A New Year’s Resolution: Always Open

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Originally published in the Catholic Times   January 19, 2014

Often on New Years, people make resolutions. According to a survey by the University of Scranton’s Journal of Clinical Psychology, about forty-eight percent of Americans usually make resolutions while only about 8 percent successfully keep them. Top on the list? Losing weight. Getting organized, spending less and saving more, and enjoying life to the fullest are next. Staying healthy, learning something exciting, and quitting smoking follow. Helping others achieve their goals, falling in love, and spending more time with family round out the top ten.

I’m not a list maker, but there are a few exceptions: If I don’t make a grocery list, I end up buying too much, and when I travel, I make a list of what I should pack. When working on a long-term writing project or composing a talk, I make notes, an unorganized brainstorming list at first that eventually takes shape.

At the beginning of the New Year, I sometimes open my journal, jotting down thoughts and goals for the months ahead. This year’s inspiration came as I shared the first dinner of 2014 with a small group of friends. Before eating, we joined hands while one spoke a blessing beautiful in its simplicity and breadth. Fitting for a new year, it included those present as well as friends and family far away, the gift of creation, the food, and the hands that prepared it, and thanksgiving for the Holy One who sustains all.

The words that stayed with me as I drove home later that evening were the ones inviting us always to be open and receptive to Grace, God’s Self, as it is given. This thought suggested a resolution different from those that commit us to change something in our lives, those that depend on our activity. We can do or not do something to achieve those goals. For example, many of us can develop the discipline necessary to eat less and more healthily. We can give our best efforts toward quitting smoking, learning something, or spending more time with family and friends. These things require us to do something.

The resolution playing in my mind that night was different. It called me to still my heart, not so much to do something as to be something: to be open, to be ready. I can’t make Grace come; I simply receive it when it does.

Unlike watching pounds drop away on a scale or playing a game with your family, becoming receptive to Grace is not something we can see or measure. Sometimes, even when Grace fills our hearts, we don’t know it.

This kind of “resolution” requires faith. Faith that the Holy One is always pouring out Divine Life, faith that this Fountain-Fullness never runs dry, faith that my soul is capable of holding such precious Gift.

Always being open to receive Grace differs from typical resolutions in another way, too. While many New Year’s promises call us to transform ourselves into something “better,” the resolution of openness tells us we are already “good,” good enough that God trusts us with Divine Life. We don’t do the changing. It is that Life that changes us.

© 2014 Mary van Balen

You Do Not Recognize

You Do Not Recognize

people-painting…but there is one among you whom you do not recognize...”  Today’s gospel reading  Jn 1, 26b

God among us, and we don’t notice: God who wanders in the streets looking for a homeless shelter on this snowy day. Who huddles lonely and forgotten in nursing homes. Who wanders into our stores to buy or just to be around other people, looking for a kind word or listening ear. Who lives next door but we don’t talk.

God among us, and we don’t notice: God who fills our classrooms. Who removes our garbage. Who cares for us. Who needs our help. Who’s our best friend. Our nemesis.

“Who are you anyway?” they asked John the Baptist. Not the Christ. Not Elijah. Not the Prophet who is to come. So who? “The voice of one crying out in the desert, make straight the way of the Lord.”  

“There is one coming whose sandal strap I am not worthy to untie,” he said. 

An endless list. One person we likely won’t think of is ourselves. We look outward, sometimes finding Divine Presence in others. Sometimes not. But do we look inward and expect the Holy One dwelling there? We know ourselves too well…or perhaps not well at all, but we think we do.

Did John know that the One who was to come, who had indeed come already, had always been dwelling in his heart?

This year I will do better, I tell myself. I will look with different eyes at the people who fill my life. I will slow down more often, and look within. I will recognize the One who is among us and who dwells in my heart. Whose life is my own.

This year I will do better. With Grace. I tell myself.

New Year’s Eve

New Year’s Eve

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

2013 was coming to an end and I was spending a couple hours of it with Dominican sisters and their friends. We sat in the chapel facing toward the altar and the large glass windows behind it that looked out into a wooded area. Tree trunks and branches sprouted white lights shining bright against the darkness.

