Easter

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.

Celebrating the Triduum Together While Apart

Holy Thursday begins the Triduum—time set apart to reflect on the meaning of events from the Last Supper to the Resurrection, not only in the lives of Jesus and his disciples, but also in the Paschal Mystery unfolding in our lives.

Following the great tradition observed by generations of Christians, we gather to commemorate these events. But this year is different. We cannot gather. Our buildings are closed.

We are church

Photo: Mary van Balen

Covid-19 requires us to find new ways to “be church.” At its most basic, church is people, not buildings or doctrine or hierarchy. It is the people of God. And while the liturgies of Holy Week are beautiful sources of grace, we don’t need to be in a particular place or follow established rites to experience God-with-us.

In John’s gospel, at the last supper, Jesus promises his disciples that the Spirit will come and dwell within them. That Divine Presence, which lives within each of us, has animated all creation since the beginning: from the tiniest atoms to the furthest galaxies. The challenge of these days is to recognize that Presence in each moment, wherever we are.

While the supper is the setting in John’s gospel read today, the first Eucharist is not the centerpiece. It is the other events of that evening that John remembers. They move our souls with their intimacy and the love that soaks every moment.

During the meal, Jesus rises, ties a towel around his waist, fills a basin with water, and gets on his knees. He cradles his disciples’ dusty feet, washing and drying them one by one. When he’s finished, he asks if they understand what he’s done.

Not waiting for an answer, he tells them: If he, their master and teacher, washes their feet, then they should be ready to wash one another’s feet.

In this moment…

In this present moment, many are providing such physical acts of caring. Healthcare professionals, parents at home with small children, and those caring for sick family members serve the vulnerable. Farm laborers and grocery store workers keep food flowing to our tables. Sanitation workers and janitors keep our streets and buildings clean. Many find ways to feed the homeless and provide a place for them to sleep. The list is long.

This is a eucharist: the self, sacrificed out of love for another.

John also tells of Jesus giving a new commandment: “Just as I have loved you, you should also love one another.” He says it twice.

During this crisis, we share that love for one another by staying home; by venturing out only when necessary and keeping our distance when we do; by virtual visits instead of meeting face to face. For some, these actions mean loss of jobs and income. How can we show care for them now and when this time has passed?

Jesus reassures his disciples that they will not be forgotten or left alone. He prays for them and for those who will believe through their word: “…that they all may be one. As you, Father are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us…”

In the midst of self-isolation, we ensure that friends and family do not feel forgotten. We draw one another into the circle of oneness and love with calls, texts, and video chats. We check that they are ok, share a laugh or a story, and hold their grief at the loss of loved ones.

Then Jesus goes forward, endures betrayal, suffering, and death, showing the unfathomable depth of God’s love. His disciples spend their sabbath filled with confusion and fear. Then on the first day of the week, Jesus appears to Mary Magdalene. He instructs her to tell the others what she has seen and heard.

When Jesus appears to them all the following day, he greets them with “Peace,” and as promised, bestows the Spirit with a simple breath.

It is that Spirit who makes the present moment the place where we encounter God. We remember the risen Christ is with us. The indwelling Holy Presence abounds in the simple routines of everyday life. While we miss celebrating the Paschal Mysteries together, we are finding new ways to live them while apart.

That is why our churches are closed. At first glance, they appear empty. But really, they are filled with love.

Chapel of St. Ignatius Seattle University
Photo: Mary van Balen

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: acceptance, Covid-19, Easter, faith, hope, present to the moment, Triduum, trust, unconditional love

April 5, 2018 By Mary van Balen 2 Comments

Easter is More than History

Bouquet of bright flowers and cobalt blue glass water jug on table

Photo: Mary van Balen

Originally published in The Catholic Times, April 8, 2018

After the Resurrection, Jesus appeared over and over again to those who were closest to him. The gospel readings this week and through Sunday tell the stories. The women were the first to see him.

In Matthew’s gospel Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James and John walked in the early morning to the tomb. They were the brave ones who watched the angel appear like lightening, roll back the stone, and sit on it, frightening the Roman guards into a death-like stupor. They listened to the angel and hurried to tell the disciples what they had seen and heard. On their way, Jesus appeared to them, calmed their fears, and told them to instruct the disciples to meet him in Galilee.

In Luke’s gospel, the women were again the first at the tomb. They saw it was empty and spoke to the messengers of God about what had happened. The women told Simon and John who thought their story was nonsense, though Peter went to check it out and saw the empty tomb just as the women had reported.

