PHOTO: Mary van Balen
Send victory like a dew, you heavens,
and let the clouds rain it down.
Let the earth open
for salvation to spring up.
Let deliverance, too, bud forth
which I, the Lord, shall create.
Is 45,7

Thinking of something budding at this time of year is hopeful. At the beginning of Advent, I bought a small Christmas Cactus plant for that reason. The first blossom has emerged, but a number of the tiny magenta buds have dropped. I don’t know that that means; I hope not that no more buds will open.

Today’s first reading reminded me of my new plant, and of the cold blanketing bulbs and plants outside. When I think of the earth being “open,” as Isaiah writes, I think of spring planting when farmers plow and gardeners turn over soil with spades and trowels. But, thinking of the earth’s openness in this season brings something else to mind.

The earth must be “open” to receive cold, snow, icy rain, and longer nights, in order to be ready for spring growth to rise from its dark embrace. Some seeds need to freeze to germinate while others need to survive heat of a fire.

My heart must be open to “cold” seasons when darkness lasts longer and no growth is evident. Openness is not just for warm, comfortable time. We can cultivate an attitude of openness to God’s Word at all times in our lives: times of joy and light, times of sorrow and darkness; times of security and times when the future is a menacing unknown.

God is always sending grace our way; sending the Word to take root in our heart no matter the season within or without.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO:

At 12:30a.m. I slipped on my long, almost to the ankles down coat and stepped outside into the very cold night. I had not planned on staying up to view the Geminid meteor shower. The cloudy afternoon sky left over from the first real snow the day before had showed no sign of clearing, but sometime between 5:30 and 9, it did.

The neighborhood was quiet. No cars driving by to crunch the icy streets. Christmas lights from a few houses glowed brightly against white snow-flocked bushes and trees. I remembered childhood Christmases celebrated in this same neighborhood. Our Jewish neighbors had four children. Debbie told me years later that she and Julian stayed up on Christmas Eves and peered down through their second floor window into our living room where Mom and Dad were decorating our tree. She wished for a Christmas tree. I had wished for the eight-day gift giving of Hanukah.

Debbie’s house now holds a Catholic family with four children and a Christmas tree and lights were still burning into the night. The moon was setting, but my location in an old suburb not far from the city’s center is not ideal for meteor watching. The wind began to pick up and I pulled my coat’s hood over my head, cinching up the cords to tighten it around my head.

“If any children were watching now,” I thought, “I would be the strange old lady in her puffy blue coat who stood out in her driveway late at night looking at the sky.” I smiled at the thought, not minding being considered a bit eccentric.

Despite the light pollution, the sky was breathtakingly clear with Orion keeping watch. The majesty of such a view always puts me in prayer mode, and I stood long, mindful or existing in the Presence of the Creator. Mindful, too, of my tiny part in the cosmos. Cold feet broke into my reflections, and I wished I had taken time to put on my warm winter boots. I would not be able to stand much more in my thin-soled ankle boots. Happily, I didn’t have to.

A shooting star streaked across the sky, then another and another. I thought of my sky-gazing friend who had come over earlier that day for a late lunch, and wondered if she were watching from her home beneath a very dark country sky. Another meteor flashed by. I stood a while longer, then content to have taken time to witness a small part of the wonder of living on a planet that moves through space scattered with asteroids and planets and stars.

I nodded toward Orion, my guardian, and stepped back into the house. I snuggled down beneath my comforter and slid into sleep, knowing the sky above the roof was raining stars down on me.
©2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
As the messengers were leaving, Jesus began to talk to the people about John: ‘What did you go out into the wilderness to see? A reed swaying in the breeze? No? Then what did you go out to see? A man wearing fine clothes? Oh no, those who wear fine clothes are to be found in palaces. Then what did you go out for? To see a prophet? MT 11

Taken from today’s gospel reading, these words challenged me. Sometimes when I pray and try to discern where God is in my life and what I am called to do, I am surprised by what I discover. I don’t always like what I “hear.” For example, as I continue to look for full time employment with no luck, I don’t want to hear “trust in me.” I want to hear “We’d love to have you!”

But trust is what I am asked to do. Work hard, apply for jobs…and trust.

Or, when I am faced with something I would rather avoid but must meet head on and no amount of prayer makes it any easier, I wonder…why do I pray?

Jesus’ words struck deep today. What did I expect? Instant change? An easy path? When I look for God in myself and in the world, what do I expect to find?

If I truly desire to be faithful to who God made me to be and to follow God’s call, I must be ready to grow, to change, to trust.

