Mary van Balen — Page 19

July 19, 2014 By Mary van Balen 2 Comments

Reentry

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Reentry is always a challenge whether one is returning to work or school from vacation, rejoining estranged groups of family or friends, adjusting to changing seasons, or for a select few, taking the bumpy ride back into earth’s atmosphere from a stint in outer space. When we “enter again” we are not the same people we were when we left. If they do what is intended, vacations change us into more relaxed and revitalized versions of ourselves. Engaging again with people who have caused us hurt or pain or whom we have hurt and avoided requires growth and maturity, an open heart and a bit of courage. I can’t imagine the change in perspective that affects those human beings who have had the privilege of seeing the earth from outer space. (A stunning book of photographs and reflections of astronauts from around the world give a glimpse into that experience: The Home Planet by Kevin W. Kelley ed. with a forward by Jacques-Yves Cousteau. I am not sure it is available to purchase, but you might find a used copy or one in a library.)

Wherever we are coming from and going to, retuning to life’s routines after a time away presents opportunities. Can I return to work without allowing the pace, atmosphere, and demands overwhelm me? If it’s a job I don’t like, can I keep a positive attitude and look for what is good in it? Am I able to let go of anger and the urge to see just one point of view, mine, when attempting to reconnect with those I’ve been avoiding?

I’m experiencing a reentry myself. After a ten day residency for a two-year spiritual guidance program, I’m doing laundry and preparing to return to work, writing, and family connections. It’s not easy. While the schedule was full of presentations, reflections, and hard work, it also provided a silent sabbath of retreat for a couple of days. The class had gathered from around the country and new and deep friendships were begun.

For ten days I didn’t have to prepare food or wash dishes. I could wander around the fifty-acre spiritual center in Maryland listening to birds and watching deer, foxes, and fireflies. On the night of the Perigee Moon (Super Moon) I found a comfortable place to sit and kept vigil with binoculars and a camera, fueled by a homemade chocolate chip cookie and cup of tea.

Part of the gift of the residency was the opportunity to cultivate a quiet, listening heart, sharing silence as well as conversation and presentations as a group. We focused on the Divine Presence in our lives and in the lives of those we serve. We held in prayer those dear to us, those hurting in our world torn by violence, and creation that offers solace and grace even while reeling from effects of 7 billion people living on the planet.

The night before we would all return home, our class had a party. Spontaneous. Food showed up on tables. People pitched in to arrange the space. Lots of talk. Lots of laughter. I walked over to add some snacks to my plate and laughed when I saw what a couple of clever folks had added to the offerings: From Trader Joes: Inner Peas. From Brewer’s Art in Maryland: Resurrection Beer.

Two things to remember as I ease back into life at home: Take time to be still and to cultivate the sense of living in the Divine Presence. Have faith that God brings good from all things and invites us to be part of bringing Grace into the world, into our time and place and to rest in the Spirit that blows where it will.

And, when I forget, I just might pick up a bag of Inner Peas, wash them down with some Resurrection Beer and move into prayerful silence.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: creation, faith, grace, hope, love, prayer, Presence, present to the moment, quiet prayer, spirituality

July 13, 2014 By Mary van Balen 2 Comments

Slowing Down

Photo: Mary van Balen

“Speed Bump Ahead” The warning to slow down. An apt sign for the road along the property of Holy Trinity Spiritual Center in Maryland. It is, indeed, a place to slow down.

I hadn’t realized how much I needed to heed the admonition. Too busy to notice, I guess. I thought I was doing pretty well. Squeezing in scripture readings and some quiet prayer. Well, not as much as I’d like. The busyness of work and the rest of life had become routine. Normal. As it does.

I’m a proponent of meeting God in the moment. Any moment. Every moment. But, it seems, taking time now and then to be still and let my soul catch up with my body, is necessary to allow those God moments to sink in. And, I am finding, slowing down after months of barreling ahead takes longer than slowing down when it is a habit. A bit like putting the brakes on when driving a big truck or my little Civic. One takes longer to stop than the other.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

So, I am grateful for ten days at this center. There are sessions filled with information and words and movement, but also with times of silence. I am grateful.

I ended this night sitting outside with binoculars, a homemade chocolate chip cookie, and a super moon rising above the trees. I’m slowing down!

