Jesus Spoke Truth to Power. We Are Called to Do the Same

Jesus Spoke Truth to Power. We Are Called to Do the Same

tPainting by Gaye Reissland of diverse group of poeple with hands held high forming a heart shape with their fingers while approaching the Statue of Liberty.

Gaye Reissland acrylic on canvas 26″ x 12″
Painted for the Columbus Crossing Borders Project

Father James Martin, in a Facebook post, calls out all those complicit in the the grossly inhuman treatment of the migrant children being taken from their parents who have crossed the border: “Even then, all those involved in this will have to beg forgiveness from God. Because in the fullness of time, the ones in trouble will not be the migrants. It will be those who sinned against them.”

The Vatican won an international prize for its short video on migrants and refugees from the International Social Advertising Festival or Publifestival awarded its “Best Strategy in Social Action” prize. The video’s poignant images and words remind us of the preciousness of all human life, the potential of every human person, and the imperative to welcome, protect, promote, and integrate (not assimilate!) those who come to us.

But what do we see? Thousands of children separated from their parents. People, adults and children alike, put in fenced “cages” or  tent cities while the adults wait for an expedited hearing to learn their fate. All around the world, refugees turned away despite the horrors they are fleeing.

Martin’s and the Vatican’s messages are profound calls to action. But as an ordinary person, not one with political position or money or influence, I increasingly find myself wondering what I can do not only in response to the immigrant/refugee  situation, but also in the general climate of deconstruction of policies and initiatives (e.g., eliminating environmental protections and withdrawing from the Paris Climate Agreement) that have slowly guided our country over its relatively short existence toward a more responsible, ethical democracy—as the Preamble of the U.S. Constitution states, “to form a more perfect union.”

I don’t have answers. I pray and try to bring compassion and respect to daily encounters with the people I work with and meet. I call and write my congressional representatives and donate what I can to campaigns. I vote and attend rallies. But these actions seem small.

Some people I know have launched bigger projects, trying to put the issues before the public (Columbus Crossing Borders Project, Through the Checkpoint). One of the project directors lamented, “But it seems like nothing in the face of what’s happening.” What can we do?  The answer is different for each one of us. But we must do something.

“If you lose heart, /when adversity comes your strength will only be weakness./ Rescue those being led away to death,/ hold back those who are being dragged to the slaughter./ Will you object, ‘But look, we did not know’?/Has he who weighs the heart no understanding,/ he who scans your soul no knowledge?/ He himself will repay a man as his deeds deserve.” Proverbs 24, 10-12 (The Jerusalem Bible)

Can we find “heart” in the support and example of others? Can we share strength in our communities of faith and love? Can we nurture hope in one another? In the midst of struggle, can we be strong together? Can we raise a chorus of voices that cry out for justice?

We cannot say to God, “Oh, I didn’t know it was this bad.” God knows better. The evidence is everywhere.

“Bad men need nothing more to compass their ends, than that good men should look on and do nothing.” (John Stuart Mill 1867)

It’s nothing new. When we see wrong, we must say something, do something. Jesus spoke truth to power. We are called to do the same.

© 2018 Mary van Balen

Three Simple Gifts

Three Simple Gifts

A mason jar with pink wildflowers and some greenery along with a small bowl of sand holding a tea light candle all sitting on colorful rectangle of fabric resting on a white table

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
Centerpiece SDI Conference 2018

Originally published in The Catholic Times, June 14, 2018

Recently I attended the Spiritual Director’s International Conference in St. Louis. The keynote speakers are well-known in the area of spirituality, and I looked forward to the breakout sessions, especially one on storytelling. To top it off, travel was a road trip with a good friend filled with hours of great conversation.

After we checked in to the St. Louis Union Station Hotel—a breathtakingly beautiful example of late 19th century architecture, stained-glass windows, gold leaf, and all—and enjoyed dinner, we made our way to the ballroom that served as the gathering place for plenary sessions. In the first half-hour, we received three gifts.

 

Silence

First came a call for the hundreds of spiritual companions to move into prayerful silence—not the usual kickoff activity for a large conference. Quiet prayer is a common thread found at the heart of all faith traditions, and it was integral to the entire weekend, repeated not only at every whole group gathering, but also at most of the breakout sessions.

Silence to quiet our “monkey-minds,” filled with thoughts crashing around in our heads. For five or ten minutes or longer, we acknowledged and released the interior noise and sank into precious moments of true silence, being still in Holy Presence.

