Demonstrations in Physics – and Prayer
January 19, 2016 By 2 Comments

Demonstrations in Physics – and Prayer

Dr Julius Sumner Miller“My name is Julius Sumner Miller, and physics is my business.” That’s how he opened every show. Physics was his business. So was wonder.

A longtime friend who attended school with my daughters and was a frequent visitor to our house, still keeps in touch though he lives most of the time in Southeast Asia. His email today included a link to a show he had rediscovered: Professor Julius Sumner Miller’s “Demonstrations in Physics.

I smiled as I watched the lesson on air pressure, a 14-minute delight of knowledge and unabashed enthusiasm. Dr. Miller’s show aired on PBS and was a staple in our house. We didn’t have cable, so my parents taped it for us. We all enjoyed them, but my oldest daughter, now a physicist herself, was the most faithful viewer.

Dr. Miller loved sharing the wonders of physics in the everyday world from air pressure, to heat conduction, to, one of our favorites, Bernoulli’s principle. His joy was contagious. For years, after my daughter disappeared into the basement to build and conduct her own experiments, she would call me down to demonstrate them and echoed two of Dr. Miller’s frequent expressions: “That’s beautiful. Let’s do it again” (and he and she would). If it didn’t go as planned, “Oh well, an experiment never fails. You just learn something you didn’t expect to learn.”

Those memories flooded back as I watched the episode this morning. Something else came to mind as well: What a gift to retain the wonder and abandon that are natural for children as we become adults. In addition to adding “enchantment to the soul,” as Miller said, it also opens the soul to receive Grace. We can’t see the extraordinary all around us if we aren’t present where we are, looking with open eyes and heart. Children are good at this.

In his book, Growing Young, anthropologist Ashley Montagu listed these qualities among others in the childlike nature: “…curiosity, inquisitiveness, thirst for knowledge, the need to learn, imagination, creativity, open-mindedness, experimental-mindedness, spontaneity, enthusiasm…joy…”

Along life’s path, many of us lose that childlike amazement at the world around us. Scientists like Montagu and Miller are not the only ones to understand the importance of such presence. Like Thornton Wilder said in “Our Town,” saints and poets do, some.

Watching Dr. Miller delight in how things work reminded me of Sts. Francis and Bonaventure extolling God’s presence in the “book of nature.” For Bonaventure, God is “fountain fullness,” spilling out of and over everything, in all life, outer as well as inner.

Most religious traditions see the Holy One reflected in creation, and creation as a way to encounter that Sacred. Rumi, the 13th century mystical poet of Islam wrote: “The beauty and grandeur of God belong to Him; the beauty and grandeur of the world of creation are borrowed from Him.”

For me, Dr. Miller’s physics was a call to prayer, a joyful time to marvel at some small part of creation and to soak up the Goodness flowing through it all.

Take a few minutes to feed the child within; watch an episode or two of Demonstrations in Physics. No matter what you believe, or not, about prayer, Presence, and creation, you’ll be delighted.

 

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,
Permission to be Still
July 13, 2015 By Leave a Comment

Permission to be Still

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

The day is perfect. I’m sitting with a friend on the porch of her beautiful home in the woods on Whidbey Island. Cool air blows by and sunlight plays on the branches of firs, cedars, and hemlocks. Chestnut backed chickadees and black headed juncos fly in and out of the feeder, and a woodpecker calls like a squeaky dog-toy from the woods. I’ve just finished drinking a large glass of watermelon aqua frescas when the feeling rises: Guilt. I should be doing something. I could write in my journal, make a sketch of the Douglas Fir, cedar, and hemlock needles so I can remember and identify them. I could read or compose a blog. I have an article to edit.

But all I want to do is sit, look, and breathe in pine-scented salty air. My friend reclines in her favorite red canvas chair, and now and then we comment on the birds, lack of rain, or deer that eat the Marion berry brambles she brought from her former home on Puget Sound. Then we are quiet, each with our own thoughts, or in my case, a combination of no thoughts and guilt.

