hope

January 1, 2026 By Mary van Balen 16 Comments

A Christmas Puzzle

I was never a puzzle person, but my mom was, particularly as her children became adults and had homes of their own. Sometimes, she placed all the pieces of the puzzle to be done on a card table set up in the family room. Carefully she turned over each piece, revealing their colors and patterns as well as their shapes. Slowly, piece at a time, with the image on the lid of the puzzle box as a guide, the picture emerged in the center of the table.

When I came to visit, I’d join her to add a few pieces. When we found some that connected but whose place in the big picture was still a mystery, we’d snap them together and arrange them around the puzzle in progress. Eventually, someone would see where they belonged.

In a roundabout way, a friend’s recent comment brought puzzle-solving with mom to mind. While my friend believes Love infuses all creation and gives life to the ever-expanding universe, she can’t imagine such a God loving her in particular. She experiences the love of those in her life and the Sacred in creation. But God loving her individually? She can’t believe it. “What difference can I possibly make’” she asked. “I’m just not that important.”

The first thought that came to me was an ongoing correspondence that I’d had years ago with a high school classmate’s cousin. He was a brother at the Dominican House of Studies in Washington, D.C., and she thought we’d enjoy exchanging letters. (No email then!) We did. At one point in our conversation, the image of God came up. Surprisingly, the metaphor of a puzzle came to mind. I wrote that I thought the Holy One was an ongoing process. Since a bit of Divinity is shared with every person, God could not be revealed completely until the final person had lived. Like in a puzzle, one missing piece draws the eye to the empty spot and spoils the picture. I concluded, we are each important, like a puzzle piece, and contribute to the image of God. It isn’t finished.

I shared this memory with my friend. It helped. “Have you written a column about this?” she asked. So, here I am, during the Twelve Days of Christmas, pondering puzzles, Love, and the ongoing Incarnation.

Putting a puzzle together requires patience and paying close attention to the pieces you have, the emerging picture on the table, and the picture on the box lid. Similarly, being present and noticing, as Mary Oliver might say, is essential to experiencing the Sacred in our midst. We don’t have the “big picture” for a guide as puzzle solvers do, but I don’t think God does either. I’ve never been one who believed God has a specific plan for each of us. I’m more inclined to think that the Holy One shares a bit of Divinity with each of us and then gives us free reign to run with it, delighted with where we take it and what we do with it. Well, maybe not always, but we do have opportunities to recenter, change direction, and move on when needed!

Perhaps the mystery of creation and the One who put it in motion is like a puzzle with infinite pieces of many shapes, sizes and colors, and no picture as a guide. The puzzle keeps growing along the edges, the big picture emerging and changing, bit at a time. God, human beings, the cosmos and whatever it holds (I’ve always thought that would include other beings. How could it not?) all evolving together.

I thought of St. Bonaventure’s words: “God is a circle whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhere.” The growing is around edges that extend from every point in every direction without end.

As I pondered these things during the Christmas season, another quote came to mind. This one is from Meister Eckhart, a 13-14^th century priest, theologian, and mystic.

“What good is it to me that Mary gave birth to the son of God fourteen hundred years ago, and I do not also give birth to the Son of God in my time and in my cutlure? We are all meant to be mothers of God. God is aways needing to be born.”

No matter how one experiences the Sacred in life, or what one believes. No matter how one prays or lives, all are called to share Love that is shared with them. All are called to make the world a better place by bringing Sacred love and kindness into their time and space. That’s how I think of each person opening to and accepting the spark of Divinity and “running with it”.

My prayer for 2026 is that more and more people will do this. Take their gifts, their Love, and put them out there in the world, right where they are, to touch and heal and encourage and transform. And, as Pierre Teilhard de Chardin advises, trust in the slow work of God.

I send with hope, wishes for blessed holiday and a new year that is kinder to the earth and all people and creation on it. A 2026 filled with the light of Divine Sparks.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: creation, healing, hope, love, Meister Eckhart, Mystery, ongoing incarnation, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, slow work of God, Spark of Divinity Shared, St. Bonaventure, transformation

July 4, 2025 By Mary van Balen 18 Comments

What Prayer Looks Like These Days

My prayer changes as I do and as life does. There are the tried and true: meditation, quiet prayer, old favorites, books of hours, chants. There are communal gatherings and liturgical celebrations. But sometimes, when the world turns upside down, the “order” that I have established prayer-wise disappears. Despite good intentions, I can’t maintain the routine. I blame myself and forget that the spiritual journey is not a smooth, predictable path. (I will borrow from Richard Rohr’s paradigm: order, disorder, reorder.) During this “disorder,”what once brought a sense of connection with the Holy One no longer does. During spiritual dark nights, when the Holy One seems absent, I’ve been counseled to pray through it, to open my heart even when nothing seems to fill it. And so I have.

I remind myself that some of those “dark nights” took months, once even years, to pass. They required trust in my relationship with the Holy One, which, really, is what prayer is all about. Perhaps that is the root of my difficulty with prayer: floundering trust as chaos envelopes the U.S. The hatred, greed, and disregard for law and Constitution is infuriating. Mass deportations without due process and lack of concern for innocents swept up in the frenzy rend my heart. Scrubbing this country’s past of contributions of those who are not white and straight creates an alternative history and implies that everyone else is inconsequential. Removing the immorality and cruelty that has been part of US history glorifies the powerful while dismissing their victims. Truth is one of the victims.

The pushback against the LGBTQ community, particularly the trans community, continues to grow, fueled by misinformation, ignorance, and fear.

The current budget bill passed by Congress is immoral. Slashing programs that serve the poor, the oppressed, and the marginalized in this country and around the world makes no sense. Tax cuts for the wealthiest 1%? Jesus must be weeping.

In this time, I have difficulty “reordering.” I feel spiritually adrift. After sharing this with my spiritual director, we talked about prayer and different ways to frame it.

