Lent: Winter, Flowers, and Pete Seeger
March 6, 2014 By 2 Comments

Lent: Winter, Flowers, and Pete Seeger

retreat bouquet from daughtersOriginally published in The Catholic Times, March 9, 2014 issue

A lover of winter, even I am ready for spring this year. Snow, ice, and frigid temperatures just keep coming. And coming. As I arranged a small “prayer table” in my dining area, I decided to add flowers. Some years I have placed small branches in a vase or a container of stones and bulbs, forcing them to sprout and bloom by the end of Lent. This year, I am starting with blooms. I’m not feeling particularly “spiritual.” I need a reminder that even in the midst of winter, spiritual as well as physical, God’s love is present.

Besides flowers, the space holds a book of Scripture readings, a Tibetan singing bowl to call me to prayer, a small, bronze cross, and some bits of nature gathered or given by friends. A candle sits atop a tall wrought iron stand fashioned for me by my daughter many years ago. For some reason, this year I think I will need all these sacramental objects to keep me focused and hopeful.

It’s not just winter weather that has made my spirit weary. Life has been busy with writing projects, healing, and work. News of world conflicts, genocide, drought and famine, while not unique to this moment, weighs particularly heavy on my heart. Closer to home, political rancor and intolerance continue to grab headlines. Our world needs hope. It needs Easter.

Winter has not been without moments of beauty and grace. One was a sing-along gathering people from around the city to remember and honor Pete Seeger who died at the end of January, ninety-four years young. Parking a few blocks away from the Mennonite church where it was held, I joined others walking in the street to avoid icy, unshoveled sidewalks. The space was packed. Led by a trio on guitar, banjo, and bass, we raised our voices (in harmony, no less), singing the old songs. It felt good. The day Pete Seeger died, I took my guitar out from under my bed and played for a couple of hours, wondering why I didn’t do that much anymore. Singing and playing are prayer for me, much like writing.

“This Lent, I’ll sing more,” I told myself.

Pete Seeger used to say that we shouldn’t wish for a great leader. Instead, we should hope for lots and lots of good leaders who work hard right where they are. Think globally. Act locally. It will be participation that saves the world, he’d say.

Lent is like that for me, this year. I’m trying to nurture the awareness of being part of something much bigger than myself, bigger than my little world of home and work, family and friends. Jesus gave us the big picture, the call the help in bringing the kingdom. But he calls us to
“act locally.” He didn’t ask his followers to become national figures or world leaders. He called them to love one another. To respect and to serve, right where they were.

When those he healed wanted to go with him, he often told them to stay put and tell their story to those with whom they lived and worked. It’s harder to do that. Leaving one’s routine behind sounds exciting. It’s easier to love people we don’t know that well.

It’s easier to think about big events and projects than about calling our political representatives, taking time to visit with a grumpy neighbor, or becoming aware of how we might live more consciously of our effect on the planet. Following Jesus is more little steps than giant leaps. It’s more nitty-gritty than glitz.

Lent’s about embracing death, sure of life to come. It’s also about enjoying flowers in the wintertime. It’s about giving ourselves down time to remember that even when we don’t feel God with us or in our world, the Holy One lives in us all. Lent reminds me of this winter that prepares the earth for spring.

© 2014 Mary van Balen

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Ah! Ordinary Time
February 6, 2014 By Leave a Comment

Ah! Ordinary Time

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

First published in The Catholic Times, February 9, 2014

Having grown up in a Catholic family, I’m steeped in ritual and the liturgical calendar. I love Advent, its wreath and candles and anticipation, Christmas with its joy and light in the dark winter. Lent with its weeks of refocusing and preparing to embrace the paschal mystery that ends in the glory of Easter is a part of moving into spring each year. Still, I have to admit to having a particular fondness for ordinary time, the liturgical “season” we are presently observing.

It provides a different type of spiritual journey that requires no particular practices, no gifts to buy, no rituals. Some years, when Lent comes quickly on the heels of Epiphany, I feel uneasy. Last year, two weeks of February hadn’t passed before Ash Wednesday arrived, too soon for me. I prefer a longer stretch of time between putting away Christmas ornaments and getting out the purple cloth that drapes over a small prayer table in the dining room.

