The Scallop

January 15, 2022 By Mary van Balen 2 Comments

Scientists Say Return for Efforts is Public Health, Not Profit

My daughter forwarded an article from today’s Guardian that energized me. Think about it: people doing something to make the world a better place and not concerned with making a profit. Some Texas scientists are doing just that. One of the lead scientists, Dr. Maria Bottazzi, from Children’s Hospital Center for Vaccine Development at Baylor College of Medicine is quoted in the article, explaining why they are not seeking to patent the vaccine:

“We want to do good in the world. This was the right thing to do, and this is what we morally had to do. We didn’t even blink. We didn’t think, ‘how can we take advantage of this?’ You see now that if more like us would have been more attuned to how the world is so inequitable and how we could have helped from the beginning so many places around the world without thinking ‘what’s going to be in it for me?’, we could have basically not even seen these variants arise.”

Amen.

Earlier this month, I was surprised that Kroger hiked their prices for the BinaxNOW rapid Covid test kits. “Why,” I wondered, “just when we are facing a surge in Covid Omicron cases and people need tests to help stop the spread?”

What I learned was that, in September, Kroger, Walmart, and Amazon had reached an agreement with the Biden administration to sell the tests at cost for 100 days to help curb the spread. Once the 100 days were up, the prices went up at least $5. In many cases more.

What retailer needs to make a profit from tests that can slow down the spread of a viral disease amid a pandemic? Surely, they make enough money from everything else they sell. I called the grocery store where I shop to see what they charge for the same tests (when they have them, which they don’t as I write). The pharmacy intern cheerfully said, “I think they usually sell for $30.” When sold at cost, they were around $14.

Where is the sense of common good? Where is the spirit of humanitarianism that guides the Texas scientists? It’s immoral to make a profit on something that is desperately needed around the world to combat Covid. Hospitals across the country are reeling under the surge of new cases. Many are filled and forced to turn away people with other illnesses. No beds available. Healthcare workers are stretched beyond their limits. And stores need to make money on Covid tests? No.

Read the Guardian article to restore a little faith in fellow human beings. Then write your U.S. Senators and Representatives. Write the President. Ask them to instate a “no profit” mandate for these tests. Write the stores where you shop and express your dismay.

As Dr. Bottazzi says in the article: “We need to break these paradigms that it’s only driven by economic impact factors or return of economic investment. We have to look at the return in public health.”

Read: Texas scientists’ new Covid-19 vaccine is cheaper, easier to make and patent-free

Filed Under: The Scallop, Uncategorized Tagged With: Common Good, COVID rapid tests, Dr. Maria Bottazzi, Public Health, Texas scientists new Covid-19 vaccine

January 2, 2022 By Mary van Balen 4 Comments

James Webb Space Telescope and “Holy Curiosity”

Early Christmas morning, I shut off the alarm and lay in bed, still tired after a late night. My cell phone dinged. Ahh, a daughter checking to see if I were watching NASA’s coverage of the James Webb Space Telescope (JWST) launch. Events like this are a family thing, shared virtually, often with a toast to celebrate success. I texted back, “Just getting up. Turning on the computer.” Too early for wine, tea was my drink of choice.

What a Christmas gift! After three decades of imagination, development, and global teamwork, the deep space telescope designed to give humanity a glimpse back in time to the beginnings of the universe was ready to launch. The European spaceport is in Kourou, French Guiana, on the edge of the Amazon rainforest near the equator. NASA TV provided stunning images: The Arian 5 rocket towering above the trees. A fiery liftoff. And a final a view of the James Webb, separated from the final stage of the rocket and moving past the earth toward deep space.

Humanity’s Last Glimpse of the James Webb Space Telescope — Credit: Arianespace, ESA, NASA, CSA, CNES

Watching broadcasts of space missions is always emotional for me. In 2017, twenty years after beginning its journey of discovery of around Saturn and its moons, the spacecraft Cassini sent its final images as it dove into the planet’s atmosphere. I stopped preparing dinner and gave full attention to my laptop perched on the microwave, streaming coverage. When the last image disappeared and Cassini burned up like a meteor, I cried.

Watching the JWST launch was no different. The scope and complexity of the mission. The passion to explore the universe. The cooperation of thousands of people and space agencies around the globe. The perseverance to work through setbacks. The vulnerability of broadcasting the event despite possible failure. These things stir the soul.

Imagine, a telescope so big that it was folded like intricate origami to fit into the faring that protected it as it punctured a hole in the atmosphere. Imagine, a giant mirror over 21 feet across and a multi-layered sunshield unfolding like butterflies emerging from their chrysalises.

NASA: Animation by Adriana Manrique Gutierrez

Imagine. Someone did. Lots of people did. Their curiosity, skill, and determination led to the launch of the telescope that won’t stop until it reaches a spot along the sun-earth axis over a million miles away.

Images of the launch and NASA’s informative videos have stayed with me, feeding my sense of wonder. During the past week it drew me to poetry, books, and podcasts that explore in different ways the secrets of the universe, our place in it, and the mystery of faith.

After the launch, I pulled out an old coffee table book, The Home Planet, a collection of magnificent photos and reflections of space explorers who have orbited the Earth. Many wrote of a heightened appreciation of the interconnectedness of all things on earth and the overwhelming beauty of our planet after viewing it against the black emptiness of space. Looking through its pages, I marveled at the evolution of space exploration, culminating in JWST’s million-mile journey. Will its revelations move humanity closer to acknowledging the interdependence of all creation? Will it move those on earth to take better care of the planet? Will this encounter with the inconceivable immensity and complexity of the universe foster humility as well as expand knowledge?

Bill Nelson, NASA Administrator, said after the launch, “The promise of Webb is not what we know we will discover; it’s what we don’t yet understand or can’t yet fathom about our universe. I can’t wait to see what it uncovers!”

I wondered, in my own life, how willing I am to admit that I don’t understand? Not only the workings of the universe, but closer to home, realities at work in everyday life. There is much I don’t know or can’t even imagine. For instance, the history and effects of systemic racism and oppression of the marginalized in this country. Am I delving deeper? Educating myself? How willing am I to listen to the truth spoken by those kept on the edges of society? Do I have the humility to hear, to listen with the ear of the heart? To be transformed by it?

Poetry was my next reading stop. Mary Oliver’s “Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does It End?” speaks of looking long and deep:

There are things you can’t reach. But

you can reach out to them, and all day long…

… I look; morning to night I am never done with looking.