In John’s gospel, Mary Magdalene walked to the tomb alone, and seeing it was empty hurried to tell Peter and John. They ran to the tomb and saw it was as Mary had described. John noticed the neatly folded cloth that had covered Jesus’ face and believed. The men returned home, but Mary remained, weeping in her grief. She entered the tomb, spoke with the angels who appeared to her, and then turned around. She saw Jesus, though she didn’t recognize him until he called her name. He instructed her to tell the others that she had seen him and to share what he had said to her. Mary was the first entrusted with the Good news of the resurrection. The first to proclaim it to the others.

Jesus continued to appear to his disciples. He walked with two travelers on the road to Emmaus who didn’t recognize him until they broke bread together.

He appeared on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias where some of his disciples had been fishing all night, to no avail. His instructions led them to an extravagant catch, and they shared breakfast on the beach. Jesus moved through locked doors where his followers were gathered in fear and confusion. He blessed them with peace and breathed the Spirit into them with his own breath. He ate with them, showed them his wounds, and later invited Thomas to put his fingers into them so he would believe.

Who do you identify with as you ponder these different accounts? Mary Magdalene who recognized Jesus when he called her name? The brave women, fearful yet persistent as they watched the angels and then met Jesus while on their way to tell the others? Or are you more a skeptical Peter and John? Disciples who just couldn’t fathom the truth of what was being said? Would you recognize the risen Jesus or think he was a ghost? Or maybe you’d be a Thomas who needed physical proof before he’d believe.

We have the advantage of hindsight. I’d like to imagine I’d be like the brave women, bearing the light of angels, listening through my fear, and proclaiming the resurrection. I’m not so sure. I would more likely have been found behind locked doors worrying about what was next.

Reflecting on these readings and placing ourselves in the scenes can be a good meditation but pondering where we encounter the suffering and the risen Christ today in our world is also important. Do we recognize the Divine in others? What opens our eyes? Do we see the wounds of Jesus in the wounds of others? In ourselves? When we do see, how do we respond?

What we celebrate is not simply history. Easter is not only an event. It is a way of living. It is Divine activity that reverberates through time and space and all creation. And we are part of it.

We are called to follow Jesus’s example in our world. To stand with the suffering. To embrace hurt and woundedness in others and in ourselves with God’s transforming love.

Jesus was murdered because he was faithful to being the Love of God on a planet that just couldn’t handle it. But that wasn’t the end of the story. Love is dangerous. It is hard. But in the end, it prevails!

Blessed Eastering!

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: compassion, Easter, faith, Grace in the Moment, inclusion, justice, love, mercy, quiet prayer, spirituality, spring

April 18, 2017 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

What Were They Thinking?

Oil Painting, "The Disciples Peter and John Running to the Sepulchre on the Morning of the Resurrection" by Eugène Burnand 1898

The Disciples Peter and John Running to the Sepulchre on the Morning of the Resurrection by Eugène Burnand 1898
Oil on canvass
Musée d’Orsay

Last spring, while walking down a narrow gallery in the Musée d’Orsay, I looked into a larger room and saw a painting of two men running through the countryside on an early morning. Their dress and faces left no doubt—Peter and John were running to see if Mary of Magdala was right.

Different gospels tell the story in different ways. In John’s gospel, Mary arrived at the tomb alone in the early morning, saw the stone rolled back, and ran to tell Peter and the others that someone had taken the body. Peter and John ran to see for themselves. John, the author tells us, looked inside, saw the burial cloths, and believed. After Peter and John returned home, Mary remained, and saw two angels who asked her why she was weeping. She answered, turned and saw Jesus, thinking he was a gardener. Only when he spoke her name did she recognize him.

Luke’s gospel tells of the women of Galilee who had followed when Jesus was laid in the tomb and who returned the day after the sabbath, carrying spices and oils they had prepared. They entered the empty tomb and were puzzling over it when two men “in dazzling garments” appeared and told them that Jesus had been raised, as he had said he would be. The women ran to tell the others who thought they were talking nonsense. Only Peter returned to the tomb in this telling and went home amazed. Then comes the story of Jesus appearing to travelers on the road to Emmaus.

Mark’s gospel has two endings. In the shorter one, three women, including Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James (both mentioned in Luke’s story) carried spices to anoint the body. They found the stone rolled back and the tomb empty. A young man clothed in white told them that Jesus had been raised and instructed them to go tell the others. But the women, were afraid and told no one.

The longer ending includes Jesus’ early morning appearance to Mary Magdalene who then told the others who were “mourning and weeping.” The didn’t believe her. Next, Jesus appeared to two disciples walking along a country road. They also told the others, who didn’t believe them either.