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: creation, slowing down, spirituality

July 12, 2014 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Blessed Rain of Grace

Photo: Mary van Balen

First published in The Catholic Times July 13, 2014 issue

I love the words of the Lord proclaimed by Isaiah in Sunday’s first reading and find them to be a great source of hope. Perhaps it’s the simplicity of the metaphor: Rain and snow and the word of God.

“Just as from the heavens the rain and snow come down and do not return there till they have watered the earth, making it fertile and fruitful, giving seed to the one who sows and bread to the one who eats, so shall my word be….”

Despite countless acres of concrete and asphalt that stretch and tangle around the globe, the majority of rain and snow that fall from the sky land on ground that can soak it up. Last night, hearing thunder in the distance, I walked outside, pulled up a lawn chair, and watched towering clouds move quickly across the sky. Leaves rustled turning bottom up as the storm blew in.

Potted herbs behind me released wafts of rosemary, basil, oregano, and sage as big cold drops hit their leaves. Birds hurried to shelter and a rabbit scampered quickly across the lawn and under a bush. Rain came harder and I retreated inside, carrying the smell of summer rain.

Eventually, water that isn’t sucked up by vegetation or that isn’t trapped deep below the surface returns to the air. The great water cycle we all studied in grade school science class. The moisture doesn’t disappear, it just changes form for a while until conditions are right, and after gathering in clouds, it drops to the earth once again.

“…so shall my word be” says the Lord. “…my word that goes forth from my mouth; my word shall not return to me void, but shall do my will, achieving the end for which I sent it.”

I think of Jesus, the Word of God, who came and accomplished his mission. Saturated with the One who sent him, he could not help but reveal the Holy Mystery. Jesus lived life in accordance with God’s will: To love unconditionally, loving all and calling them to share in Divine life, as he did. Jesus, the Word of God from before all time, came and watered our souls with Love so they could be fruitful.

God’s word also falls into our selves through words of scripture. As we listen to readings at Mass or ponder them at home, the Truth makes the soil of our hearts fertile, able to bring forth God’s life and love into our daily lives and into the world.

We also are God’s word, a bit of Mystery spoken into flesh sent with purpose. Sometimes, I find myself wondering what mine is at the moment. I’m a mother, daughter, sister, and aunt. I’ve been a teacher, author, and social worker. Still, I wonder: What is the word that I am given to speak in the world today? What am I to do that will “achieve the end for which” I am sent into this “now.”

Sometimes God’s purpose for us seems clear. Perhaps it is parenting years. Or times when we comfort the sick or serve those in our family or circle of friends who need help. Sometimes we may be part of something much bigger than ourselves that makes a visible difference in the world. As I write, we are celebrating the 50^th anniversary of President Lyndon B. Johnson signing the Civil Rights Act into law.

Those who were part of that effort from politicians to civil rights leaders, to ordinary people who spoke up and refused to give in to the racist world view…those people were words sent forth from the mouth of God and they spoke their truth.

It’s often in ordinary times that we have difficulty recognizing ourselves as God’s word spoken into the world. It was easier for me when I worked with abused women. Not so clear as a retail associate. Yet, there I am. There we are. In mundane jobs, in ordinary family circumstances, in places we never expected to be.

Simple. Like rain falling from the sky. We do our jobs. We love. We persevere. And the Civil Rights Acts becomes law, or a child learns to read, or a food pantry is stocked, or dinner is prepared, or a lonely soul receives a smile.

I don’t know the details of God’s plan. I know it is about loving and service. And that Holy Word and blessed rain of Grace will fall into our hearts and make it come to be.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: civil rights, grace, Grace in the Moment, Presence, spirituality

June 17, 2014 By Mary van Balen 1 Comment

Being One

Andrej Rublëv – Trinity

First published in The Catholic Times, June 15, 2014 Volume 63:34

Easter season is over and we now begin the long liturgical period of Ordinary Time. This Sunday we celebrate Trinity Sunday. I’d like to reflect on this mystery by pondering Jesus’ words from last week’s readings. They speak of the coming of the Holy Spirit and the unity of all three Persons of the Trinity as well as our inclusion in Divine Life shared.