In a world of noise, confusion and conflict it is necessary that there be places of silence, inner discipline and peace. In such places love can blossom. Thomas Merton

 In Silence God ceases to be an object and becomes an experience. Thomas Merton

Music

And then there was song. To be honest, I don’t remember what music opened the conference. Over the weekend we experienced many types: hymns and chants, instrumentals, songs that washed over us and songs that invited us to join in. I do remember the sense of joy that gently filled me as I sat that first evening, slowing down from the trip and settling in, emerging from silence and feeling music lift my spirit.

Music can be part of everyday life. We turn on the radio, stream songs from an app, or plug in our playlist. Often music is background sound. Our attention is elsewhere: Driving to work or fixing dinner. That’s good, but intentional experience of music is different, whether you’re singing, playing, listening, or moving to it.

Recently, a dear friend came to visit and brought a small book I had made for her years ago holding songs I’d written over decades, guitar chords and all. She asked me to sing them.

I slid a dusty guitar case out from under my bed, tuned the instrument and began to sing my way through the book. Surprise! Despite a few pesky chords, I remembered them all. Prayer.

Instead of enjoying a snippet of a favorite symphony while driving from here to here, once on retreat, I listened to it from beginning to end, eyes closed, focusing on nothing else. Transporting.

All of creation is a song of praise to God. Hildegard of Bingen

 I play the notes as they are written, but it is God who makes the music.  Johann Sebastian Bach

 I mean to sing to Yahweh all my life. I mean to play for my God as long as I live. Psalm 104

 Beauty

Next our attention was directed to the flowers on stage and the lovely centerpieces on each table. Early spring wildflowers, a single twig from a flowering tree or shrub, and a bit of green artfully placed in a clear mason jar. It sat on a square of interesting fabric and was surround by a few smooth stones and a small bowl holding sand and a single candle.

All had been gathered from her land and arranged simply by the woman responsible for “beauty” at the conference.

Beauty. In creation. In artifacts. In candlelight. In the people around the tables. It is good to be reminded to notice the beauty in our world, to celebrate it, to create it.

The fullness of Joy is to behold God in everything. Julian of Norwich

 The Word is living, being, spirit, a verdant greening, all creativity. Hildegard of Bingen

Three gifts given and received in the first half-hour but that would last all weekend and beyond. They are yours, too, wherever you are. Yours for the taking.

A sense of the universe, a sense of the all, the nostalgia which seizes us when confronted by nature, beauty, music – these seem to be an expectation and awareness of a Great Presence. Teilhard de Chardin

© 2018 Mary van Balen

Join Us for a Retreat: Journeys of Compassion

Join Us for a Retreat: Journeys of Compassion

By Richard Duarte Brown

In these times when divisiveness and fear of the “other” is on the rise, nurturing our sense of compassion is increasingly important. It isn’t easy, though. Blame. Anger. Shutting people out. These responses may rise more quickly than a compassionate one.

Join me and international retreat presenter, Rick Hatem, for a retreat, Journeys of  Compassion: A Response to Life’s Challenges and Opportunities, on Friday, June 29 from 7-9pm and Saturday, June 30, from 9am-4pm at the Martin de Porres Center, 2330 Airport Drive, Columbus, OH 43219.

Saturday’s retreat will complement the Friday evening reflections, but both sessions are complete in themselves.

  • Friday – Begins with quiet prayer and then using art and story, Rick and Mary will invite you to reflect on the “others” in our lives and in the world and how we can open our hearts to meet them.
  • Saturday – In addition to presentations and discussion, will include time for individual reflection and small-group sharing. There will also be an opportunity to hear about each other’s experience in the larger group. Optional: half-hour quiet prayer after lunch before the afternoon session.To register contact Rick: rickhatem@gmail.com Mary: maryvanbalen@gmail.com Pre-payment by check or credit card – All types of payment accepted at the retreat – Some scholarships available

 

Rick Hatem

Rick Hatem moved to Jerusalem in 1986 to work for peace with Palestinians and Israelis, engaging in dialogue with Jews, Muslims & Christians. His long involvement with l’Arche* began when he heard its founder, Jean Vanier, speak in Bethlehem in 1987. Rick joined the Bethlehem community, and when it closed in 1991, he returned to the U.S. and continued working with l’Arche in New York, Canada, and as a regional leader in the U.S., as well as by serving as a member of la Ferme Spirituality Center for three years in Trosly, France. Rick has worked as a spiritual director with the Henri Nouwen Society, the Spirituality Network, and other groups. He has led retreats in North America and Europe.