Prayer is spreading Love energy, she said. It’s resting in God and following God’s Way as best I can. A Christian, I connect that with the way Jesus lived his life. Others will have different understandings, but Love is the root of them all. Standing up for Love. Bringing Love and compassion into this time and place. Standing up for the marginalized. Anyone can do it.

Image of Guan Yin, Buddhist bodhisattva whose name means “Observing the sounds of the world.” She has multiple heads to see and hear those suffering and multiple arms to aid them.

Intention is the key to my prayer these days. I pause and remember I am called to be Christ in the world. Is what I do contributing to bringing compassion into the world? Am I compassionate to myself, taking time for self care so I am able to be present for others? Am I a good “ear” for people who need to tell their stories, listening deeply so they know they are heard and held? Are my letters and calls to legislators designed to defend those targeted with executive orders or legislation that threaten their well-being. To expose harm and hold up morality to those in power and to encourage reflection and change? When I write a column, first I pray that what small bit I have been given to share encourages those who are looking for ways to make a difference.

Christ Has No Body

Christ has no body but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
Compassion on this world,
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good,
Yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world.
Yours are the hands, yours are the feet,
Yours are the eyes, you are his body.
Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours,
Yours are the eyes with which he looks
compassion on this world.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

Theresa of Avila 1515-1582, Spanish Mystic and Carmelite reformer along with John of the Cross.

While making an effort to pray with a favorite small book of prayer, Daily Prayer with the Corrymeela Community, by Padraig O Tuama, I am also practicing reframing my understanding of prayer: being intentional about how I live the unfolding day and making sure it is to bring Love and justice into the world. Speaking out as I am able, against the darkness. And trusting in my relationship with the Presence that holds all.

The Civil Rights activists in the 60’s provide inspiration. Their actions were supported by their faith. They weren’t advocating revenge, but respect, equality, and justice. Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “I have a dream speech” speaks to the unending struggle of those on the margins.

“Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God’s children,” he proclaimed in his soaring oratory. “I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: ‘We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.’”

Prayer for me these days is all about intention to be present to Love…and to be Love in the present moment. How it looks day to day doesn’t matter.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: chaotic times, civil rights, compassion, hope, love, marginalized, Martin Luther King Jr., prayer, present to the moment, Richard Rohr, standing up for Love, trust

January 28, 2025 By Mary van Balen 10 Comments

There Is Only One River

My daughter called on her way home from a bakery where she picked up a loaf of challah for a soup dinner with a friend flying in for the weekend. The baker gave her a warm challah knot made from dough scraps while she waited for the loaves to come out of the oven. We remembered making challah at home. The braiding. The sweet aroma of honey-egg bread that filled the kitchen. By the time we hung up, I had decided to make a loaf myself.

I played an old Peter, Paul, & Mary album while I gathered ingredients and donned an apron I bought at the Eiffel Tower, surrounding myself with happy memories. I pulled aside the curtain that hangs over the long, narrow window and tilted the aluminum slats on the bent miniblind that covers the window in the old wooden door. Sunlight filled the room.

Challah is easy to make. Four steps of about 30 minutes each. Plenty of time to wash dishes and utensils as I went. And, to sing.

Along with Pete Seeger (my favorite), Joan Baez, and Judy Collins, Peter, Paul & Mary were major contributors to the soundtrack of my younger life. Guitar in hand, I sang at home, with high school friends, at sing-a-longs, coffee houses, and churches. I thought I could do without the guitar while traveling around Western Europe one summer, but by Germany, I bought one the size of a large ukulele and strapped it to my backpack.

Ball of bread dough sitting on kitchen counter with candle and dishtowel

In my kitchen, I sang as I mixed and kneaded the dough. I sang as I separated it into six pieces, rolling each into a long strand. I braided two smaller loaves. One to keep. One to give away. I remembered harmonies to old favorites. As I worked, one song in particular touched my soul, aching from the horrible events unfolding in Washington and across the country: “The River of Jordan,” written in 1972 by PP&M member, Peter Yarrow.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at the appropriateness of the lyrics for the current situation in our country. Bigotry, hatred, violence, “them vs us,” is nothing new to the human race. There are always those who stir up fear and use it for their own gain. But what is happening here, the scope, the speed of it, is overwhelming.

I played that song over and over and sang with my whole heart. I remembered that PP&M sang at the 1963 March in Washington and the March from Selma to Alabama in 1965. Singling out groups for oppression and “othering” is part of our country’s history. It remains.

Baking bread, letting in the sunlight, singing familiar songs were balm. Walking down the street to deliver a loaf to a young mother and her son helped, too. We laughed as the little one showed me one thing after another and sat close as I read books to him.

But Yarrow’s song still plays in my mind. And I wonder… What can I do? How can I live out the wisdom held in the lyrics:

We are only one river. We are only one sea.
And it flows through you, and it flows through me.
We are only one people. We are one and the same.
We are all one spirit. We are all one name…

A little at a time. Where I am. What I can do. Look for goodness and beauty. Celebrate it. Put some into the world. Connect with and support others. Persevere. Pray.

Like bread, we nourish one another. Like a braided loaf of many grains, we are one.

Resoucre:

Listen to Peter, Paul, & Mary and friends sing The River of Jordan

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: celebrating beauty, finding beaury, finding goodness, hope, interconnectedness, Peter Paul & Mary, Peter Yarrow, The River of Jordan, We are one

December 5, 2024 By Mary van Balen 14 Comments

Holding Both Grief and Hope

This column is more political than my usual offerings. I can’t talk about spirituality as if it exists in a vacuum. Many of my readers will resonate with my thoughts and feelings. Others may not. But I must do what is mine to do.

I began writing this column in September, when I woke up thinking “hope.” Feeling hope. While that may not seem surprising, it was for me. In the middle of election season, I had been living with dread and fear about the future. No matter how deep it’s pushed down or how purposely ignored, fear sucks hope right out of a person. That was me.