Last Thursday, in a reading from John, Jesus proclaims his heart’s desire in prayer. Approaching death, his thoughts turn to those who follow him. He doesn’t wish for earthly power or anything for himself, but desires that all those who believe in him may share in the union that he shares with the One who sent him. It is a prayer of love. A radical love.

Throughout his life, Jesus showed his disciples what that love looked like. It was washing feet. It was taking care of others. He told Peter, “Feed my sheep.” It was speaking the truth regardless of consequences. It was being with the outcast and those on the fringes of society. It was living simply with passion for the kingdom rather than for riches. While the words of that gospel are beautifully poetic, they demand sacrifice.

Jesus prays that all will come to perfection “as one,” not as individuals. We come to healing and salvation together with one another and with God. Our journey is not about personal salvation; it’s about the salvation of the world. Closing ourselves off from the problems of our world and pursing our own “holiness” would be easier. Leaving the messiness behind is tempting, whether violence, poverty, oppression, or care of the planet. Jesus tells us that’s not how it’s done.

I’m often overwhelmed by the challenges facing us and our world today. What can one person do? Is Jesus’ prayer too much to hope for? If we were on our own, the answer surely would be “Yes,” but he reassures us. We are not alone. We have Divine Love moving within us. “…I made known to them your name and I will make it known, that the love with which you loved me may be in them and I in them.”

On Pentecost we celebrated the coming of that Love, the Spirit. In that day’s readings Paul’s letter the Corinthians states that though we are many, we are one. The gifts of the Spirit are unique in each of us, but they are given for the same purpose: “To each individual the manifestation of the Spirit is given for some benefit.” When the challenges of our times overwhelm, we do well to remember this. Each one’s actions are joined with the actions of all others. God’s work is done by all together, healing all by the work God in all.

Sometimes what we do seems to make little difference whether at home, at work, or in the larger community, but we don’t see the whole picture. In spring, we plant seeds. That’s our part. What nourishes them and brings them to maturity bearing fruit, that’s Another’s work. We put small dormant kernels of life into dark earth, wait, and trust. Our call in the world is similar. We do our best and trust that God, gathering all our efforts, will do the rest.

The other two Pentecost readings gave us different accounts of the coming of the Spirit. One, from Acts, is dramatic: a howling wind driving through the house, tongues of fire descending. The other is quieter: Jesus came through locked doors to be with his disciples who were gathered in fear. “Peace be with you,” he said, and he breathed on them. The Spirit came with breath. Either way, the message is the same: The Living God is within us, the source of our gifts and our call as well as the power to be faithful to them.

Today’s feast celebrates the mystery of our God who is Relationship: Three persons dwelling in and with the other, and as Jesus’ prayer reveals, in us. The famous icon, “Trinity,” written by 15^th century Russian painter, Andrei Rubelev, while picturing three angels has been interpreted by many to represent the Holy Trinity. The figures are gathered around a table, leaving open the place facing the one who views the icon. Perhaps it is an invitation to take our seat at table with the Holy Mystery and join in the Love and work of God.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: Andrej Rublëv Trinity, family, grace, Holy Trinity, love, One, relationship

June 9, 2014 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

I Need Pentecost

Photo: Mary van Balen-Detail Lectern Holy Trinity Church, Sloane Square, London

Of Sunday’s two readings describing the coming of the Holy Spirit to the disciples, I have always preferred the one from John’s gospel where Jesus on his followers huddled in fear behind locked doors and says simple, “Receive the Holy Spirit.” Never one for lots of drama and fanfare, this account is quiet. The Spirit comes with a breath. No one jumps up mysteriously speaking so everyone can understand no matter the language. No instant transformation. These same disciples are huddled together when Jesus returns again (Granted, he does come through locked doors. A bit of drama.)to show his wounds to the unconvinced Thomas.

All in all, the followers of Jesus needed some time to respond to the gift of Spirit. Life had been confusing. Jesus had been crucified. Nothing turned out as they had expected. The Spirit had a lot of work to do, sinking into the hearts and souls of these wounded and confused folks. They needed time.

Maybe that’s another reason I like this description of the coming of the Holy Spirit: It resonates. Life has not turned out as I had expected either. Does it ever? I need time to heal from the deeper hurts. I need time to get up from life’s more stinging blows and, when I do, to rebuild trust in this God of the Psalms who, despite being billed as our guardian and protecter, sometimes lets things slip by, at least from my perspective.