I finally give myself permission to be still. To be an appreciator of creation, of a friendship that doesn’t require lots of conversation. To be present to the moment without having to record it with camera or pen. I simply sit, and when I think about it, give thanks.  It’s luxurious. And Graceful. And perfectly acceptable.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Not more than a month ago, I was on the other side of the country, participating in a contemplative residency for Shalem’s Spiritual Guidance Program. Silence and presence wove in and out of every day, reverenced  as an essential way of prayer. A way of becoming mindful of the Creator who made all and who resides within each of us. How could such stillness be worthy on retreat, but suspect on this glorious afternoon? How does our culture’s value of “doing” so quickly trump the wisdom of being still?  Have you wondered at that when the moment says “rest,” but some inner voice speaks louder: “Not now. No Time. Maybe later?” When the ingrained imperative to “be productive” pulls you away from your heart’s desire, how has your struggle gone?

Today, I wrestled for awhile, then relaxed into spacious silence. A small victory, sweet and refreshing, like the watermelon aqua frescas.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
June 21, 2015 By 2 Comments

Decluttering Closets and Lives

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

  Originally published in The Catholic Times, June 6, 2015

I spent the last couple of days cleaning out my closet and getting rid of “things.” The impetus for this activity is a new job. During the past five years, I have worked as a retail sales associate at a large department store where black clothing was the rule. A splash of color on top was ok as long as a black jacket or sweater covered our shoulders and back. My closet, as you might imagine, reflected the dress code. I hadn’t minded too much. After all, I was a Catholic schoolgirl used to uniforms.

At my daughter’s suggestion, before going shopping to add color to my wardrobe, I tired on every piece of clothing I owned. The “donate” pile grew until it filled over four trash bags! I was amazed by the amount of stuff. Some clothing I haven’t worn for years. How had my closet become so full?

Letting go of “stuff” is often difficult, even if we don’t use it. “Maybe it will come in handy later.” “I might wear that next summer.” “I remember when I bought that. It came from…” Fill in the bank with the name of a place you visited, a special person, or an event that holds a special place in your heart. Accumulation is easy.

I must say that cleaning out my closet felt great. I’m ready to tackle the basement and boxes that have been stored unopened since I moved into my present home. Divesting. Feeling lighter. It’s good. Friends who had downsized from larger homes to smaller ones or condos tell the same story. I think that’s because things do more than fill up our homes. They clutter our spirits.

For some nomadic peoples, their way of life precludes “collecting” stuff. Once, while reading “The Mystic Warriors of the Plains,” I was struck by the Lakota’s practice of decorating everyday utensils and teepees with images and symbols, with color and beauty. As they were handled, they must have drawn the users hearts and minds to remember, to pray, to be present. The wisdom born of a nomadic culture impressed me then and now.

How easy, in our culture, to accumulate. We are consumers, and our economic system encourages that. Media bombards us with new gadgets, fashions, and other possessions that we just shouldn’t live without. We can have so much stuff that we rent units to hold what can’t fit into our homes.

Things require care as well as places to be. Our minds, our schedules, our money, even our spirits in some ways, respond to our possessions. “Just keep what brings you joy,” my daughter counseled. Often, things weigh us down rather than lift our hearts. Too many things can make our spaces feel oppressive rather than peaceful. Precious time is used to clean, maintain, and organize stuff that isn’t used. Where’s the joy in that?

Our culture encourages consumption of nonmaterial things as well, encouraging us to accumulate experiences, to spend hours engaged with the time-sink of social media, computer games, and television. These activities can be good, but they also can lure us into addiction. Who has begun scrolling down the computer screen meaning to simply check their facebook page or to play a game of Spider Solitaire and discover, when they check the time, that a couple of hours have passed?

Worthy activities can be overdone, too. Good hearts easily become involved with too many committees and organizations. Even children may have schedules that leave little room for imagination and drawing on inner resources when boredom sets in.

Human beings need quiet. We need silence to hear the whispers in our hearts and souls. We nurture ourselves when we take time to sit with God, to be alone, to notice the moon drifting behind clouds, or to take a close look at flowers and plants growing in our yards and parks. When we aren’t preoccupied, we can be present to the moment.

Emptying my closet helped me recognize the grace of decluttering other parts of my life, too. I’m looking forward to it!

© 2015 Mary van Balen

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,
A Mindful Day
May 8, 2015 By Leave a Comment

A Mindful Day

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

I don’t know about you, but sometimes I feel like God is in hiding. Sometimes that sense of absence lasts a long time. One day, while thinking about that, I decided to take a “Mindful” day, borrowing the term from the Buddhist practice of “mindfulness.”

“Perhaps this disconnect has something to do with my lack of being present to the moment,” I thought. Ironic, since that is what I often write about in this column. “Easier said than done,” or “Easier written than done,” in my case.

