hope — Page 8

April 16, 2014 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Spring Snow

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

A friend of mine observed that, while most were complaining about snow on April 15, she reveled in it. I share her feelings. Not a hot weather person, I don’t look forward to hot, humid summer days. (Of course, if I am near a beach, that is a different story!) Cold, crisp days are welcome, anytime. There is something special about a spring snow. It dusts early flowers and budding shrubs with a reminder of the season that provides time and rest necessary for some of spring flowers to bloom, like tulips and daffodils. No cold weather, no blooms.

Other plants have a variety of mechanisms that help them survive winter. All involve using less nourishment. The plants slow down or become dormant. Water can be a problem if it freezes in plant cells, like water in pipes: it expands and bursts the cells. Amazingly, some plants move the water out of the cells and store it in spaces between them.

Like bulbs and plants that live through winter’s harsh conditions, I periodically need time to rest, regroup, and prepare to resume a busy life. I can’t go full bore all the time. Luckily, I don’t have to wait for weather to change. My “winters” can be self-generated by retreating into quiet, not filling up my calendar, and saying “no” more often. Not selfish. Self preserving.

Sometimes life provides the winter season when I don’t want it: Illness, dying relationships, loss of a job, death of someone close. Events I cannot control can bring life as I know it to a screeching halt. It can be uncomfortable. It can lead me to drawing a hard shell around me wounded self, like plants that develop sturdy seed coats to protect potential life until conditions are favorable.

Yesterdays snow, lying lighting on pansies on my porch and more destructively on magnolia blooms across the street, remind me that life has many seasons, all of them good. All of them with purpose and gifts. I will try to remember this while sweating and miserable in late July.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: creation, hope, retreat, snow, spring, winter

March 19, 2014 By Mary van Balen 1 Comment

Snowdrops

I saw snowdrops today, spread with abandon across a friend’s yard. Flowers! Spring, rumored to be coming soon, is on the way. After this relentless winter, flowers atop green stems are a welcome sight. Forsythia has not yet bloomed, so, according to my grandmother, we have at least three more snows to go, but I don’t mind. Today’s snowdrops were a seal on the promise of warmer days ahead. “Have a little faith,” they seemed to say. “Remember other years. Spring always comes.”

Of course it has. Millennium after millennium spring has followed winter. We all know that. But sometimes, in the midst of cold and biting winds, we allow ourselves to wonder, perhaps not if spring will come, but when. We grow tired of waiting. A warm day here and there in the past few weeks has been a tease and makes the cold even colder.

“It’s not below zero,” my daughter said a couple of days ago. “We’ve had days much colder than this. Why does it feel SO bitterly cold today?”

Perhaps it has to do with expectation. With having had a taste. A glimpse. The sun is out. The day before saw the temperature reach 50, and we mistook the moment for an announcement that winter was over.

I think of the three who went with Jesus up the high mountain and saw him transfigured before their eyes. There was their friend, their teacher, in all his glory. Peter was ready to build tents, ready to stay. “The wait is over,” he may have said to himself. “No more parables and hardships, and mystery or trying to figure out what Jesus is saying.” The struggles and dilemmas were coming to an end. The good times had arrived and he, for one, would be happy to settle in and enjoy.

Alas, not so. It was a glimpse, and then it was gone. There were more roads to walk. More mystery to embrace. More suffering. I wonder if, during those long days between Jesus’ death and resurrection, if Peter remembered how Jesus looked that day. If he had, would it have given him hope? Or maybe the days were so dark that he could not remember the glory he saw or trust that it could not be snuffed out even by death. Maybe having seen Jesus’ glorified self made the experience of those three days more bitter. Peter had seen what could have been but was no longer.

Like experiencing spring following winter year after year, we have the advantage of knowing that resurrection followed Jesus’ death. Yet, in the midst of our own spiritual winters or the groaning of our world struggling with countless injustice and atrocities, we can forget. “Where is God?” we wonder and perhaps doubt the Holy One is still around.

Our lives seem impossible, too difficult, too complicated, too messed up, to be good again.

Today’s snowdrops remind me that the glimpse of glory does not lie. God is present. Resurrection follows death. The wind will not always feel so bitterly cold.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: death, grace, hope, promise, resurrection, snowdrops, spring

March 5, 2014 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Lent: “Good Enough”

Painting by Richard Duarte Brown

I was talking with a Buddhist friend about Lent the other day. She asked if I were giving up chocolate. Her mother gives that up every year. I did when I was growing up. No wonder a big chocolate rabbit looked great in my Easter basket! “No,” I said. I hadn’t decided what I would do yet, but it would have more to do with helping me open up to God’s Grace and Presence in me and in the world that in banishing a particular food from my Lenten menu.

