Encountering the Other
September 12, 2015 By Leave a Comment

Encountering the Other

modern painting circle of five people in an embrace

Painting by Richard Duarte Brown

Originally published in the Catholic Times, 9. 1315

A few days ago, while driving to work, I heard a story on NPR about the thousands of immigrants arriving on the small Greek island of Lesbos, refugees fleeing war and oppression in Syria, looking for a place to live. They risked a dangerous journey leaving everything behind and set off toward an unknown future. Husbands and wives, parents and children, friends and relatives, all willing to trust their lives to people and places they do not know.

Listening to reporters interviewing newly arrived refugees, I marveled at the joy in their voices. Thrilled to have survived the journey and to be standing on solid ground in a place free of war and the atrocities that accompany it, they spoke with such hope, such faith in God, or if not in God, in fellow human beings.

I wanted to rejoice with them, but concern tempered my delight as I wondered what the road ahead would bring for them: Mounds of paperwork and bureaucracy from governments hesitant to welcome so many people needing work and aid. Hostility and resistance from those who will feel threatened by their presence, by their “otherness.” Soon, frustration will replace the euphoria of the refugees’ first taste of freedom from constant fear and suffering.

Tragedy already darkens Syrian refugees’ arrival. The United Nations refugee agency reports that over 2,500 people have died this year trying to make the dangerous ocean crossing.

Driving home from work that same day, I heard an inspiring story of Icelanders who had formed a Facebook group, “Syria is Calling,” and is pressuring their government to take in more than the 50 refugees it had offered to accept—a lot more, 5,000. While the large number of people the group is proposing to welcome is impressive, it was the outpouring of individuals’ willingness to help that stirred my heart.

People offered to open up extra bedrooms in their homes and provide food, money, and house wares to help new arrivals settle in. This personal response is more demanding than putting a check in the mail, which is my plan. It means living with people who have different beliefs and values. In some cases, like sharing one’s home with strangers or welcoming them into your city, such action means daily encountering the “other” with openness and reverence for their personhood. It means, in the midst of serious complexities, maintaining the belief that we are more alike than different.

This post from “Syria is Calling” eloquently proclaims this truth: “Refugees are our future spouses, best friends, our next soul mate, the drummer in our children’s band, our next colleague, Miss Iceland 2022, the carpenter who finally fixes our bathroom, the chef in the cafeteria, the fireman, the hacker and the television host. People who we’ll never be able to say to: ‘Your life is worth less than mine.’”

These words challenge all of us around the globe to examine our own attitude toward the “other,” not only the Syrian refugees, but the marginalized people who live in our own cities and neighborhoods.

The Letter of Saint James, included in this Sunday’s readings, speaks forcefully about the responsibility of Christians to put their faith into action: “If a brother or sister has nothing to wear and has no food for the day, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace, keep warm, and eat well,’ but you do not give them the necessities of the body, what good is it? So also faith of itself, if it does not have works, is dead.”

Fear of those who are not like us is no excuse; it is a human failing that must be confronted and transformed by love, a process that can take a lifetime. It is a process that requires encounter.

But suffering and injustice can’t wait for lifetimes. Our faith, our humanity, requires action before we are comfortable. We must respond with love despite our fear, and incrementally, our hearts will change. As Jesus said, love will cast out fear. We are all other to someone. Encounter will transform us: those in position to give and those who receive, privileged with voice and marginalized with none.

© 2015 Mary van Balen

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A Weary Prophet
August 20, 2015 By Leave a Comment

A Weary Prophet

Elijah being touched by an angel with yellow wings

Marc Chagall, Elijah Touched by an Angel, from the Bible suite, 1958. Image source: The Jewish Museum, New York

First published in the Catholic Times, newspaper of the Catholic diocese of Columbus, OH August 16, 2015

 

This Sunday’s reading tells the story of a prophet who is worn out and discouraged. He has served God, trying to bring people back to Yahweh, trying to change the hearts of King Ahab and his wife, Jezebel who was a follower of Baal. She had many of Israel’s prophets killed. In an effort to call them all back to the Lord, Elijah spoke to the people and set up a spectacular contest. Hundreds gathered on Mount Carmel. He instructed the 450 prophets of Baal to pick a bull, cut it up, and place it on wood stacked for a fire, but not lit. That would be Baal’s job. Elijah would do the same when they had finished, calling on Yahweh to set his sacrifice ablaze.