I started the day with mass at St. Thomas. A little late, but rush hour traffic tied me up on the trip across town. Despite frustration with lanes of slow moving cars, I managed to take a deep breath and relax. I noticed the sky, battled the wind buffeting my little Civic, and sat through four turns of the traffic light at 5th and Cassady before walking into church.

Next was a drive down Route 33 for allergy shots. I resisted the temptation to use the drive as an opportunity to catch up with one of my daughters and instead, paid attention to the countryside stretching out on either side of the highway.

The morning light was spectacular. Spring’s greens included a wide spectrum of color. I thought of the debated claim that Inuit people of Northern Canada have fifty or more words to refer to snow (Anthropologist, Franz Boas’s study in the late 1800’s to early 1900’s has been debated ever since.)

“We should have more words for ‘green’,” I thought. I suppose we do if you count adjective descriptors like “sap green” (a favorite water color hue), “Kelly green,” “olive green,” and “forest green.”

What about the green that seems to have sucked up sunlight through the plant’s roots, appearing to glow green from inside out? Or the green that calls us to “watch this space,” with leaves shining with emerging life, changing from hour to hour?

The entire day was like that. I recognized courage and perseverance in the gait of an older man struggling up the slight incline from parking lot to sidewalk in front of a doctor’s office. Appreciation for his effort stirred in my heart, and I stood respectfully by, telling him not to hurry despite his blocking my car door. Like an honor guard for a returning soldier, I stood straight as he moved slowly by. Life is difficult and he was “keeping on,” as Pete Seeger and Woody Guthrie said.

One by one, experience by experience, the day nurtured my soul as I paid attention to where I was, turning away from the temptation to fret over the past, worry about the future, or multi-task while eating by reading email or New York Times headline articles. (To all the mothers out there who survive by multi-tasking at home and at work, mindfulness can be like a drink of cool water on a hot day.) I savored tastes and ate slowly, an accomplishment for one who chews a few times and then swallows.

By the end of the day, which I celebrated with a call from my youngest daughter then candles and Rumi at bedtime, I felt full, fuller in spirit than I had been for quite a while.

Mindfulness isn’t a miracle cure for spiritual emptiness or feeling distant from the One we long for. Still, being truly present to the moment helped me recognize the beauty of nature and of souls, and the wonder and Mystery bursting life at its seams. That’s the conventional wisdom, isn’t it? You don’t meet God in the past or future, but in the present. I was able to ponder the possibility that the Divine truly is reaching out from every direction, including from within, to connect with us. (This is much more difficult to do if one is watching reruns of The West Wing or Frazier on Netflix in order to distract from uncomfortable chatter in one’s mind.)

“You sound great,” my daughter observed during our phone conversation.

I shared my “mindful day” with her and heard myself saying, “ This day nourished me.” And when I finally closed my eyes, I had the smallest sense that God was right there with me.

© 2015 Mary van Balen

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
Birdsong and Hope
February 25, 2015 By 2 Comments

Birdsong and Hope

PHOTO:Mary van Balen

PHOTO:Mary van Balen

Sitting quietly, holding a cup of tea to warm my hands, I tried to enter into silence, greeting the morning, welcoming Presence. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. After ten minutes or so, I couldn’t help but focus on the birdsong coming from snow-blanketed tress and yards outside my building. Try as I might, I couldn’t let them go. “An invitation,” I decided.

Putting down the tea I opened the front door to see if I could spot the singers. Squinting my eyes against the bright light reflecting off all the white, I could see a small form or two on a tree a few doors down. I went inside, grabbed binoculars, slid my feet into slippers, and walked out the side door onto the driveway.

Cold, crisp air felt wonderful. Sun shine everywhere. Birdsong coming from every direction. “Sparrows,” I decided, on the trees over the red-tiled roof. “Cardinal.” The raspy bark of a woodpecker. Then, from somewhere out front, a clear, three-note call. I turned and followed the sound. Against the bright sun, only the bird’s silhouette could be seen. I began to hum along…three descending notes. “Lovely,” I thought, singing along. “What notes?”

I stepped back inside to find an instrument. The piano hadn’t made the transition into my apartment, residing now at my sister’s home in Ann Arbor. The guitar wasn’t tuned. Ah, the recorder, resting in its original hinged box, sat in front of a row of books in the glass-fronted case. Wrapped in scraps of pink and white flannel cut from pajamas decades ago, the pear wood instrument still produced warm tones as my fingers ran through the scale.