 

Mary van BalenMary van Balen is the author of four books, numerous articles, and has written the column “Grace in the Moment” for over 31 years. She holds an MA in Theology and was a resident scholar at the Collegeville Institute for Ecumenical & Cultural Research. Mary conducts retreats on topics including journaling and spirituality. She is a spiritual director, having completed the Spiritual Guidance Program at the Shalem Institute. Also an educator, Mary has worked as a classroom teacher, an enrichment consultant, and an adjunct instructor of theology. She has worked with abused women and single mothers in a federally funded poverty program for family literacy.

* L’Arche is French for “the ark.” In 1964 a Canadian, Jean Vanier, began a home called l’Arche in northern France. He welcomed two men with developmental disabilities to create home with him in the spirit of the beatitudes. Since then l’Arche has grown into an international federation of 150 communities in 40 countries. L’Arche continues to create community with men and women with developmental disabilities and those who live and work with them. L’Arche is ecumenical, shaped and guided by the major Christian denominations. Internationally l’Arche is multi-faith. There are 18 l’Arche communities in the U.S. including one in Cleveland, Ohio. The last 10 years of Henri Nouwen’s life were in l’Arche near Toronto.

 

Easter is More than History

Easter is More than History

Bouquet of bright flowers and cobalt blue glass water jug on table

Photo: Mary van Balen

Originally published in The Catholic Times, April 8, 2018

After the Resurrection, Jesus appeared over and over again to those who were closest to him. The gospel readings this week and through Sunday tell the stories. The women were the first to see him.

In Matthew’s gospel Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James and John walked in the early morning to the tomb. They were the brave ones who watched the angel appear like lightening, roll back the stone, and sit on it, frightening the Roman guards into a death-like stupor. They listened to the angel and hurried to tell the disciples what they had seen and heard. On their way, Jesus appeared to them, calmed their fears, and told them to instruct the disciples to meet him in Galilee.

In Luke’s gospel, the women were again the first at the tomb. They saw it was empty and spoke to the messengers of God about what had happened. The women told Simon and John who thought their story was nonsense, though Peter went to check it out and saw the empty tomb just as the women had reported.

In John’s gospel, Mary Magdalene walked to the tomb alone, and seeing it was empty hurried to tell Peter and John. They ran to the tomb and saw it was as Mary had described. John noticed the neatly folded cloth that had covered Jesus’ face and believed. The men returned home, but Mary remained, weeping in her grief. She entered the tomb, spoke with the angels who appeared to her, and then turned around. She saw Jesus, though she didn’t recognize him until he called her name. He instructed her to tell the others that she had seen him and to share what he had said to her. Mary was the first entrusted with the Good news of the resurrection. The first to proclaim it to the others.

Jesus continued to appear to his disciples. He walked with two travelers on the road to Emmaus who didn’t recognize him until they broke bread together.

He appeared on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias where some of his disciples had been fishing all night, to no avail. His instructions led them to an extravagant catch, and they shared breakfast on the beach. Jesus moved through locked doors where his followers were gathered in fear and confusion. He blessed them with peace and breathed the Spirit into them with his own breath. He ate with them, showed them his wounds, and later invited Thomas to put his fingers into them so he would believe.

Who do you identify with as you ponder these different accounts? Mary Magdalene who recognized Jesus when he called her name? The brave women, fearful yet persistent as they watched the angels and then met Jesus while on their way to tell the others? Or are you more a skeptical Peter and John? Disciples who just couldn’t fathom the truth of what was being said? Would you recognize the risen Jesus or think he was a ghost? Or maybe you’d be a Thomas who needed physical proof before he’d believe.

We have the advantage of hindsight. I’d like to imagine I’d be like the brave women, bearing the light of angels, listening through my fear, and proclaiming the resurrection. I’m not so sure. I would more likely have been found behind locked doors worrying about what was next.

Reflecting on these readings and placing ourselves in the scenes can be a good meditation but pondering where we encounter the suffering and the risen Christ today in our world is also important. Do we recognize the Divine in others? What opens our eyes? Do we see the wounds of Jesus in the wounds of others? In ourselves? When we do see, how do we respond?