Some who went to see John in the desert were curiosity seekers interested in seeing a strange man who was causing a stir, but the true seekers went to see a prophet who would ask them to repent and change their lives.

“Be careful what you wish for,” someone once told me. “You may get it and be surprised if you get it.”

When we go into the desert of our hearts to be still with God, we should remember who we desire and what walking with him may mean.

PHOTO: Christ and John the Baptist – Church of the Divine Wisdom, Istanbul
Jesus spoke to the crowds: ‘What description can I find for this generation? It is like children shouting to each other as they sit in the market place:

“We played the pipes for you,
and you wouldn’t dance;
we sang dirges,
and you wouldn’t be mourners.”
‘For John came, neither eating nor drinking, and they say, “He is possessed.” The Son of Man came, eating and drinking, and they say, “Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.” Yet wisdom has been proved right by her actions.
Mt 11,16-19

Today’s gospel reading may resonate with many of you. You can’t win. A child wants you to do one thing, your spouse another. Your boss has a vision for your project, but the people who will be putting it into action have their own ideas. And somewhere, at the bottom of the list is what you want to be doing. So, no matter what you do, some people are going to be unhappy. What are you to do?

This passage is similar to one found in Luke: a short parable followed by an explanation. The last verse in Luke is a bit different, and most biblical scholars think it is the original. Instead of wisdom being justified by her actions, she is justified by her children. The ending is where we discover how Jesus and John dealt with the dilemma.

Each remained faithful to who they were. John was a prophet, sent out to preach repentance, conversion, and to baptize those who received his message. He was to go before the Messiah and prepare his way. His austere lifestyle reflected his call. When Jesus came, John recognized him, identified him as the “One who is to come,” and receded into the background as Jesus’ public ministry began.

Jesus came to be with his people and to reveal to them and to us the face of God. He went were the sinners were. He ate with them, drank with them, and talked to them. Sick and suffering people sought him out and he healed them. Jesus’ immersed himself in people places. He retreated to the desert and quiet places for prayer, but his active ministry was in the heart of humanity.

Wisdom was proved right by her children. Jesus and John were faithful to who they were. The expectations of others did not determine their life choices. Those were made to follow God’s call.

Next time you feel torn in many directions and different people have different expectations of you, take time to be still with God, as John and Jesus did, discern what really matters and don’t worry about the rest.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

IMAGE:Our Lady of Gudalupe

The Mother of Heaven was standing in the very same place where he had first seen her. He knelt before her and said:
“Lady, my Child, tiniest of my children, I went to fulfill thy command. I saw the prelate and related to him thy message. By his reply I realised he did not think it to be thy order. Send, Lady, a person of mark that he may believe it. My lady, I am a paltry fellow, a man of straw, a bumpkin, a commoner and Thou my child, my lady, didst send me to a place I go not, where I stay me not. Forgive me the great grief I cause thee, lady and mistress mine.”

“Listen, my son, least of my sons,” the Most Holy Virgin answered him, “Many are my servants whom I can charge with my message; yet I wish it to be thou to make my petition, to help by thy mediation my will to be accomplished. I charge thee, go again to the bishop, tell him again that the Holy Mary, Virgin Eternal, Mother of God, sends thee.”
from Nican Mopohua 1545 by by Don Antonio Valeriano

The small parish church I attend has a large number of Mexican members. For a few Sundays over the past month they have held a food sale featuring a wide variety of homemade Mexican dishes from tamales to tres leche. Everything is $1 and I never go away hungry. The sale raises money for the procession and celebration of the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

The feast commemorates the apparitions of Mary to a poor Indian, Juan Diego, in 1531. She requested that a church be built at the top of the hill where they stood and instructed Juan Diego to carry her message to the bishop. He did, but the bishop did not believe him. Juan Diego returned to the hill and spoke with Mary, who sent him back to the bishop with her request.

On his fourth visit with Mary, she instructed him to gather roses growing on the snowy hill. She arranged them in his cloak and sent him back to the bishop with a sign he had requested. When Juan was admitted to see the bishop and opened his cloak to show him the flowers, the blooms tumbled onto the floor revealing an image on the inside of the cloak of Mary as Juan had seen her. The bishop fell to his knees and soon the church project was underway.

Over the years, the validity of this story has been questioned, as all miraculous events are. Scrutinized by unbelievers or others curious about such things, the cloak is preserved and displayed at the church on the hill of Tepeyacac near Mexico City. Juan Diego was canonized a saint in the Catholic Church in 2002.