PHOTO:Mary van BAlen

PHOTO:Mary van Balen

There were the notes: B above middle C, A, and G. Over and over. Like “Three Blind Mice.” I don’t know why I wanted to know the notes. Maybe to honor the little singer who helped fill the winter morning with hope. Hope of coming spring. Of life waiting for a thaw, prepared by cold and darkness to push up into daylight. I played the notes over and over. God-breath could sing through me today, if I let it. That’s the invitation.

One more look outside. The long icicle hanging from a downspout along the porch overhang was melting. Drop after drop formed at its tip, liquid light. Suddenly, it crashed into the snow beneath. The little bird had disappeared into a large tree across the street. It kept singing, now in tandem with the one called ‘hope’ that perched in my soul, as Emily Dickinson wrote, who wouldn’t stop at all.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , ,
Love Rules the Day: St. Scholastica
February 5, 2015 By Leave a Comment

Love Rules the Day: St. Scholastica

PHOTO:Mary van Balen

PHOTO:Mary van Balen

Originally appeared in The Catholic Times, Feb 8, 2015

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

© 2015 Mary van Balen

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: , , , , , ,
No Place is “Nowhere”
January 20, 2015 By 4 Comments

No Place is “Nowhere”

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

“When he looked, although the bush was on fire, it was not being consumed. So Moses decided, “I must turn aside to look at this remarkable sight. Why does the bush not burn up?” When the Lord saw that he had turned aside to look, God called out from the  bush: “Moses! Moses!” He answered, “Here I am.”  EX 3, 2b-4

I read Sunday’s morning prayer from my “Give Us This Day” book and, though the story was familiar, something about it seemed fresh. I guess it was Moses, talking to himself, wondering out loud why the bush wasn’t consumed by the fire and telling himself he should take a minute and check it out.

It was the words, “turn aside to look” that caught my attention. God wasn’t calling out all along…just after Moses stopped to look. Or was the Divine call constant and Moses just heard it when he quit going about his business of tending the flock and got quiet enough to listen?

I’m having trouble listening these days. Weeks of being in bed or on the couch, sick, coughing, and nursing an ear infection haven’t helped. At first, I thought they would. While home from work I would catch up on some reading, do a bit of writing, and you know, just be better at all the stuff I’m usually too busy to do. Sickness doesn’t  work that way. My eyes hurt and trying to read made me dizzy. Writing was out of the question. Mostly, I put on Netflix and fell asleep watching reruns of old TV shows. Then of course, came the attack of unwanted thoughts and recriminations.

“Why haven’t I gotten more done?” “I’ll never finish readings for this course. I’m probably no good at it anyway. Maybe I should quit.” It didn’t take long before the worth of my entire life was in question and the future looked particularly dim. Didn’t help to learn a week into antibiotics and cough syrup, that the store where I work was closing in March. The job I’m not crazy about looked much better from the vantage point of not having one at all. Life. Not all it’s cracked up to be.

Then comes Moses. He meets God in a bush out in the middle of nowhere. “That’s me,” I think, “out in the middle of nowhere.” But can a place be nowhere if God hangs out there? I mean, what puts a place on the map if the possibility of running into the Big Kahuna doesn’t?

That’s hopeful. No place is “nowhere” if  what is most Sacred dwells there. That includes places like work, a dirty kitchen, or a tissue cluttered couch. Even a sick, tired heart.  The problem is the Holy Mystery is exactly that, a mystery, and doesn’t seem inclined to catch my attention with lights or voices. At least not that I notice. And there’s where Moses comes in. He told himself he ought to take a closer look. While I’d be better at noticing if the people or objects holding this Divine Presence were marked with roaring flames, I’m giving attentiveness a shot, again.

Quiet time in the morning before life gets rolling too fast to stop. Noticing the sun painting warm orange colors on the clay pot that holds a fledgling peace plant. Accepting the graciousness of co-workers who worked extra hours while I was languishing at home. Finding a container of homemade soup placed in my refrigerator so I would have something easy and healthy to eat after my first day back to work. Calls from my kids, just making sure their mom was getting better. The smile of a customer.

There are challenges, too. Trusting I’ll find a job with health benefits. Hoping in the face of a country that seems run by big money and a world torn by racism and violence. Believing when prayer doesn’t seem to make a difference. Expecting to find Presence and Grace when I take time to be still and take a closer look at the ordinary stuff that fills my day.