After a hymn stories were told of an woman whose son had shot a number of Amish children years ago before killing himself and the forgiveness she received from that community. Parent’s of murdered children had come to her son’s funeral, the first to greet her. Now, that mother takes her weekly turn caring for the most disabled of her son’s living victims. Forgiveness.

Another story. This one of Elie Weisel speaking of the moment he was finally able to forgive God for the holocaust, a moment when he realized God suffered as God’s children suffered at the hands of other members of God’s family. For fifty years, he had been unable to forgive.

Nelson Mandela’s  words were remembered: “Resentment is like drinking poison and then hoping it will kill your enemies.”

Peace, these sisters were reminding us, begins in our own hearts, in our ordinary choices. Peace begins with forgiveness, of others, of ourselves.

We sat in quiet for a long time, in the presence of one another and of God. I tired to lose myself in the infinite embrace of the divine. I practiced centering prayer. I breathed in and out, slowly. I felt my own hurt. I tried to feel it and to forgive those who put it there. I became aware of hurts I have caused and hoped someone, somewhere could forgive me, too.

I opened my eyes and looked around me. Movement outside caught my eye. Deer were walking through the glowing trees behind the altar. Not a sound anywhere. The rows of chairs were sparsely occupied by women mostly much older than me: Retired teachers, musicians, and  professors.  Artists. Women who had given their lives to God and to the church which, I am sure for  some anyway, was a cause of pain and hurt. But here they were , a small community, tucked away in some corner of Ohio, praying for peace. Trying to be peace. How many other corners of our country or our world were filled with people, sitting quietly, hoping to learn how to live peace and bring peace and honor God with it? Quiet convents and monasteries. Living rooms and bedrooms. Chapels and city streets. Hospital rooms and party rooms.

We sang the office and then shared snacks and conversation in the common dining room.

For the moment, the world was a more peaceful place.

 

Song of Songs: God Waits with Desire

Song of Songs: God Waits with Desire

Song of Songs IV by Marc Chagall

Song of Songs IV by Marc Chagall

Here he stands behind our wall,

gazing through the windows,

peering through the lattices.  Song of Songs 2

 

These words from today’s readings became my Lectio word for the day. This book is full of vivid images, and I liked to imagine God lingering behind the walls I construct, gazing at me. Seeing what is good and beautiful and waiting for me to return the gaze.

I know how love and desire can fill a gaze. I know the feeling of love bursting out, pouring through my eyes upon the one I love. I have felt the warmth of such a gaze and the fullness it creates within my heart. I have known this with another. I have known it with God.

Imagine, the Holy One, standing near, beholding you and your unique beauty. The Holy One calling you out to yourself as well as to the One Who Made You. In God’s eyes you are magnificent. Love, God’s and our own, helps us to see the beauty with as well as within those around us. Such love helps us see the beauty of creation.

Pondering these words makes me pray for an open heart, not only to receive Love, but to pour it out onto others.

DEEPENING: 7 Moving into Quiet

DEEPENING: 7 Moving into Quiet

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

By the time I get to lighting my candles and settling into quiet prayer, I’m fighting a losing battle. My mind is already racing, making mental to-do lists, beating myself up for what I haven’t done, and thinking of family, friends, typhoon victims, government disfunction…you name it.

I try desperately to empty my mind, but to no avail. Breathing in and out, slowly repeating my mantra word. Nothing. Then, this morning, I became aware of my cold feet resting on the wooden floor. “Why didn’t I put on socks?”  Suddenly, the thought came: “Just be present to your cold feet. To the moment.” I did.

After cold feet, the smoothness of the wood beneath caught my attention. I sat with that for a while. Then it was the stiffness of my new knee. I quit trying to still my mind and instead let it focus on the present. A slight bit or warmth on my cheek and a rosy glow visible through my closed eyelids alerted me to bright sunlight. I opened my eyes and saw the patterns it made as it poured through the mini-blinds and pushed around the wrought iron candelabrum by daughter had made.

I became aware of the life-giving gift of the sun shining on our planet from the center of our solar system. Amazing. I sat, amazed, for while before the candle flame’s reflection, dancing on the votive’s clear glass caught my attention. I watched as it stretched and lengthened. Tow images from one flame. The bloom on top of the wick glowed orange and the beeswax smelled sweet.