Looking, I mean not just standing around, but standing around

as though with your arms open…

I imagined the arms of the JWST open wide, gathering energy of the sun. The giant golden eye of a mirror, looking out, slowly gathering in light from billions of years ago. And I thought of my standing with open arms and open heart, ready to receive the Grace of Divine Presence. It’s often not visible or obvious to me, but God is no less present for my inability to perceive. The important thing is to develop a practice of openness “all day long,” never being done with looking.

When it arrives at its destination almost a month after launch, JWST will be carefully positioned in the second Lagrange point that allows it to orbit the sun while remaining in the shadow of the earth. In this place, JWTS’s sunshield will protect it from heat and light from the sun, earth, moon, and even from itself! This is critical for the collection of faint infrared light, a process easily disrupted by other sources of light or heat.

I often think of a comment made by Michael McGregor, author of Pure Act: The Uncommon Life of Robert Lax. When asked if Lax would want others to emulate his life, McGregor was quick to respond. No. What was important to Lax was that people find a place where grace flows for them and put themselves there often.

Grace flows in different places for everyone. Even in different places at different times in a single individual’s life. Putting oneself there is important. The “place” could be simply silence or meditation. Time in the woods, along a beach, taking long walks, or gazing at the night sky. It could be working at a food pantry or homeless shelter, or having conversation with a good friend. Journaling. Painting. We need to spend time in places that shield us from too much “interference” of all types—even from ourselves. To be free of things that hinder the reception of Love, constantly shared, drenching creation.

Sometimes finding that place is not going somewhere. It’s just a matter of turning the heart.

In a conversation with Krista Tippett, Jeff Chu shared some wisdom from the new book he worked on with Rachel Held Evans and which he finished after her death in 2019. Wholehearted Faith was published last month. Speaking about the need for more love, tenderness, and fierce advocacy for justice, he said, “… And so many of us just need a little reminder from time to time that love is there. Love is there if you pay attention. Love is there if you turn your hearts just a little bit.”

Standing under the night sky allows me to “turn my heart,” to open to Love.

In his comments after the launch, Bill Nelson recalled the words of Psalm 19: “The heavens declare the glory of God; the firmament shows his handiwork.”

Indeed, God’s splendor is on display in the stars and galaxies and mysterious beauty of the cosmos. The incarnation celebrated during the Christmas season, this embodied Presence, has inspirited creation from the moment the universe began and continues in every person, creature, and bit of matter here or millions of miles in space.

Just as we cannot imagine how the discoveries of the JWST will affect humanity’s science, spirits, or way of living, we cannot imagine the transforming power of the ongoing incarnation.

The human drive to explore the galaxies, using every bit of human knowledge, skill, and talents is fueled by curiosity and wonder.

Searching our hearts and all that is around us. Paying attention. Looking for the Sacred in our midst. This passion is driven by the longing for meaning, for God, and by the desire to know that we are part of a story far bigger than ourselves. One we can never fully comprehend.

As expressed in Wholehearted Faith, “… many of us have found a renewed sense of possibility when we’ve realized how much of God’s beauty remains to be explored — and that the life of faith is also a life of holy curiosity.”

Thank you NASA and its global partners for an extraordinary Christmas gift, one that reminds us to wonder, to search, and to expect the unexpected. Not only in our universe, but also in our experience of God-with-us.

SOURCES AND RESOURCES

Books

The Home Planet: Conceived and edited by Kevin W. Kelley for the Association of Space Explorers

“Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does It End?” in Why I Wake Early by Mary Oliver

Wholehearted Faith by Rachel Held Evans and Jeff Chu

Online

OnBeing with Krista Tippet 12/23/21 Jeff Chu: A Life of Holy Curiosity

NASA JWST Sites – Follow links for more information, images, and videos of the JWST

James Webb Space Telescope Homepage

NASA’s Webb Blog where you can keep up with new information

JWST launch: Official NASA Broadcast on YouTube

James Webb Space Telescope: Goddard Space Flight Center

Where is Webb

About Webb Orbit

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: curiosity, European Spaceport, grace, Incarnation, James Webb Space Telescope, Jeff Chu, JWST, JWST launch, Krista Tippett, Mary Oliver, NASA, ongoing incarnation, open to grace, Presence, present to the moment, wonder

October 27, 2021 By Mary van Balen 8 Comments

Wisdom and Hope: Saving an Ancient Olive Tree and Each Other

In Cuglieri, a small town in western Sardinia, people have come together to save “the Patriarch,” their cherished olive tree ravaged by wildfires that engulfed the region in July. Estimated to be 1,800 – 2,000 years old, it has been a symbol of a way of life.

In a New York Times article,¹ Maria Franca Curcu, the councilor with responsibility for social policies and culture for the municipality, was quoted as saying “the Patriarch is our identity.” Saving him, she says, would be a message of hope to those who have lost so much in this fire. Farmers lost 90% of their olive trees and their livelihood. Of the 2,600 inhabitants, 1,000 were forced to evacuate.

What struck me about this story was the way people came together with hope of reviving the tree. A professor and director of the botanical garden at the University of Cagliari offered his expertise. Despite the 11-foot-wide trunk having burned for two days, efforts were being made to nurture what life remains deep within. The team cooled the soil and covered it with straw. They wrapped the trunk with jute tarps. A local plumber created an irrigation system to keep the soil moist and to deliver an organic fertilizer every 10 days. A construction company built a structure to do what the now non-existent crown of leaves would have done: provide shade.

The hope is not that the tree will return to its former glory, but that peripheral roots will rejuvenate, provide nutrients to the stump, and enable new shoots to appear in the fall. The result would be something new, growing from the original.

The plight of the Patriarch is a metaphor for our times: The status quo is no longer viable. The pandemic has exposed diseased parts of political and economic systems that should not be sustained. Inequalities that exist around the world are impossible to ignore. The gap between the ability of rich countries and poor ones to obtain vaccines is one example. In day-to-day life, Covid has affected how people shop, work (or not), gather, communicate, pray, and support one another. The murder of George Floyd pushed awareness of racial bigotry and police abuse beyond the tipping point. Effects of climate change are manifesting faster than expected, resulting in, among other things, an increase in severe weather and the scope and severity of wildfires like the one that burned through Cuglieri.

What is happening in the world calls for a response similar to that of those dealing with the aftermath of the wildfire: communal efforts and hope:

Listen to experts – follow scientists and those trained in dealing with trauma and growth.
Practice self-care – seek out what you need to heal.
Engage in service – care for those in your “village” or donate to groups equipped to respond when you can’t.
Be open to change – accept that the future will look different as we let go of old ways that don’t serve the common good.