The prophets went to work, but no amount of chanting or dancing could raise a response from Baal. When they gave up, Elijah built an altar of stone, arranged the wood, and placed the sacrifice on it. He dug a deep trench around the altar, and ordered water poured over the bull, wood, and earth. Three times he instructed them to do so until everything was soaked and the trench full.

Then, he prayed, simply. Yahweh’s power exploded in flame, consuming the bull, wood, parching the earth, and drying the trench. The people were convinced and helped Elijah slaughter all the prophets of Baal. On hearing of the contest and slaughter of the prophets, Jezebel vowed to take Elijah’s life before another day passed.

That is where we meet Elijah in Sunday’s reading. He has fled into the wilderness to save his life. Exhausted, he sits under a broom tree and prays the prayer of the despondent. He had had enough, blamed himself, and was ready to die. “Take my life,” he says. “I’m done.” He had tried his best, failed, and was alone.

Haven’t most of us, at one time or another, had similar feelings? Life sometimes brings tragedy, chronic illness, or emotional pain. Many in our world live in poverty or daily encounter discrimination and oppression. Some wake in the morning not sure where they will find the day’s food. Through it all, we try to be faithful. To trust God with us.

But sometimes, like Elijah, we are worn out. Maybe our struggle is not dramatic. It can be a nagging discontent. A doubt about what is ahead. Whatever it is, large or small, sometimes it wears us out. We are tired and discouraged, and God doesn’t seem to be around.

The prophet’s story, at one time or another, is our own. Worn out, he utters his prayer and falls asleep. I’m not sure what he expected, but I doubt it was the angel’s touch, waking him and providing food and drink. He does, then falls back to sleep. The angel comes again and orders him to eat “…else the journey will be too long for you!”

Despite the sternness of the angel’s directions, the scene has gentleness about it. God knows what Elijah needs: Sleep, food, and drink. The angel’s demands aren’t harsh, but are like those of a mother who knows what her child needs even when he doesn’t. So she tells him: Eat. Turn out the light and go to bed.

Elijah did as he was told. The rest and food gave him strength to make a long journey. I wonder what he thought as he put one foot in front of the other for days. How he prayed, if he recognized God walking with him as he went along. Sometimes we work things out in our own minds, and sometimes, we just keep going and they work out themselves. Sometimes we pray and sometimes God prays for us. I imagine both things happened to the Elijah.

Then, when he arrived at Mount Horeb, the prophet received something else he needed: an experience of God, not in storms, earthquakes, or fire, but in a quiet whisper of a voice.

This isn’t the whole story. It’s a great one to read from beginning to end, not just the bit we hear on Sunday. As I read I was moved by God’s tenderness and care for this weary prophet. and remembered an African saying, shared by a friend years ago: The strength of the fish is in the water.

For the fish, water is everything. For Elijah, when he knew it and when he didn’t…for us, our strength is in God. For us, God is everything.

© 2015 Mary van Balen

 

 

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Love Rules the Day: St. Scholastica
February 5, 2015 By Leave a Comment

Love Rules the Day: St. Scholastica

PHOTO:Mary van Balen

PHOTO:Mary van Balen

Originally appeared in The Catholic Times, Feb 8, 2015

Tuesday, February 10 is the feast of Saint Scholastica. What we know of her comes from St. Gregory the Great’s famous biography of St. Benedict, though other stories were later written about her. Scholastica is Benedict’s twin sister, both born into a wealthy family of Nursia, Italy in 480. As was the custom, Benedict went to Rome to study while Scholastica likely lived in a convent where she learned to read and write as well as participated in the prayer life of the nuns.

Some stories recount her founding a religious community near her brother’s monastery at Monte Cassino, and becoming prioress. The most famous account of her, though, is found in chapters 33 and 34 in Book II of Gregory’s Dialogues.