What allowed me to throw fear out and embrace hope instead? The Democratic National Convention. Instead of the vengeful rhetoric espoused by some Republican candidates aimed at stirring up fear and keeping us down and apart, there was hope. There was a positive view of the future that included everyone. No hateful misinformation about the transgender community. No disparaging remarks about immigrants or calling for mass deportation. No whitewashing the part race and slavery played (and plays) in U.S. history.

When the cameras scanned the crowd, diversity was everywhere. It was celebrated by those who spoke and in what they said. It seemed possible that this country could embrace compassion and love of neighbor. It seemed possible that we could, together, move in a more positive way through the challenges and tragedies of our world. Perhaps we could believe that we are, indeed, more alike than we are different.

When I woke up on November 6, fear and anger again had replaced my hope, and dread for the future was taking over. The vision of inclusion, respect and moving forward together was replaced by one of negativity, revenge, and disrespect of “other.” The highjacking of “Christianity,” putting it into service of an approach that seems anything but Christian, continues to sweep the country. Efforts to enshrine Evangelical White Christian Nationalism as the official religion of the U.S. is grossly un-American.

I wasn’t alone in my “morning after” despair. Many concerned with climate change heard “Drill, baby drill,” with disbelief. Many concerned with women’s rights heard “Your body, my choice,” with dismay. And basic human rights? Democratic institutions?

Struggling with all this, I listen to many wisdom voices, past and present: my faith and spiritual/wisdom teachers of many traditions; civil rights leaders; psychologists and counselors; poets; good friends. In addition to eating well and incorporating exercise into the day, here are thoughts on getting through these difficult times:

Grieve Alone and Together

Recognize feelings and emotions. Experience them. Feel sorrow, anger, fear, and despair. Weep. Rant. Vent. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with friends who can hold your tears and love you when you’re a mess. Find communities where you can share your grief. When one member has no hope, someone there will. Remember, grief isn’t once and done.

Who are the people, the communities that can hold you, support you, love you? Who are those who share your sorrow? Who are those with whom you can both grieve and find hope?

Find a Place Where Grace Flows

The week after the election found me on Chincoteague Island with my daughter. The ocean draws me into a contemplative space, opening my soul to release emotions – joy, gratitude, grief, sorrow – as well as to receive grace of healing, wonder, and gratitude.

My salty tears mingled with salty air. I rejoiced at the birds’ antics and wondered at shells at my feet. I laughed, prayed, and sang into to the pounding of wave after wave on the sand. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with my daughter. Together we watched the Supermoon rise, the king tide flood the marshlands, and herons wait patiently along the banks until the water receded and they could resume their mindful-walking fishing practice.

My ocean visits are few and precious. I have other Grace places: a small, neighborhood woods; a local café where I go to write; art museums; a friend’s kitchen table; my favorite chair flanked with a handmade table that holds a mug of tea and a stack of books.

What are your ordinary as well as extraordinary places where Grace flows? As Robert Lax would advise, go there often.

Establish a Grounding Practice

page of nature journal painting of shell litter people walking beach wrirtint

Take time for spirit-nourishing practices.

At the beach condo, my daughter set up a long table filled with art and journaling supplies. Every day we showed up there, like pilgrims to a holy place. She painted. I created page after page in my nature journal: mosaics of small drawings, paintings, and words.

Journaling/Art

For some, journaling and creative arts are prayerful, centering activities. While on Chincoteague I didn’t work on my current book project. I didn’t write this long overdue column. Now, back home, those projects call for my attention along with piles of laundry, dishes, and routine chores. While I can’t give hours every day to nature journaling, I’ll try for one day a week. And I can be faithful to my regular journaling practice.

Quiet Time/Prayer

During information overload, refrain from too much news consumption and social media scrolling. Make time for quiet. I’m reestablishing a morning routine of sipping tea, twenty minutes of quiet prayer, and reading.Throughout the day I take a few moments, breathe deeply and remember that I live and move in the Presence of the Sacred, no matter what I’m doing.

Quiet walks around the neighborhood or in a park can provide mental and spiritual spaciousness.

Give yourself the gift of time to engage in practices that help ground you and sink deep into your center. Encounter the Sacred that dwells there. The Goodness that cannot be overcome.

Move Forward

In a New York Times opinion piece “How Not to Fall Into Despair,” Brad Stulberg quotes Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl and uses his term “tragic optimism.” It involves acknowledging pain and hardship and in the face of it, moving forward in a positive way.

It’s the “both/and” stance central to many religions, including Christianity. Jesus lived acknowledging and confronting the evils of his day while still finding room in his heart to hold love, forgiveness, and hope.

He lived compassionate engagement, hanging out with the marginalized and calling his followers to care for the poor, widows, and orphans. Love God and your neighbor as yourself, he said. He didn’t list exclusions. He didn’t ignore the oppressors in power but didn’t let fear paralyze him.

What is mine to do?

One friend said she was taking the “left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot” approach. Not looking into the future but being present to the moment and to what she could do where she was, to put kindness and compassion into the world. Another is concentrating on volunteering for organizations that serve others in her city. Both are claiming agency rather than helplessness.

It involves what Stulberg calls “wise hope and wise action.” Not hope born of denial, thinking that if we just wait long enough, things will get better, but seeing things for what they are and still taking action.

In his final written message published in the New York Times after his death, the great civil rights activist John Lewis charged us to do that. To stand up and speak out when we see something that isn’t right. “Democracy is not a state.” He said. “It is an act.”

I am overwhelmed by what is happening. I feel helpless. But I’m not. I can do what I can do where I am. I can write. I can be kind to strangers and the marginalized. I can donate to organizations that support causes I believe in, especially those that serve targeted populations threatened by the wave of “othering” spreading across the country. I can stay informed, write to Congressional representatives. I can speak up to representatives in my state government when they propose and pass legislation that demonizes and oppresses monitories.

