Mary van Balen — Page 17

January 6, 2015 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Epiphany Thoughts

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: Epiphany, grace, Presence, present to the moment, spirituality

December 15, 2014 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Quieting Down to Listen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Originally published in The Catholic Times, December 14, 2014

The gospel from the first Sunday of Advent showed Jesus instructing his followers to be alert. Warning against the possibility of dozing and being asleep when the lord of the house arrives, Jesus had one word for them: “Watch.”

When I taught writing to elementary students and later to adults, my advice was to “be wide awake.” They kept a writer’s notebook, a place to hold thoughts, interesting articles, and favorite poems, anything that spoke to their hearts or passed through their lives. Sometimes what they jotted down ended up in an essay or launched them into a theme that developed into something longer. Most didn’t. The process of noticing and of being present to the moment was the important result. They developed “writerly habits.”

Prayer and writing have a lot in common. Jesus wasn’t instructing his followers to be writers, but to be “wide awake” for God’s presence. Jesus wants us to develop a “pray-ers habit.” “I am with you always,” Jesus says at the end of Matthew’s gospel, “even to the end of time.” The struggle for us is being still enough, inside and out, to become aware of and respond to that presence. Some people in Mark’s gospel audience were preoccupied with the future. They wanted to know when the end was coming, when Jesus would return. Jesus told them that wasn’t for them to know. Instead, they were to live in the present, alert to the “now.”

That’s what Advent is saying to me this year: Don’t spend the time I have in one place while my mind and heart are somewhere else. Don’t fill my mind with mental “chatter” that drowns out what the moment is saying. Easier said than done. I can’t tell you how many mornings I get up with the intention of spending twenty minutes in quiet prayer, simply trying to be present to God-with-Us, but instead end up rushing out of the house on my way to work without having sat still for a moment.

Stuff happens. I’ve thrown in a load of laundry, fretted over finding some other job, responded to emails, and perused the New York Times headlines. I gulp down my cup of tea and can’t remember if I had Constant Comment or Lady Grey. A pity since the aroma and taste of each is worth appreciating.

Even while driving to work I’m thinking about what I’ll do when I finish my shift. Never mind that the sky is clear and bright or that a friendly driver slowed down so I could make my turn. No matter that I have been given another day to live and breathe and love.

Yesterday, I read through Advent’s mass readings. Lots of them are concerned with justice and compassion, God’s and ours. God hears the cry of the poor, promises rest to those who are tired, takes care of sending rain and sun for crops, cares about the lost sheep, the littlest one, cures blindness, lameness, and broken hearts. God wants to love us all, but I’m afraid I’m often too busy to notice.

I think when Zechariah was stuck dumb it was to make him be quiet long enough to become a better listener…to pay attention and to see God at work in ways he didn’t expect.

Mary said “Yes,” after hearing the angel’s invitation. Joseph heard Wisdom in his dreams and took his pregnant fiancé into his home despite appearances.

You have to be listening to hear the “angels” of the moment or God talking in your dreams. You have to be paying attention to recognize God in the poor and suffering in this world. You have to be still to hear Divine Love and share it with others.

Advent’s a time to recall that the God who created us, who came to us in Jesus, and who will come again is, most importantly, here in each and every one of us this very moment. God’s concerned about the least among us. About justice and compassion. About what’s in our heart. Advent’s a call to be still and to be amazed that the most Holy Mystery wants to spend gracious time with us.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: Advent, attentive, compassion, grace, justice, quiet, quiet prayer, silence, wide awake

November 27, 2014 By Mary van Balen 3 Comments

Happy Thanksgiving to My Parachute Packers

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

The story Fr. Denis told during the homily today was simple but profound. Maybe you’ve heard it: A soldier was forced to eject from his plane during battle and float to earth with the help of his parachute. He landed safely but was captured and spent five years in a prisoner of war camp before finally returning home. Many years later, he was staying in a hotel and engaged in conversation with another older veteran. Turned out they both had served on the same aircraft carrier.

“I was a parachute packer,” the older man said. The two men talked for a while and then parted ways. Only after he had returned home and thought about the conversation did the pilot think, “That man may have packed my parachute. He may have been the one who saved my life.”

