Mary van Balen — Page 16

April 1, 2015 By Mary van Balen 5 Comments

When Spring Freezes

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

I couldn’t believe my eyes. Not only were the crocuses in my neighbor’s lawn blooming in early March, they were covered with bees! After months of sub-freezing temperatures, inches of ice, and more inches of snow, the earth had warmed enough to coax beautiful purple flowers out of their dark waiting place. Spring, it seemed, had arrived.

Passersby stopped to see what enticed me to stoop low and look closely. “Bees,” I said. “Bees are all over these flowers.”

Some stopped long enough to look themselves. After a frigid winter, we were ready for a change.

Spiritual life can be like that. Sometimes winters of the soul seem to last forever. Then, just when we’ve come to terms with the possibility of unending cold and emptiness, everything changes: Hope wakes up and shakes her feathers. Life erupts like the crocuses. Intoxicated, we nuzzle down into the golden centers and rise up heavy with life-giving pollen sticking all over. Unable to contain our joy, we move from hope to hope, from beauty to beauty. Like bees, we’re called by Mystery to an ancient dance, and we join in, spreading the sticky grace and picking up more everywhere we go.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Then, as quickly as it left, the cold returns. The crocuses across the street are suddenly bowed under a fresh fall of snow. Bees have disappeared to wherever it is they go to escape the freeze. A collective sigh rises from the earth. People bundle up in winter coats again. The few days of warmth make the cold bite deeper, and we shiver in temperatures we would have welcomed a month ago.

Spiritual spring can be just as fickle. Fear or worry blow in from somewhere and hope retreats. Sticky grace feels more like goo. We’re not flitting from hope to hope. We’re not moving at all. A groan rises from deep inside. The emptiness seems larger after having danced with Joy.

“It won’t last,” we tell ourselves but struggle to believe it.

It’s a good time to listen to music or to sit in the dark and gaze at stars, or a candle, or nothing. We might curl up with a good book of poetry, or linger with scripture. Story reminds us that this dance with winter and spring is nothing new. If we can settle in with the cold and dark, we discover they have gifts of their own. And it doesn’t last forever.

Eventually, sun will melt the snow. Flowers will straighten their stems and lift their heads. The bees will come back, and we’ll feast on sticky Grace.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: creation, grace, hope, love, Presence, spirituality, spring, winter

March 23, 2015 By Mary van Balen 2 Comments

Mercy and a Fresh Start

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Here I am, at the beginning of three days off. I began well enough, attending morning mass with a handful of other parishioners, most of whom are regulars in the mornings. I’m not. My friend, Fr. Denis, greeted me with his dazzling smile and a hug. “What a good surprise to have you here. Maybe today’s readings will provide you with a story for your work.”

As Denis said in his homily, he read the short version of the account from Daniel, figuring we could fill in the other few pages that read like modern soap operas. Nothing changes. In the Old Testament reading, two old men with egos smarting after a beautiful young woman spurned their sexual advances, accused her of adultery. They couldn’t get their stories straight when questioned by Daniel, and instead of condemning the woman, Daniel pronounced a gruesome punishment for her accusers: being split in two by sword-wielding angels.

The New Testament reading featured adultery as well. This time the woman had been caught in the act. They guy as well, I presume, since it takes two, but he slipped away unscathed, leaving the woman to face the righteous crowd eager to stone her to death. Enter Jesus. He bends down and draws something in the sand, then instructs the one who has not sinned to throw the first stone. Well, that pretty well doused their enthusiasm, and they walked away, forced to reflect on their own sins. Jesus didn’t condemn anyone; he simply instructed the woman to go and sin no more.

Forgiveness and mercy. Encouragement. And a dose of reality: None of us is without failings. Maybe that’s why it’s easier to focus on the sin outside of us rather than what’s closer to home. It’s the old story of getting all worked up over the speck in your neighbor’s eye while ignoring the log in your own.

The story I took away from mass wasn’t the ever-present struggle with weakness and the propensity to do what we know isn’t good for us or for the world. Like letting water run when you brush your teeth. Or pouring pesticides that kill bees on your garden. Or wasting time or food. Or letting anger and anxiety get the best of you instead of “being peace.” Or ranting about the sorry state of Congress.

No. I walked out of there grateful that Jesus didn’t call down avenging angels or condemn anyone, but instead invited them to reflection and a fresh start.

I drove home and indulged in celebration of my three days off by making and sharing blueberry pancakes and bacon with my daughter. Someone once told me that we should seize every opportunity to celebrate, and I follow that advice as often as possible.

Then, instead of getting right to work on all the things I hoped to accomplish in the next seventy-two hours, I succumbed to distractions like buying a coffee while shopping for a few groceries, cleaning the kitchen, and checking email. Not bad. Then I played two games of spider solitaire. Talk about wasting time. It takes awhile because when it becomes obvious that the game is bound to end with a low score, I don’t finish it, but start over, hoping for better cards.