Darkness doesn’t have to win in the long run. Not when enough people inject the light of love and compassion into the night.

What is yours to do? How can you claim agency and move forward?

The Long View

looking out over ocean. Dark cloudy day with sun peeking through

Recently I stood with a woman on the beach, both of us looking across the ocean. “Stay connected to nature,” she said. “It will help with the long view. It will give you strength. It endures.”

Sitting in the National Gallery of Art in front of two van Gogh masterpieces I remembered that people suffering in all kinds of ways throughout history have been able to see beauty and hope through their grief and found ways to share it with the world.

In dark times, I find it difficult to believe that the moral arch indeed bends toward justice. But Viktor Frankl, John Lewis, and countless others, known and unknown, did. And they knew the truth of that saying depends on individual action. They lived holding both grief and hope in their hearts and found courage to move on.

Jesus did. Those who strive to imitate his life, to follow his Way, will too. It’s not a “Christianity” that storms the Capitol with violence when things don’t go your way. It’s not a “Christianity” that sees some people as expendable and deserving of disrespect. It strives to serve the common good. It’s a both/and faith. It’s a grief/hope faith. It doesn’t deny pain, oppression, and suffering. Jesus wept over Jerusalem. But he kept on going, living with compassion.

May it be so.

Sources

Together, You Can Redeem the Soul of Our Nation by John Lewis

How Not to Fall Into Despair by Brad Stulberg

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: art, Both/And, compassion, creation, Election 2024, Grief, grounding practices, hope, incarnational faith, inclusion, long arc of justice, long view, Practice the Presence, prayer, quiet, small acts of love, what is mine to do, where grace flows, working together

May 22, 2024 By Mary van Balen 2 Comments

Aurora: Using the Right Lens

Who would’ve guessed? Viewing the Aurora Borealis close on the heels of experiencing a total solar eclipse, both from Ohio! Not me. I read about the possibility of seeing the Northern Lights much further south than usual and looked forward to the event. But the evening arrived, and after a busy day of running errands, I had forgotten. I settled into my recliner ready for a quiet evening when an urgent shout broke into my reverie:

“Jordan! Jordan!” my neighbor yelled to his friend in the apartment above mine.

An emergency? Someone’s hurt? My phone rang: “Mary, get out here! You can see them!”

Thank goodness for my neighbors. In minutes, six of us lined up in my driveway. Chairs for everyone, but mostly we stood. I put on water for tea (It was chilly.) and called my sister and her husband.

The aurora had arrived, even in the city, and joined a bright crescent moon, planets, and stars in the clear night sky. Despite streetlamps and security lights, swaths of purple, pink, and green danced over apartments and trees.

“Look through your phone,” someone called out, and I remembered an interesting fact from articles giving instructions on when and how to watch. Auroras are the result of streams of charged particles ejected from magnetic storms on the sun and propelled into space. Some reach earth and glow with colored light when they collide with oxygen and nitrogen atoms as they speed into our upper atmosphere. The rare strength of the solar storms the days before and force with which the large the particle streams were expelled from the sun pushed the aurora south. As amazing as the human eye is, the lenses in cell phones are much better at collecting light, including that emitted by the glowing particles.

Pale purplish pink hues became stunning magenta when viewed through the phones. Greens popped from soft to brilliant. So, there we stood, looking with our eyes then marveling at the sight through our phone lenses. This solar system, our home, has been e What else awaits discovery?

What else – on our planet, in the universe – emanates beauty simply by being? What windows into truth and mystery surround us? And how can we see them? What lenses might we need? I wondered about this for a few days, and the question came along as I walked along the Scioto River and saw a blue heron, tall and majestic. There he was, a pillar of peace and stillness with mallards fussing and flitting about, chasing one another away with loud honks and flapping wings that splashed in the water. The heron remained focused, and one slow, purposeful step at a time, moved through the water without disturbing its surface.

How did he see his watery world, I wondered. And what about lenses of other creatures and the ones that enhance (or cloud) my own vision?

Sometimes I use a jeweler’s loupe to examine ordinary objects. Sometimes I use lenses on my stereomicroscope to look extremely closely and discover complexity, pattern, and design of ordinary objects invisible to the naked eye.

With the help of the Hubble and James Webb Space Telescopes we can look deeply into the universe and back in time to its beginnings. We see stars being born and galaxies speeding away from one another.

But lenses don’t always make things clearer. They can alter or obscure. Our perception can be distorted when we look with eyes, hearts, and minds clouded by prejudices, fear, and anger. Have you ever shared an experience with others and come away shaking your head when various accounts of what happened are at opposite ends of the spectrum? (Think, January 6.) Different lenes.

How, I wondered, can I “clean my lenses” and be aware of everyday wonders of creation? They needn’t be auroras or solar eclipses to inspire and enchant, revealing the Sacred simply by being. To see divinity dwelling not only in nature and creation around me but also within my own heart? To see that the Incarnation did not start with Jesus of Nazareth, but with the Big Bang—everything infused with the Spirit of the Source.

Seeing through the lens of Grace can be a challenge. A line from the play “Our Town” comes to mind. “Who,” wonders Emily while revisiting a day in her life after she had died, “who realizes the beauty and wonder of ordinary life as it is lived, moment by moment.” The stage manager answers, “The saints and poets, maybe they do some.”

How to develop such an eye? “Be present to the moment,” I think, “wide-eyed and open-hearted.” Nurture curiosity. Befriend quiet and get in touch with one’s deepest center. Cultivate the practices of wonder and awe. Look closely, beyond what we see at first glance – including people as well as the rest of creation. And discover what clouds our vision and do what we can to wipe them from the heart.