Likely, packing parachutes on an aircraft carrier during wartime was a long, tedious job. Doing the same thing over and over. Not glamorous. No medals to be had. Simply doing a job well. I wonder how many lives that man saved with his skill and attention to his task.

Then Fr. Denis wondered aloud about the parachute packers in our lives. Surely, there are many, and many of them strangers. People we will never know. The researchers who help develop drugs that save lives and treat depression or stave off infection. The factory workers who can the pumpkin that shows up on many tables today baked into a pie. Parents. Teachers. Friends. The kind associate who helps you find stuff when you’re in a hurry at the grocery store. People who raise the food you eat. Office workers who funnel all those insurance papers through the crazy systems that help make doctor’s visits or surgeries affordable.

The list, of course, is never ending. There is much to lament in our world. There always has been. But today is a day to focus on what is good, life-giving, and full of grace.

At the end of Mass, Fathers Denis and Dean and the two women altar servers handed out small loves of bread to everyone. A reminder of how we are fed, by God and by one another. We don’t make our way through life alone. We’ve got lots of parachute packers walking along with us. Some stay for the long haul. Some move in and out, maybe once and never again. Today we might take a minute or two to reflect on those who have “saved our lives” and give thanks for them and the God who made us all.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: creation, grace, hope, love, prayer, Thanksgiving

November 12, 2014 By Mary van Balen 3 Comments

Room to Grow

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Finding new pots for root-bound plants isn’t easy in November. After trying convenient stores like Target, I took a drive to a garden store and found what I was looking for. Yesterday, my daughter and I repotted a plant with a history. It’s a snake plant. When she was about eight, she rescued it from me. It wasn’t a favorite. Not even sure where it came from. It sat on a shelf fastened midway up the kitchen window frame and was too tall for that place. In a rare moment of cleaning, I lifted the plant from the shelf and walked with it down the hill to our garden where I unceremoniously removed it from the pot and laid it on the earth, figuring it would be good compost for the next year’s crop.

My young daughter did not approve. “Mom!! You’re KILLING that plant,” she said. No amount of recounting the cycle of nature, of things returning to earth to nourish what comes next could convince her. She stood her ground, looking accusingly into my eyes. “No, YOU ARE KILLING THAT PLANT.”

Exasperated, I gave in, sort of. “If you want it, you repot it.” She wouldn’t bother I thought.

Wrong. She brought it to me in the same pot and poor soil, and it went back on the shelf. That year it flowered for the first time, positively dripping nectar. For two years it did that. In my face. I was chastened, and it has moved with me or one of my daughters ever since.

Yesterday, its savior helped me place it in a lager pot. This plant is huge with some leaves four feet tall. It’s become company for me in my office, and I’ve become fond of it. As I was running in and out of the house for potting soil, florist’s tape, and scissors, I called out to my daughter…

“Talk to it, honey. Lay your hands on it. Hold it steady. It trusts you.” She did and carried it back inside.

Today, after buying three new pots, more soil, and a little trellis for a plant that would just as soon climb as spread out all over the buffet, I prepared the counter in the kitchen and put on a little Bach. Couldn’t hurt, I thought. The three chosen plants were ready to break their old containers with roots so thick and entwined that they easily slid out of the pots. I spoke softly, patted, watered, and placed them in clean saucers on the buffet. Root room at last.

PHOTO:Mary van Balen

I cleaned the kitchen and then, for a while, just sat and looked at them. Lovely. Dark soil. Clean clay pots. Room to grow. I thought I should probably do something. Like read for the course I’m taking or visit a great niece who’s spending a few days with her grandparents. Or straighten up the dining room table. But I didn’t want to move. Bach was sounding good. I chose root room over busy, breathing deep and letting thoughts and “shoulds” untangle, like I imagined the roots were beginning to do in their new pots. So, there we sat, the plants and I, listening to Cantata #208 and relishing a little space.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: Bach, Cantata #208, creation, Grace in the Moment, music, plants

November 7, 2014 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Creation Gives Voice to Presence

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Originally published in The Catholic Times, November 9, 2014

Volume 64:6

Emily Dickinson’s poem, Exultation is the going of an inland soul to sea, comes to mind each time I have the opportunity to head to the beach. Someday, I tell myself, perhaps I will live near the east coast, close enough that a trip to the ocean could be measured in minutes rather than hours. As it is, I’m grateful for the times when the long trip is possible.

