Presence — Page 4

January 20, 2015 By Mary van Balen 4 Comments

No Place is “Nowhere”

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

“When he looked, although the bush was on fire, it was not being consumed. So Moses decided, “I must turn aside to look at this remarkable sight. Why does the bush not burn up?” When the Lord saw that he had turned aside to look, God called out from the bush: “Moses! Moses!” He answered, “Here I am.” EX 3, 2b-4

I read Sunday’s morning prayer from my “Give Us This Day” book and, though the story was familiar, something about it seemed fresh. I guess it was Moses, talking to himself, wondering out loud why the bush wasn’t consumed by the fire and telling himself he should take a minute and check it out.

It was the words, “turn aside to look” that caught my attention. God wasn’t calling out all along…just after Moses stopped to look. Or was the Divine call constant and Moses just heard it when he quit going about his business of tending the flock and got quiet enough to listen?

I’m having trouble listening these days. Weeks of being in bed or on the couch, sick, coughing, and nursing an ear infection haven’t helped. At first, I thought they would. While home from work I would catch up on some reading, do a bit of writing, and you know, just be better at all the stuff I’m usually too busy to do. Sickness doesn’t work that way. My eyes hurt and trying to read made me dizzy. Writing was out of the question. Mostly, I put on Netflix and fell asleep watching reruns of old TV shows. Then of course, came the attack of unwanted thoughts and recriminations.

“Why haven’t I gotten more done?” “I’ll never finish readings for this course. I’m probably no good at it anyway. Maybe I should quit.” It didn’t take long before the worth of my entire life was in question and the future looked particularly dim. Didn’t help to learn a week into antibiotics and cough syrup, that the store where I work was closing in March. The job I’m not crazy about looked much better from the vantage point of not having one at all. Life. Not all it’s cracked up to be.

Then comes Moses. He meets God in a bush out in the middle of nowhere. “That’s me,” I think, “out in the middle of nowhere.” But can a place be nowhere if God hangs out there? I mean, what puts a place on the map if the possibility of running into the Big Kahuna doesn’t?

That’s hopeful. No place is “nowhere” if what is most Sacred dwells there. That includes places like work, a dirty kitchen, or a tissue cluttered couch. Even a sick, tired heart. The problem is the Holy Mystery is exactly that, a mystery, and doesn’t seem inclined to catch my attention with lights or voices. At least not that I notice. And there’s where Moses comes in. He told himself he ought to take a closer look. While I’d be better at noticing if the people or objects holding this Divine Presence were marked with roaring flames, I’m giving attentiveness a shot, again.

Quiet time in the morning before life gets rolling too fast to stop. Noticing the sun painting warm orange colors on the clay pot that holds a fledgling peace plant. Accepting the graciousness of co-workers who worked extra hours while I was languishing at home. Finding a container of homemade soup placed in my refrigerator so I would have something easy and healthy to eat after my first day back to work. Calls from my kids, just making sure their mom was getting better. The smile of a customer.

There are challenges, too. Trusting I’ll find a job with health benefits. Hoping in the face of a country that seems run by big money and a world torn by racism and violence. Believing when prayer doesn’t seem to make a difference. Expecting to find Presence and Grace when I take time to be still and take a closer look at the ordinary stuff that fills my day.

Filed Under: The Scallop, Uncategorized Tagged With: burning bush, grace, hope, light, love, Moses, Presence, present to the moment, quiet prayer

January 20, 2015 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

A Nun’s Ministry to the Transgender Community

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

Read her recent HuffPost blog post .

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

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

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

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

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

August 8, 2014 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

God Who Comes in Whispers

curly wind clip art.jpg

First published in The Catholic Times, August 10, 2014, Volume 63:3

Sunday’s reading follows a dramatic showdown between Elijah and King Ahab after three long years of drought predicted by the prophet. During his reign, Ahab’s wife, Jezebel, spread the worship of Baal throughout the land and murdered the prophets of the Lord. Elijah alone remained. Prompted by God, Elijah met with the king and proposed they meet on Mount Carmel.

People from all over Israel were summoned including the prophets of Baal. Tired of their unwillingness to choose between the Lord and Baal, Elijah challenged them to watch and decide: The prophets of Baal were to prepare a sacrifice. Elijah would do the same. Each would call on their god to send fire to consume the offering.

You know the outcome. Despite a day of shouting, dancing, and self-mutilation, Baal’s prophets received no answer. Then Elijah, after preparing his sacrifice and inviting the people to douse it all with water three times, asked the Lord to answer his prayer so the people would turn their hearts again to the true God.

Fire consumed the sacrifice, the stones, the wood, and dried up all the water in the trench. Elijah commanded the people to slaughter all the prophets of Baal who were present. A small cloud over the sea grew larger and darker, and as God had promised, at last, rain came.