What a gift the spectacular cosmic displays have been, reminders of the Glory that surrounds us if we have the eyes and heart to see.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: Aurora, Aurora 5.10.24, Awe, centering, cosmic display, creation, curiosity, Divine within, eyes to see, grace, hope, How to see, Hubble Space Telescope, James Webb Space Telescope, Northern Lights, open heart, Our Town, prayer, Presence, present to the moment, The lens of Grace, using the right lens, wonder

February 29, 2024 By Mary van Balen 14 Comments

These Bowls

Reflection inspired by the Calabash Bowl series in I And My Miles: A Talle Bamazi Retrospective on view from January 1-March 27 at the Schumacher Gallery, Capital University, Columbus, Ohio.

Note: Gallery closed March 2-10 for midterm break

painting oil on linen By Talle Bamazi of yellow calabash bowl floating in field of color — *My Dwell*, oil on linen by Talle Bamazi Photo: Mary van Balen taken at *I And My Miles: A Talle Bamazi Retrospective* at Schumacher Gallery

These Bowls by Mary van Balen

The calabash wide open,
drips move  
down the canvas
source unseen,
around the bowl
into the bowl
heading toward a shelf of color.
 
Sitting on a bench
I am present
to a ribbon of bowls
running along the wall
like favorite cards I clip
to a string draped
from door hinge to door hinge
across my living room wall
reminding me
of friends
and moments
and hope.

These bowls - 
gourd gifts 
which first are food
then hold sustenance
after their flesh is eaten
and their shells dry -
receive again
and again
whatever comes,
offering
to those who scoop
or drink
or taste
what has been given
to be given.
 
They're brave,
these bowls,
taking what comes
letting go what’s needed.

Resources

Talle Bamazi: Bio

Talle Bamazi Retrospective on display at Schumacher Gallery, Capital University in New Americans Magazine blog

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: calabash bowls, Giving self away, hope, I And My Miles:A TAlle Bamazi Retrospective, Openness, receive, Schumacher Gallery, Talle Bamazi

January 31, 2024 By Mary van Balen 10 Comments

Surprised by Wisdom

Do you have storage places that hold treasures for years, tucked back into an overlooked corner or hidden beneath a pile of unused linens or clothing? Something special enough to keep but long forgotten. While looking through my cedar chest the other day, I lifted a heavy item encased in paper and bubble wrap from beneath a stack of dishtowels. I carefully removed the packaging and caught my breath.

There was a red clay sculpture of cupped hands made by my youngest daughter decades ago when she was in middle school. It used to sit on an end table in our home, but after moving into a small apartment 13 years ago, I stored it along with other things I wanted to keep but had no place to display.

I held the sculpture and followed their easy curve with my fingers. As they moved over the red clay, a tightness that had taken up residence in my body and spirit began to loosen. Long fed by fear and worry, the fist curled up in my gut began to unclench. The hands offered an invitation: Relax. Open. I tried.

A cleansing sigh passed through my lips. Tears and laughter pushed each other about in their rush to respond. I sat back on a nearby chair, closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths. The sculpture conveyed a profound sense of receptivity. Solid and steady, they seemed comfortable with vulnerability. Something, it seems, often I am not.

What, I wondered, sustains such an attitude as I move through life? Trust, I think. Trust that in the end, good will prevail. Faith in a pervasive Goodness that enlivens and dwells within and without all creation. It is called by many names: God, Love, Ground of Being, and it persists even through suffering and dangerous times. How else to explain a John Lewis? The thousands of refugees risking lives to walk to our borders? Gazans who rise each morning determined to survive. People around the globe who endure disasters, both of natural origin and those brought upon them by systemic injustice, and people motivated by ignorance, fear, and hatred.

Many open-hearted people don’t just survive. They go forward to do good where they are. Somehow, they see beyond their current situation and trust that in the big picture even small efforts make a difference. They refuse to give into cynicism and despair, believing as others have that “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”

This desire to give is another gift of openness and trust.

You may see such people in a parking lot collecting petition signatures to demand change in gerrymandered maps and voter suppression or sharing food at a drive-through pantry. They are companions and, as Mr. Rogers called them, “helpers.”

This sense of embrace is another gift the cupped-hands sculpture offered. My neighbor felt it too. She came over for dinner and saw them sitting on the small stand that sits beneath a mirror at one end of the dining table. I had made space for them between a vigil candle, some poetry books, and a Galileo’s thermometer. She looked at them for a while and, not taking her gaze from them, said, “They are so welcoming.”

Yes. The hands expressed willingness to hold. To comfort and care. To simply “be with,” which isn’t simple at all. They conveyed not only openness but also hope. The little hands reminded me that I am held and loved and treasured for what who I am and what I have been given to share, when I’m up for it and when I’m not.

Detail of painting by Richard Duarte Brown

The sculpture encouraged me to open and receive whatever each day would bring. To trust that no matter what it was, that the Goodness and Love in the world, in people, in community, would hold it with me. To suffer. To celebrate. To work. To rest. I wouldn’t have to hold it alone.

It reminded me that sometimes I need the hands of others and sometimes I must be the hands for others, living with faith in Goodness even in dark times.

How did the small sculpture communicate all that? Did they always, and I was just too busy raising kids, working, and navigating a difficult marriage to notice? No. It is the gift of true art of all kinds. Art isn’t a static creation. It’s an encounter, a conversation. What the painting, drawing, words, or music communicate has as much to do with the one who experiences them as it does with what the artist has given. Different grace at different times depending on what the observer brings: Fullness. Need. Joy. Despair.

The little hands spoke to the need I brought. I’m grateful for the moment to hear them.

…yours are the hands, with which he blesses all the world… Christ has no body now on earth but yours.
Teresa of Avila

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: art, faith, goodness, helpers, hope, open hands, open hearts, open to grace, Openness, Presence, present to the moment, receptivity, trust, welcome, wisdom

September 30, 2023 By Mary van Balen 2 Comments

NASA: Streaming Wonder

Wonder has been hard to come by lately. For me anyway. Sometimes I’m more tuned in, open and attentive. But with national and global news, I’ve been overwhelmed, and dullness settled in. On a morning walk I did see a hairy-capped acorn that drew me to stop and look closely. I stuck it in my pocket to send to a great-nephew with whom I share such things.