My mind wasn’t racing.

I guess I can’t go cold turkey from crazy busy thoughts to stillness. Instead, being truly present to myself in this place and in this time slowed me down. God was there in the cold, the light, the flame, the moment, where the Divine always is.

And, for a moment, I moved into a graced moment of quiet gratitude.

DEEPENING: 3  Hopspitality

DEEPENING: 3 Hopspitality

smoking candleChapter 53 of the Rule of Benedict gives direction on how to receive guests at the abbey. The first thing? “All guests who present themselves are to be received as Christ, who said, “I was a stranger, and you welcomed me” (Matt 25,35). When my children were young and knocked on the door of my small home office, I tried to remember that. They weren’t distractions, interrupting my work, they were Christ, they were inviting me to hospitality, although I often fell short of this monastic ideal.

Day three of my “Deepening” project reminded me of this call. I had set my alarm and risen early in order to spend time  in quiet prayer before heading to my physical therapy session. I dressed, put the candle on the table, lit it, and settled into the chair.

Breathe in. Breath out. A knock at the door.

The friend taking me to my appointment had arrive a half hour early. Having gone to Mass, she arrived, carrying her breakfast.

” I thought I could eat while you’re getting ready,” she said.

“Sure. I haven’t eaten either,” I said as I walked quickly into the dining room, blew out the candle, and placed it back onto the wrought iron candle holder. Using up batter I had kept from a few days ago, I cooked up  a few pancakes and covered them with maple syrup.

Benedict instructs the monks to receive the unexpected guest with generosity. Nothing, not prayer, not fasting, nothing is more important than this person at your door. They are to stop what they are doing, Abbot and all, and make the guest welcome. Rooted in prayer, the hospitality includes food, and anything else needed to make the stranger comfortable. Share their table, their prayer, their place of rest.

At that moment, Christ is encountered in flesh and blood…not quiet prayer.

……..

Holy One who receives me always with welcoming embrace, even when my mind wanders and I find myself mentally ticking off my “to dos” for the day instead of quietly resting in your Presence, help me welcome all into my home, into my life and heart, no matter how busy I am. No matter my plans.  You are gracing my day with something greater. You are present to me in the one at my door.

Music in the Air

Music in the Air

Musicians on Royal Street

Musicians on Royal Street

Even before getting out of bed in the morning, I hear music punctuating the other sounds of New Orleans waking up for a new day. One man sings, unaccompanied at the entrance to a store across the street. Soon a horn or two is heard. Maybe guitars. By lunch time, no matter where you walk, you are entertained by the gift of musicians sharing their talent and passion.

Passsersby throw coins or a bill in the box or hat or instrument case lying open nearby. But the musicians play, paid or not. Their gift is my grace. My morning or noon or night prayer, reminding me to give thanks for life spirit that is freely given, not only by the street musicians, but also by the One who breathes life into us all.

Dooky Chase: Great Food and New Orleans Hospitality

Dooky Chase: Great Food and New Orleans Hospitality

Dooky Chase

“Try Dooky Chases” my friend texted me when she learned I was going to New Orleans. I almost didn’t. I was tired from a day at the CALGM conference and had missed everyone else going to dinner. Walking down the streets in the French Quarter and choosing one of the countless places to eat just a few steps away from the hotel would have been easier.

I had Googled “Dooky Chase” and read a bit about it. Founded in 1941, it was famous for the amazing food, it’s chef, Leah Chase (ninety years young), and her collection of African American art that covers the restaurant walls. Important meetings of civil rights leaders had been held there during the 60’s. It was one of the only places blacks and whites could eat together then. A pope and US presidents had dined there as well as famous artists, musicians, and sports figures. How could I not go?

Well, it was a cab ride away,  and the longer I stretched out on my bed and read about the place, the sleepier I got.

image“Mom, you have to go,” my daughter encouraged me over the phone after I told her about it.  So, I pulled myself up, talked to the hotel concierge who checked to see if a table would be available, found a cab, and made the short trip across town. How glad I am!

