we might find additional people and places of grace: Counselors, support groups, people who have traveled a similar path, new prayer practices.

Some places of grace remain constants in our lives. Some change. Lax found them throughout his life, with friends, while traveling with a circus family, with poor fishermen on Patmos, and other people and places in between. Being attentive and open, we find them, too.

℘ ℘ ℘

A book has come to my attention that helps provide a “place where grace flows” for a particular group of people facing such a time—women who have experienced breast cancer. I mention it here since October is the International Month of Breast Cancer Awareness and most of us have been touched in some way by this disease.

A New Song to Sing: Breast Cancer as Journey of Spirit, by Rev. Linda C. Loving, is a workbook for small groups of women at any stage of living with their diagnosis. The book leads women through seven sessions of sharing stories, deep listening, ritual, prayer, and reflection on provided texts. The gatherings of women drawn together by common experience become places where grace flows.

You can visit Linda Loving’s website, Spirited Voices, to learn more about the book and about Linda.

© 2018 Mary van Balen

Originally published in “The Catholic Times”  10.14.2018

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment
Rev. Graetz: Standing Together for Justice
September 9, 2018 By 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.

© 2018 Mary van Balen

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

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Ordinary Life, Extraordinary Grace
August 9, 2018 By 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 17th 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.

© 2018 Mary van Balen

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

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Thank You, Mr. Rogers
July 12, 2018 By 5 Comments

Thank You, Mr. Rogers

Image of Mr. Rogers and Daniel Tiger puppetWhen 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.”

©2018 Mary van Balen   Originally published in the Catholic Times, July 15, 2018

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Three Simple Gifts
June 20, 2018 By 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 19th 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

© 2018 Mary van Balen

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment
Easter is More than History
April 5, 2018 By 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!

© 2018 Mary van Balen

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,
God’s Love Is Always Big
March 11, 2018 By 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.

© 2018 Mary van Balen

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment, The Scallop Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Howard Thurman: Black Theologian, Mystic, and Mentor
February 8, 2018 By 2 Comments

Howard Thurman: Black Theologian, Mystic, and Mentor

Cover of book "Jesus and the Disinherited" by Howard ThurmanThe reading from Mark’s gospel about the Gentile woman’s request for Jesus to heal her daughter possessed by a demon is one of my favorites. Jesus had slipped away from the crowds, but the woman found him and threw herself at his feet, asking for help. When Jesus answered that the children must be fed first (a reference to the Jews) and that it would not be right to throw their food to the dogs, she was undeterred. Her faith was more expansive than that, and she told Jesus so. “Even the dogs under the table eat the children’s scraps.”

It seems her words hit home. Perhaps her faith helped Jesus understand the inclusivity of God’s loving mercy and of Jesus’ own mission. He sent her on her way with the assurance that her daughter was healed.

This reading is especially appropriate these days when the sense of entitlement, privilege, and exclusivity seems to be on the rise, or at the least, more visible. When discrimination against people based on the color of their skin, their ethnicity, beliefs, or just being who they are becomes acceptable, we must respond.

February is Black History month, and it’s appropriate to celebrate people who have seen injustice and taken action. I would like to write about Howard Thurman. I first learned of him years ago from a friend studying at Andover-Newton Theological School. More recently, I took advantage of the “Howard Thurman Retreat Day” offered online by the Shalem Institute. (You can access this retreat if you’d like by visiting https://shalem.org).

His name remains unfamiliar despite his wide influence as a contemplative, mystic, theologian, pastor, and professor. There are many ways to respond to oppression, and though not in the forefront of marches and demonstrations, Thurman was influential in the Civil Rights movement and served as a spiritual mentor to many involved, including Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Howard Thurman was born in 1899 and grew up in Daytona Beach, Florida. His grandmother, Nancy Ambrose, a former slave, helped raise him. She shared the deep faith that had helped her survive enslavement, instilling in him a profound sense of identity as a child of God.

Thurman graduated valedictorian from Morehouse college. He studied at Rochester Theological Seminary and upon graduation was ordained a minister. His first pastorate was at Mt. Zion Baptist Church in Oberlin, Ohio. There he met Quaker pacifist and mystic Rufus Jones, a professor at Oberlin with whom he would later study.

Thurman taught at Morehouse and Spelman Colleges and was a professor and Dean of Rankin Chapel at Howard University.

In 1935, along with his wife, Sue Bailey Thurman, and other African Americans, Thurman was invited to join the six-month “Pilgrimage of Friendship” to India, Ceylon, and Burma. Prior to that trip, he and Mahatma Gandhi had corresponded and shortly before returning home, they met. Gandhi was curious about the aftermath of slavery and the conditions of Black people in the United States. They talked about non-violence and civil disobedience, and the importance of maintaining spiritual vitality in order to preserve in their practice.

In 1944, Thurman and Dr. Alfred Fisk founded the Church for the Fellowship All Peoples in San Francisco, California. The first intentional interracial, interfaith congregation in the country, it continues its mission today.

Thurman published numerous books, his most famous being Jesus and the Disinherited that looks at Jesus as a member of a minority class and sees in his life and teachings a guide for marginalized people responding to their oppression. This book greatly influenced Martin Luther King, Jr. who carried it with him whenever he marched.

Later in his career, Thurman became a professor and first African American Dean of Marsh Chapel at Boston University. Martin Luther King, Jr. was earning his PhD in theology at Boston University at that time and attended Thurman’s sermons. Thurman became his spiritual mentor and shared the wisdom and conversations he had had with Gandhi about nonviolent protest.

Thurman’s understandings of the dehumanizing effects of oppression, the effect of hate and anger on those who allow them into their hearts, the necessity of gathering strength by spiritual practice, and non-violence have much to say to us today.

A number of books about him have been published. You can read his own works, and Boston University’s Listening room has an extensive library of recordings of Thurman’s sermons, talks, and lectures. Listen here: http://hgar-srv3.bu.edu/web/howard-thurman/virtual-listening-room

© 2018 Mary van Balen

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment, Widening Our Circles