Still, all in all, I’ve been moving through days focused on a writing project, completing a couple leg exercise sets daily, and walking enough laps around the neighborhood to meet my step goal.

Last Sunday started out much the same when a cell phone “ding” alerted me to a short text on the family thread: “Happy OSIRIS-REx Return Day!!!!,” followed by a NASA link.

What was “OSIRIS-REx” and where was it returning from? I followed the link and forgave myself for not recognizing the mission: It began in 2016! A lot has happened on earth in the past seven years. After a quick read through the article, I clicked on NASA TV and virtually joined my family in watching the drama unfold.

Once again, NASA and the teams that work with them streamed a sense of wonder, joy, and hope into my living room.

Wonder

Wonder at how their engineers design such a craft

It traveled for a year to orbit the sun, then returned close to Earth, using its gravity to bend its trajectory, lining up with the asteroid Bennu’s orbit and continuing the journey. In 2018 it began mapping the surface of Bennu looking for a good place to collect samples. When it did in late in October 2020, the collection was what what a NASA commentator called a “pogo stick” operation – A quick contact of the robotic arm with the soft, rocky surface to collect bits of the asteroid’s pebbles and dust, then a pull back.

Credit: NASA/Goddard/University of Arizona
Robotic arm briefly touched asteroid

In 2021 OSIRIS-REx (sometimes referred to by NASA experts as “O-REx.” You’ve gotta love their way with endearing nicknames) started home.

Then, September 24, 2023 the craft flew close enough to earth to release the sample-bearing capsule that streaked toward Earth at 27,000 mph, eventually slowed to 11 mph by the bright parachute that deployed without a hitch, and then landed where expected! Remarkable.

Wonder at how scientists will tease information about the origin of our planet from those bits of asteroid

They are hopeful that O-REx’s cache will provide new insights into the vast cosmos and it’s beginning. Whatever we learn, it will expand our knowledge and experience of the universe. The James Webb Space Telescope continues to give us stunning glimpses of deep space. Even the “closeup” bits we can see with our own eyes, like a Super Moon shining through a break in clouds, make my heart beat faster.

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin said that we meet God in matter. That has been my spiritual experience since childhood and seemed evident despite dualist teachings to the contrary.

Ilia Delio writes that for Teilhard, “matter is the incarnating presence of divinity; God is present in matter and not merely to matter.”

Teilhard also wrote that nothing is profane if one had eyes to see. How significantly the current space exploration and scientific advances have expanded what we can “see.”

Scientist and theologian Judy Cannato wrote of the challenge this presents: “The new cosmology can upset our old truths as it challenges us to adopt a novel vision of life. Taking a look at a new paradigm will always expose our illusions and bring about a confrontation with our fears … like Einstein, we can choose to fudge our own equations, living in one world while praying in another. Or we can endeavor to reconcile science and faith within ourselves allowing them not only a peaceful coexistence but a mutual resonance that permits us to live a life filled with radical amazement.”

It’s a call to wonder!

Joy

Joy in effort, beauty, and being

Joy and enthusiasm emanated from Jim Garvins, NASA Goddard Space Flight Center’s chief scientist, who was in Utah for the capsule’s landing. Throughout the broadcast his smile and enthusiasm were contagious. Smiles covered the faces of those in Mission Control as they watched the successful conclusion to OSIRIS-REx’s journey. The face of the correspondent beamed as she covered the return from just a few miles away. Everyone involved was jubilant. Local elementary and high school students were thrilled to have something so momentous happening in their backyard.

In his book, Awe, Dacher Keltner writes of things that move us to tears including beauty of all types and “awareness of vast things that unite us with others.” Those familiar with this column may remember columns about other NASA missions that moved me to tears: Cassini’s final descent into Saturn’s atmosphere, sending images until its final moment. Perseverance’s landing on Mars. The successful launch and final unfolding of the James Webb telescope.

Tears welled in my eyes again as I watched not only the landing of OSIRIS-REx’s capsule, but of the careful transfer to the temporary clean room.

Hope

Hope in the ability of human beings to cooperate and accomplish extraordinary things together

NASA and worldwide space agencies are good at this. The James Webb is one example. So is O-REx. The mission brought together numerous organizations including the University of Arizona, NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center, Lockheed Martin Space Systems, and the Utah Test and Training Range.

Hope for a future of respect for all people

The highly visible role women played in the recovery of the capsule recalled NASA’s ongoing commitment to creating an inclusive culture in the organization. It strives to celebrate and support diversity, recognizing that every person brings gifts to be shared. In these days, when fear-mongering and the violence it engenders is on the rise, NASA’s efforts to expose the lies of racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia, and other “isms” and “phobias” that plague the world are welcome. They provide an example of how humankind can move forward together.

Hope for commitment to the common good

NASA will not horde the precious asteroid samples for its scientists but will distribute up to 30% to scientists around the globe. The remainder will be kept at NASA’s Johnson Space Center (and White Sands) for other scientists and for future generations of scientists who will have different questions and more advanced technologies to help answer them. (I think this cooperative spirit and the consideration of future needs is common among scientists. It’s why archaeologists, with their long view, excavate only a section of a site.)

Gratitude

Just as the hairy bur oak acorn broke into my imagination during an otherwise “inattentive” walk, the return of OSIRIS-REx’s capsule full of asteroid bits pushed aside dullness and filled my heart with joy, wonder, and hope. Then, without another word, OSIRIS-REx changed course and headed off on a journey deep into space. (It is now called OSIRIS-APEX or Osiris-Apophis Explorer, after the asteroid it will encounter next: Apophis) We will hear back from it in 2029.

Meanwhile, for expanding my horizons. For reminding me of creation’s wonders near at hand and far away. For uncovering the connectedness of everything. For these gifts, I again say “Thank you” to NASA and all its partners.