One of my daughters lives a few hours from a national seashore, and we’ve made a tradition of spending at least a couple of days at the beach when I visit. In October the air is cool. We don’t swim but walk for hours along the sand. This year we wore scarves and sweaters as we sat in beach chairs and enjoyed looking far and gulping the salty air deep into our lungs.

As we watched, gulls and sanderlings entertained, and dolphins moved slowly out beyond the breakers. Pelicans dove for fish, and crabs disappeared down their sandy tunnels. The planet seemed to breathe with the ancient rhythm of the surf moving in and out. We talked about death and life, remembered beach vacations with my parents, and wondered how life would continue to unfold. Then, two pilgrims, we simply sat in silence.

The numinous place where land and sea meet is always a place of prayer for me. Power. Beauty. Mystery. Waters of immense depth, churning and filled with life, speak of the One Who is the Beginning. This day there were no revelations. No new understandings or answers to questions that move in my heart like the waves at me feet, but Presence simply inviting me to enjoy and to trust.

We headed back to my daughter’s apartment carrying a few shells, a small piece of driftwood for her mantel, and two pieces of seaglass that eventually would sit on my prayer table. The next day I drove home through mountains glowing with fall colors. In one more day, with sand still clinging to my pant legs, I was walking a road winding through wooded hills and watching birds landing on feeders outside a cabin’s windows.

PHOTO:Mary van Balen

I lit a candle and wrote in my journal, making sketches of shells and a list of birds at the feeders: woodpeckers, nuthatches, and tufted titmice. Looking up, I was amazed at the variety of colors and textures outside the window: Huge yellow, brown, and deep red oak leaves, smooth barked and deeply ridged tree trunks, green shrubs dotted with red berries, all against a backdrop of blue sky and grey leaf-covered ground.

Unlike my days at ocean when my eyes looked out across the water at the horizon, the day at the cabin offered obstructed views, but they were rich. Leaving the chill of the cabin, I moved outside to the sun-warmed deck, and still the pilgrim, sat silently on the weathered bench.

Wind rustling leaves filled the woods with a sound similar to the ocean’s surf, not rhythmic, but constant.

Creation psalms came to mind with their images of a God who made the sun and moon to mark time and confined the oceans so life could flourish on the land. ‘How varied are your works, Lord! In wisdom you have made them all” (Ps 104, 24). Like Job reminded by God, I have no idea how all this came to be. The “Big Bang” is likely, as Pope Francis recently affirmed. The how and the why remain a mystery, engaging professional scientists and theologians and expanding the minds and spirits of the rest of us who think about it.

But, deep down, I’m pondering Presence in the moment, in the now of sitting on the beach, walking through the woods, or working at Macy’s. In doing laundry and cooking dinner. In reading poetry and scripture, in drinking tea, and falling asleep. It’s the grace to be alive and open to the wonder of each bit of life that I’m looking for.

Being still in the midst of creation nurtures that prayer in us. It’s always been so, as the psalmist says: The heavens are telling the glory of God; and the firmament proclaims his handiwork.Day to day pours forth speech, and night to night declares knowledge.There is no speech, nor are there words; their voice is not heard; yet their voice goes out through all the earth, and their words to the end of the world (Psalm 19, 1-4).

PHOTO: Jennifer Stephens

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: autumn, beach, big bang, creation, Emily Dickinson, Grace in the Moment, ocean, October, Pope Francis, Presence, Psalms, quiet prayer, silence

October 23, 2014 By Mary van Balen 1 Comment

Lesson from the Leaves

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

I’m in Virginia visiting my daughter and to get here I had to drive through West Virginia’s mountains. My friends know that driving through West Virginia is the part of the trip I dread. Mom, born in West Virgina and a resident for a while (while I was five and six) could never understand my feelings. The mountains are beautiful, she’d say. They are. But so is the ocean and the more open vistas of Virginia. Trucks don’t whiz by on one side of their highways while the mountain drops away on the other side.