For me, the story of the Patriarch highlighted the power of symbols. Seeing that tree gave many people hope, a sense of who they are and of well-being. I began to think about the symbols in my life that are a source of hope. I have scallop shells scattered around my house. I hadn’t thought of them as symbols of hope but of pilgrimage. However, people don’t pilgrimage without hope in the process. Now, when I see the shells, I will remember the Holy Presence that is both the call and the destination, and of the promise that God is with us.

What are your symbols of hope? What can you look at each day to remind you that you are not traveling in the world alone? That Goodness remains in the world. That in the end, Love prevails. Maybe photos of loved ones or of places where you felt Sacred Presence will stir hope in your heart. Perhaps a Cross or holy book. A candle. A painting. A poem or a prayer written out and posted on your refrigerator or sitting on your table.

Surround yourselves with symbols of hope. And like the villagers of Cuglieri, don’t expect what will rise from the suffering to look the same as what has been lost. If new shoots don’t grow from the old stump, the villagers may plant a young tree that will grow into a Patriarch for new generations. Like them, we are called to have faith in community. And in hope.

Sardinian Village Tries to Save an Ancient Tree Scorched by Fire

Photos: Mary van Balen

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: "the Patriarch", climate change, community, Cuglieri, hope, new growth, pandemic, pilgrimage, racism, Sardinia, symbols, unsustainable systems, wildfires, wisdom

October 5, 2021 By Mary van Balen 10 Comments

“Breath-Praise” – The Simple Prayer of Being

I am slowly reading my way through Mary Oliver’s Devotions, a thick book of her poems that she selected for publication in 2017, just two years before her death. I think of Devotions as a parting gift. I’m less than halfway through the 442 pages of brilliance, unveiling life’s glory and grace.

Balckburnian Warbler perched in shrub — Blackburnian Warbler
Photo: Michael Delphia

And so, I found myself, a week after the arrival of Autumn, reading a poem celebrating summer! No matter. Each season has its own gifts as well as those it shares with the other three. In this case, that gift is birdsong. A Meadowlark’s to be specific. The sound broke in to Oliver’s consciousness while she worked on a summer poem. As I read the finished piece,¹ a few lines captured my attenition:

“…the faint-pink roses / that have never been improved, but come to bud // open like little soft sighs / under the meadowlark’s whistle, its breath-praise, // its thrill-song, its anthem, its thanks, its // alleluia. Alleluia, oh Lord.”

“… its breath-praise …”

“Breath-praise.” In.

“Breath-praise.” Out.

The meadowlark. Me. We both have “breath-praise.” Most often unconscious, its participation in Grace. Immersion in Presence, Breath, Life. A simple prayer of being. When done with awareness, breath-praise is the recognition of a reality larger than oneself, reverencing the creator, the force, of which one is a part.

The time of business is no different from the time of prayer.
Brother Lawrence

Breathing it in. Breathing it out. Brother Lawrence, the 17^th century Carmelite, knew this truth. A lowly lay brother in a Parisian monastery, he is best known for his uncomplicated prayer of becoming aware of being in God’s presence throughout the day and carrying on a conversation with God in those moments. Lifting his heart in praise and recognizing the enveloping Sacred Presence in which he moved, Brother Lawrence, like the meadowlark, practiced “breath-praise.” He knew he had work to do (for years, it was in the monastery kitchen, which he did not like) and went about it simply. He didn’t need to be in a chapel or at Mass to pray.

One of his quotes adorned my refrigerator during my childrearing years: “The time of business is no different from the time of prayer. In the noise and clatter of my kitchen, I possess God as tranquilly as if I were upon my knees before the Blessed Sacrament. ²

I sometimes had trouble with the “tranquilly” part, but all in all, his sentiment was a great reminder of the holiness of life’s quotidian tasks.

red and yellow autum leaves against the sky

In New Seeds of Contemplation,³ the great monk, mystic, and author, Thomas Merton wrote:

A tree gives glory to God by being a tree. For in being what God means it to be it is obeying God. It “consents,” so to speak, to God’s creative love … Therefore each particular being, in its individuality … gives glory to God by being precisely what God wants it to be here and now … Their inscape is their sanctity. It is the imprint of God’s wisdom and God’s reality in them.

Human beings, on the other hand, complicate things, including simply being the self God created each one to be. It’s difficult when voices from all kinds of places – the past, the media, culture, significant people in our lives – have their say and cloud the perception of just what “being oneself” means.

I often confuse what I have (or, more often, have not) accomplished with who I am. For example, the books I haven’t written overshadow the self that is given through countless meals prepared, laundry done, letters written, and the simple ways of living and loving that, as Merton wrote, are the “imprint of God” in me.

Writing is part of who I am (thus years and years of columns, posts, articles, and books), but not the whole of it. The temptation in our culture is to focus on major things. On “doing” not “being.” One of these approaches cannot exist without the other. Life is a both/and endeavor. Br. Lawrence spent his monastic career doing his chores and in the simplicity of his tasks, he was being his true self. His prayer practice contributed to his sanctity, and sharing it provided inspiration for countless others across centuries.

Their inscape is their sanctity. It is the imprint of God’s wisdom and God’s reality in them.
Thomas Merton

Merton knew that being faithful to the God-spark within was all we need do. That looks different for each of person. For him, it included lots of writing: books, poetry, correspondence, articles. Also being a novice master. And, later, living alone in his hermitage.

Mary Oliver is a saint of attentiveness and gratitude. She noticed. She wandered and wondered through the natural world. She loved. And she wrote.

What imago Dei resides in your center? What bit of the Sacred do you bring to every task you do and to every moment you are at rest? What song of gratitude might you add to the universe as you stand at the kitchen sink or the washing machine? When you weep for the world or rejoice with a child or friend? When you work? When you play? When you have no idea where you are going or when you are filled with enthusiasm for the next step?

October is a beautiful month to notice and be inspired by the unconscious praise that rises from the natural world. Opening our eyes, ears, and hearts to the wordless chant of praise that arises every day from every created thing, we can join in their prayer. Recognizing their holiness may stir our hearts with the desire to grow in willingness to be, like them, exactly as God has made us to be. Then our “Amen” will rise with theirs, not from our lips, but like the meadowlark, from our being.

Sources:

Mary Oliver, “While I Am Writing a Poem to Celebrate Summer, the Meadowlark Begins to Sing,” Devotions (2017):203.
Brother Lawrence, The Practice of the Presence of God, (1985): 145.
Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation, (1972): 29-30.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: Brother Lawrence, imago Dei, Mary Oliver, prayer, prayer of being, prayer of the quotidian, Presence, Thomas Merton

August 5, 2021 By Mary van Balen 12 Comments

The Gift of Being Here

Opening the kitchen door to gauge the morning’s suitability for an early walk, I inhaled quickly and held my breath in reverence and awe. Cool refreshing air slid over me after days of stifling heat. Huge puffy clouds rose in the bright blue sky. Even from my city view, obstructed by buildings, wires, and trees, the clouds’ soft shading of grays were stunning, perfect subjects for an artist’s paint and brush. I climbed the outdoor steps to my apartment neighbors’ landing for a better view.