Jezebel was furious and vowed to take Elijah’s life. He fled until, exhausted, he sat down by a bush and asked God to take his life, but angels, not death, arrived. And they brought food. Twice they fed the old prophet. Strengthened, he traveled forty days to Mount Horeb.

This is where we meet Elijah in Sunday’s reading. After having spent his life striving to be faithful to his God, he wasn’t sure what he had accomplished. In spite of the spectacular results on Mount Carmel and the killing of Baal’s prophets, his world appeared unchanged.

A few lines are left out of Sunday’s reading. Between the night of sleep in the cave, and the command to stand on the mountain to wait for the Lord, Elijah hears God asking him what he is doing there.

He answers, “I have been very zealous for the Lord God Almighty. The Israelites have rejected your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now they are trying to kill me too.”

Haven’t we felt that same way at one time or another? Having done our best, our best isn’t good enough. We’ve prayed, we’ve worked, and we’ve hoped but eventually, find hope elusive. As the angels observed, the journey is too much for us. For our resources. We need nourishment from God to go on, and even then we aren’t sure what to do next. Poverty, hatred, oppression, and disease continue to plague our world, and we have no answers.

Elijah waited to meet the Lord, but God didn’t come in the violence of wind or storms. He didn’t come in earthquakes or fire. The Lord didn’t come with force, but in a whisper. All the power of God. In a whisper.

I find that comforting. I think it’s because I can do “whispers.” I can do little things with great love. All the bombs raining down fire on people below haven’t brought peace. All the hatred and angry posturing haven’t brought needed change. Like Elijah’s showdown on Mount Carmel, they might look impressive, but in the end, they only make things worse.

We aren’t perfect. Elijah wasn’t either. He had four hundred and fifty prophets slaughtered because they believed in the wrong god. He wanted good. He wanted what God wanted, but couldn’t make it happen himself.

It’s a story repeated in scripture and in our lives. God brings good from our efforts in ways we don’t know. When we can see no path ahead, like Elijah, God invites us to trust. To be still. To listen. God is passing by. God is coming in whispers. Whispers from the lips of children, from a tired mother. From a scarred earth. From a cool breeze. From a kind deed. From some little thing you do that you think makes no difference.

The Holy One who made all that is and who is beyond our imaginings is a God who comes in whispers.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment Tagged With: be still, creation, Elijah, grace, hope, listen, love, Presence, quiet prayer, spirituality, trust, whisper

July 29, 2014 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Inching Into This Century: Amazing Bluetooth

outside with speaker I’m not completely Bluetooth challenged. I have a Bluetooth keyboard and mouse for my computer and iPad. But, last week, after a year without anything to play music in my house (unless you count the TV, which I hate to use because the entire time the CD is on, so is the TV’s blue screen), I decided to shop and not return without a speaker of some sort to use with my ipod/ipad. I’ve procrastinated too long to buy an iHome docking radio and speaker. Why didn’t I buy that one I saw at Target six months ago. Now, my 4th generation iPod is “old,” its 30 pin connector replaced by “lightening connect.”

I drove to the closest Apple store. No matter what you think of Apple products, their stores are full of knowledgeable people who get paid to help you. The man who helped me sort through bluetooth speakers was a musician and did some music producing on the side. How lucky could I get. He didn’t mind endless questions, playing and replaying classical music through speakers until I narrowed it down to two. Other customers were turning to look at us as my Apple guy turned the volume up so I could hear differences between how the two handled volume and put out bass as compared to midrange signals.

“They’re looking at us,” I ventured. “Maybe it’s too loud.”

“No problem. You’re just as important as any other customer here. You need to hear the sound before you can know what you like.”

I deferred.

And walked out with a cool cylindrical speaker that I can take anywhere. It is water resistant so if it gets caught out in the rain, no problem. You can even use it in the shower if you want, as long as it not directly in the water stream. OK. I don’t need it in the shower.

The next hurdle was loading my iPod with music, something I had been avoiding. Emboldened by my purchase, I did just that. So, today, I decided to do some writing outside. I put my iPod near a window and set the speaker along with my computer and a cup of tea on the table in the backyard. Amazing. Bach and I outside, watching big dark clouds blow by. I savored the cool air and prayed that the yard service across the street would stop at trimming with a weed whacker and leave the grass cutting to a sunnier day. Nothing drives me inside faster than people cutting lawns. My lungs hurt just thinking about it.

No grass cutters. No rain. Just beautiful music and thoughts and a computer to receive them.

I love quiet and don’t mind spending entire days in silence getting in touch with Grace in my life. I also love music. It has its own way of helping us be in touch with the Sacred in our midst. Now I have music to go!

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: Apple, Bach, grace, iPad, iPod, music, Presence

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 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