Dooky’s was even better than I imagined. An unassuming brick building, restored of two long years after Hurricane Katrina, offered not only great food (I had the seafood platter but questioned my choice after smelling the fried chicken delivered to the table next to me…I wasn’t disappointed in my choice once I took a bite!) and art, but also New Orleans hospitality. After holding a couple of conversations across the aisle with other patrons, I was invited to join the fried chicken table by one of its guests whom I would soon learn was Tony.

The conversation was lively. I felt like one of the family. Not surprising according to our young waiter.

“When you’re in Norlens,”  he said, “you’re family. We eat together and party together…”

“And go through hurricanes together,” Maria added.

Me, Susan, Tony, (from top)Clint, Maris, Miss Leah, David

Me, Susan, Tony, (from top)Clint, Maris, Miss Leah, David

They shared desserts with me (praline bread puddin’ and peach cobbler) and then Tony said, “She’s gotta meet Miss Leah.” everyone nodded.

That’s how I found myself in the kitchen, shaking hands with the Queen of Creole Cuisine, Leah Chase. The chef, author, and television personality was holding court in her kitchen where grateful customers and admirers came to thank her, ask her to sign one of her cookbooks, give her a hug and bask in her gracious smile.

My new friends insisted on waiting with me for twenty-five minutes until my cab arrived. While we waited I talked through a door into a room that held even more wrt work. An eclectic collection, it deserves to be catalogued.

“This is about one-third of her collection,” one of the waiters, Oscar, told us as he continued getting the restaurant ready for the next day’s business. “It is in the process of viewing catalogued.”

We wandered through more of te restaurant taking thin stained glass and sculpture. Oscar showe us one of his favorites, an Elizabeth Catlette print of Harriet Tubman.

“Dooky’s is a museum,” I thought. The staff were singing and doing a dance step or too as we waited. The cab arrived. After hugs and waves, I got in and returns to the hotel. I had had dinner, met new friends, enjoyed artwork, And met an amazing woman who has played a significant role in our history.

I walked into my room, flopped on the bed and thought about the people at the CALGM convention, working for civil rights for the marginalized in our society. Quite a night. Quite a road ahead.

 

 

The Grace of Friendship

The Grace of Friendship

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Originally published in The Catholic Times  September 8, 2013   Volume 62:42

 

The invitation appeared in my email: A birthday party for Mike. I’ve known him since I was eighteen. Then we both played guitar, sang, wrote songs, and energized the local “folk Mass” movement after Vatican II. He and his wife, Patty, welcomed me into their home, and I babysat for their young children who clamored for Mike’s attention when we practiced music there. Patty always came to the rescue. Over the years, my guitar has seen less use. Mike’s is always humming.

Having made adjustments to my work schedule, I picked up a friend and we drove together to the party. Mike was turning 75.

“Couldn’t miss this,” I said as we traveled from one small berg to another.

My friend nodded. “There are plenty of things in life that are hard, that bring tears. We must celebrate the happy moments. What brings life, and joy,” he said, his voice as Italian as the gift of wine resting at his feet.

Light and Irish music poured out of the American Legion as we walked toward the door. The evening was an embarrassment of riches: Greetings, hugs, and friends gathered to tell stories and catch up on one another’s lives. Food and drink kept coming, and everyone joined in a refrain written for the occasion. Mike, Nick, and Anne, who have been singing together for years, treated us to a few songs while the singing Ladies of Longford took their break. More music. More conversation.

Driving through night on my way home, I thought about friendship. What is the grace of friendship? What moves someone out of the mass of acquaintances into that treasured group? Into one’s heart and soul? [Read more…]

“…the inland soul to sea…”

“…the inland soul to sea…”

Exultation is the going
Of an inland soul to sea,
Past the houses—past the headlands—
Into deep Eternity—

Bred as we, among the mountains,
Can the sailor understand
The divine intoxication
Of the first league out from land?

-Emily Dickinson

With the surf pounding beside us, my daughter and I walked the beach this afternoon. My lungs appreciate deep breaths of salty sea air. My heart and soul appreciate the gift of the sea. Emily Dickinson had it right. For this inland soul anyway, going to the ocean is cause for deep joy.

[Read more…]