Granted, the highways through West Virginia have improved immensely since I began driving them each summer on the way to the beach with my family. Still, I don’t relish the thought of winding through them to arrive at the east coast. I thought about using the Pennsylvania turnpike this time. Google Maps showed it passing through fewer mountainous regions, but the substantial toll caused me to reconsider.

Parisian hot chocolate at the Blue Talon

So, Tuesday, a rainy grey day (Rain is right up there with semis and fog in my list of things that make mountain driving worse.) I set off in time to make it to Virginia before darkness fell. As I sat at the Blue Talon restaurant, sharing amazingly rich, creamy hot chocolate with a brick of homemade marshmallow floating in the silver cup, I shared the mountain drive with my daughter and her friend. I had to admit that the leaves were stunning, even without the benefit of bright sun.

“The colors were breathtaking. I could only imagine how they would’ve looked if rain wasn’t falling and clouds weren’t obscuring more direct light. I would’ve had to stop to gaze at them. As it was, keeping my eyes on the road was work.” My mother appreciated mountain beauty year round, and even if I were a begrudging seasonal admirer, she would’ve approved of my admission.

I thought of my drive as I read this blog by Omid Safi on Krista Tippet’s “On Being.” The magnificent colors of autumn forests have a message for us: Welcome the little deaths that come. They unmask the Divine that is already present in us. Today’s first reading at Mass also speaks of the Presence that is already within us:

Ephesians 3:14-20
This is what I pray, kneeling before the Father, from whom every family, whether spiritual or natural, takes its name:
Out of his infinite glory, may he give you the power through his Spirit for your hidden self to grow strong, so that Christ may live in your hearts through faith, and then, planted in love and built on love, you will with all the saints have strength to grasp the breadth and the length, the height and the depth; until, knowing the love of Christ, which is beyond all knowledge, you are filled with the utter fullness of God.

I can’t wait for the short trip to the beach my daughter and I will enjoy beginning tomorrow. I am an ocean person at heart. Still, after reading the blog, I’m hoping for a sunny day to drive back home. The thought of glorious color and prayer breathing out of those mountains may ease my dread of the West Virginia trek.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: autumn, creation, death, grace, leaves, Parisian hot chocolate, Presence, The Blue Talon

October 13, 2014 By Mary van Balen 1 Comment

The Synod on the Family

Posted on new.va

The Synod on the Family, called by Pope Francis, is into week two. The first document has been released. It is really a summary of what has been discussed thus far. The rest of the week will be spent with the bishops in small groups, refining the document that then will be released. As noted in NCR’s article, the document speaks in new tones of listening and recognition of the dignity of persons, and with mercy.

Still, I find myself bristling at the continued use of the word “failure” or “failed” in discussion of divorced people. Yes, truly listening to the concerns and realities of ordinary people is a step forward and perhaps heralds a coming openness to change in policies that do not reflect the love and mercy of Jesus. Still, as one who is divorced and who has worked with women in abusive situations, I must say that many times, leaving a marriage is not a “failure,” but a success. To stay in a relationship that has become oppressive, that no longer is life-giving, or that has become abusive simply to “obey the rules” is not something to encourage.

In some of these situations, if the spouses (or spouse) would pursue an annulment, the church might say the sacramental marriage was invalid, it never happened….But many do not pursue such a course. The church should respect the persons involved, not calling them failures, but supporting them as they move on.

A topic completely missing from the discussion is that of the transgender community. (Read entire document here.) Often overlooked, the “T” in “LGBT” needs to be considered. Many transgendered people have left the Catholic church after enduring humiliating experiences including the suggestion that they be exorcised for the demon within. The lack of understanding of current medical and psychological knowledge about this reality is a glaring omission.

Today, the issues of the transgender community are becoming more and more visible in the media and social consciousness of the reality has grown. The Roman Catholic Church needs to follow that lead.

The current movement is hopeful. We’ll see how far the Spirit leads and how far the Church follows.

Filed Under: The Scallop, Widening Our Circles Tagged With: catholic, compassion, faith, gender, grace, hope, inclusion, LGBT, mercy, Pope Francis, Synod on Family

October 10, 2014 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Saint John XXIII and the Holy Spirit

Originally published in The Catholic Times, Oct. 13 Vol. 64:2

This week we celebrate for the first time the feast of Saint John the XXIII. The day of his feast, October 11, was selected because it was the date of his opening the Second Vatican Council in 1962. His initiative surprised those who thought he would be a “caretaker” pope.