“This morning might qualify for creating a celebration,” I thought. In her book I’m in Charge of Celebrations,¹ Byrd Baylor provides her requirements for such a designation (She’s picky.): It must be something that makes you catch your breath. Something that makes your heart pound. Check and check.

I took a walk. In the clear air, edges of everything – flowers, blades of grass, trees, houses, walls, and rocks – looked crisper. Colors were rich and saturated as they often are after a rain. The sights along my usual route seemed transformed, but more likely, grace had opened my eyes and heart wider.

I thought of Joanna Macy writing in her book, World as Lover, World as Self: Courage for Global Justice and Planetary Awakening, that just to be alive in this universe, to participate in its unfolding, is an “inestimable gift.”² Even in dark times. Dark as they are, I am privileged to live where morning walks are safe, where air is, at least sometimes, clean and clear. Walking, I thought about those whose experiences of the world are drastically different than mine, where morning walks aren’t safe. People who are oppressed just for the color of their skin, their accents, their sexual orientation, or gender identity. Those struggling with poverty. They are here, in my city and around the world.

Some are experiencing drought or flood. Some endure wars or personal violence. And many desiring to find a safer place, have nowhere to go. No welcoming arms open to receive them.

Do those who struggle and suffer, who were born in a war-torn part of the planet, do they think being alive is an “inestimable gift,” no matter how hard or unfair their lives seem to be? If I were in their place, would I?

My monk friend would agree with Macy, crisis times or not, life is a treasured gift, and there are choices. At eighty plus years old, he is grateful to live in what he calls “this special time.” One can choose to live it with eyes open to the beauty and magnificent mystery of our universe while still seeing the shadow side. Or choose to live in ways that contribute to the transformation of this country into a more just place and to be part of global efforts toward building a better world.

Amazing mornings like yesterday jolt me into both: gratitude for the gift of being in this awe-inspiring cosmos and resolve to make a difference, however small, with the time I have been given to live in it.

Byrd Baylor, I’m in Charge of Celebrations
Joanna Macy, from her book, World as Lover, World as Self: Courage for Global Justice and Planetary Awakening as quoted in Grounding in Gratitude

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: Bryd Baylor, choices, eyes wide open, gift of being here, gratitutde, Joanna Macy, making a difference, open heart, present to the moment, wide awake

June 14, 2021 By Mary van Balen 4 Comments

Ocean’s Pull: A Place Where Grace Flows

I long to be near the ocean. It stole my heart on our first encounter. A teenager, I was camping with my family through Massachusetts, the birthplace of my mother’s parents. She wanted to see where her family roots had been before they were pulled up and transplanted to Ohio.

My grandmother Becky lived with us and was my first introduction to Massachusetts. Bits of New England accent colored her speech until she died. I loved hearing her say “mirrah,” “drawah,” or “idear” and asked questions requiring an answer that included words ending in “er” or “ah” just to hear her say them.

Growing up in southwestern Massachusetts, she hadn’t lived by the sea, but earlier generations had, arriving on the northeastern shore before the Revolutionary War, joining the battles at Concord and Lexington. In my young mind, the east coast was a magical place, and photos of the Kennedys sailing or walking the beach on Cape Cod just added to the mystique.

So I was thrilled when, one summer, our family contingent wended its way through western Massachusetts to Boston and places further north along the coast. It didn’t disappoint. From the moment I stepped over large rocks and experienced the presence of the ocean, I was smitten. “Why,” I wondered, “would anyone move from such a place to the Midwest?” They must have had their reasons, but at the moment, for the life of me, I couldn’t imagine what they might have been.

Over the years, I’ve made numerous trips up east and spent countless hours walking beaches on the Cape as well as up and down the coast. The pandemic put an end to a long string of birthday celebrations shared with my youngest daughter on a beach. How I miss walking the thin strip that’s neither ocean nor land but water and sand swirling together in some “both/and” space. Looking for sea glass. Listening to the rhythmic sounds of the water’s ebb and flow. Watching shore birds. Drawing in deep draughts of salty air that cleans and soothes lungs irritated by pollen and pollution at home.

A friend who appreciated my soul-ache for the sea sent me a book: The Outermost House: A Year of Life on the Great Beach of Cape Cod, by Henry Beston. I finished it last week. First published in 1928, it chronicles Beston’s year-long stay in a two-room cottage he had built on his dune-land property just south of the Eastham Life Saving Station on what is now called Coast Guard Beach.

Though not a trained scientist, he was a keen observer of nature, calling himself a “writer-naturalist.” In his book, Beston meticulously describes the sights, sounds, wildlife, weather, and events from walks along the beach to shipwrecks in a foaming sea, to the bravery of the coast guards from the Nauset lighthouse who patrolled the beach, ready to help anyone in need, to deliver a letter, or to stop in Beston’s cottage to warm up with a steaming cup of coffee.

From the first pages, I was hooked. Beston was a writer first, and as Robert Finch notes in the 1988 introduction, Beston “… preferred poetic impressions to scientific accuracy.” Perhaps that’s why I could close my eyes and “be there,” hearing the distinctive sounds made by waves in their various stages: the “great spilling crash” when they arrived, the “wild seething cataract roar” as the wave dissolved, “the rush of its foaming waters up the beach,” and the “foam-bubble hissing” as the wave dissolves and slides back toward the sea.

His description of the origin of waves was equally transporting. It’s not scientific, but who isn’t enchanted by thinking of the birth of waves somewhere far out in the middle of the ocean when “… the pulse beat of earth liberates a vibration, an ocean wave.” “Pulse beat of earth” reminds me of the captivating phrase, “heartbeat tones,” NASA used to describe the simple signals sent from Perseverance during its landing on Mars when more complicated communication was impossible—it just let them know “Percy” was “alive” and functioning.

The ancient values of dignity, beauty, and poetry which sustain it are of Nature’s inspiration; the are born of the mystery and beauty of the world.
Henry Beston, The Outermost House

Beston didn’t include as many personal reflections as some authors do when writing memoir. Many of his detailed descriptions stand alone, allowing the reader to experience the ocean in their own way and to reflect on deeper meanings stirred by the literary encounter.

I am no exception.

