I Need Pentecost
June 9, 2014 By Leave a Comment

I Need Pentecost

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

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

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Ordinary Grace
March 24, 2014 By Leave a Comment

Ordinary Grace

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

I had a marvelous friend who was a great artist, Marvin Triguba. Once, when I marveled at the way he captured light in his paintings, he said, “That’s how I see, and I paint what I see.” He wondered aloud, “doesn’t everyone see light that way?”

No, I would have to say. Not in such a conscious way. Of course, light creates shadows and bright spaces. It gives form and definition to what we see. It entered Marvin’s eyes as it did mine, but what his brain did with that raw material was astounding. Me? Sometimes I recognize the ordinary grace that comes with light.

I thought of Marvin a couple of days ago when I looked into the dining room and was stunned by the beauty of morning light playing across the hardwood floors. Some of the boards seemed all light. Others, darker in hue, glowed. I allowed the beauty of that moment to enter not only my eyes and brain, but also my soul.

This morning, when I turned into the living room from the hall, my eyes were bathed in bright light filtering through half-opened mini-blinds and green leaves in a variety of shapes and shades. I drew a quick breath and moved toward the window, putting myself in a place where the light would bathe me, too. Grace.

Isn’t that prayer? Intentionally putting ourselves into a soul space that is open to receive the Holy pouring into it? Longing for Presence as my plants, and my soul, longed for light this morning?

Artist God, who floods the world in Glory, enter my heart. Flood my soul with light that shows not only bright places there, but also shadow places. Open my inner eye to see the beauty of myself as you have made me. The beauty of creation. I give thanks for the artists, like Marvin, that you have given to the world. Their vision and work remind us of the Grace of light.

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Lent: Winter, Flowers, and Pete Seeger
March 6, 2014 By 2 Comments

Lent: Winter, Flowers, and Pete Seeger

retreat bouquet from daughtersOriginally published in The Catholic Times, March 9, 2014 issue

A lover of winter, even I am ready for spring this year. Snow, ice, and frigid temperatures just keep coming. And coming. As I arranged a small “prayer table” in my dining area, I decided to add flowers. Some years I have placed small branches in a vase or a container of stones and bulbs, forcing them to sprout and bloom by the end of Lent. This year, I am starting with blooms. I’m not feeling particularly “spiritual.” I need a reminder that even in the midst of winter, spiritual as well as physical, God’s love is present.

Besides flowers, the space holds a book of Scripture readings, a Tibetan singing bowl to call me to prayer, a small, bronze cross, and some bits of nature gathered or given by friends. A candle sits atop a tall wrought iron stand fashioned for me by my daughter many years ago. For some reason, this year I think I will need all these sacramental objects to keep me focused and hopeful.

It’s not just winter weather that has made my spirit weary. Life has been busy with writing projects, healing, and work. News of world conflicts, genocide, drought and famine, while not unique to this moment, weighs particularly heavy on my heart. Closer to home, political rancor and intolerance continue to grab headlines. Our world needs hope. It needs Easter.

Winter has not been without moments of beauty and grace. One was a sing-along gathering people from around the city to remember and honor Pete Seeger who died at the end of January, ninety-four years young. Parking a few blocks away from the Mennonite church where it was held, I joined others walking in the street to avoid icy, unshoveled sidewalks. The space was packed. Led by a trio on guitar, banjo, and bass, we raised our voices (in harmony, no less), singing the old songs. It felt good. The day Pete Seeger died, I took my guitar out from under my bed and played for a couple of hours, wondering why I didn’t do that much anymore. Singing and playing are prayer for me, much like writing.

“This Lent, I’ll sing more,” I told myself.

Pete Seeger used to say that we shouldn’t wish for a great leader. Instead, we should hope for lots and lots of good leaders who work hard right where they are. Think globally. Act locally. It will be participation that saves the world, he’d say.

Lent is like that for me, this year. I’m trying to nurture the awareness of being part of something much bigger than myself, bigger than my little world of home and work, family and friends. Jesus gave us the big picture, the call the help in bringing the kingdom. But he calls us to
“act locally.” He didn’t ask his followers to become national figures or world leaders. He called them to love one another. To respect and to serve, right where they were.

When those he healed wanted to go with him, he often told them to stay put and tell their story to those with whom they lived and worked. It’s harder to do that. Leaving one’s routine behind sounds exciting. It’s easier to love people we don’t know that well.