What we celebrate is not simply history. Easter is not only an event. It is a way of living. It is Divine activity that reverberates through time and space and all creation. And we are part of it.

We are called to follow Jesus’s example in our world. To stand with the suffering. To embrace hurt and woundedness in others and in ourselves with God’s transforming love.

Jesus was murdered because he was faithful to being the Love of God on a planet that just couldn’t handle it. But that wasn’t the end of the story. Love is dangerous. It is hard. But in the end, it prevails!

Blessed Eastering!

© 2018 Mary van Balen

Snowy Morning Prayer

Snowy Morning Prayer

Spring snow flocking trees and lawnYes, as the rain and the snow come down from the heavens and do not return without watering the earth, spring snow covering small green plant

Magnolia buds under spring snowmaking it yield and giving growth to provide seed for the sower and bread for the eating,small peony shoot with ice crystal

snow on top of black iron railing

so the word that goes from my mouth does not return to me empty,

tall tree with branches covered in snowwithout carrying out my will and succeeding in what it was sent to do.  Isaiah 55, 10-11

Amen!

Lost Lent, Found Easter

Lost Lent, Found Easter

Burned trees look like a cross

Photo: Mary van Balen

This year’s Lent was not one of my best. Disciplines, a bit vague from the beginning, fell away early. Life simply “happened” as usual. I did write my columns, always a spiritual discipline I tell myself, and prepared for a presentation on compassion. But other resolves seemed to dissolve, swallowed up by illness, cataract surgery, and well, just life.

I don’t go to Holy Thursday mass anymore (always my favorite) because incense doesn’t agree with my lungs. Friday, after working in the morning and getting work completed on my car and feeling a bit guilty about my “lost Lent,” I decided to take an evening walk and pray with my steps.

The almost blue moon was brilliant in a clear sky. I cleared my mind and simply walked, mindful of the Presence which enveloped me and everyone else on our struggling planet. Trying not to think too much, just to be open, I found myself at the door of a local Catholic church. Lights were on. Lots of cars in the parking lot. I decided to go in.

I’m not sure where everyone was. Two women sat quietly in the front pews, one on each side of the center aisle. That was it. I sat in the back. The altar, usually draped with white or liturgically correct colored cloths was stripped bare. The tabernacle, which in Catholic churches usually contains consecrated hosts from previously celebrated Mass, stood empty, doors ajar. At the bottom of the steps leading to the altar was a crucifix flanked by two tall beeswax candles, flames steady.

As I focused on the crucifix, I became aware of how white the figure of Jesus was, white with auburn hair. I don’t know why, but it just struck me. I looked at the paintings that cover much of overhang above the chancel. White men. White Madonna. White child Jesus.

Hawkins Last Supper #6

Last Supper #6 by William L. Hawkins
Exhibit: William L. Hawkins: an Imaginative Geography
Columbus Museum of Art
Photo: Mary van Balen

Suddenly I remembered the art exhibit I had seen at the Columbus Museum of Art (CMOA) a couple of weeks ago: William L. Hawkins: An Imaginative Geography. Hawkins was a self-taught artist born in Kentucky in 1895. He moved to Columbus when he was 21 and remained there for the rest of his life. His paintings are described in a CMOA description of the exhibit as “intense, playful, wondrous, quirky, and flamboyant.” What came to mind as I sat in church on Good Friday were the paintings in his Last Supper series. Eight of the nine he created are hanging in the exhibit

 

 

 

William L. Hawkins painting Last Supper #9

Last Supper #9 by William L. Hawkins
Photo: Mary van Balen

Thought to have been inspired by a painting on velvet that Hawkins had recovered from a trash bin, in which Jesus and his disciples were portrayed as Black men, Hawkins offers a vision of the Last Supper that is at once unique and universal. Unique in that the images are like none other I’ve seen depicting this iconic scene. They definitely don’t show thirteen white men gathered around the table.

The signage at CMOA stated that “…perhaps the greatest achievement of the Last Suppers is how, through his manipulation of paint and found mass media images, Hawkins took a story central to the Christian religion that had been whitewashed in the Western imagination and broadened it to include an almost universal cast.”

Detail from William L. Hawkins painting Last Supper #9

Detail from Last Supper # 9 by William L. Hawkins
Photo: Mary van Balen

Almost anyone seeing these paintings could identify with someone in them. They include men and women of many races. When collage was used, even the food on the table seems familiar. The pictures cut from newspapers or magazines, are of plates filled with ordinary dishes you might order at a restaurant or make at home. Everyone could find a place at this table. Of course, you’d have to be comfortable with diversity to enjoy the meal.