Flipping the cover down over my iPad, I lit my prayer candle and finally settled into work on a book project and readings for a class, counting on Jesus’ mercy and a fresh start.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: grace, humility, mercy

March 5, 2015 By Mary van Balen 3 Comments

Howard Thurman and Readying Our Spirits

PHOTO: BU Photo Services, Howard Thurman

Originally published in The Catholic Times, March 8, 2015

“Have you read any of Howard Thurman?” my friend wanted to know. A student at Andover Newton Seminary, she was curious about my familiarity with this African American theologian, preacher, professor, and mystic. I’d never heard of him. “Really, Mary, you should read Thurman.”

Years later, as a participant in a spiritual guidance program, I’m finally discovering not only the writings of Howard Thurman, but also his profound influence on the non-violent civil rights movement in the United States.

A Baptist minister raised by his grandmother, a former slave, in segregated Daytona, Florida, Thurman’s first pastorate was at Mount Zion Baptist Church in Oberlin, Ohio. Later he moved on to become a professor at Morehouse and Spelman Colleges. He was Dean of Chapel at Howard University, but left in 1944 when he and Dr. Alfred G. Fisk, a Presbyterian minister and professor, founded the first interracial and culturally inclusive church in the United States: The Church for Fellowship of All Peoples. (This church remains active today in San Francisco and has as one of its central “commitments” the need for growth in understanding all people to be children of God. True then. True now.)

In 1953, he was named Dean of Marsh Chapel at Boston University, the first African American to hold that position in a predominantly white university. There he met Martin Luther King, Jr., who earned his PhD at BU. Thurman was his spiritual advisor and mentor, sharing the message of non-violence he had received from Gandhi on a visit to meet the Indian leader in 1936.

Over his lifetime, Thurman wrote twenty-one books and hundreds of sermons. One of his books, “Jesus and the Disinherited,” interpreted the gospels in light of non-violence and Jesus’ stand for those who had been deprived of their God-given rights. The book was foundational to the civil rights movement led by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. He is said to have carried this book with him during the Montgomery bus boycott and to have read from it on evenings before a march.

During his lifetime, Thurman disappointed some who wanted him to be more political, their “Moses,” but instead, saw him focus on prayer and the need for personal transformation and spiritual growth. This was necessary for social change, he said.

Just beginning to read Thurman, I’m not an expert on his thought or teachings, but this emphasis on prayer and spiritual discipline drew me to think about him as we immerse ourselves in Lenten observances.

He described religious experience as “the awareness of meeting God” that happens through all life, through nature, and through the arts. Spiritual disciplines are necessary for this to occur, Thurman says, since they “ready” our hearts and minds, our emotions and spirits to be open to God.

Describing the function of spiritual disciplines as “readying” us for an encounter with God resonates with me. We need to be ready to receive, no matter the gift.

“What else do we do to ready ourselves for something?” I pondered. Spring-cleaning has many benefits I’ve heard, and one is clearing film from windows, allowing light to pour through with more intensity. Students of nature study markings of birds, attributes of plants, and sea shell shapes and colors to increase their awareness of the variety that fills our world.

Have you ever studied pros and cons of cars before finally purchasing one? When you finish your ‘research,’ you recognize makes and models that you never noticed before.

Not having much background in classical music, pre-concert lectures on the pieces to be preformed enrich my experience. A special theater presentation of an exhibit of Rembrandt’s later works deepened my appreciation not only of his work, but also of the quiet beauty of the faces of people who fill my life.

This is how I imagine readying our spirits with disciplines of prayer and attentiveness encourages “religious experiences,” awareness of encounters with God. The process doesn’t invite God in. Rather, it helps us recognize where God already is.

I’m not sure this is what Thurman meant, but for now, I’m grateful for his phrase, “readying our spirits” and how it has deepened my Lenten prayer.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment

February 25, 2015 By Mary van Balen 2 Comments

Birdsong and Hope

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

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: birdsong, creation, Emily Dickinson, grace, Grace in the Moment, hope, lent, light, music, present to the moment, quiet prayer, spring

February 18, 2015 By Mary van Balen 4 Comments

Repent, and Believe in the Gospel

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Sometimes our communities are close at hand. We live in them. Worship in them. Share food and conversation and life with them day by day. Sometimes our communities are with people who live far from us. We are united in spirit and prayer, love and commitment to a common journey.

Today, Ash Wednesday, I celebrated the beginning of Lent, not with my physically close community, but with the long distance community of some fellow pilgrims. It hadn’t been planned. It just happened.

A phone call from a missionary friend who lives in Guatemala, ran longer than expected. The conversation about being faithful to the call of writing as we move along on our pilgrimage through life needed to be finished. I made the decision to celebrate the start of the season with her, instead.

With her and with a few others. One friend I met while we were both taking summer courses at St. John’e School of Theology. Divorce, illness, job searches, a move, a wedding…the stuff of life and faith shared together for years. Her PhD dissertation was on liturgical use of Lament. Her insights have supported me through the years even though we have visited in person at her island home only once since our classes. I slid two articles about the spiritual journey into an envelope addressed to her. We’ll read and talk about them as her health allows.