When Pope Francis canonized him in April of this year, he pointed to Pope John’s willingness to follow the Spirit: “In convening the Council, Saint John XXIII showed an exquisite openness to the Holy Spirit. He let himself be led and he was for the Church a pastor, a servant-leader, guided by the Holy Spirit. This was his great service to the Church; for this reason I like to think of him as the pope of openness to the Holy Spirit.”

A young student during those years, I loved the Pope. I liked his round brimmed hat and quick smile. I liked his visiting ordinary people in Rome. He reminded me of my grandma.

We drove to Pittsburgh to visit her. When we arrived at her home, which was on the second floor of what had been a hotel, we raced up the stairs to be the first to rest on her ample lap, wrapped in her strong, soft embrace. I thought Pope John the XXIII would’ve been that kind of grandpa.

In high school, I read the documents of the Council. After years of sitting in classrooms where vocations to priesthood and religious life were presented as the most desirable states of life and marriage was for those who couldn’t measure up, reading Chapter V of Lumen Gentium, “The Universal Call to Holiness,” was vindication of what I had already observed: Parents and families and single people were living lives every bit as challenging, grace-filled, and transforming as those of the priests in the rectory or the sisters who taught in our schools.

Pope John XXIII Calling for Vatican Council II

Reading the words felt good: “It is therefore quite clear that all Christians in whatever state or walk of life are called to the fullness of Christian life and to the perfection of charity…” “The forms and tasks of life are many but there is one holiness, which is cultivated by all who are led by God’s Spirit…”

Gaudium et Spes” offered more hope: “The invitation to converse with God is addressed to men and women as soon as they are born.” “The best way to fulfill one’s obligations of justice and love is to contribute to the common good according to one’s means and the needs of others…” “Just as God did not create people to live as individuals but to come together in the formation of social unity, so he ‘willed to make women and men holy and to save them, not as individuals without any bond between them, but rather to make them into a people…”

Vatican II began to move the Roman Catholic Church away from fear of and toward engagement with the modern world. The council reached out to all: “We cannot pray to God the Father of all if we treat any people as other than sisters and brothers, for all are created in God’s image.”

It’s fitting to reflect on Pope John XXIII’s courageous willingness to follow that holy lead as the church gathers in a synod to consider the family in today’s world. I wish those invited included more ordinary couples, more women, and more diversity of family experiences. Still, the gathering is hopeful. We’ll see.

Pope Francis’ address to the thousands of people gathered in the piazza to pray for the synod reminded me of John XXIII’s Spirit led effort. “May the Wind of Pentecost blow upon the Synod’s work,” Francis said, “on the Church, and on all of humanity. Undo the knots which prevent people from encountering one another, heal the wounds that bleed, rekindle hope.”

His homily at Sunday’s opening mass warned of the possibility that those charged with nurturing God’s people can bring harm instead out of their self interest, greed, and pride: “God’s dream always clashes with the hypocrisy of some of his servants. We can ‘thwart’ God’s dream if we fail to let ourselves be guided by the Holy Spirit,” Pope Francis said. “The Spirit gives us that wisdom which surpasses knowledge, and enables us to work generously with authentic freedom and humble creativity.”

We can honor Pope John XXIII by praying for the continuing unfolding of Vatican II wisdom and for openness of all, no matter their position, to the Spirit who is blowing through windows and refreshing the air in our church.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: Gaudium et Spes, Holy Spirit, hope, Lumen Gentium, Pope Francis, Pope John XXIII, Saint John XXIII, Synod of the Family, Universal Call to Holiness, Vatican Council II

October 8, 2014 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

The Heavens Declare the Glory of God

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

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

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: cosmos, creation, grace, hope, light, lunar eclipse, mercy, present to the moment, quiet prayer

September 24, 2014 By Mary van Balen 1 Comment

Living in Black & White

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

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

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: creation, grace, Grace in the Moment, Presence, present to the moment, The Cafe Terrace Place du Forum Arles, The Giver, van Gogh