He responded directly to friends wondering if he didn’t grow tired or “haunted” by the constant sound of the ocean’s roar, saying simply that he had “grown unconscious” of it, noticing only when he first woke or climbed into bed at night. Or made a conscious choice to stop and listen. Or “when some change in the nature of the sound breaks through my acceptance of it to my curiosity.”

I could imagine that. And it made me wonder what sounds or sights in my life are so constant that I don’t often notice them. What miracles do I take for granted every day? What can help me remember to “stop again to listen,” or to lift my heart to God in gratitude for the gift?

Beston commented that birds in flight look completely different than birds at rest and suggested that after observing birds on the ground, we clap our hands and send them flying. Again, his provocative prose had me wondering. What people, places, or activities make me feel more alive, more myself? What pulls from me the gifts that makes me more who I am made to be?

In describing mystic/poet Robert Lax, his biographer, Michael McGregor, said that Lax would encourage people to find a place where grace flowed and put themselves there often. Flight is what birds are made for. It’s where observers see them in their magnificence. Where is the place Grace flows most naturally for me? Can I put myself there? Often?

Again, responding to friends’ questions, Beston shared what he had learned of Nature from his Cape Cod year: “… one’s first appreciation is a sense that the creation is still going on, that the creative forces are as great and as active to-day as they ever have been … Creation is here and now.”

Sunset over the water, Cape Cod Massachusetts — Cape Cod

When I read those words, I slipped into quiet and wonder at the evolution of creation, of creatures, of humanity, of faith, of God. What does it mean that creation is ongoing, here and now? How comfortable am I with the lack of permanence and the transformation that is Incarnation?

I am longing for the sea. Its pull is always on my heart. Yet, with Beston’s book, I feel that in some way I have been there. And received Grace as if I had walked the thin space of earth/sea in my bare feet, wondered at the birds, breathed salty air, and huddled against the wind.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: attentive, Cape Cod, creation, evolution, Henry Beston, ocean, present to the moment, The Outermost House, transformation

April 5, 2021 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Easter Liturgies: Beyond Memorial or Reenactment

Book of Mary Olive poetry, "Devotions," open to page showing poem "On Meditating, Sort Of." — from book *Devotions*
Photo: Mary van Balen

This year, the Thursday before Easter, Holy Thursday, began for me in quiet prayer with a Zoom group and continued with what became the deeper prayer of the day. I sat in my chair by the window, reading Mary Oliver and feeling my face warmed by the intense morning sun. Bright light flooding through the mini-blinds played across the book’s pages and my hands.

My cobalt glass vases glimmered on the buffet, painting the shells around them with bits of luminous blue – an altar bathed in glory of Creator and creation. As Oliver writes in her poem “On Meditating, Sort Of,” while some find times of meditation in prescribed practices and postures, she often found hers lounging against a tree.

Surely, Mary Oliver had her practices – writing itself can be a demanding spiritual practice! – Attentiveness was one. Notebook in hand, she greeted each day, noticing the world around her. Being present. That’s how the day began for me.

Holy Thursday, or Maundy Thursday as it is known in some religious traditions, has always been my favorite of the Triduum: Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday. It’s the intimacy of a meal shared with family and friends. (Can you doubt that his mother and others in addition to the twelve apostles, including women, were there?) It’s the hope and prayer for unity and the example of self-sacrificing love.

John’s gospel doesn’t put the sharing of bread and wine center stage but rather Jesus’s washing his followers’ feet and the long discourse and prayer that follow. “I give you a new commandment,” he says. “Love one another as I have loved you.” And he showed them how it looked in real life that evening and the following day.

Close-up of cobalt blue vase, filtering bright sunlight and casting blue hue on sea shells and fabric runner on top of buffet

Small, crusty, round roll of white bread, broken, sitting on blue plate

Years ago, a dear friend invited me and a few other women into her home to celebrate Holy Thursday with a simple meal before the parish services would begin. Unknown to us, she invited her guests to acknowledge their service to the community, to God’s people – what Jesus modeled at the Last Supper. When her intention became clear, I was a bit embarrassed. What had I done to be recognized by this amazing woman who has personified service her entire life?

She went around the table: one had been a lifelong educator, the first Black principal in the diocesan school system. One, volunteer director of religious education for her poor parish for close to twenty years, had just returned from leading a diverse group of teenagers to a youth convention out of state. When she got to me, our friend pointed out my decades of writing books, columns, and articles.

We enjoyed a meal and conversation. We broke bread and shared a cup of wine. We passed a pitcher of water and a bowl around the table, washing one another’s hands. We prayed. A community of women, following as best we could Jesus’s new commandments: to love and to serve.

People must not only hear about the kingdom of God but must see it in actual operation, on a small scale perhaps, but a real demonstration nevertheless.
Pandita Ramabai

This past celebration came to mind when I virtually attended a simple Holy Thursday liturgy with members of a nearby Episcopalian church. Mike Gecan, friend of the rector, longtime community organizer, and author joined us from New York to offer a meditation.

As I often do – whether pre-pandemic, physically in a church, or currently in Zoom services – when moved by a phrase or thought, I pulled out my notebook and jotted down a few things:

Beyond reenactment
Not simply a memorial
A call to action
How do we imagine what comes next, after the reenactment, after the memorial, after one action is completed?

As the night ended, these questions lingered along with images of Jesus on his knees, towel in hand, washing dirty feet, or standing on his own, imploring those gathered with him to serve others with humility. To love one another as he loves them. To become one as he and the One who sent him were one. And praying for the Grace he knew they would need – that we need today – to follow his lead.

These words, these images, follow me into Easter Week – these days of celebrating the Resurrection and the promise that Love, not death, will have the last word.

I remember the Servant-God who makes this promise and invites us to participate the transformation of death into life, here and now.

Thank You, NASA Mars 2020!

Watching the Mars landing was a family affair, though virtual. I wore my NASA hoodie (a gift from my NASA-engineer son-in-law), poured a glass of wine to toast the landing (and a bowl of peanuts, a NASA tradition ¹), and texted with my daughters and their partners for over an hour. The amount of knowledge, work, precision, imagination, and commitment that makes a mission like the Perseverance landing a reality is overwhelming.

Consider just a few details:

Over the eight years, NASA teams around the world designed, built, and tested a rover that would travel 292.5 million miles before reaching its destination on a moving target – a small area in a lakebed on Mars.

Perseverance and the small drone helicopter (Ingenuity) launched atop an Atlas V-541 rocket from Cape Canaveral on July 30,2020.

Because of the time lag between the transmission of signals from the space craft and their reception back on earth, Perseverance landed herself. Perseverance executed the entry, descent, and landing sequence—over 500,000 lines of code—without human assistance.