As I left the quiet of the church, the images of Hawkins Last Suppers came too. Along with the almost blue moon, the candles, the pleasant night air, the turmoil of our times, the candle flames, and the white Jesus on the cross, they had slipped into an opening in my heart and kept me company on the walk home.

Today, Easter, I celebrated with a diverse group of people packing the OSU Newman Center. My lost Lent was not an issue. No one there was wondering about how anyone had observed Lent. I don’t think God was interested either but was simply glad we had shown up at the table.

The amazing thing is that no matter how we got there, we all found our way to be together, to share faith, and as the presiding priest reminded us in his homily, to give thanks for the unimaginable love of a God who is crazy in love with all of us. To give thanks for Jesus’ willingness to remain faithful to who he had come to know himself to be…God’s own Love in the world, even when it led to the cross. And to believe that as we share in Jesus life and death, we also share in his love and resurrection.

Happy Easter!

© 2018 Mary van Balen

God’s Love Is Always Big

God’s Love Is Always Big

Colorful abstract painting of people of all ages and races embracing

Acrylic – Richard Duarte Brown 2009

Originally published in The Catholic Times, March 11,2018

One of the scribes came to Jesus and asked him, “Which is the first of all the commandments?” Jesus replied, “The first is this: Hear, O Israel! The Lord our God is Lord alone! You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength. The second is this: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. There is no other commandment greater than these.”  Mk 12, 29-31

For Jesus, it’s all about love. Love of God. Love of self. Love of neighbor. When asked which commandment is the greatest, Jesus quotes from Hebrew Scriptures. First from Deuteronomy, proclaiming that God is one and that love of God is the most important “law” in one’s life. Then from Leviticus, Jesus quotes from a long list of commands given by God to Moses and says “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” is the second great commandment.

There is it. Love. Nothing else is more important. Matthew’s gospel includes Jesus saying that “The whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments. It all boils down to love.

Of the three, I wonder if “loving self” might be the most difficult. It isn’t easy. And as Jesus knew, when we can’t love ourselves, loving anyone else is close to impossible. That tiny phrase “as yourself” carries a lot of weight.

Most of us are aware of our faults. We can become preoccupied with them and tied up in minutia, focusing on what’s wrong with ourselves and with others. We forget about love and end up fixated on rules, who’s keeping them and who’s not. We can even believe that God’s keeping score as we struggle through life. It’s easier than tackling “Love.”

Recently I spent an evening with a small group of women who had been gathering at one another’s homes for decades. Being mothers brought them together. Now grandmothers, they still meet, supporting one another and engaging with invited speakers. That night, I was the speaker, and our topic was “compassion.”

What struck me during our time together was that no matter how insignificant moments of love might seem, they never are. Encounters with Love are always transforming.

Once when I was about ten, I remember telling my mother she was “the worst mom in the world” and storming off to vent to her mother, who had always lived with us. I can’t remember what triggered my anger. (Mom was one of the best!) I do remember my Grandmother’s response.

She listened as I recounted my grievances. She didn’t interrupt or try to correct me. No lecture. No defense of Mom. After a pause she smiled and asked if I’d like to play a game of Canasta.

That was it. Love and healing came not with flash but with a game of cards. I couldn’t have worded it then, but her invitation said volumes about me being ok, someone she’d like to spend time with. Someone who was hurt and needed nothing more (or less) than graceful Presence.

In the scheme of things, barely a drop in the bucket. But love is never small. Once received, it changes the giver, the receiver, and ripples out.

I thought of my friend, a “missionary of Presence” in a small village in the Guatemalan rainforest. Her December newsletter recounts the transformation of women who were stigmatized by being alone, abandoned by their husbands, and left to provide for their families. She gave physical assistance but realized they needed more.

So they gather twice a month, read scripture, pray, share their stories, weep, and laugh. They know they are somebody. They are loved and now have more love to give away.

Love is powerful, but not easy. One woman in the small gathering I had been asked to attend made that point with a question. The Parkland school shooting had occurred just days before. “Do we have to show compassion to the shooter?” Silence. Then a number of voices said “Yes.”