Cosmic-Cliffs-Carina-Nebula-NIRCam-Image-NASA-ESA-CSA-STScI

Feature photo provided by NASA Goddard Space Flight Center. Photos by Mary van Balen unless otherwise credited

Resources

To Bennu and Back: Journey’s End Short video NASA Goddard

OSIRIS-REx Asteroid Sample Return (Official 4K NASA Broadcast)

OSIRIS-REx Mission Page

The Hours of the Universe: Reflections on God, Science, and the Human Journey by Ilia Delio pp 54-55

Radical Amazement: Contemplative Lessons from Back Holes, Supernovas, and other Wonders of the Universe by Judy Cannato p 36

Awe: The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life by Dacher Keltner pp 44-48

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: asteroid, Awe, Bennu, Cassini, cosmos, Dacher Keltner, hope, Ilia Delio, Incarnation, James Webb Space Telescope, joy, Judy Cannato, NASA, OSIRIS-APEX, OSIRIS-REx, Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, wonder

April 7, 2023 By Mary van Balen 8 Comments

Befriending Good Friday Darkness

While staying alone at a friend’s woodland cabin one Good Friday night, I turned off the lights and stepped outside for a walk. My eyes needed a few minutes to adjust until silhouettes of bushes, trees, and clumps of weeds emerged from the blackness. Darkness changes even the familiar, and while I knew where the little creek spilled past the end of the driveway and how the area beyond it opened to a path up a hill and along the ridge, I chose my steps carefully, listening to animal sounds and feeling the earth give way beneath my feet. Night heightened my senses, alert for danger as well as beauty.

I stepped on the end of a weathered, grey board, part of some long-gone fence or building, and the other end sprung up from the ground, startling me. It seemed alive, expectant as I was, aware that we both were in the midst of some unknown something that was coming or perhaps was already there. The board settled back onto the ground once I continued on my way. I imagined it returned to quiet attention. All creation seemed to be waiting through the night for what, I didn’t know.

The dark hours of Good Friday invite us to settle into a time of not knowing, of finally sitting peacefully, if not comfortably, with emptiness. It offers a time of deepening faith that something transformative is always happening under the surface, at the heart of things. It moves, but we cannot see. Like seeds buried in cold winter soil or a caterpillar dissolving and recreating in the shroud of its chrysalis. Like Jesus laying in the tomb. Life is at work even in what looks like death.

That truth reveals itself in the “little deaths” that everyone encounters: illness, loss, struggle, depression, uncertainty. At some point we learn that, as much as society tells us we are in control of our lives, we really are not. Some things are beyond our choosing or our making. These opportunities to let go of control and embrace our own powerlessness and uncertainty invite us to grow in trust. Trust that in the end, as Jesus said, Love cannot be overcome.

He showed us in his life and in his death, what trusting God’s Presence looks like. He lived knowing he was not alone in his journey and assured us that we aren’t either. In his lifetime, those in power tried to put him to death, to snuff out Love that made them uncomfortable and that threatened their position of privilege and their way of life. But Love that is the source of all being would not be destroyed.

Instead, by embracing his own death, Jesus transformed it from an “end” into a “beginning.” We are invited to do the same. To befriend darkness and let it in. To let it open us to surrender and receptivity. The dark times, the Good Fridays, are necessary steps into a new place. Their emptiness provides space for Love to grow deeper and to emerge transformed as Jesus did from the tomb.

At a time when the world is filled with darkness, with violence and hatred and divisions, somewhere, good is happening. Love is growing and changing us and our world. Jesus showed us that it is human to be afraid and angry, but also to trust. Trust that deep down, in places we cannot see or know in the moment, Love is alive and Eastering in us, getting ready to rise and reveal itself again and again.

Good Friday gifts us with the time to sink into quiet, into darkness. To allow ourselves to recognize emptiness and infirmity, mortality and powerlessness, and yet, eventually, find hope.

Psalm 31, prayed in the Good Friday liturgy, contains the words of surrender and trust Jesus spoke from the cross as he died: “Into your hands I commend my spirit.” But as I read further, the image that stirred my soul was this: “I am like a dish that is broken.” In dark times of unknowing, I feel like a broken bowl, my life, my spirit, in pieces. Good Friday tells me Jesus knew that feeling too. In the end, he trusted that God was holding the pieces. Like kintsugi, the Japanese art of repairing broken pottery by mending them with gold, Love puts us back together, more beautiful, and stronger than before. Able to hold more Love and to give it away.

That night at the cabin, I rested with creation in this Mystery. Unaware of “how,” we were opening to the Eastering always transforming us from within. May this Good Friday be such a gift for you.

Eastering    
      (Unless in silence
      where sings the song?
      What means the morning
      unless first the night?
      Unless into stillness
      where comes the dance?
      Unless into darkness
      where breaks the light?)
Woven warp and weft of things.

- Mary van Balen 1977

Kintsugi bowl painting and weaving photo: Mary van Balen; Feature watercolor and photo: Kathryn Holt

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: "little deaths", creation, darkness, Eastering, embracing darkness, gifts of darkenss, Good Friday, hope, Mystery, Paschal mystery, quiet, surrender, transforming love, trust

February 20, 2023 By Mary van Balen 22 Comments

Whitewashing History

After weeks of writing, reading, research, and procrastination, I have told myself today is the day. The day this column will be finished and published, and I can move on to other projects. Why has this one been so difficult to pull together? I had to work through a lot of emotions: anger, frustration, depression, and perplexity to name the most common. But today I’ve decided to stop reading more articles, stop allowing myself to be mired in feelings that pull me down and knock me out. Instead, I’ll write (which is often how I pray and how I work through difficult times) and tell you what I’m feeling. What I’m thinking. What I hope.

Feelings

I’m anxious about the possibility of state-controlled education that will exacerbate divisiveness, hatred, and “othering” in this country and curtail free speech and democracy.