Not that altering my eating habits might not be on my list. Sometimes when I am tired or stressed, I resort to food to help me through. No food in particular, but at those times I usually clean out “sweet” before I go for “healthy.” Perhaps I could turn to reading a good book, or having a conversation with God before heading to the pantry. I could do something that feeds my spirit, that nurtures hope, that helps me see beauty and Presence. Those practices could bring peace and rest to a restless soul.

“My mom could give up negative ‘self-talk’,” my friend said. “She is always putting herself down.”

True. Recognizing God’s Presence in ourselves, God’s love for us, is difficult if what we see in the mirror of our mind is never good enough. Before we can experience God in the world, before we can serve and love others, we must love and appreciate ourselves. For some, the focus on “giving something up” reinforces their sense of always falling short. Of never being “enough.”

The events Lent/Easter call to mind for reflection tell us just the opposite: We are already enough. We are so “enough” that the Holy Mystery wants to dwell within us. Wants to walk our difficult paths through life as a companion and support. Walking the earth, Jesus showed us just how “enough” every person is. “Enough” to love. “Enough” to die for rather than betray.

I’m not saying giving up chocolate is off the table. Self-discipline starts in little ways. It should lead to other things. To being able to look at ourselves, at those in our lives, at those suffering in our country and around the world…To be able to look at those who are different than we are and to see everyone of us as God does: Gloriously enough. And then, somehow through how we live our lives, letting them know.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: grace, hope, inclusion, lent, self acceptance

January 2, 2014 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

New Year’s Eve

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: compassion, faith, grace, hope, peace, present to the moment, quiet prayer

December 29, 2013 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Feast of the Holy Family When You Are Divorced

by Richard Duarte Brown

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

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

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

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

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: compassion, divorce, family, hope, inclusion, Pope Francis, Richard Duarte Brown

December 25, 2013 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Pope Francis’s Urbi et Orbi Message

urbi et orbi 2013 Pope Francis addressed the “City and the World” today in the traditional Urbi et Orbi message as thousands gathered to here him and receive the Christmas blessing. (read it here)

Francis asked all to join their voices with those of the angels at the birth of Jesus, singing God’s praises and promising peace on earth. He then gathered all the hurting world into God’s embrace, naming victims of war, especially children, and then the elderly, battered women, and the sick. He named countries suffering from war and violence today, refugees like those who perished at Lampedusa, and children forced to become soldiers. The pope also prayed for the earth, so often exploited by greed.

Reading his words, I sensed his desired to gather all into the loving embrace of God; his hope that all would experience that love and holy Presence. His use of the words “God’s caresses” were particularly tender, and he hoped all would feel them. We don’t feel them in a vacuum. We, citizens of the world, are responsible to give glory to God not only in word, but more importantly, with our lives “spent for love of him and of all our brothers and sisters.”

In a departure from the script, Pope Francis included non believers in his call for prayer for peace, asking them to join with people of all faiths praying for peace by desiring it in their hearts: ” And I also invite non-believers to desire peace with that yearning that makes the heart grow: all united, either by prayer or by desire. But all of us, for peace.”

This pope knows all humanity is in this together. We need one another, no matter the faith, denomination, or no faith. All for peace.

Amen.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: compassion, faith, hope, peace, Pope Francis, prayer, Urbi et Orbi Message

December 15, 2013 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

We Wait Because We Hope

Advent Wreath: PHOTO: Mary van Balen

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: Advent, hope, Waiting

August 9, 2013 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Ask of the Days of Old

I was trying to sit quietly, to be aware of the Holy Presence within and without. The beeswax candle was burning. Scripture was waiting to be savored. And corn muffins were baking in the oven.

I couldn’t be still. Too many things to do pushed into my brain along with a bit of panic that I could do them in time to meet deadlines…some very public deadlines. Breathe in. Breathe out. Be still. I tried. I failed.

I wondered if I still believed in the Holy Presence that is the original milieu. The place where I live and breath and have my being. “Yes,” my mind gave the conditioned response. “Then why can’t I rest in the mystical embrace?” it wondered. Too busy to linger long on any one thing, it darted off to books, phone calls, appointments, writing, and work at Macy’s.

Mercifully, the oven’s buzzer announced the corn muffins were ready, and I had a good reason to get up and focus on something closer at hand. I spread butter on steaming soft insides of the yellow muffin.

I read over the Old Testament reading from Deuteronomy: “Moses said to the people: “Ask now of the days of old, before your time, ever since God created people on the earth; ask from one end of the sky to the other: Did anything so great ever happen before? Was it ever heard of? Did a people ever hear the voice of God speaking from the midst of fire, as you did, and live?”

“Ask of the days of old.” Maybe that’s what I can do. Remember. Not only creation and ancient history, and history of a particular people, but my history. The times I heard God’s voice speaking from the midst of fires in my life.

“Even the people who knew Moses and his story of the burning bush needed reminded,” I thought.

I took a buttery bite of warm breakfast. It tasted like hope.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: hope, Moses, prayer, Presence, present to the moment