Whether or not one believes that the image appeared miraculously on Diego’s tilma or not, the story has something to teach us.According to the account by Don Antonio Valeriano, after the bishop’s first refusal to believe his message, Juan Diego returned to Mary and told her that she had the wrong man. Send someone of higher social ranking, someone who would go to places like a bishop’s office. Diego was not comfortable in such surroundings, and the bishop did not give much credence to a poor Indian’s story. “Piety,” the bishop thought, and imagination.

One cannot fault the bishop for wanting more evidence than the story, but Juan Diego’s comments are telling, and not much has changed. Many of those in positions of authority do not give proper respect and consideration to the poor and/or uneducated who come before them. Instead the assume that the person is unreliable, or ignorant, or basically inferior. One wonders what the bishop’s reaction might have been had the messenger chosen by Mary been wearing a suit or a cardinal’s hat.

Once, a while working in a grant funded family literacy program that served poor young mothers, I overheard one of them recounting a recent meeting with her caseworker.

“Last time, she didn’t listen to me at all, so THIS time I took Jane with me. Everyone there knows Janet. She is smart and her husband is a lawyer. So, anyway, Janet and I walked in and everybody was nice and, you know, ‘Can I help you,’ and all that. I didn’t have to wait and when we went in my caseworker’s office, she was smiling and everything like that. And she listened to my problem and got it fixed up.”

My student smiled. “Next time, if you need something, take Janet!”

Juan Diego must have felt like that. Why would Mary entrust someone like him with such an important message? Why would she speak to him at all?

“Am I not your mother?” she had said. “Am I not here with you?”

Jesus sent the Spirit to dwell in every person. Each of us carries some part of the Divine into the world. Mary’s response to Juan Diego, whether spoken from her lips or invented as part of a story, reflect Jesus’ call to reverence the life in every person.

In a world where media hawks the “perfect look.” and success is measured by paychecks and possessions, respect for those who have none of the above can be difficult to find.

As we wait for the feast of Christmas, we do well to remember that the Creator of all that is chose to enter our world in poverty and in the form of an infant, the most vulnerable of us all.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PAINTING: The Annunciation by Henry Ossawa Tanner

Before the world was made, he chose us: he chose us in Christ, to be holy and spotless, and to live through love in his presence.
Ephesians 1,4

In the Roman Catholic calender, today is the feast of the Immaculate Conception of Mary. Sometimes confused with the virgin birth of Jesus, it celebrates Mary’s conception without original sin, the human condition that inclines us to do what we know we shouldn’t and not do what we know we should. I admit that I have never found this particular feast compelling; the explanation of “being free from the stain of original sin” sounds esoteric and, well, odd. I never could get into the “stain of original sin” language. I read something on the Universalis website that helped me begin thinking about this feast in a new way.

I used an image of the annunciation on today’s post for two reasons. First, this is the season to ponder the birth of Christ, and Mary’s “yes” to the impossible reality proposed to her by the angel Gabriel was the beginning of that. Second, Mary would have needed extraordinary grace to respond as she did to the knowing she experienced: She had faith that she was not imagining such a thing (who could?), and she willingly assented to the plan which would change her life in ways she could not imagine as well as in a few that she could.

Mary would have known that few would believe her story when she turned up pregnant before she should have. Such an offense could mean death, and if not, it could mean the end of her relationship with Joseph and with her people. Yes, Mary needed tremendous grace, and if that is what the Immaculate Conception is about, then it is meaningful to me.

The reading for today from Morning Prayer and is a short excerpt taken from the Second reading at Mass. Mary was chosen from the moment of her conception for her unique role in salvation history. Through her openness to God’s call, Jesus became one of us and lived his life and died his death to reveal to us that we, too, are chosen. Each one of us. Through Christ we have the special grace to enable us to say, “yes” to the life we have and to God’s working in it.

Like Mary’s “Yes,” ours is not to aggrandize ourselves but to participate in God’s entrance into the world in fresh ways, to continue the Incarnation.
©2010 Mary van Balen

Photo: Eprodicals.com
He is like a shepherd feeding his flock,
gathering lambs in his arms,
holding them against his breast
and leading to their rest the mother ewes. Is 40, 11

Tonight I came home from work hoping to write an encouraging or inspirational blog since I couldn’t put one together this morning. I pulled up today’s Mass readings, readings for the Liturgy of the Hours, and information on the saint whose feast we celebrate today: Saint Ambrose.