Perseverance is looking for evidence of past life and is equipped with, intelligent cameras, a weather station, a robotic arm, a drill to collect and then store rock core samples (amazingly, to be picked up later and returned to earth during future missions), and a radar imager that can look beneath the surface for geologic features².

The science and engineering involved in this mission are staggering³. But for NASA folks, I suppose, they are a given, simply a part of the quotidian routine.

Watching events unfold in Mission Control at the Jet Propulsion Lab (JPL) and listening to commentary provided by several of those involved in the mission, particularly Dr. Swati Mohan, the guidance, navigation, and control operations lead, and Rob Manning, JPL Chief Engineer, my family and I were filled with the excitement, hope, and nervousness evident in the scientists at Mission Control. We had a personal resource in my son-in-law, who provided insight into procedures and answered questions peppered throughout our texted conversations. I love these hangouts with my crew!

Wisdom from the Mars 2020 mission

Humility

A couple of thoughts shared by Manning, resonated deeply with me. First, as he described preparing for the mission and then watching it live, he talked about the possibly of failure:

“We’re human beings. We’re not perfect. Mistakes can be made. We each count on each other to find our own mistakes, and we work very hard to learn from mistakes from the pat. We’ve had many failures…We remind people that roughly over half the missions to Mars over history have failed. And that could happen today, too. Even though we’ve had a wonderful stream of successes in the United States, it’s still a bit of a gamble…But if we do fail, and something bad happens today, I can tell you, we are going to learn. We’ll have the data to tell us what happened. We’ll know why. We’ll figure it out. And if we are allowed, we will pick ourselves up and get us back on the horse. And if Congress and NASA allow, we we’ll try again. As we always do. We will learn from our mistakes…”^⁴

It takes humility to acknowledge past mistakes and the possibility of failure in the present endeavor. And, by live streaming the event with the whole world watching as it unfolds, NASA bravely embraced that vulnerability.

Certainly, there are things that best remain private. But not all. As tempting as it might be to exclude others from a journey as it unfolds and instead, wait until the outcome is known – sharing successes, hiding failures – sometimes inviting others as companions on the way provides opportunities for support and growth for everyone, no matter what happens.

Members of NASA’s Perseverance Mars rover team study data on monitors in mission control, Thursday, Feb. 18, 2021, at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, California. Photo Credit:NASA/Bill Ingalls — Photo Credit: NASA/Bill Ingalls

When people work together

NASA photo of Mars 2020 Perseverance Rover team in Mission Control, cheering when they heard the news that Perseverance had landed safely on Mars. — Photo Credit: NASA/Bill Ingalls

Cheers and applause greeted Perseverance’s safe landing on Mars. Not only had it found a good place to land in a terrain full of hazards the rover had to avoid, but it also landed in the area NASA scientists believe is likely to hold evidence of ancient life: a lakebed near a river delta. It was a triumph for the team.

Images streaming from Mission Control showed the team’s jubilation. The pandemic ruled out handshakes, but there were plenty of fist and elbow bumps and eyes shining with smiles above the double masks. I teared up, as usual when witnessing such events.

My family and I raised our glasses.

Manning was exuberant.

“NASA works,” he said. “When we put our arms together and our hands together and our brains together we can succeed. This is what NASA does. This is what we can do as a country on all other problems we have. We need to work together to do these kinds of things and make success happen.”

Yes. Work together to meet the problems we have. And we have plenty, including and going beyond the pandemic and vaccination rollout: climate change, systemic racism, White supremacy, division, and hatred of “the other.” There are organized attacks on voting rights that are threatening our democracy and targeting the poor and people of color. Some people have no problem denying basic human rights to many, including women and LGBT people. For many American citizens, access to healthcare and housing is unavailable. The list is long.

Not a technical problem

If we can successfully land a rover on Mars, we certainly have the knowledge and technology to develop alternative energies and address climate change, an imminent danger to this country and to the world. As one of my daughters observed soon after watching the Mars landing, it’s not a technical problem we face. It’s a social problem. The country must have the collective will to do it, and that can emerge only when honest reporting and facts are presented to the population.

Photo of members of NASA’s Perseverance Mars rover team, a young white woman and a young Black man, study data on monitors in mission control, Thursday, Feb. 18, 2021, at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, California. — Photo Credit: NASA/Bill Ingalls

In addition to stalling massive action on climate change, misinformation also feeds fear, hatred, and violence against minorities and people deemed “other.” America has enough wealth and resources to feed its people. It has the means to provide healthcare to all. Again, what is missing is the collective will to do so. Raising up those in need does not mean tearing others down. But is does require a mindset that values the common good.

Diversity is a strength. It is critical to understand that the talents contributed by all people are necessary for a healthy, thriving society. Everyone’s gifts are needed. As Manning pointed out, the team that put Perseverance on Mars was a diverse one. That was obvious in the images from Mission control: women and men, a variety of races and ethnicities, of ages, of backgrounds. And the group at the JPL were just part of the thousands involved in the mission:

Manning said, “We haven’t done this before with this vehicle, ever. This is its first attempt to actually land. We can’t try this on earth… We don’t have test pilots to try this out on this planet before the big show… We’ve done our best testing we can do in bits and pieces. But, you know, it’s the best we can do but I think our team is up to it. This team is the best. It’s diverse. Intelligent. Amazing group of people. These are people from all over the world who have worked on this…”

Thousands of people put their arms, hands, and brains together to make Mars 2020 a success. Thousands and even millions of people across this country and around the world can transcend self-interest, fear, and hatred to put their hands and brains and hearts together. If greed and power are no longer prime motivators of policy and those who make it, but instead Common Good and universal human rights⁵ become the guiding principles, success can be achieved.

Thank you NASA, for the stunning reminder of what is possible when people work together. Congratulations to you all!

It’s up to the rest of the country to come together, to join hands, brains, hearts, and efforts, to focus on the common good and work to address the challenges that face the United States and the world.