I began reading today from the book “A Season for the Spirit:Readings for the Days of Lent'” by Martin L. Smith, a gift from a woman who lives in St. Louis. Both taking a spiritual guidance program from Shalem, we’ve been in touch since our first residency last year. “A Season for the Spirit” has been a fruitful guide for her in a few Lents over the years. We are praying though it together this year.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Despite feeling good about beginning Lent with these fellow travelers, I missed receiving ashes with a community. I looked above my prayer table and saw the palm cross from last Palm Sunday, given to me by a friend in my parish. Taking it down, I cut it into pieces, placed it in an aluminum pan and walked outside. I put the pan in the snow and lit the palms, turning them into ashes. Coming back inside, I placed the ashes in one of my mother’s small salt dishes, lit a candle, read today’s readings, and then blessed the ashes with the words from the liturgy. After pushing my thumb into the burnt palm, I prayed the short prayer that accompanies the ritual and made the sign of the cross with ashes on my forehead..

One with believers around the world, with those in my parish and city, and with my community of pilgrims around the world, I prayed: “Repent, and believe in the Gospel.” With their help, and the breath of the Spirit, I will.

Filed Under: The Scallop

February 5, 2015 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Love Rules the Day: St. Scholastica

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.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: compassion, Grace in the Moment, humility, love, present to the moment, Saint Scholastica, spirituality

February 4, 2015 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Transgender Students in Business Schools

An article in today’s New York Times looks at the experience of being transgender while attending business school in the U.S. A hopeful note in the article by Cory Weinberg is that the number of Fortune 500 business that include gender identity in their nondiscrimination policies has risen to 61% from 25% in 2008.

The quote from a young business-school student says what I imagine many transgender people would echo:

“I just want to go through school as the woman I see myself as,” Dominique said. She does not want to be a business-school trailblazer. “You are there to do business, not to be the trans individual.”

People simply want to be themselves.

Filed Under: Widening Our Circles Tagged With: acceptance, business schools, civil rights, equality, gender, inclusion, LGBT

January 30, 2015 By Mary van Balen 2 Comments

Hang In There

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

We are not among those who draw back and perish, but among those who have faith and will possess life. Hb 10, 39

This morning’s Mass readings were full of “words” that spoke to my heart: Not throwing away what you have been given. Seeds growing, we know not how. The tiniest of seeds becoming the largest of plants. As I sat quietly in prayer, I became aware of the plants that line up along my buffet in front of the window. Of the Peace Lilies, one huge, that filter the air I breathe. Of the mystery of how they grow, turning sunlight into what they need, and how they serve me and the planet. Mystery. So much I can never know.

But it was the line from Hebrews that struck deepest. I think because I’m sometimes among those who draw back. Life isn’t easy for any of us, regardless of appearances. Like the life of the peace lily, it’s full of unknowables. In the face of darkness I’m tempted to forget the Light. In the presence of silence, I’m tempted to forget the Song. Or worse, not believe that Light and Song are out there (or in here) at all. I keep on keeping on, as Pete Seeger and Woody Guthrie urged, but without much heart or expectation.

That’s the perishing. The death of hope. The closing up.

The line from Hebrews encourages us to keep the faith. The Holy Mystery doesn’t withhold Life. No. Life is always gushing out. Like rain, it falls everywhere, on everyone. Those hurt or pained by life’s unfair twists and turns may close up tight. The rain of Life runs all over them, but can’t get in. Or can it? God isn’t so easily evaded. Like the rain, Life falls into the soil around each soul, soaking deep into that which holds its roots. Life, sliding off the closed bloom, quietly moves up the stem, sucked up by the inborn will be. The Presence that falls on the outside resides in the center as well.

I think of those for whom just choosing to live is a day by day challenge. Their “yes” to life is as much opening as they can muster. And it is enough. For those of us for whom simply living does not require daily assent, but challenges our perseverance, closing up tight may be the best we can do on some days. That is enough,too.

Thankfully, God-Life keeps pouring out, never giving up on us even when we give up on God, and eventually, we gather enough green sap to chance opening again. When we are able, we discover not only that we possess Life, but Life has possessed us all along.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: creation, faith, grace, hope, light, love, quiet prayer, spirituality, unconditional love

January 20, 2015 By Mary van Balen 4 Comments

No Place is “Nowhere”

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: burning bush, grace, hope, light, love, Moses, Presence, present to the moment, quiet prayer

January 20, 2015 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

A Nun’s Ministry to the Transgender Community

A friend of mine, “Sr. Monica,” has had a long and graced ministry to the transgender community. Her presence with the people she knows speaks of God’s love and care for all of us, including those most of the fringes of society, the “invisible people,” as she called them.

Read her recent HuffPost blog post .

I hope, perhaps naively, that during the current Pope’s tenure, the church will finally recognize and remedy its failure to “be there” for these people who want simply to be who they have been made to be.

Filed Under: Widening Our Circles Tagged With: acceptance, compassion, equality, gender, grace, inclusion, LGBT, Pope Francis, Presence