Matthew’s gospel is similar. The two Mary’s went to the tomb. While they were there, the earth shook, and an angel appeared, rolled back the stone and sat on it. The guards “…became like dead men.” The angel spoke to the women, told them not to be afraid, and invited them in to see where Jesus, now raised from the dead, had been laid. This time, the women were both fearful and overjoyed as they hurried to tell the others. They saw Jesus on their way, and he reassured them: “Do not be afraid,” and instructed them to go tell the others. There is no mention of how the women and their message was received.

Interesting. It was women who went to the tomb. It was women to whom Jesus first appeared and instructed to go tell the others. And, in two of the gospels that report reactions, the women were not believed. In Mark’s, neither were the travelers.

Why not? Was it just that those hearing the women’s story had a low estimation of women’s ability to be sensible in times of stress? Thought they were hysterical, seeing things, or hearing voices? Maybe. Why not believe the disciples who encountered Jesus while they were walking, trying to comprehend the events of the past two days? We’re not told who they were, if they were men, women, or a couple. Simply disciples.

Detail of Eugène Burnand’s painting

Looking at the exquisitely painted faces of Peter and John in Burnand’s painting, I try to put myself in their situation. If the one I had come to love, trust, and believe was going to save me and my people from the oppressive Romans, or as unimaginable as it seemed, was God’s own face in the world, if he had been executed by the occupying powers, I would be overwhelmed with emotions: grief, anger, hopelessness, confusion.

And then, Mary comes with a story that’s too good to be true. Words that stir the ashes of despair and let hope flicker again. I don’t want to believe only to be disappointed all over again. I know what’s it’s like to be vulnerable and to be hurt. And to allow myself to become vulnerable and hurt again.

Still, there is hope, and so I run to see for myself.

Gazing at the faces in the painting, I wonder, “What were they thinking? What did they fear? What did they hope?”

And today, as I celebrate Easter, believing what many still consider nonsense, I ask myself the same things: What am I thinking? What do I fear? What do I hope?

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: disciples, Easter, Eugène Burnand, faith, grace, hope, John, Peter, Presence, resurrection, women

April 6, 2017 By Mary van Balen 3 Comments

We Walk Together

The oil painting "Supper" by Joseph Hirsch shows twelve homeless men, shabbily dressed, sitting and eating at an lavishly set table.

“Supper” 1963-1964
Oil on canvas
Joseph Hirsch American 1910-1981
Columbus Museum of Art
Photo: Mary van Balen

Originally published in The Catholic Times, April 9, 2017

On Saturday, I had the unexpected pleasure of spending a few hours in the Columbus Museum of Art. My sister and I slowly moved from one gallery to another, savoring the opportunity to see the world and explore ideas through the eyes and souls of the artists. They “wake us up” to realities easily overlooked as we hurry through our day to day lives, or challenge us to see the world, others, and even ourselves from broadened perspectives.

A small white sign on the wall of a hallway between two larger exhibits proclaimed: “The Extra Ordinary.” It referred to displayed works made of old bricks, cardboard, and other common objects.

I took a closer look at the row of oil paintings of a water glass. The artist, Peter Dreher, had painted the same glass at different times of day and night for years. “What can change?” you might ask. Light. Reflected images. You’d be surprised what you discover by simply focusing on the lines and beauty of something that usually doesn’t get a second glance. Our lives are filled with opportunities to wonder at the creativity and grace evident in objects made by human hands or that are part of nature. “When was the last time you took a close look and really saw?” the artist seemed to be asking.

A room or two later, I stood in front of a painting by Joseph Hirsch titled “Supper.” Twelve men sitting around a long table, sharing food that included bread and wine immediately suggested the Last Supper. Images of Leonardo da Vinci’s mural of Jesus’ final meal with his apostles might spring to your mind, but this painting is different.

Instead of a white Jesus surrounded by men in flowing robes, twelve homeless men of various colors, unkempt and dressed in shabby jackets and coats, eat hungrily, drinking wine from goblets and lifting food to their mouths with silver forks.

No brightly colored clothing here. The men are dressed mostly in grays, blacks, and browns. The brightest things are on the table. A silver serving dish and coffee pot rest on a white table cloth beside serving bowls heaped with fruit and salad. Obvious at the front of the table sits a goblet of wine and a broken loaf of bread.