It’s not that there’s nothing special about daily routines and happenings. It’s just the opposite. When focus is not on an upcoming holiday or celebration, we can celebrate the ordinary and simple things and discover anew just how full of grace they are. That’s often difficult since the familiar or unassuming can go unnoticed.

Thornton Wilder immortalized just how difficult recognizing the wonder of life is in his play, “Our Town,” when Emily asks the stage manager if anyone ever realizes life while they are living it. The stage manager answers, “No,” and then adds “Saints and poets maybe…they do some.”

Saints and poets. They both take time to be present to the glory of the moment, as simple as it may appear. They recognize the Sacred when the rest of us are hurrying by, preoccupied.

Jesus has a preference for the ordinary. He told stories full of seeds sprouting or not, of wedding feasts and wineskins. He wasn’t impressed by pretentious prayer practices and held up for our emulation the poor widow who gave her small coins rather than the wealthy who gave much more. He worked miracles with what was at hand: water and wine, loves and fishes, dirt and spit.

In Sunday’s gospel reading, Jesus compares his disciples to salt and light, two things so common that we often don’t give them much thought. Salt, a humble presence on the shelf that includes more exciting and exotic spices, adds zest and brings out flavors in food we eat every day. Light from a lamp is nothing spectacular. The lamp is small enough to fit under a basket! Jesus didn’t tell his followers that they should be like a blazing bonfire. A simple flame will do.

In fact, what we celebrate in the “big” liturgical seasons is really the infusion of Divine Presence into every aspect of life, no matter how simple. Each day we are called to “salt” life with the Love God has shared with us. We are called to shine the Light that dwells within us on those we meet each day. We are called to recognize the Holy Presence in the poor and oppressed and in those we encounter. We are called to embrace suffering as well as joy.

A young man takes a broom from the restaurant where he works and cleans snow from the car of an elderly couple he sees in the parking lot. A woman invites a homeless man in for lunch and coffee after paying him for weeding her garden. A retired teacher helps immigrants learn English. A poet rises early to write each day before heading into his “day job.” A daughter holds her elderly father’s hand as they sit, quietly in the nursing home, not saying a word. Someone does the grocery shopping. Someone cooks the meals. Someone notices the way the sun shines on the snow. Someone provides shelter for abused women. Someone listens. Someone holds. Someone visits prisons. Someone reads to a child.

The Holy One is recognized in the moment and in others. God is “born” into the world with every act of love and compassion. Jesus transforms the world with each “death” we embrace, and with every new step in life we are courageous enough to take. Ah. Ordinary Time.

© 2014 Mary van Balen

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January 16, 2014 By Leave a Comment

A New Year’s Resolution: Always Open

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Originally published in the Catholic Times   January 19, 2014

Often on New Years, people make resolutions. According to a survey by the University of Scranton’s Journal of Clinical Psychology, about forty-eight percent of Americans usually make resolutions while only about 8 percent successfully keep them. Top on the list? Losing weight. Getting organized, spending less and saving more, and enjoying life to the fullest are next. Staying healthy, learning something exciting, and quitting smoking follow. Helping others achieve their goals, falling in love, and spending more time with family round out the top ten.

I’m not a list maker, but there are a few exceptions: If I don’t make a grocery list, I end up buying too much, and when I travel, I make a list of what I should pack. When working on a long-term writing project or composing a talk, I make notes, an unorganized brainstorming list at first that eventually takes shape.

At the beginning of the New Year, I sometimes open my journal, jotting down thoughts and goals for the months ahead. This year’s inspiration came as I shared the first dinner of 2014 with a small group of friends. Before eating, we joined hands while one spoke a blessing beautiful in its simplicity and breadth. Fitting for a new year, it included those present as well as friends and family far away, the gift of creation, the food, and the hands that prepared it, and thanksgiving for the Holy One who sustains all.

The words that stayed with me as I drove home later that evening were the ones inviting us always to be open and receptive to Grace, God’s Self, as it is given. This thought suggested a resolution different from those that commit us to change something in our lives, those that depend on our activity. We can do or not do something to achieve those goals. For example, many of us can develop the discipline necessary to eat less and more healthily. We can give our best efforts toward quitting smoking, learning something, or spending more time with family and friends. These things require us to do something.