So, I basked in the Pentecost celebration at Mass yesterday, swaying to songs with beats from Pentecostal to Caribbean. I soaked up joy and hope. This morning, as I read today’s Mass readings I stuck with the Psalmist’s prayer, “My help is in the One who made heaven and earth,” and know that, like the disciples, I will grow into deeper trust and the peace that comes on the same breath as the Spirit

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: faith, grace, Holy Spirit, hope, love, peace, Pentecost, prayer, Presence, Psalm

May 10, 2014 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Grace Overflowing

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Originally published in The Catholic Times, May 11 2014 issue

Despite working until close at Macy’s on Holy Saturday night and arriving home around ten-thirty pm, I had energy and decided to bake hot cross buns. Well, I had energy until they were ready to rise the second time. Dragging, by three in the morning, I was savoring the warm, cinnamony-sweet results and cleaning the kitchen.

When the alarm sounded at 7:45, I wasn’t sure I could pry myself out of bed. “I could go to 11:30,” I thought. No. Nine o’clock was the mass I wanted to attend, sleepy or not. After a shower and a strong cup of tea, I headed out to St. Thomas the Apostle where the parish family was gathering to celebrate Easter.

The church was packed, and even though my usual place was taken, I found a seat next to a lovely older woman wearing an amazing hat. Remember Easter hats? As young girls, my sisters and I had new hats each Easter. Hats. Dresses. White gloves. Part of the ritual.

The altar was surrounded with flowers and on the ledge at the bottom of each stained glass window sat a potted spring bulb flower: hyacinths, tulips, daffodils. The tight buds were beginning to loosen, and hints of color were peeking out. A quite murmur rested in the church as people wished one another “Happy Easter” and caught up on the week before. Then the music began.

One of the many things I love about Saint Thomas is the spirited singing accompanied by a variety of instruments. Organ, piano, guitar, flute, drums, tambourine, trumpet, and on Easter I think I heard a trombone. Someone can set me straight if I’m wrong. It doesn’t matter really. What matters is that people are welcome to share their talents and that so many do!

I don’t remember all the songs we sang that morning, but I remember the joy with which they were sung, the clapping to the rhythm, the harmonies. A favorite “sprinkling” ritual at that parish is the procession up the center aisle to a large earthenware bowl that holds baptismal water. Pews empty out one by one, and when each person reaches the bowl, they dip their hand into the water, turn, and make the sign of the cross on the forehead of the person behind them, all the while belting out Marty Haugen’s song, “Up from the Waters.”

“Up from the waters, God has claimed you, Up from the waters, O child of Light. Praise to the One who called and named you, Up from the waters into life…”

Choir members brought up the end of the line, the last two keeping time with their instruments. The tall gentleman who played the tambourine was last. Having no one behind him to bless with the water, he turned, raised his hands and shook the tambourine making a large sign of the cross: He blessed us all, and we applauded our “amen.”

The responsorial song was sung with a strong voice and a bright smile.

And so it went. The celebrant chose to read the Gospel from the Easter Vigil Mass where the two Marys, having been told that Jesus had risen ran “overjoyed” to tell the disciples. They saw Jesus on their way.

The theme of joy ran through his homily, and with a child’s abandon, a young member of the congregation punctuated one of Fr. Denis’s comments with a heartfelt, “Yeah!”

It fit.

A sung Eucharist Prayer, shared peace, shared communion. The wine was sweet. Sun poured into the windows, waking the flowers as we sang our Alleluias and closing hymn. No one was in a hurry to leave. I told the lady next to me how much I liked her hat, then found some friends who had been across the aisle and exchanged Easter greetings.

I lingered, soaking in the Mystery and Grace, and then made my way across the parking lot. Coming out from the common room in the basement, a few people were carrying boxes of candy-filled plastic eggs to scatter for the Easter egg hunt that would follow the later Mass.

Waiting for the traffic light at the corner to change, I looked at the green grass beside the rectory and church. It was absolutely covered with colored eggs. An abundance. I hadn’t kept Lent particularly well, yet there it was, God’s gift of Self overflowing. A never ending Fountain Fullness as a Franciscan friend says. I put down the car window, waved, and took a deep breath, glad I had pulled myself out of bed for nine o’clock Mass.