I am deeply concerned. A citizen and former teacher, I shudder reading about the numerous bills (some already laws) introduced in state legislatures and school boards across the country that restrict or outlaw the discussion of issues of diversity, inclusion, and equality. These include topics of sexuality, gender, and systemic racism. While all such attempts to discriminate against people on the margins are terrible and threaten the well-being of students and teachers and the very survival of democracy in this country, this Black History month I’m particularly mindful of those that impact Black Americans and their place in U.S. history.

I’m overwhelmed by the hypocrisy of legislators, governors, mayors, and school board members scurrying to push through laws and resolutions that ARE the very systemic racism that they deny exists now and in our history.

I’m overwhelmed by the fear that motivates such actions and by the hate, discrimination, arrogance, and self-righteousness that it engenders.

I’m overwhelmed by the willingness of people in power to rewrite history to their own advantage and by the effects their efforts (if successful) will have on upcoming generations and the possibility of peace and reconciliation.

I am troubled. A Christian, I feel that many involved in rewriting our history and perpetuating a climate of racism and fear are doing so in the name of Jesus and under the banner of Christianity.

I feel betrayed that more religious leaders, local and national, are not publicly and strongly speaking out against this appropriation of the faith that is fundamentally about trying to live as Jesus lived. Surely, Jesus weeps. He hung out with the marginalized. He chastised those who put down others. His life is a witness to inclusion, of welcoming all into his family.

I flirt with despair that this nation cannot be healed.

Thoughts

I think re-writing history to favor those is power is something authoritarian governments and dictatorships do. Denying that racism is embedded in U.S. history and laws is one way to do this. Another is to threaten teachers who discuss such topics and present truth, uncomfortable as it might be, to their students. It is whitewashing this country’s past.

The term “whitewashing” at one time primarily meant using whitewash to cover a surface. Since the late 1990s in the U.S., it’s also been used in the entertainment field to refer to the use of white actors to portray people of color or to replace people of color with white characters. In 2019, Merriam Webster added this definition of “whitewashing” to its list of meanings: to portray (the past) in a way that increases the prominence, relevance, or impact of white people and minimizes or misrepresents that of nonwhite people. The Cambridge Dictionary defines it as: an attempt to stop people finding out the true facts about a situation.

It takes courage to acknowledge the past, own it, and move forward together to heal the wounds caused by immoral actions, policies, and institutions. Efforts to deny the uglier parts of this country’s past treatment of Black Americans —slavery and systemic racism embedded in laws and institutions for example— make healing the racial divide impossible. Like a bodily wound that festers and becomes infected, the wounds of the past must be exposed, cleaned, and tended to heal. Otherwise, the infection grows and poisons the whole body.

“Hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.”
– Desmond Tutu

Nelson Mandela and Rev. Desmond Tutu knew this. Mandela created the Truth and Reconciliation Commission and appointed Tutu as its chairman. It gave voice to the victims of apartheid and allowed perpetrators of violence to admit their guilt, seek forgiveness, and receive amnesty. It was about healing not vengeance and helped South Africa move to a democracy. It wasn’t perfect. Nothing is. But it showed the world a way to respond when past crimes are poisoning the present.

The way forward isn’t denial. It is encounter. With the past. With the present. With those wronged and those who perpetrated the wrongs. There is no other way to wholeness.

Jesus knew that.

His life is a witness to honestly facing the hypocrisy of institutions (including religious ones). He didn’t shy away from reminding the Jews of their history—including worship of idols, the murder of prophets for speaking the truth—because facing the past might make them feel uncomfortable or guilty. He didn’t hesitate to call out merchants who were making the temple a “den of thieves.” He named the Pharisees “whitened sepulchers”—pretty to look at but filled with corruption. Jesus didn’t mince words to spare feelings.

His life showed that only in facing personal and institutional sin and history could people and intuitions be healed, made whole, and become a blessing to the world and help build God’s kingdom. His teaching, his life came down to one thing: Love. Love of God and and neighbor, who is everyone. God’s kingdom is a “kindom.” It is filled with people of all ethnicities, skin colors, genders, and sexualities.

Jesus called us to love one another. I admit, I’m not great at that. I struggle to love those I perceive as perpetuating racism, sexism, transphobia, homophobia, and other “isms” that divide the world into “them – bad” and “us – good.” Deep listening is as difficult as taking action when I’m not sure what I can do to make a difference. Praying is hard when my mind is filled with upsetting news articles about one more shooting of an unarmed Black man or one more legislator jumping on the politically expedient bandwagon of whitewashing agendas.

It’s difficult to “see the log in my own eye” when I’m focused on removing the splinter from someone else’s. It’s easier to see the racism and fear of the “other” embedded in laws and institutions than to recognize it in my own heart.

I think courageous Love is the only way.

But I know, somehow, that only when it is dark enough can you see the stars.
– Martin Luther King, Jr.

Hope

I struggle with hope because I struggle with trust, not only in human beings but in God-with-us. How can I trust in Divine Presence drawing all things into union with itself when the world is in such a mess? When so many in positions of leadership are motivated by greed and the desire to hold on to power rather than to serve the greater good, where is hope?

Yet God calls us to hope. To find light in darkness. To BE light in darkness. To be healers.

To be part of that, I realize the importance of encountering God within me and growing to trust that God resides and moves in all creation, however hidden or unrecognized. I can look for light rather than being overwhelmed by darkness. I can grow in experiencing that all things are connected and that humble as well as spectacular acts of love and healing work together to move humanity toward wholeness.

Will it get there? I don’t know. But I don’t need to know before I open up to receive and to share Love in the places where I am. I don’t need to know, but to trust.

The new dawn blooms as we free it. / For there is always light, / if only we’re brave enough to see it, / if only we’re brave enough to be it.
– Amanda Gorman from her poem “The Hill We Climb”

Read: Langston Hughes’s poem:

“Let American Be America Again”