It’s easier to think about big events and projects than about calling our political representatives, taking time to visit with a grumpy neighbor, or becoming aware of how we might live more consciously of our effect on the planet. Following Jesus is more little steps than giant leaps. It’s more nitty-gritty than glitz.

Lent’s about embracing death, sure of life to come. It’s also about enjoying flowers in the wintertime. It’s about giving ourselves down time to remember that even when we don’t feel God with us or in our world, the Holy One lives in us all. Lent reminds me of this winter that prepares the earth for spring.

© 2014 Mary van Balen

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January 16, 2014 By Leave a Comment

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

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You Do Not Recognize
January 2, 2014 By Leave a Comment

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.

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DEEPENING: 4 Companions
November 7, 2013 By Leave a Comment

DEEPENING: 4 Companions

hands Last night, after a lovely evening of dinner and prayer with our long running monthly “Sabbath Group,” I decided to spend the night there. It was my first meeting since knee surgery, and as simple as the gathering was, I was exhausted. Another member of the group spent the night as well. We enjoyed a bit of Bailey’s and conversation before heading up to bed.

This morning I shared prayer with my spiritual director. It is different than sitting alone at home, trying to quiet my spirit and rest in the Holy Presence that always surrounds us. Still, it was definitely “deepening.” We never know where the Spirit will lead when we sit together. She has been my spiritual companion for over a decade. She listens, and helps me listen to God’s movement in my soul. I can always tell when we are getting close to what is deepest and most in need of surfacing for God’s healing touch: tears come. Usually a quiet trickle, though there have been times when the “prayer of tears” is more abundant!

I give thanks for her companionship. Her deep prayer and willingness to share my journey.

This morning there was anger that needed expressed, expectations that needed relinquished, and compassion for self that I find so difficult to give. She assures me the sharing goes both ways and that our time together is blessing for her as well. I don’t doubt that. But this morning I am moved with gratitude for the gift of companioning she shares. I think, too, of other companions on my way. They are not all close by. Some weave through my life like a thread, now visible, now disappearing underneath the fabric of my life, reappearing now and then.

Some have helped me reclaim myself after years of having ignored or lost it. Most are present in less “formal” ways than a spiritual director. But all have shown God’s face to me…

…. Compassionate God, thank you for the people you have placed in our lives, people who have companioned uson this journey to You. Many do not know their importance. They are unaware of the support they have given: a phone call that brings laughter and light into a dark day; an evening at the theater and then coffee and conversation after; an invitation to share a walk on a sunny day.  A visit when we are sick. Inclusion in a celebration. A shoulder to cry on. An opportunity to listen to them and to share their journeys.

You bless us, Holy One, with countless companions on our way. Bless them. Help us hear the call you give to each of us to be messengers of hope, of your love and compassion to one another.    Amen

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DEEPENING: 3 Hopspitality
November 6, 2013 By Leave a Comment

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.

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The Grace of Friendship
September 6, 2013 By Leave a Comment

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…]

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Ask of the Days of Old
August 9, 2013 By Leave a Comment

Ask of the Days of Old

corn muffins I was trying to sit quietly, to be aware of the Holy Presence within and without. The beeswax candle was burning. Scripture was waiting to be savored. And corn muffins were baking in the oven.

I couldn’t be still. Too many things to do pushed into my brain along with a bit of panic that I could do them in time to meet deadlines…some very public deadlines. Breathe in. Breathe out. Be still. I tried. I failed.

I wondered if I still believed in the Holy Presence that is the original milieu. The place where I live and breath and have my being. “Yes,” my mind gave the conditioned response. “Then why can’t I rest in the mystical embrace?” it wondered. Too busy to linger long on any one thing, it darted off to books, phone calls, appointments, writing, and work at Macy’s.

Mercifully, the oven’s buzzer announced the corn muffins were ready, and I had a good reason to get up and focus on something closer at hand. I spread butter on steaming soft insides of the yellow muffin.

I read over the Old Testament reading from Deuteronomy: “Moses said to the people: “Ask now of the days of old, before your time, ever since God created people on the earth; ask from one end of the sky to the other: Did anything so great ever happen before? Was it ever heard of? Did a people ever hear the voice of God speaking from the midst of fire, as you did, and live?”

“Ask of the days of old.” Maybe that’s what I can do. Remember. Not only creation and ancient history, and history of a particular people, but my history. The times I heard God’s voice speaking from the midst of fires in my life.

“Even the people who knew Moses and his story of the burning bush needed reminded,” I thought.

I took a buttery bite of warm breakfast. It tasted like hope.

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