As was their custom, once a year Benedict, accompanied by some of his monks, met his sister at a house partway between her convent and his monastery. They shared food and conversation concerning spiritual matters. On this particular visit, just three days before her death, Scholastica wanted her brother to stay longer. Perhaps she sensed it would be their last time together. They talked until darkness fell, and she asked him to spend the night “…that they might spend it in discoursing of the joys of heaven.”

Benedict would have none of it, saying that he couldn’t spend the night away from the Abbey. That was the rule, after all.

Not giving up, Scholastica put her head down on the table, laying it on her folded hands, and prayed. As she prayed, a storm came and filled the clear night sky with thunder and lightening. She lifted her head, tears streaming from her eyes, and heavy rain poured from the heavens. Benedict and his monks couldn’t return to the Abbey in such a storm.

“God forgive you, what have you done?” Benedict asked. Scholastica answered with a bit of attitude: “I desired you to stay, and you would not hear me; I have desired it of our good Lord, and he has granted my petition. Therefore if you can now depart, in God’s name return to your monastery, and leave me here alone.”

Of course, Benedict and his monks spent the night, the brother and sister enjoying long conversations until morning. Love, it seemed, trumped the Rule, at least in this case. As St. Gregory wrote: “He found, however, that a miracle prevented his desire. A miracle that, by the power of almighty God, a woman’s prayers had wrought. Is it not a thing to be marveled at, that a woman, who for a long time had not seen her brother, might do more in that instance than he could? She realized, according to the saying of St. John, “God is charity” [1 John 4:8]. Therefore, as is right, she who loved more, did more.”

Whether truth or legend, the story shows the power of love and the importance of listening with the heart. Benedict was right in stating that he and the other monks should return to the monastery. Yet, Scholastica’s desire, born of deep affection for her brother and her longing to continue their conversation and praise of God together, was worthy of bending the rules, even Benedict’s.

How often are we confronted with such a choice? Can you recall times when rigidly holding fast to a tradition or rule has worked not to foster growth and love, but instead to injure and alienate? Clinging to what we think we know is “right” may blind us to the reality of others’ lives and wisdom.

Rules and traditions are important. Benedict’s Rule has proven itself over centuries, leading monastics, helping them live, work, and pray together in community. It has also been a guide for many as they strive to balance prayer, work, study, and recreation in their lives with family and friends, and in their workplaces.

Benedict understood the necessity of responding to particular moments and particular needs in ways that are outside the usual response. His Rule is full of such examples. Still, in this story, it was Scholastica who was listening with the ear of the heart and who found God listening to her.

© 2015 Mary van Balen

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A Nun’s Ministry to the Transgender Community
January 20, 2015 By Leave a Comment

A Nun’s Ministry to the Transgender Community

people-paintingA friend of mine, “Sr. Monica,” has had a long and graced ministry to the transgender community. Her presence with the people she knows speaks of God’s love and care for all of us, including those most of the fringes of society, the “invisible people,” as she called them.

Read her recent HuffPost blog post .

I hope, perhaps naively, that during the current Pope’s tenure, the church will finally recognize and remedy its failure to “be there” for these people who want simply to be who they have been made to be.

 

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Quieting Down to Listen
December 15, 2014 By Leave a Comment

Quieting Down to Listen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Originally published in The Catholic Times, December 14, 2014

The gospel from the first Sunday of Advent showed Jesus instructing his followers to be alert. Warning against the possibility of dozing and being asleep when the lord of the house arrives, Jesus had one word for them: “Watch.”

When I taught writing to elementary students and later to adults, my advice was to “be wide awake.” They kept a writer’s notebook, a place to hold thoughts, interesting articles, and favorite poems, anything that spoke to their hearts or passed through their lives. Sometimes what they jotted down ended up in an essay or launched them into a theme that developed into something longer. Most didn’t. The process of noticing and of being present to the moment was the important result. They developed “writerly habits.”

Prayer and writing have a lot in common. Jesus wasn’t instructing his followers to be writers, but to be “wide awake” for God’s presence. Jesus wants us to develop a “pray-ers habit.” “I am with you always,” Jesus says at the end of Matthew’s gospel, “even to the end of time.” The struggle for us is being still enough, inside and out, to become aware of and respond to that presence. Some people in Mark’s gospel audience were preoccupied with the future. They wanted to know when the end was coming, when Jesus would return. Jesus told them that wasn’t for them to know. Instead, they were to live in the present, alert to the “now.”