With Love there are no exceptions. Such inclusive Love is hard to take. We’d rather draw lines, “them” on one side, “us” on the other. In some cases, it seems the reasonable thing to do. But God doesn’t see our lines. No one is beyond God’s embrace. Not our fault-filled selves, not those we close out, not the shooter.

By ourselves, we can’t be such love in a world that’s aching for it. With God’s love transforming us from the inside out, we can. After all, it’s God’s love we’re sharing.

© 2018 Mary van Balen

Howard Thurman: Black Theologian, Mystic, and Mentor

Howard Thurman: Black Theologian, Mystic, and Mentor

Cover of book "Jesus and the Disinherited" by Howard ThurmanThe reading from Mark’s gospel about the Gentile woman’s request for Jesus to heal her daughter possessed by a demon is one of my favorites. Jesus had slipped away from the crowds, but the woman found him and threw herself at his feet, asking for help. When Jesus answered that the children must be fed first (a reference to the Jews) and that it would not be right to throw their food to the dogs, she was undeterred. Her faith was more expansive than that, and she told Jesus so. “Even the dogs under the table eat the children’s scraps.”

It seems her words hit home. Perhaps her faith helped Jesus understand the inclusivity of God’s loving mercy and of Jesus’ own mission. He sent her on her way with the assurance that her daughter was healed.

This reading is especially appropriate these days when the sense of entitlement, privilege, and exclusivity seems to be on the rise, or at the least, more visible. When discrimination against people based on the color of their skin, their ethnicity, beliefs, or just being who they are becomes acceptable, we must respond.

February is Black History month, and it’s appropriate to celebrate people who have seen injustice and taken action. I would like to write about Howard Thurman. I first learned of him years ago from a friend studying at Andover-Newton Theological School. More recently, I took advantage of the “Howard Thurman Retreat Day” offered online by the Shalem Institute. (You can access this retreat if you’d like by visiting https://shalem.org).

His name remains unfamiliar despite his wide influence as a contemplative, mystic, theologian, pastor, and professor. There are many ways to respond to oppression, and though not in the forefront of marches and demonstrations, Thurman was influential in the Civil Rights movement and served as a spiritual mentor to many involved, including Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

Howard Thurman was born in 1899 and grew up in Daytona Beach, Florida. His grandmother, Nancy Ambrose, a former slave, helped raise him. She shared the deep faith that had helped her survive enslavement, instilling in him a profound sense of identity as a child of God.

Thurman graduated valedictorian from Morehouse college. He studied at Rochester Theological Seminary and upon graduation was ordained a minister. His first pastorate was at Mt. Zion Baptist Church in Oberlin, Ohio. There he met Quaker pacifist and mystic Rufus Jones, a professor at Oberlin with whom he would later study.

Thurman taught at Morehouse and Spelman Colleges and was a professor and Dean of Rankin Chapel at Howard University.

In 1935, along with his wife, Sue Bailey Thurman, and other African Americans, Thurman was invited to join the six-month “Pilgrimage of Friendship” to India, Ceylon, and Burma. Prior to that trip, he and Mahatma Gandhi had corresponded and shortly before returning home, they met. Gandhi was curious about the aftermath of slavery and the conditions of Black people in the United States. They talked about non-violence and civil disobedience, and the importance of maintaining spiritual vitality in order to preserve in their practice.

In 1944, Thurman and Dr. Alfred Fisk founded the Church for the Fellowship All Peoples in San Francisco, California. The first intentional interracial, interfaith congregation in the country, it continues its mission today.

Thurman published numerous books, his most famous being Jesus and the Disinherited that looks at Jesus as a member of a minority class and sees in his life and teachings a guide for marginalized people responding to their oppression. This book greatly influenced Martin Luther King, Jr. who carried it with him whenever he marched.

Later in his career, Thurman became a professor and first African American Dean of Marsh Chapel at Boston University. Martin Luther King, Jr. was earning his PhD in theology at Boston University at that time and attended Thurman’s sermons. Thurman became his spiritual mentor and shared the wisdom and conversations he had had with Gandhi about nonviolent protest.

Thurman’s understandings of the dehumanizing effects of oppression, the effect of hate and anger on those who allow them into their hearts, the necessity of gathering strength by spiritual practice, and non-violence have much to say to us today.