A team of engineers at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, California, install the legs and wheels — otherwise known as the mobility suspension — on the Mars 2020 rover. — Photo Credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech

Feature Image Credit

Photo Credit: NASA/Bill Ingalls

First post image of the Mars 2020 logo being installed on the United Launch Alliance Atlas V payload fairing

Photo Credit: NASA/Christian Mangano

Sources

NASA’s lucky charm for a success mission? Peanuts
Learn more about instruments on board
Learn more about the Mars 2020 Mission on NASA Mars 2020 Mission Perseverance Rover website
Manning’s quotes were transcribed from the over two hours recorded NASA’s live stream of the event found on NASA’s YouTube Channel
Universal Declaration of Human Rights

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: collective will, Common Good, diversity, Dr. Swati Mohan, humility, NASA, NASA Mars 2020, Perseverance rover, Rob Manning, universal human rights

February 12, 2021 By Mary van Balen 16 Comments

Light in Darkness

I’m embarrassed to say I don’t know the people who live in the apartment across the street from mine. (There are six two-story flats, three on each side of the street, mirror images of each other.) I can’t completely blame pandemic restrictions for my ignorance. While one tenant moved in during the lockdown, the other has been there for years. I suspect the newer occupants and I share some convictions. Once they moved in, a Biden for President sign appeared. So did the rainbow colored one that states, among other things, “Black Lives Matter,” “Science Is Real,” and “Love is Love” in descending stripes of color.

We share something else: Christmas lights glowing out into the darkness. Theirs are brightly colored and encircle the small front porch, winding up one wrought iron support, across the front of the little roof, and down the other. Bigger lights frame the picture window in their living room.

My white, mini-lights shine through the picture window from the small artificial tree that stands on the buffet. This would not be unusual except that it is January 31. We’re the last holdouts on the street.

Each evening I go over to the buffet and switch on the lights. They are the only thing left on the tree. Ornaments from family and friends have long returned to storage, but I just can’t bring myself to banish the lights to the basement.

I look across the street to see if my neighbors’ lights are still up, wondering who will be the first to take them down. Passersby might shake their heads or think it’s laziness or just plain craziness that makes someone keep Christmas lights up into February.

It’s not. I have reasons. For starters, the past twelve months haven’t been the usual and for most people around the world, holiday celebrations were radically changed.

I’m a dyed-in-the-wool “nothing ‘Christmas’ up until close to Christmas Eve” person. I credit my Catholic upbringing that focused on Advent during the weeks before December 25. And my parents, who, by some miracle of stamina and determination, didn’t hang a single Christmas decoration until we all returned from the December 24 midnight vigil mass, had a snack to break the fast, and me and my four siblings were snug in our beds. No wonder mom had to pry dad out of bed at the crack of dawn so eager kids could descend the stairs into a magically transformed house complete with tree, candles, and piles of presents.

But this year I carried my tree up from the basement the first week of December. What possessed me? I longed for the comfort of Christmas lights. Making peace with my inner Catholic guilt, I added ornaments slowly, a couple a day. Actually, it was lovely. The carefully chosen few had strong connections to my daughters, family, good friends, and memories, and I had time to savor each one.

Every evening, after turning off ceiling lights and lamps, I switched on the Christmas tree and sat in darkness to enjoy the tiny points of light. Sometimes I looked at a few illuminated ornaments and thought about the person it brought to mind. Sometimes I just sat and stared and didn’t think much of anything.

The lights stayed on as I fixed dinner, read, watched a movie, or connected with someone on the phone or texting. Before heading to bed, I curled up on the couch and gazed at them again, then reluctantly switched them off while looking across the street. My neighbors’ lights were always on.

Red dragon and other Christmas ornaments on the tree

Epiphany, the feast that celebrates the arrival of the three wise men who came to honor Jesus, the newborn king, is the last of the 12 Days of Christmas. In past years, my family celebrated it with a little party and small presents. Then we’d take down the tree.

This year, Epiphany came and went, and while I removed the ornaments, the tree with its lights stayed put. “I’ll take it down next week,” I’d tell myself. But I didn’t. I still haven’t.

What is it about light in darkness? Throughout history, in religions, philosophies, literature, and language, light and darkness are often presented in conflict: darkness is something bad, something to be dispelled by its benevolent opposite, light. But such dualistic thinking doesn’t provide a true picture.

Darkness gets a bad rap. True, darkness can be threatening, hide dangers, or feel oppressive. But it also can hold grace and life. Seeds sprout in the darkness of soil; human beings develop in the darkness of the womb; soul-growth often happens beneath one’s consciousness, like during a classically described dark night of the soul. Darkness can provide a time of rest. There’s a reason people buy black-out blinds for their bedrooms and sleep experts advise the elimination of screen time as night approaches.

You can have too much light. When I bought the little Christmas tree, it was covered with lights. I didn’t notice just how many while looking at it in the garden store. The price tag boasted hundreds of lights in keeping with “the more lights the better” mindset. In that big, bright space, they looked fine. It wasn’t until I took the tree home, decorated it and plugged it in for the first time in the darkened living room that the problem become apparent.

Strings of lights overpowered the ornaments which disappeared beneath the glare. My new “burning bush” was too bright to enjoy. Looking at it hurt my eyes. The following year, the center string of lights burned out, the perfect excuse to remove them and replace with fewer strands. The ornaments, no longer lost in the white-out, shared their colors and memories. I could sit on the couch, sipping a cup of tea, and enjoy the sight.

It’s the balance. My tree with its mini-lights certainly will not dispel the darkness of my living room, of the troubled world that leaks into it, or the dark places in my soul. That’s not the point. It’s the both/and that brings comfort to me these dark winter nights.

We need the dark to see the light. And the tiny lights help me appreciate the shadows and restfulness of the dark. I can sit and absorb the healing graces of both.

My Christmas lights have done their work, soothing my spirit and reminding me that darkness as well as light can provide nurture, a place to grow, and a place to rest.

I’m ready to take the tree to the basement. Candles will take its place. I wonder if my neighbors will be able to see them.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: balance, gifts of darkenss, light, light in darkness, soul-growth

September 29, 2020 By Mary van Balen 14 Comments

Remembering Rev. Robert Graetz, Civil Rights Activist

Rev. Robert Graetz 2005 speaking to an Even Start Class Lancaster Ohio Photo Mary van Balen — Rev. Bob Graetz Jan. 25, 2005
Photo: Mary van Balen

Rev. Robert S. Graetz, civil rights activist and the sole White minister to publicly support the Montgomery bus boycott, died at his home on Sunday, September 20,2020. He was 92. You can read about his life and his and his wife, Jeannie’s life-long commitment to work for social justice in the many obituaries and articles in the Washington Post, the New York Times, NPR Newsletter, and other publications.

In 1955, the newly ordained a Lutheran minister (attended the Evangelical Lutheran Theological Seminary in Columbus, Ohio, now Trinity Lutheran Seminary), accepted a call to the all-Black Trinity Lutheran Church in Montgomery. Already active in civil rights causes, he was admonished not to start trouble. He and Jeannie would later say he didn’t start trouble; he just joined it.

I want to share a small, personal story – one that didn’t make news but that touched hearts.