That’s what Advent is saying to me this year: Don’t spend the time I have in one place while my mind and heart are somewhere else. Don’t fill my mind with mental “chatter” that drowns out what the moment is saying. Easier said than done. I can’t tell you how many mornings I get up with the intention of spending twenty minutes in quiet prayer, simply trying to be present to God-with-Us, but instead end up rushing out of the house on my way to work without having sat still for a moment.

Stuff happens. I’ve thrown in a load of laundry, fretted over finding some other job, responded to emails, and perused the New York Times headlines. I gulp down my cup of tea and can’t remember if I had Constant Comment or Lady Grey. A pity since the aroma and taste of each is worth appreciating.

Even while driving to work I’m thinking about what I’ll do when I finish my shift. Never mind that the sky is clear and bright or that a friendly driver slowed down so I could make my turn. No matter that I have been given another day to live and breathe and love.

Yesterday, I read through Advent’s mass readings. Lots of them are concerned with justice and compassion, God’s and ours. God hears the cry of the poor, promises rest to those who are tired, takes care of sending rain and sun for crops, cares about the lost sheep, the littlest one, cures blindness, lameness, and broken hearts. God wants to love us all, but I’m afraid I’m often too busy to notice.

I think when Zechariah was stuck dumb it was to make him be quiet long enough to become a better listener…to pay attention and to see God at work in ways he didn’t expect.

Mary said “Yes,” after hearing the angel’s invitation. Joseph heard Wisdom in his dreams and took his pregnant fiancé into his home despite appearances.

You have to be listening to hear the “angels” of the moment or God talking in your dreams. You have to be paying attention to recognize God in the poor and suffering in this world. You have to be still to hear Divine Love and share it with others.

Advent’s a time to recall that the God who created us, who came to us in Jesus, and who will come again is, most importantly, here in each and every one of us this very moment. God’s concerned about the least among us. About justice and compassion. About what’s in our heart. Advent’s a call to be still and to be amazed that the most Holy Mystery wants to spend gracious time with us.

 

© 2014 Mary van Balen

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The Synod on the Family
October 13, 2014 By 1 Comment

The Synod on the Family

Posted on new.va

Posted on new.va

The Synod on the Family, called by Pope Francis, is into week two. The first document has been released. It is really a summary of what has been discussed thus far. The rest of the week will be spent with the bishops in small groups, refining the document that then will be released. As noted in NCR’s article, the document speaks in new tones of listening and recognition of the dignity of persons, and with mercy.

Still, I find myself bristling at the continued use of the word “failure” or “failed” in discussion of divorced people. Yes, truly listening to the concerns and realities of ordinary people is a step forward and perhaps heralds a coming openness to change in policies that do not reflect the love and mercy of Jesus. Still, as one who is divorced and who has worked with women in abusive situations, I must say that many times, leaving a marriage is not a “failure,” but a success. To stay in a relationship that has become oppressive, that no longer is life-giving, or that has become abusive simply to “obey the rules” is not something to encourage.

In some of these situations, if the spouses (or spouse) would pursue an annulment, the church might say the sacramental marriage was invalid, it never happened….But many do not pursue such a course. The church should respect the persons involved, not calling them failures, but supporting them as they move on.

A topic completely missing from the discussion is that of the transgender community. (Read entire document here.) Often overlooked, the “T” in “LGBT” needs to be considered. Many transgendered people have left the Catholic church after enduring humiliating experiences including the suggestion that they be exorcised for the demon within. The lack of understanding of current medical and psychological knowledge about this reality is a glaring omission.

Today, the issues of the transgender community are becoming more and more visible in the media and social consciousness of the reality has grown. The Roman Catholic Church needs to follow that lead.

The current movement is hopeful. We’ll see how far the Spirit leads and how far the Church follows.

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Tenderness and the Cross
September 18, 2014 By Leave a Comment

Tenderness and the Cross

Saint John's University Arboretum PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Saint John’s University Arboretum PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Originally published in The Catholic Times September 21, 2014

I have a friend who’s leaving to spend a year living and working in the L’Arche community in Trosly, a small town north of Paris, France, so I was particularly interested in the interview with L’Arche founder, Jean Vanier, in the recent issue of the National Catholic Reporter. (For those unfamiliar with L’Arche, it is an international organization that forms communities of people with mental disabilities and those who live and care for them.)