A number of books about him have been published. You can read his own works, and Boston University’s Listening room has an extensive library of recordings of Thurman’s sermons, talks, and lectures. Listen here: http://hgar-srv3.bu.edu/web/howard-thurman/virtual-listening-room

© 2018 Mary van Balen

Becoming Who We Are Made to Be

Becoming Who We Are Made to Be

Originally published in The Catholic Times Jan. 14, 2018

Photo of diffuse bright light at the top of stone staircase

Photo: Mary van Balen

Samuel paid attention. His heart was “awake” even as he slept. One night, in the shrine at Shiloh where he lived under the care of its aged high priest, Eli, Samuel heard someone call his name. He didn’t turn over and go back to sleep. “Here I am,” he responded and hurried to Eli, assuming the summons had come from him.

But it hadn’t. Eli instructed the boy to go back to sleep. After this happened two more times, Eli realized that the Lord was speaking to Samuel and instructed him to reply, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening” if he were to hear the call again.

God did call again, and the boy responded as Eli had instructed. I wonder if Samuel had any expectations of what he might hear that night or if he was surprised to learn that the Lord planned to fulfill the Divine threats made against Eli and his family for their abuse of priestly duties, dishonoring the God they were to serve.

Samuel listened and then went back to sleep. In the morning, he had the courage to answer Eli’s question about what the Lord had said, and Eli had the humility to accept it. Samuel had spoken and been heard as the prophet God made him to be.

Scripture provides no definite age for Samuel at the time of this call. He is called “a boy.” He was the son of Hannah, a faithful woman embittered by long years of barrenness and the derision she suffered as a result. While on her family’s annual pilgrimage to the shrine at Shiloh, she laid her anguish before the Lord, weeping and imploring God to give her a male child. If so blessed, she vowed to give him to God’s service for as long as he lived. She had a son and true to her word, when he was of appropriate age, Hannah brought him to Shiloh and left him in Eli’s care.

No matter Samuel’s age, this story of a youth hearing and responding whole-heartedly to the call of God is captivating and is one of my favorites. How had Samuel become so “wide awake,” so attentive and receptive to God?

Photo: Mary van Balen

Surely, as with all of us, his early years were formative. Growing up in a family of faith, nursed and nurtured by a mother who loved and trusted God, and living in the shadow of the ark of God in the tabernacle in Shiloh must have influenced his relationship with the Holy One.

But, Samuel’s life sounds rosier than it was. (Don’t we often idealize the lives of others in comparison with our own?). Remember, his father had two wives who didn’t get along, and Eli and his sons were not faithful to the demands and requirements of their priestly ministry.

In the midst of it all, Samuel was able to attend to the call of God. He was a contemplative, aware of the Presence within and without, in the good and not so good, as he went about his duties. He must have taken time for solitude, resting in God and deepening his ability to hear and recognize the Holy Mystery that was the Source of his life and identity.

No matter the differences in time and circumstance between our lives and Samuel’s, we share the call to be people of prayer and to grow in our relationship with God. God has placed the gift of Divine Self in every one of us. Identifying that bit of Divinity and living into it, becoming the reflection of God we are made to be and remaining faithful to it is our life task. That’s why the story of young Samuel grabs our hearts: it is the story of us all.

Photo: Kathryn Holt

As 2018 unfolds, we can choose practices that will deepen our openness and help us “pay attention.” In the midst of life’s busyness, suffering, and challenges, we can take time to be still and rest in God, hearing God’s call however it comes. We can allow the Holy Mystery dwelling within to move and transform us and so, participate in transforming the world. We can say, like Samuel, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.”

© 2018 Mary van Balen

Celebrating Alabama

Celebrating Alabama

This morning I stopped at my favorite local stop for tea, quiche and scones—The Cambridge Tea House—for quiche and an order of bacon.

“I’m celebrating Alabama,” I said. The cashier smiled. I’m sure I’m not the only one.

Home, I read the paper’s headline story and enjoyed my breakfast while perusing The Washington Post’s
Preliminary exit poll results: How different groups voted in Alabama.”  It’s worth a look. And before I hurry off to work, I have to say “Thank you,” to the Black Alabamian voters for overwhelmingly casting their ballots for Doug Jones. The number of women who voted for Moore baffle me. Well, to be honest, anyone who voted for Moore baffle me at some level.

Still, it’s a victory to savor. The former U.S. attorney who successfully prosecuted two of the Ku Klux Klansmen who bombed the small church in Birmingham in 1963 bested the outspoken, bigoted Roy Moore. After work, I’ll take a closer look at the Washington Post’s informative infographics. For now, I’m walking with a little spring in my step.