The resolution playing in my mind that night was different. It called me to still my heart, not so much to do something as to be something: to be open, to be ready. I can’t make Grace come; I simply receive it when it does.

Unlike watching pounds drop away on a scale or playing a game with your family, becoming receptive to Grace is not something we can see or measure. Sometimes, even when Grace fills our hearts, we don’t know it.

This kind of “resolution” requires faith. Faith that the Holy One is always pouring out Divine Life, faith that this Fountain-Fullness never runs dry, faith that my soul is capable of holding such precious Gift.

Always being open to receive Grace differs from typical resolutions in another way, too. While many New Year’s promises call us to transform ourselves into something “better,” the resolution of openness tells us we are already “good,” good enough that God trusts us with Divine Life. We don’t do the changing. It is that Life that changes us.

© 2014 Mary van Balen

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We Wait Because We Hope
December 15, 2013 By Leave a Comment

We Wait Because We Hope

Advent Wreath: PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Advent Wreath: PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Originally published in the Catholic Times, Dec. 15, 2013    vol. 63:11

Advent is a time of waiting: Waiting for Christmas and waiting for God to gather us all to into the new life of resurrection.

The past few months have given me a new perspective on waiting. I had full knee replacement surgery and have spent time waiting for healing and for pain to fade. It has. Waiting for the knee to move without stiffness and effort. That’s coming, bit at a time. I was prepared for the work required to help move through the physical challenges even if it some times seem slow. This is active waiting, not sitting around until all was well, but doing the hard work of therapy, incorporating new exercises and routines into life. I expected that once on the mend, the trajectory would move consistently in one direction: Better. The reality has been more like a roller coaster ride, with ups and downs with plateaus thrown in now and again.

What I was not prepared for was the mental and spiritual challenges that came with the experience. Fighting depression and discouragement has been as important as doing heel slides. Someone told me that the drugs used during surgery and later to keep pain at bay contribute to the mental stress. Moving through this part of healing requires as much work as keeping the knee limber.

As I move through this personal time of waiting, I find myself pondering the meaning of waiting in general. Why do we continue to wait when outcomes are not what we expect? What do we wait for when reality of day-to-day life is difficult or, as it is for many people on this earth, overwhelming?

We wait because we have hope. There’s no sense in waiting without it. We hope because we have memories of something good. Of someone trustworthy who kept a promise. You can’t hope for something unless you trust you are going to get it. Those people who first enable us to trust may well be our mother and father. If that’s not the case, they could be a brother or sister, a teacher or a friend.

I wondered about young Mary who accepted God’s invitation to become the mother of God. Mary, who waited for nine months as her child grew within her womb and who trusted in the promise spoken by the angel: He will be great. He will be given the throne of David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever. He will be called holy, the Son of God.

She knew the prophecies. What was she expecting? How did she imagine the promises would be accomplished? She worried when he stayed behind in Jerusalem to sit and talk with the teachers in the temple. Was she surprised when he became an itinerant preacher or when he raised the ire of powerful religious and political leaders?

As his life unfolded, hers did too. She listened and watched, prayed and pondered. Not knowing how it would all turn out, she went on living and trusting that God is faithful, even as she stood at the foot of the cross. Her people had endured much suffering. They had a lot of practice waiting.

One of the Hebrew words we translate as “wait” has as its root a word meaning, “to bind together,” as in twisting. You twist everything good in your life together, making a chord out of all the strands you can gather. And you hold on.

Mary held on. She gathered strands not only from her life, but also from generations of those who had gone before. The Hebrews suffered in Egypt and the desert, but they arrived at the Promised Land. With the Psalmist, she could say, “I waited patiently for the Lord; he inclined to me and heard my cry.”(40) or “I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in his word I hope…O Israel, hope in the Lord! For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with him is plenteous redemption.” (130)

I’m glad Mary and her people are part of my story. As a Christian, I add their strands to those gathered from my own life. I draw strands from my family’s stories and faith. Together our chord is strong. As we work to do our part in bringing Christ into this world, we also wait. We are able to wait because, in the end, we are one family and we hope for one thing: The fulfillment of God’s promise of Love and Life.