As I read the article, two words stood out. First was “community.” Vanier sees individualism as “the greatest evil of our time,” and says that people enter the world of individualism to show how good they are and often that they are better than the rest. It’s a proving ground.

Community, on the other hand, is “a school of love.” There we reveal our woundedness and needs as well as respond to the needs and woundedness of others. Community is transformational. It isn’t easy as any person

living in one can attest. Community isn’t always marriage, family, or religious life. It can be our parish or work community, extended family, a close circle of friends or coworkers for a common cause. Whatever form it takes, true community requires sacrifice as well as celebration.

The other word was “tenderness.” Vanier referred to a psychiatrist who, when asked for a sign of maturity, said “tenderness,” and understands tenderness, not non-violence, to be the opposite of violence.

While speaking of those with disabilities who come to L’Arche, Vanier noted the importance of helping them discover their preciousness and beauty, not so much by what is done, but by “being with.” Listening, treating them with respect, with tenderness, that is where transformation happens. “What is important,” Vanier says, “is relationships.”

Our world is broken, and all carry pain within. Many people expressed surprise after discovering Robin Williams had been battling deep depression for years. As Vanier suggested, those types of wounds are not shared in the world of individualism, but in community.

Some people’s struggles are more visible resulting from ignorance, fear, and oppression. The poor. Women. The LGBT community. People of color. Homeless people, many of whom suffer from mental illness. How do we respond to them with tenderness? My experience tells me that “being with” is what opens my heart to those I might otherwise see only as “other.”

Before reading this interview, I was working on a column reflecting on the mystery of last Sunday’s feast, the Exultation of the Cross. As I read about L’Arche, the two themes wove themselves together: The cross present in the living of community, and tenderness both leading to and flowing from embracing the cross.

Sunday’s mass collect put me off: “O God, who willed that your Only Begotten Son should undergo the Cross to save the human race…” I’ve never been able to get my head around the image of a God who would demand a bloody sacrifice, of a son, no less, to appease Divine justice. Unfortunately, that is often the approach taken to make sense of Jesus’ suffering and death. It just doesn’t fit with Jesus’ image of God as “Abba,” “Daddy.”

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

This intimate address to a parent exudes tenderness, not retribution. There’s the father who welcomes home the prodigal son, the mother hen who gathers and protects her chicks, the shepherd who looks for lost sheep.

Then there’s Jesus himself who tells his followers, “When you see me, you see the one who sent me.” Jesus ate with sinners, hung out with those on the fringes, embraced children, and preached giving oneself for others. When asked why he spent time with such people, Jesus replied, “Go and learn the meaning of the words ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice.’”

Jesus spoke of God as community, Trinity and invited us to join in. As Vanier noted, community transforms. Community with God transforms completely.

No, I can’t imagine God willing Jesus to suffer. While I’m familiar with doctrines of substitutional, even penal atonement, I have to go with my prayer and my heart. The world couldn’t cope with the radical love and truth of Jesus, and rather than abandoning who he knew himself to be, Jesus embraced the cross his faithfulness brought. His death and resurrection poured the salve of unconditional love on the wounds of humanity, and calls us to do the same. Community. Tenderness. Jesus asks us to share in his cross and resurrection, opening the door to a transformative relationship with God and all God’s people.

 

© 2014 Mary van Balen

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July 24, 2014 By 2 Comments

Jesus Weeps

Photo by James McGinnis

Photo by James McGinnis

The headlines are difficult to read: Plane shot down over war zone, man struggles for two hours during his execution, turning children away at the border, Christians driven from their ancient homeland in Iraq, rising casualties in the Gaza war, conflict escalation in Ukraine, teenagers bludgeoning a homeless man to death…I can’t bear to read much of it. If my heart is weeping, what about the One who created this universe, this exquisite planet and all the people on it?

There are bright spots for sure: New executive orders that provide protection for many among us, interest in wind power in Texas, individuals responding to others in need, moving reception of bodies from Malaysian flight 17 tragedy as the Netherlands declares a national day of mourning and accepts and honors all victims remains regardless of nationality. Good things do happen. We don’t hear about them as much.