The contrast between the poverty of the men and the opulence before them is striking. It spoke to the truth that wealth in our country and the world is held by an increasingly small percentage of people while so many are without food or shelter or hope of finding it. I read the signage to learn when “Supper” was painted. It was finished in 1964. “…at about the same time that President Lyndon B. Johnson enacted laws and reforms known as the War on Poverty, designed to aid disadvantaged American communities.”

I counted the people again. Twelve. “Why didn’t Hirsch include a figure to represent Jesus?” I wondered. Gazing at the image, I slowly became aware of Jesus’ presence. No need to paint him. The Christ was there, dwelling in each of those men.

Before leaving, I read the rest of the sign. It ended by noting “…the relevance to the present day of Christian values of compassion and charity for the poor.” I would say “justice.”

As we move into liturgical celebrations of the Last Supper, Good Friday, and Easter, reflecting on this painting’s message could inform our prayer. In 2017, as in 1964, we examine our response to the call to follow Jesus through death to new life—to share God’s Love given to us.

Do we see that Love shining through creation? Do we see the risen Christ in our sisters and brothers? Do we recognize God dwelling in every human being regardless of color, ethnicity, gender, religious faith or lack of it? Do we share what we have with the poor, the homeless, the immigrants and refugees who live in our neighborhoods and cities and around the globe? Do we foster love and acceptance with our speech as well as actions?

Jesus was God’s face in the world, and it is a face of Love and inclusion, leaving no one out—not Samaritans or gentiles, not women or children. There was no “other.” We walk together in Christ.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: "Supper", acceptance, compassion, Easter, Grace in the Moment, humility, immigrants, inclusion, Joseph Hirsch, justice, Last Supper, lent, mercy, Peter Dreher, present to the moment, refugees, War on Poverty

April 23, 2015 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

God Comes to Us

PHOTO: www.freebibleimages.org

Every gospel reading this week contains an appearance of the risen Jesus. Taken from all four gospels, the accounts vary. In the first, from Matthew, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary witness an earthquake that rolls back the stone, and see an angel who tells them Jesus has risen and directs them to go tell the others. On their way, Jesus appears to them and they respond with a gesture of faith and love: they embrace his feet.

Tuesday’s gospel is from John and again, Mary Magdalene is the first to see the risen Jesus. She doesn’t recognize him at first, thinking he is the gardener. Then he speaks her name, and she knows the voice. She clings to him, but he tells her to go and tell the others.

Next, is the familiar story from Luke. Jesus appears to two travelers on the road to Emmaus. Jesus is not recognized at first. Only after a long conversation in which he explains what has happened do they recognize him when he breaks bread with them.

Thursday’s gospel picks up the story where the two travelers, having returned to Jerusalem, are telling the disciples how they had seen Jesus. Jesus appears to them all, and the first reaction is fear. Joy follows after they realize they are not seeing a ghost, but the one they had followed and believe to be the Son of God.

The Sea of Galilee is the site for the next appearance. After a fruitless night of fishing, seven of the apostles spot a man on the shore. They don’t recognize him at first. Only after he instructs them to throw their nets out one more time and they catch a load of fish does the light go on for John: “It’s the Lord.” They share breakfast on the beach.

Saturday’s gospel from Mark recounts the disciples’ disbelief when Mary Magdalene tells them she has seen Jesus. They don’t believe the two travelers either. When Jesus appears to the eleven while they’re eating, he rebuked them for not believing and instructs them to go out into the world and preach the gospel to all.

This Sunday, the gospel tells of Jesus passing through locked doors to be with the disciples who huddled together, not knowing what to think or do next. “Peace be with you,” he said, and then he bestowed the Spirit on them with a breath.

Two things struck me as I read through the week’s gospels. The first was that Jesus was persistent. He wanted to connect with those who had been with him as he preached the Kingdom of God. He found them in the garden, by the sea, on the road, in the room where they gathered to eat and support one another. He went where they were. He didn’t hold court somewhere and ask them to come. No, he went to them.

The second thing I noticed was the variety of responses to Jesus’ post-resurrection appearances. There was downright disbelief. There was confusion and fear. Recognition occurred when Jesus spoke Mary’s name, when he filled their nets with fish, when he ate breakfast with them or broke bread at dinner. When those who followed him realized who he was, there was joy.

Centuries later, the realities are the same: The risen Jesus still wants to be with us and comes to us right where we are. Whether at home or at work, with others or alone. Sometimes we are receptive and sometimes we’re not. Sometimes we recognize the Divine in our midst, and sometimes we look right past it.