First, so you know a bit about Bob if you don’t already, here are a few facts:

He was the only White pastor to publicly support the Montgomery bus boycott, tirelessly driving Black workers to and from work for the duration, organizing, and fund raising to support that effort.
He, Jeannie, and their family of young children were targets of the KKK and other White supremacists who found a White man’s commitment to working with Blacks for their civil rights intolerable.
The Graetz’s survived bricks through their windows and house bombings (saved once when a large bomb that could have leveled the neighborhood failed to detonate).
Their neighbor and friend, Rosa Parks swept up the glass in their kitchen and took up a neighborhood collection to replace the Graetz’s dishes, all broken in one of the explosions.

I encourage you to read stories of Bob and Jeannie and their courageous commitment to live out their faith, no matter what. But now, my story.

Meeting a fellow columnist

I first met Bob at a 1992 alternative commemoration of the 500^th anniversary of Christopher Columbus’s landing on the shores of the Americas. Presented by indigenous peoples, the multi-day event was held in downtown Columbus, Ohio. I was covering it for the Catholic Times, where I was a columnist. Bob was there, too.

He had been writing for years for the same paper, contributing to the feature “Point of View’” that provided insights from other spiritual traditions. I enjoyed his unique perspective and remember reading about their small house in southern Ohio, that for a while, had no electricity or running water! Recognizing him at the gathering, I called out his name, and we made plans for lunch. During our conversation, he referenced a recent column he had read in the Catholic Times and wondered, hoped, that I had written it.

I had. It presented the confusing stance of the Catholic Church on ordaining married men. As recent events had indicated, it was ok if the man had not started out Catholic, had been ordained in another denomination, but then converted to Catholicism. No such luck if you happened to be Catholic all along. Still baffling.

Bob and I stood on common ground. Over the years, I ran into him when he spoke at gatherings on Martin Luther King Day, or I’d see him at his book signings.

Speaking to my students

In 2005, I gave him a call and asked if he’d be willing to speak to my class of adult students in Even Start, a family literacy program that served low income families most in need of services. He and Jeannie were happy to come around Martin Luther King Day. It was a big event for us.

Our students invited the mayor and others in the community and planned refreshments. In class, we studied the Montgomery bus boycott and the civil rights movement and read sections of Bob’s book, Montgomery, A White Preacher’s Memoir.

The big day arrived, and Bob and Jeannie spoke to a group that included our students and staff, the mayor, leaders of the very small Black community in our city, a newspaper reporter, and a few other guests. The Graetzs shared their experiences and spoke eloquently about not only the Montgomery bus boycott but also the continued struggle for civil rights on many fronts: racism, sexism, discrimination against the LGBT community, and the increasing economic disparity between the rich and the poor.

The students were riveted, listening to every word, and as I would discover later, also watching every move.

Bob and Jeannie Graetz Jan. 25, 2005
Photo: Mary van Balen

The cough drop

When the talk ended and time had been given to answering questions, everyone mingled, enjoyed the snacks, and had pictures taken with our guests. Cleaning up our classroom after the event, my students started talking.

They were impressed that Bob and Jeannie stood up for other people when they didn’t have to. They were White. They could have moved somewhere else, they said. But The Graetzs stayed and put their lives on the line.

The students kept talking.

“Did you see how she took care of him? How she slid that cough drop across to table to him when he started coughing?” “Yeah,” someone answered. “You can tell, they really love each other. That was so cool.”

“Really,” I thought to myself. “A cough drop?” That such a simple act of thoughtfulness had captured the students’ attention pierced my heart with the realization that they likely had known precious little, if any, of such kindnesses in their lives. Why else would Jeannie’s sharing a cough drop have made such an impression?

Most had grown up in abusive homes. Some were in abusive domestic relationships at that moment. A number of them struggled with addiction. They had all slipped through the cracks of our education system. And while none were Black in our almost all-White community, they knew generational poverty, discrimination, and the hopelessness they engender.

As we finished up, one of the students suggested going to Columbus that Sunday when Bob would be preaching. “Yeah, can we take a trip up there? I want to hear him preach.” Not many attended church, but they all wanted to go.

Unusual field trip

Bus Rosa Parks rode when she refused to give up her seat
On display in the Henry Ford Museum
Photo: Mary van Balen

So we did. A conspicuously White group in that Sunday gathering, we attended the service and heard Bob preach. In the course of the sermon, he asked questions about the bus boycott. My students waved their hands in the air. He smiled and joked that he wouldn’t call on them since he was sure they knew the answers.

They were thrilled. I doubted they had heard those words very often during their school years. But in that moment, they were the ones “in the know.” They glowed on the way home.

That was years ago. Not too long after that, our program closed, having lost its funding. Occasionally, one of our Even Start staff hears from a former student, but that isn’t often. I once received a thank you letter from a young woman we helped escape from her abusive husband, taking her children with her.

Small acts of kindness – courage

We don’t know what effect our work, let alone our small actions or off-hand comments have on others. Today, as I read about Bob’s amazing life and work for social justice, I thought about Jeannie and the cough drop. Of all the things that couple has done in their lives, I’m sure some of my students, to this day, remember the cough drop, right alongside the couple’s courage and faithfulness in the face of injustice.

Today, we face the real danger of losing our democracy to a leader focused on retaining power at any cost. He has plenty of enablers. Building on fear, fomenting anger, violence, hatred, and divisiveness seem the modus operandi.

Centuries-old systemic racism is increasingly uncovered. Consequences of a warming climate are ravaging the globe. And the pandemic adds another layer of suffering and complication to it all.

What can I do? I struggle with this question. I write columns and postcards to voters. I wear a mask, inside or out of public buildings. I try to be thoughtful and kind in the interactions I do have with others. I pray, trying to remember that I am not alone in this walk, that the Holy One, as well as other human beings, are with me in it.

Will I be as courageous as the Graetzs if I’m called to publicly stand up against injustice? Will I find strength in faith?

I’m not sure. But I know, such courage doesn’t just “appear” in a moment. It is something we nurture throughout our lives: with prayer, in our actions large and small. They are related. I remember that the couple who braved threats and bombings also noticed simple needs. They slipped a cough-drop across a table.

Books by Rev. Robert Graetz

A White Preacher’s Memoir: The Montgomery Bus Boycott (first published as Montgomery: A White Preacher’s Memoir)

A White Preacher Message on Race and Reconciliation: Based on His Experiences Beginning with the Montgomery Bus Boycott.

I have always contended that the absence of fear is not the point. What you do when you are afraid is what makes the difference. We often had good reason to be afraid.
Rev. Robert Graetz

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: civil rights, courage, Jeannie Graetz, Montgomery Bus Boycott, Rev. Robert Graetz, Rosa Parks, small acts of kindness