This morning, all I could do was sit quietly and hold the world in my heart before God in prayer….and let my tears mingle with those shed by the Divine.

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New Year’s Eve
January 2, 2014 By Leave a Comment

New Year’s Eve

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

2013 was coming to an end and I was spending a couple hours of it with Dominican sisters and their friends. We sat in the chapel facing toward the altar and the large glass windows behind it that looked out into a wooded area. Tree trunks and branches sprouted white lights shining bright against the darkness.

After a hymn stories were told of an woman whose son had shot a number of Amish children years ago before killing himself and the forgiveness she received from that community. Parent’s of murdered children had come to her son’s funeral, the first to greet her. Now, that mother takes her weekly turn caring for the most disabled of her son’s living victims. Forgiveness.

Another story. This one of Elie Weisel speaking of the moment he was finally able to forgive God for the holocaust, a moment when he realized God suffered as God’s children suffered at the hands of other members of God’s family. For fifty years, he had been unable to forgive.

Nelson Mandela’s  words were remembered: “Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies.”

Peace, these sisters were reminding us, begins in our own hearts, in our ordinary choices. Peace begins with forgiveness, of others, of ourselves.

We sat in quiet for a long time, in the presence of one another and of God. I tired to lose myself in the infinite embrace of the divine. I practiced centering prayer. I breathed in and out, slowly. I felt my own hurt. I tried to feel it and to forgive those who put it there. I became aware of hurts I have caused and hoped someone, somewhere could forgive me, too.

I opened my eyes and looked around me. Movement outside caught my eye. Deer were walking through the glowing trees behind the altar. Not a sound anywhere. The rows of chairs were sparsely occupied by women mostly much older than me: Retired teachers, musicians, and  professors.  Artists. Women who had given their lives to God and to the church which, I am sure for  some anyway, was a cause of pain and hurt. But here they were , a small community, tucked away in some corner of Ohio, praying for peace. Trying to be peace. How many other corners of our country or our world were filled with people, sitting quietly, hoping to learn how to live peace and bring peace and honor God with it? Quiet convents and monasteries. Living rooms and bedrooms. Chapels and city streets. Hospital rooms and party rooms.

We sang the office and then shared snacks and conversation in the common dining room.

For the moment, the world was a more peaceful place.

 

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Feast of the Holy Family When You Are Divorced
December 29, 2013 By Leave a Comment

Feast of the Holy Family When You Are Divorced

by Richard Duarte Brown

by Richard Duarte Brown

I have been divorced for a few years, and unhappily married for many more. So, for quite awhile, this feast was a challenge for me as I sat through homilies that excluded my experience of married life. Today, thankfully, the priest mentioned a wide variety of families beyond the nuclear family. He mentioned those dealing with divorce and with abusive marriages. He also mentioned those who are single, both by choice and by circumstance. The Healthy Children.org website lists eight different configurations for families with children including single parent, grandparents as parents, adoptive/foster, and same sex families.

As I sat and listened to the readings, I reminded myself that I am a member of many families: my family of origin which blessed me with love and wisdom to raise my children as well as to deal with pain and disappointment in my own marriage. I have a family of three wonderful adult children who will always be a deep part of the fabric of my life and who bring me joy and encouragement. I have an extended family of brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, and aunt and cousins. And then there is the family of friends that reach far and wide across the continent and the oceans. There is a parish family who welcomed me for a special evening and meal before midnight mass.

Paul’s letter to the Colossians spoke of another family: The huge, diverse family of the children of God. All other families rest in this one. It is the one Pope Francis calls us to embrace and serve with our lives. It is the one we celebrate when we pray together as a parish or in small, intentional communities.

Sometimes, that big family is a bit too “out there” to feel warm and embracing when you need that. But “close up” families don’t always supply that either. No matter where we find ourselves today: single, divorced, happily married, or suffering through an abusive relationship that is best ended, we can remember we are part of a wonderfully large family of the One who made us all. If we are blessed with support and love around us, we are called to reach out to those who are not. Families, at their best, look out for one another. We are called to be a family at its best.

 

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