© 2013 Mary van Balen

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A Person of Privilege
October 13, 2013 By Leave a Comment

A Person of Privilege

soap bubbleOriginally published in The Catholic Times, Oct. 13, 2009

 

The thought came suddenly. “I am a person of privilege.” I don’t know where it came from or why. I had just turned onto the 670 ramp driving to work. The day was beautiful. Sunny. Cool. But there it was. A reminder that most in the world do not share my position.

Thoughts kept spinning: I live in a place where roads are drivable. Our infrastructure could use a shot of public funds for upkeep, but all in all, I’m usually able to drive where I need to go. And there’s the matter of a car. I have a one. Eleven years old, my little Civic keeps humming along. And I have a job that helps make ends meet.

I live in relative safety, not fearing that a bomb will go off in a parking lot or that a terrorist group will target a mall or movie theater nearby. It could happen, of course, but not as likely here as somewhere else on our troubled planet.

I’m white in a country still plagued with racism. In other categories I fall in the “normal” range. I have an education, healthcare, a pleasant place to live, and food in my refrigerator. What percentage of the human race has so much? Sobering thoughts on a beautiful fall morning.

An article by Jim Wallis of Sojourners reflected on the message of love and service Pope Francis speaks both with his words and actions. A quote from his homily during Mass celebrated at Lampedusa on July 8, spoke to my sense of privilege:

“The culture of comfort, which makes us think only of ourselves, makes us insensitive to the cries of other people, makes us live in soap bubbles which, however lovely, are insubstantial; they offer a fleeting and empty illusion which results in indifference to others; indeed, it even leads to the globalization of indifference. In this globalized world, we have fallen into globalized indifference. We have become used to the suffering of others: it doesn’t affect me; it doesn’t concern me; it’s none of my business!”

That’s the thing about privilege. It’s like Pope Francis’ soap bubbles, separating those on the inside from those on the outside. Bubbles are invisible to those living within. Privilege is usually invisible, too. It’s an accident of birth, something so ingrained that those who have it don’t know they do.

That was me, that lovely morning, until a voice sounded within.

Then came the readings a couple of Sunday’s ago. The prophet Amos finds fault more with the complacency of those living in luxury rather than with the lifestyle itself. They were wrapped up in their own lives and didn’t notice what was happening around them. Luke’s gospel story of the rich man and Lazarus strikes a similar theme. Maybe the rich man didn’t notice Lazarus at his doorstep. If he did, the poor man’s plight didn’t concern him. Until, of course, they both died and Lazarus enjoyed the embrace of Abraham while the rich man suffered the torments of hell.

What are people of privilege asked to do? First, we are called to notice. To become aware of our special place on this planet and realize this place is gift. To become aware of the suffering around us, in our cities, our country, and across the oceans. What comes next, I don’t know. It must be different for each of us. I heard a woman speak at a convention last month. She felt called to walk the streets of Chicago and eventually opened a home for prostitutes. Inspiring, but not for everyone.

Pope Francis responded to Father Spadaro’s question in the Pope’s first official interview: “What does the church need most at this historic moment?”

“I see clearly that the thing the church needs most today is the ability to heal wounds and to warm the hearts of the faithful; it needs nearness, proximity. I see the church as a field hospital after battle. It is useless to ask a seriously injured person if he has high cholesterol and about the level of his blood sugars! You have to heal his wounds. Then we can talk about everything else. Heal the wounds, heal the wounds…. And you have to start from the ground up.”

Nearness and proximity. Leave our bubbles and walk with others. That’s what the woman in Chicago did. Then listen and have the courage to respond, trusting God to speak and to guide each of us along our way.

© 2013 Mary van Balen

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The Grace of Friendship
September 6, 2013 By Leave a Comment

The Grace of Friendship

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Originally published in The Catholic Times  September 8, 2013   Volume 62:42

 

The invitation appeared in my email: A birthday party for Mike. I’ve known him since I was eighteen. Then we both played guitar, sang, wrote songs, and energized the local “folk Mass” movement after Vatican II. He and his wife, Patty, welcomed me into their home, and I babysat for their young children who clamored for Mike’s attention when we practiced music there. Patty always came to the rescue. Over the years, my guitar has seen less use. Mike’s is always humming.

Having made adjustments to my work schedule, I picked up a friend and we drove together to the party. Mike was turning 75.

“Couldn’t miss this,” I said as we traveled from one small berg to another.