 

 

 

 

Filed Under: The Scallop, Uncategorized Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
January 6, 2015 By Leave a Comment

Epiphany Thoughts

A Star Appeared in the Sky

A Star Appeared in the Sky

It was Christmas Eve day and, since my work schedule didn’t begin until the afternoon, I was enjoying a hot, leisurely bath. My upstairs neighbor walked down the metal steps outside our building, taking loads of Christmas goodies to her car as she prepared for a trip south. Bells jingled with each step.

“Holidays,” I thought, “are important markers for the human spirit.” The day’s morning prayer included a reading that declared the covenant between God and God’s people would be broken if the sun and moon didn’t follow one another, if night didn’t follow day. Unthinkable. As the Psalmist says, God made the sun and moon to mark the seasons.

Holidays provide a framework for our years. Working in retail has shown me how disorienting lack of markers can be. Weekends used to be two days in a row when paid labor took a break and the hiatus could be filled however one chose or needed. For Christians, Sundays were a day of prayer and rest. Well, the best we could muster in our busy 24/7 world. But in retail, weekends are One Day Sales and time to offer services to shoppers. Days off vary week to week. As a result, many times I wake up and think: “What day is this?” and it might take me a minute or two to come up with the answer.

Holidays, however observed, help us focus on what is important and beyond our routine. The Sacred in our midst. The sacrifices of others. The blessings that grace us. My neighbor, jingling down the steps, was preparing to spend time with family and friends and to remember with them the mystery of God come to earth. She’d take a few days before plunging back into her usual work schedule.

Soaking in the tub, my thoughts turned to the morning’s Old Testament reading from 2 Samuel. David was snug in his palace when an idea struck: “Hmm. I’m sitting in a comfortable house of cedar while the Ark of the Covenant sits outside in a tent! Maybe I should build God a house!”

Sounded good to him so he mentioned it to the prophet Nathan who took up the matter with the Deity. God’s response? No so much. Couldn’t David see the irony? The creature building a house to hold the Creator?

“It was I who took you from the pasture

and from the care of the flock

to be commander of my people Israel.

I have been with you wherever you went,

and I have destroyed all your enemies before you.”

No, God didn’t need a house. Doesn’t sound like God wanted one. The Creator didn’t dwell only in the tent that housed the ark, either. Perhaps David missed it, but God was with him wherever he went. God dwells with the people. No one could say, “God lives here, in this place” rather than “there in your place.” (A notion that gets the world into lots of trouble.) God seems to prefer freedom to roam and turns up in places we’d never expect.

Heating up the bath water, I pondered Epiphany, the feast that asks us to consider God’s coming close so we could get a good look at Divinity. Maybe we’d become better at finding God in a lineup of day-to-day encounters. So when the holidays are over and when I can’t remember what day it is, and when work and life are a busy, messy jumble, God reminds us that the Holy One doesn’t need a special holiday or house or anything else. God is with us always, wherever we are. Always was. Always will be.

That’s worth celebrating! Happy Epiphany!

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: , , , ,
The Heavens Declare the Glory of God
October 8, 2014 By Leave a Comment

The Heavens Declare the Glory of God

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

 

I’m always ready for a celestial event, but Ohio skies do not always cooperate. Many are the times I stood under the canopy of night sky, looked up, and saw only darkness. I contented myself with the knowledge that beyond the cloak of clouds, meteors were falling, Mars was passing close, or the moon was being eaten by earth’s shadow. But early this morning, Ohio skies were clear and the full lunar eclipse was spectacular.

I texted and called my daughters, made tea, placed my kitchen step stool on the driveway and settled down to watch with my eyes, binoculars, and a monocular purchased for star gazing.

The heavens declare the glory of God; and the sky manifests God’s handiwork. Day after day proclaims it and night after night shows it forth…

My buddy, Orion was watching, too, his broad shoulders and belted sword visible over my shoulder. Comforting. Orion has been my guardian for years. When my marriage was floundering, I stood on our side porch and felt the overpowering presence of someone taking care of me. Oriron was God’s messenger, silently telling me that Love was Present.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

There is no speech, nor language, nor is their voice heard, yet their proclamation has gone forth through all the earth and their message to the end of the world…

So, it was fitting to sit under the night sky and watch with Orion as the moon turned from bright to red. Lunar eclipses show off the sphericalness of the moon. Sometimes, it looks like a flat silver disk in the sky. Not during an eclipse-definitely a ball. Even with my unaided eyes, I could make out the craters and seas. Once completely in earth’s shadow the moon’s details were easier to see.