Good material, all of it, but I am not up for the task. Instead I identify with the mother ewes in the first reading who must have been completely exhausted. Isaiah doesn’t say much about the mother ewes other than Jesus led them to their rest. Having raised three children I can identify with them. Children, blessing that they are, wear you out. “Physically, when you are younger,” a theology prof once shared with me, “and emotionally when they are older.”

Either way, the mother ends up worn out. Even though my weariness is not child related today,I am still one tired sheep.

The second Mass reading today comes from Matthew 18:12-14…

Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Tell me. Suppose a man has a hundred sheep and one of them strays; will he not leave the ninety-nine on the hillside and go in search of the stray? I tell you solemnly, if he finds it, it gives him more joy than do the ninety-nine that did not stray at all. Similarly, it is never the will of your Father in heaven that one of these little ones should be lost.’

When I read it I was relived, and decided to write a simple prayer from my heart:

Good Shepherd,
I am here,
on the old living room couch,
waiting for you.
I am not wearing anything special,
or doing anything note worthy.
Actually,
I am pretty unremarkable in every way.
I hope you notice that I am missing from your flock
when you go to gather them together for the night.
I am easy to miss.
I don’t have the energy to call out for you,
so I just wait.
And hope.
And doze off
when I should be thinking lofty thoughts
and composing memorable lines.
It is Advent.
A good time for waiting I am told.
I hope you are not long.
I’m cold and tired,
and have no idea what else to do
besides wait.
I’m counting on your Good Shepherd heart
to seek me out
and bring me home.
Amen.
©2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Strengthen all weary hands,
steady all trembling knees
and say to all faint hearts,
‘Courage! Do not be afraid…’
from Is 35

Today is the feast of Saint Nicholas, the “ancestor’ of sorts to our Santa Claus.The readings from today’s Mass reflect the divine generosity and compassion that are common attributes of Saint Nicholas found in stories about him. Though much we hear about Nicholas is legend, legend often has its beginning in historical people and events.

The earliest written record of Nicholas, bishop of Myra (now in Turkey), is a Greek document from around 400 AD. Nicholas appears on some lists of those who attended the Council of Nicaea, and the tale of his rescue of a poor man’s daughters who would likely have been sold into a life of prostitution without Nicholas’s generous intervention appears in no other saintly hagiographies. Stories about his saintliness were circulating during his lifetime.

What remains constant in all the stories is the bishop’s intervention on behalf of the poor, the unjustly accused, the ones with little hope or recourse. legends are grisly (children butchered and put in a salty brine from which they were rescued years later by Nicholas); some gentle (his sharing his fortune even before becoming bishop with the distraught impoverished father of three daughters); some gutsy(coming to the rescue of three innocent men by rushing in and grabbing the sword from the executioner poised to behead the men.).

Nicholas is credited with miraculous deeds. Once, when the people of Myra were starving, he convinced the captain of three ships harbored by the city and loaded with grain on their way to Egypt to sell some of the grain to the citizens of Myra. Nicholas convinced the captain that no shortage of grain would appear when he arrived in Egypt with his cargo. And so it was.

Today’s readings include the story of Jesus healing the paralytic who had been lowered through the roof to the floor in front of him by friends who believed that Jesus could heal the man. He did, but only after first healing the man’s soul, to the consternation of the Pharisees witnessing the miracle.

Nicholas was filled with Jesus’ compassionate love and generous spirit. He had a sense of justice and came to the aid of the poor. Jesus calls us to do the same, but not without his healing touch on our hearts and souls. Like Nicholas, we do not work alone, but with the gift of the Spirit dwelling within.

PHOTOS:Mary van Balen

My daughter and I have shared caring for her plant (a schefflera) for years since since she is, in her words, “a nomad.” Such is the plight of an archaeologist. I did not mind, but worried when leaves turned yellow and dropped or an attack of some pest or other threatened to bring its end. Once I cut off healthy stems, rooted them, and carried the rest to the compost pile.

Most recently, after an unusually vicious attack by bugs, I cut the stems off at almost dirt level, and took them with me to my daughter’s new apartment since she would probably be able to stay there for a couple of years. I intended to dump behind the garage what remained and then dispose of the pot since none of my efforts had eradicated the bugs.

I never got around to that, and the other day when I walked through the spare bedroom where it was kept, I was surprised to see tiny green “umbrella” leaves sprouting form the stump. Of course, I thought of this passage from Isaiah that begins: “On that day a shoot shall sprout from the root of Jesse…”

What seems to be dead still holds the sap of life and can give birth again. I love today’s Old Testament reading, full of rich images and unlikely scenarios: a lion lying down with a lamb; a child playing in a cobra’s den; the lion become a vegetarian, eating hay like an ox. (My vegan sister-in-law would love that!)