As we move through the Easter season, perhaps we can reflect on this unimaginable mystery of the Most Holy One’s great desire to be with us. That God’s Love seeks us out. No matter where we are or how we feel or what life battles we are fighting. God does not give up. Like Jesus spoke to Mary, God calls us by our names. By the Grace of the Spirit breathed into us, if we listen in the quiet of our hearts, we might hear and believe.

Blessed Easter!

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: Easter, faith, grace, Jesus, resurrection

May 10, 2014 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Grace Overflowing

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Originally published in The Catholic Times, May 11 2014 issue

Despite working until close at Macy’s on Holy Saturday night and arriving home around ten-thirty pm, I had energy and decided to bake hot cross buns. Well, I had energy until they were ready to rise the second time. Dragging, by three in the morning, I was savoring the warm, cinnamony-sweet results and cleaning the kitchen.

When the alarm sounded at 7:45, I wasn’t sure I could pry myself out of bed. “I could go to 11:30,” I thought. No. Nine o’clock was the mass I wanted to attend, sleepy or not. After a shower and a strong cup of tea, I headed out to St. Thomas the Apostle where the parish family was gathering to celebrate Easter.

The church was packed, and even though my usual place was taken, I found a seat next to a lovely older woman wearing an amazing hat. Remember Easter hats? As young girls, my sisters and I had new hats each Easter. Hats. Dresses. White gloves. Part of the ritual.

The altar was surrounded with flowers and on the ledge at the bottom of each stained glass window sat a potted spring bulb flower: hyacinths, tulips, daffodils. The tight buds were beginning to loosen, and hints of color were peeking out. A quite murmur rested in the church as people wished one another “Happy Easter” and caught up on the week before. Then the music began.

One of the many things I love about Saint Thomas is the spirited singing accompanied by a variety of instruments. Organ, piano, guitar, flute, drums, tambourine, trumpet, and on Easter I think I heard a trombone. Someone can set me straight if I’m wrong. It doesn’t matter really. What matters is that people are welcome to share their talents and that so many do!

I don’t remember all the songs we sang that morning, but I remember the joy with which they were sung, the clapping to the rhythm, the harmonies. A favorite “sprinkling” ritual at that parish is the procession up the center aisle to a large earthenware bowl that holds baptismal water. Pews empty out one by one, and when each person reaches the bowl, they dip their hand into the water, turn, and make the sign of the cross on the forehead of the person behind them, all the while belting out Marty Haugen’s song, “Up from the Waters.”

“Up from the waters, God has claimed you, Up from the waters, O child of Light. Praise to the One who called and named you, Up from the waters into life…”

Choir members brought up the end of the line, the last two keeping time with their instruments. The tall gentleman who played the tambourine was last. Having no one behind him to bless with the water, he turned, raised his hands and shook the tambourine making a large sign of the cross: He blessed us all, and we applauded our “amen.”

The responsorial song was sung with a strong voice and a bright smile.

And so it went. The celebrant chose to read the Gospel from the Easter Vigil Mass where the two Marys, having been told that Jesus had risen ran “overjoyed” to tell the disciples. They saw Jesus on their way.

The theme of joy ran through his homily, and with a child’s abandon, a young member of the congregation punctuated one of Fr. Denis’s comments with a heartfelt, “Yeah!”

It fit.

A sung Eucharist Prayer, shared peace, shared communion. The wine was sweet. Sun poured into the windows, waking the flowers as we sang our Alleluias and closing hymn. No one was in a hurry to leave. I told the lady next to me how much I liked her hat, then found some friends who had been across the aisle and exchanged Easter greetings.

I lingered, soaking in the Mystery and Grace, and then made my way across the parking lot. Coming out from the common room in the basement, a few people were carrying boxes of candy-filled plastic eggs to scatter for the Easter egg hunt that would follow the later Mass.

Waiting for the traffic light at the corner to change, I looked at the green grass beside the rectory and church. It was absolutely covered with colored eggs. An abundance. I hadn’t kept Lent particularly well, yet there it was, God’s gift of Self overflowing. A never ending Fountain Fullness as a Franciscan friend says. I put down the car window, waved, and took a deep breath, glad I had pulled myself out of bed for nine o’clock Mass.

A joyful Easter Season to you all.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: creation, Easter, grace, Grace in the Moment, hope, lent, love, mercy, present to the moment, spirituality, spring

March 6, 2014 By Mary van Balen 2 Comments

Lent: Winter, Flowers, and Pete Seeger

retreat bouquet from daughters Originally 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.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: Easter, grace, lent, love, Pete Seeger, Presence, spring, winter