My friend nodded. “There are plenty of things in life that are hard, that bring tears. We must celebrate the happy moments. What brings life, and joy,” he said, his voice as Italian as the gift of wine resting at his feet.

Light and Irish music poured out of the American Legion as we walked toward the door. The evening was an embarrassment of riches: Greetings, hugs, and friends gathered to tell stories and catch up on one another’s lives. Food and drink kept coming, and everyone joined in a refrain written for the occasion. Mike, Nick, and Anne, who have been singing together for years, treated us to a few songs while the singing Ladies of Longford took their break. More music. More conversation.

Driving through night on my way home, I thought about friendship. What is the grace of friendship? What moves someone out of the mass of acquaintances into that treasured group? Into one’s heart and soul? [Read more…]

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Called to Notice, Call to Love
July 12, 2013 By Leave a Comment

Called to Notice, Call to Love

Originally published in the Catholic Times

Sunday’s readings from Deuteronomy and from Luke emphasize two things: God’s law is the law of love, and it resides deep within each of us, as close as our mouths and our hearts. The Old Testament reading is taken from the end of Moses’ speech to the Israelites who had completed the long wanderings in the desert and were on the brink of entering the Promised Land.

Moses had recapped the struggles of their journey, told them blessings come from their curse, and that God would gather them back from the nations where they were scattered. The command Moses gave to the people, to turn back to God with their entire being, was attainable. Unlike Gilgamesh, the hero of the ancient Mesopotamian epic, who traveled to the ends of the earth, to the depths of the sea, and to the heavens, in search of the secrets of the gods, the Israelites had God’s word on their lips and in their hearts. They had only to obey it.

[Read more…]

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“Culture of Encounter”
June 9, 2013 By Leave a Comment

“Culture of Encounter”

Originally published in The Catholic Times

Pope Francis’ homily on Wednesday, May 22, received lots of press, mainly around his comments about redemption: “The Lord has redeemed all of us, all of us, with the blood of Christ. All of us, not just Catholics. Everyone!” he declared. “‘Father, the atheists?’ Even the atheists. Everyone! And this blood makes us children of God of the first class! We are created children in the likeness of God and the blood of Christ has redeemed us all!”

He continued: “And we all have a duty to do good. And this commandment for everyone to do good, I think, is a beautiful path towards peace. If we, each doing our own part, if we do good to others, if we meet there, doing good, and we go slowly, gently, little by little, we will make that culture of encounter: we need that so much…”

Lost in the media flurry about whether or not atheists can be saved (or, even non-Catholics, according to some pundits) was Pope Francis’ comment about a “culture of encounter.” What does that look like?

[Read more…]

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A New Look at the Ascension
May 9, 2013 By Leave a Comment

A New Look at the Ascension

Originally appeared in the Catholic Times, issue: May 12, 2013

When beginning studies for a Masters Degree in theology, I was in the midst of a difficult time in other areas of my life. Perhaps it was Providence that one book assigned for a seminar was Ronald Rolheiser’s The Holy Longing. The instructor required each member of the class to prepare a presentation on a particular chapter. Mine was “The Paschal Mystery.” That was almost eight years ago, and I still find hope and wisdom in Rolheiser’s presentation of that holy mystery.

Rolheiser put a colloquial twist on the Ascension, describing its message this way: “Do not cling to the old, let it ascend and give you its blessing.” A necessary step to Pentecost, where we accept the Spirit for the moment we are living.

[Read more…]

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Rituals and Reverencing Holy Presence
April 11, 2013 By Leave a Comment

Rituals and Reverencing Holy Presence

Originally published in the Catholic Times, vol 62:27

“Rituals are important,” my friend said as we gathered around the dinner table on Holy Thursday evening. The four of us read prayers together, broke bread, shared wine, and then poured water from a ceramic vase over each other’s hands, praying a blessing as we did. Later we joined with others in our parish to celebrate the Mass that began the Easter Triduum, three days packed with liturgical ritual.

As the Easter season continues, I find myself pondering ritual in life outside church sanctuaries as well as within them. My friend is right. Rituals are important. They provide tangible symbols of realities we cannot see or touch, but experience interiorly. They provide a link to people or places that are part of our history. They help us step out of routine and focus on truths that guide our lives. They help us remember the Holy Presence in which we live. [Read more…]

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