A joyful Easter Season to you all.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: creation, Easter, grace, Grace in the Moment, hope, lent, love, mercy, present to the moment, spirituality, spring

April 23, 2014 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Canonization Unease

Next Sunday, Pope Francis will canonize two very different popes, John XXII and John Paul II. It is a politically astute move since elevating one or the other could have been seen as “victory” for the followers of one over the other. The two popes were very different men who left behind vastly different legacies.

Those who know me know, of the two camps, I fall in behind John XXIII. He was the pope who called the Second Vatican Council to open the windows of the Church letting fresh air swirl around as I was coming of age in a Catholic family and elementary school. The changes begun by VCII went beyond moving from Latin into vernacular in the Mass or increased lay participation in the same. The council engaged the Roman Catholic Church with the modern world and produced documents that influenced the course of the Roman Catholic Church for decades. Still do. But could do more…

John XXIII is remembered as the “good pope,” the one who walked the streets of Rome to meet the people, who was the pastor rather than theologian. (His studies were in Church History.)

John Paul II was also a man of great influenced not only on the Church but also on the world once he moved onto its stage. He is often credited with playing a large part in bringing down the Communist regime in Eastern Europe. He reached out to people of other faiths, praying in a mosque and at the West Wall in Jerusalem. He called together leaders of many faiths to pray for peace at Assisi. And he reached out to the young Catholics with his charismatic ways.

On the home front, however, he was, as John L. Allen Jr. said on the occasion of JPII’s death, a pope who “leaves behind the irony of a world more united because of his life and legacy, and a church more divided.” (See NCR editorial “New Papal saints have flaws as well as greatness.”) Some will say the divisions began with VCII.

Naming these two different men “saints” does not make them so, but simply expresses the Church’s conviction that indeed they are enjoying eternal life with the God they gave their lives to serve. It also holds them up as role models for those of us still on our way. This is where my unease enters. Holy people are not required to hold the same political beliefs. They do not have to share the same vision for the direction the Church should go. They are people with histories and experiences that shaped them. They are not perfect. It is not JPII’s vision of the Church, more conservative than my own, that gives me pause. It is his handling the sexual abuse of children and the protection of hierarchy who shielded pedophiles in their dioceses. His calling Cardinal Law to be archpriest of a major basilica in Rome after he resigned in disgrace as archbishop of Boston was devastating. At least to me and to many others outraged by the ability of bishops to transfer known pedophiles from parish to parish or across the country.

We all have faults and need God’s Grace and mercy. I’m not saying I don’t think JPII is a saint as Maureen Dowd says in today’s New York Times op-ed. I am saying the time isn’t right. I’m not comfortable with holding him up as a role model when the RCC has yet to deal with the role of hierarchy in the sex abuse scandal in a way that holds them accountable. I hope Pope Francis will address this issue. Until someone does, the healing cannot be complete.

Many if not most will disagree with me, I suppose, and the canonization will go forward, and life will go on. So will the Church’s struggle to come to grips with the scope of the abuse and the depth of anguish left in its wake. And with the clericalism that allowed it to continue for decades.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: clericalism, John Paul II, John XXIII, mercy, Pope Francis, sainthood, sex abuse scandal

April 19, 2014 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

A Quiet Priest

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

As is her custom, a friend of mine invited some women friends to her home for a Holy Thursday prayer and dinner. This year, four of us gathered around her table, sang, read a reflection, and shared food. During the evening, she told us each was invited because of the ministries we have been living for years. One woman was the first (and surprising to me) the only Black American principal in her diocesan school system. She remembered flaming crosses lit along the street the day she was appointed. She continues to work with young people and is active in the Ladies of Peter Claver association. Another woman has been organizing her parish’s religious education for years. Our hostess particularly noted her work with the teens and how she has been able to encourage and inspire them, not easy task as anyone who works with young people know.

Our friend chose to focus on my ministry of writing columns, articles, and books, which has spanned decades. At the moment, waiting is a big part of my “work,” waiting for an agent to find a home for my latest book. And our hostess is well-known in the area for her work with women, often poor and marginalized. The list of her work would take a post of its own, but her prophetic voice has always spoken clearly for the truth she knows, no matter how her message is received.