A few joggers went by, and a few cars. I wondered if they were looking at the sky or simply straight ahead. The earth, sun, and moon were showing off their glorious dance through the cosmos with a spectacular move, like a deep dip in ballroom dancing, just to make sure we notice how marvelous they are.

Give thanks to the Lord, for the Lord is good….to the Lord who by wisdom made the heavens, for the Lord’s mercy endures forever…to the Lord who made the great lights, for the Lord’s mercy endures forever; the sun to rule the day, for the Lord’s mercy endures forever; the moon and stars to rule the night, for the Lord’s mercy endures forever…

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

In the quiet of the morning, in the splendor of the eclipse, I knew we, on the spinning sailing earth, are but a speck. I know we are making a mess of things: wars, pollution, gouging the earth for oil and gas and gold and jewels, changing the climate, and trashing the landscape. We hate as much as we love. We destroy as much as we create. Yet, there is hope. In spite of our weaknesses we do love. We do create. Like the moon in eclipse, we sometimes fall into shadow, but God’s light shines, ready for us when we are ready for it. The cosmic dance continues, and Orion reminds me that Love remains…the Lord’s mercy endures forever.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
Living in Black & White
September 24, 2014 By 1 Comment

Living in Black & White

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

We sat across from each other studying the wine list. The middle eastern restaurant had moved to a more spacious location since I had last eaten there and the menu layouts had changed too. That wasn’t the reason why we didn’t have any idea what to order when the waitress stopped by our booth. We had been discussing the movie we had just seen: The Giver.

“Can I get you ladies something to drink?”

“Merlot.”

“Pino Noir,” and waters with dinner.”

The waitress nodded and disappeared.

“Do you think we live our lives in black and white?” my friend asked.

If you haven’t seen the movie, the parts that deal with the people in the community living n the present are in black and white.By the end of the movie that had changed. Not as dramatic as “The Wizard of Oz,” but you get the idea.

Her question forced me to think. Despite writing and writing and writing about living in the moment and the importance of being present to grace in the moment (the name of my column), I fessed up to running around as hurried as most, muti-tasking, and indulging in other behaviors that distract from the present.

“Thich Nhat Hanh says when you wash dishes, washing dishes in the most important thing in the world, and when you drink tea, drinking tea is the most important thing in the world,” I offered. Then admited to slurping a mouthful of tea from a mug on my table while preparing to present a retreat on journaling into prayer a couple of weeks ago, moving from room to room gathering materials, jotting notes, and checking lists. “I guess that’s living my life in black and white.”

“You ladies ready to order?”

No, not even close. We had barely looked at the menu. My friend made our apologies.

“I’ll be back.”

“I know,” my friend said.  “I’m usually doing so many things at once. I mean I walk the dog thinking I’ll get outside and appreciate the season, but end up on the phone touching base with the kids, figuring out schedules, just keeping on top of things, so when I get back home I realize I didn’t see a thing,”

After a couple more attempts, the waitress quit asking. She just made eye contact and moved on.

In the movie, so much was controlled to avoid conflict and suffering. But at what cost? What would it mean for us to break out of black and white living?

“You know, the other night I came home after work and grocery shopping and stepped out of the car. The air was cool and clear. Night was a hour or so away, and the sky still showed some color: blues and a bit of orange. The brighter stars were visible overhead. I stood still for a few moments and threw my arms out wide. “Glorious!,” I whispered. “Glorious!” I called out loud, stretching my arms as wide a possible as if I could pull it all inside of me, living in color.

van Gogh Cafe Terrace Place du Forum Arles 1888

van Gogh Cafe Terrace Place du Forum Arles 1888

Living in color doesn’t always feel so good or look so pretty. When I cried out of hurt and frustration the other day, that was living in color. I allowed myself to feel, facing what I’d rather not.  Perhaps it would’ve been more pleasant to ignore the feelings, to live in black and white. What about reading the headlines, or listening to a hurting child. Technicolor. I thought of van Gogh. Such suffering. Such color.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

The ancient questions about suffering and death and ‘Where is God in that?’ thoughts came to mind. God invited Job to trust, and to live in wild, uncontrollable color. Jesus did too. Even when the color was blood red.

Back to the moment. We decided to split a dinner platter and eat our way around colorful plate of humus, baba ghanoush, bean salad, slaw, rice, falafel, and stuffed grape leaves.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: , , , , , , ,