These pictures adorn Christmas cards and find their way into songs and poetry. They show the world we long for, a world of no hurt or pain, “no harm or ruin on all my holy mountain,” as the prophet says. We will be filled only with the knowledge of the Lord, drowning in its glory just as the water covers the sea.

We may feel spent, our energy gone, our hopes dashed. We may battle demons of depression and mental illness. We may be physically sick or unemployed. Our spirits may seem dead with us. But the juicy sap of God’s self still flows somewhere in our depths, persevering the possibility of life in our darkest, driest times.

Like the child in Isaiah’s magnificent verses, we cannot judge by appearance, but instead can know that God wills good for us and is able to bring it about no matter how impossible that seems.

Sometimes, when we are at our lowest point, we cannot bear to hear such good news because our own suffering overwhelms us. There is no room inside us for joy or hope. Too often we have allowed ourselves to dream only to have our dreams dashed to nothing.

God’s Mercy does not abandon us, even in those times. It remains and will surprise us with something good when we least expect it, like the little schefflera leaves surprised me.
Let’s allow ourselves to share in the glorious vision of a peaceable kingdom where people get along and the Holy One fills everything with Love. Being able to imagine something so wonderful is a step toward allowing it to happen.

PHOTO:Hamilton CA Habitiat for Humanity
And when he saw the crowds he felt sorry for them because they were harassed and dejected, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, ‘The harvest is rich but the laborers are few, so ask the Lord of the harvest to send laborers to his harvest.’
He summoned his twelve disciples, and gave them authority over unclean spirits with power to cast them out and to cure all kinds of diseases and sickness. These twelve Jesus sent out, instructing them as follows: ‘Go rather to the lost sheep of the House of Israel. And as you go, proclaim that the kingdom of heaven is close at hand. Cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out devils. You received without charge, give without charge.’ Matthew 9:35-10:1,5,6-8

Jesus was moved by the people he saw. He needed help to address their needs, but looking around he wondered,”Where is everybody?” His disciples received the commission: Give freely what you have been given. There is a hurting world out there. Heal it. Change it.

With global communication today, we are excruciatingly aware of suffering around the world as well as at home. In addition to truly noteworthy news, as soon as we turn on our computers we are bombarded with stories-just a click away-about a movie star’s speeding ticket, who wore what on the red carpet, and healthy food choices at the mall.

PHOTO:Philanthromedia.org
Who wouldn’t be overwhelmed? Easier to stay home cocooned in one’s close circle of family and friends and let the world fend for itself. We have enough problems of our own. After all, what difference can one person make?

Jesus had other ideas. In his case, one person made all the difference, and he promised that he dwells within each of us. That indwelling makes our actions more necessary and more powerful. In today’s first reading, Isaiah tells us that in the midst of suffering, our teacher reveals himself. “…Whether you turn to right or left, your ears will hear these words behind you, ‘This is the way, follow it.”

During Advent we look within ourselves. There we must see the Divine Presence that became flesh and walked with us. We wait during this season, not only to celebrate what WAS, but also WHAT IS and WHAT WILL BE. We listen for the words, “This is the way,” and pray for the wisdom and courage to follow it.

In todays Liturgy of the Hours afternoon reading we hear: “As the earth makes fresh things grow, as a garden makes seeds spring up, so will the Lord make both integrity and praise spring up in the sight of the nations.” Isaiah 61:11
PHOTO:Dominicans for Peace Tacoma
Where is integrity? Leaders who are looking out for the poor? Tax breaks for millionaires? Cut backs in programs that provide for the most vulnerable? Stalling on nuclear arms treaties?

We can lament: Where are leaders with backbones to stand up to special interests or to say the dreaded words, New Taxes? We can lay the blame at the feet of others, but in this country, if leaders felt strong support from the electorate on such issues, they might be more likely to stand up for programs and legislation that can make a difference on a national and world level.

What we do, where we put out time and money, how we vote, how we serve, does make a difference. We make change little at a time, person to person. And those changes add up and send a message to all: We are charged to give freely what has been freely given to us.

Madeleine L’Engle called the incarnation the “Glorious Impossible.” The continued incarnation that will transform the world is also a glorious impossible: Difficult to believe, but true.

Advent reminds us that we are, indeed, part of the Glorious Impossible. When Jesus looks around for laborers, he will see us.