After dinner and before dessert, we prayed together and blessed one another, poured water over hands that have worked hard over the years to be priest to God’s people. Of course, all are called to holiness, as Vatican II documents proclaim. All share in the common priesthood of Christ through their baptism. Still, as I sat in the presence of these women, I wondered again about the Catholic Church’s refusal to admit women to the order of priesthood.

I thought about women around the world who know the call from God, they know themselves to be “priest,” and yet they must do their work quietly. Often, their efforts meet resistance. I read that Pope Francis is open to the idea of married men being ordained. He doesn’t seem so open to ordaining women.

As I sat with these women and prayed, I gave thanks for those women who, called to priest God’s people in a special way, do so as best as they are able, faithful to their call, even if the Roman Catholic institution has yet to recognize what is being lived before their eyes.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: catholic, equality, faith, grace, Holy Thursday, hope, humility, lent, Pope Francis, priesthood, women

April 16, 2014 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Spring Snow

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

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

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

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

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

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

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

April 10, 2014 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Being an Appreciator

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Originally published in The Catholic Times, April 13, 2014, Volume 63:27

A good friend, Rita, once said years ago that she knew herself to be an appreciator: an appreciator of God revealed in the world of creation, of people, of life. I thought of her when I read a reflection by Carole Crumley, Episcopal priest and Shalem Institute’s Senior Program Director. Carole’s morning prayer practice is gazing at the world outside in her backyard, enjoying watching the day wake up as she does. In the reflection she mentions poet Mary Oliver, one of my favorites, whose poetry celebrates the glorious sacred in every day. Oliver, like Crumley, and my friend Rita, is an appreciator.

I’ve often told classes of aspiring journalers and writers that writing helps me stay “wide awake” as I move through life. It helps me notice and appreciate. As spring arrives after a particularly relentless winter, many of us notice the first crocuses and daffodils, the forsythia blooming, the feel of soft earth that just weeks ago was hard and unmoving beneath our feet. Winter makes us into appreciators, at least for a while.

We quickly become accustomed to green crowned trees, warm air, and colorful blooms. Before long many of us will be complaining of the heat and finding refuge in air-conditioned spaces, alert for cool breezes and cooler temperatures. So goes the cycle. The sense of wonder and joy seems greatest at boundary times: winter into spring; Lent into Easter; sickness into health; danger into safety. Then it fades.

The call to be an appreciator or “pray-er” requires one to find the extraordinary cloaked in the ordinary, to marvel at our planet circling the sun even when the sun’s heat is oppressive, to see the Divine Mystery even when it is lodged in someone we don’t like.

Routine may be the greatest challenge to those who desire a poet’s heart or a saint’s prayer. How quickly we look past what surrounds us everyday, longing for something to lift our spirits or inspire us, when we tromp over miracles piled underfoot.

Artists of all types help us see these wonders more clearly. Hasn’t your heart moved at the beauty of a close-up photograph of something very plain: a tea cup, blue paint peeling off an old door, weeds pushing up through cracks in sidewalks? Haven’t you become lost in the light of a van Gogh painting? It’s by looking closely at what we all walk past everyday and wondering at it enough to celebrate it in words, music, or form, that artists awaken the poet and saint in us all.

Mary Oliver writes in her poem, “When Death Comes,” “When it’s over, I want to say: all my life/ I was a bride married to amazement… I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.”

I think that the Incarnation and the love that impelled the Creator to walk this earth with us, to eventually die for love of it and us rather than resort to grasping at power and control, invites us to live as poet and saint. Night imparts an appreciation of day, as does day of night. Winter gives us a heart for spring. Lent, a desire for Easter. Routine hides singularity.

Jesus was an appreciator. He saw the Glory of the Divine in poor fishermen and women spurned by society or the men in their lives. He saw majesty in lilies and grace in the poor widow’s gift of pennies. His celebration of all life challenged those who would cherish life only on their own terms. He accepted death at the hands of the extraordinary and powerful only to witness to the victory of what, at first glace, seemed ordinary and weak. An itinerant preacher of love and service, easily dismissed by most, conquered death and invites us to do the same: to see with him the Glory of God infused into every moment, even the darkest, to expect to find wonder and Presence, and to celebrate it by the way we live our lives.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: appreciator, creation, Grace in the Moment, Mary Oliver, Shalem, spirituality