PHOTO: Mary van Balen In today’s gospel reading, it was the little things the woman noticed when Jesus entered Simon’s house: No one brought water to wash Jesus’ dusty feet; no one greeted him with a kiss; no one wiped his face and refreshed it with oil. Changed by his words of God’s loving forgiveness, she had come to seek him out. Perhaps to give thanks for lifting a burden from her heart and replacing it with hope.

The lack of honor shown to this man moved her to tears, and she washed his feet with them, drying with her hair. She broke her alabaster jar of perfume and anointed his feet, covering them with kisses as she did.

Simon was shocked and offended. Jesus felt the warmth of her love and said so: She had been forgiven much and she loved much. He had no such words for his host, who, if he were open to the moment, was abashed.

A lifetime of paying attention to the “little things” make a saint. Liturgical Press’ September “Give Us This Day” book of prayer, a short reflection on the life of Daria Donnelly is offered as an example of one made holy by living ordinary life fully and with love. She was an editor of “Commonweal” magazine, a wife and mother. She died at forty-five of multiple myeloma. Her witness? In her words: “The only thing that matters is showing love and compassion in the time that is given us.”

Most of us live ordinary lives, work day in and day out at jobs that may or may not be fulfilling in themselves. We are parents and children; aunts and uncles; neighbors and strangers. But each day, each moment is an acceptable time for the inbreaking of grace and love. Present to the moment, we are surprised by beauty and kindness.

This morning, I woke with a “to do” list stamped in my brain. I washed dishes and, suspecting a nail in its tire, took my car to a local mechanic to check. He asked for an hour. I walked down the street to a small restaurant and treated myself to breakfast and time to write a bit in my journal. On the walk back, I noticed a leaf on the sidewalk. Or more accurately, the leaf called to me, bright with large dew drops throwing the morning sun out for passersby to see.

Stooping down for a closer look, I pondered the fall season, the large size of the drops, and the brilliance of the sun. Grace, inbreaking.

“Yep, it was a nail. Keys are in the car.”

“What do I owe you?”

“Nothing.” He smiled. Grace again.

A sweet sense of peace replaced nagging concern with my mental chores list. While I spend the rest of my day selling home-goods to bargain seekers, I will pass the peace along. Department store or office; strangers or friends; commerce or solitary work. All are acceptable times and places for God’s Grace to show up and continue the work of transformation.

Rita Frye PHOTO: Mary van Balen “Well, Hello!” Rita’s voice came over my cell. I couldn’t believe we had connected, expecting instead to leave a message.

“Happy Birthday!” I said.

“You’re on top of things,” she replied, no doubt surprised by the early hour of the call. Our forty-four years of friendship had made it clear that I was NOT a morning person. Still, rising early for the chance of spending a few minutes in conversation with my friend was an easy choice.

Rita and I met as freshman at the College of Saint Francis, in Joliet, IL. In fact, since her aunt was the dean of women at that time, Rit had the opportunity to look through letters written by applicants to choose her roommate. We still can’t figure out why she chose me. I had written nothing. Nothing about myself. I imagine I just filled in what was required and sent the application on its way.

Looking back, Rita would say it was God. And I would agree. Not only has our friendship spanned over four decades, but through introductions to people who were part of my life, Rita found her life’s work in serving the poor and mentally challenged in Appalachia. And me? I found a blessing.

We shared train rides to and from Chicago on the passenger line that provided her grandfather with his job as porter. Her father had a restaurant near the station. We took our guitars and had sing a longs in the dining car. We headed small protests to make changes in the all girls college dress code, generally caused a bit of uproar, and made two other friendships that have also endured.

Rita is not a great communicator, at least to those who are not part of her day, but despite few letters or calls, we connect immediately when we do talk. Today my intent was to celebrate the blessing she has been on the earth for sixty plus years. I did. She also supported me as I continue to deal with the emotional aftermath of divorce and the realities of trying to make ends meet.

In the end we marveled together over a small nature preserve near Peebles, OH, Davis Memorial Park, and a tiny creature that lives in the ice cold water of the cave there.

“It’s the only place it lives,” Rita said. Then added, “Makes you wonder how they know that, doesn’t it?” True. Who knows. Really. But it doesnt’ matter. What does matter is that somewhere in the cold darkness of a cave, a little creature lives and propagates, and adds to the habitat. Maybe it is food for some other living thing. Maybe it keeps some microscopic organism from taking over. Maybe it just is. A manifestation of the variety and wonder of creation.

Rit reflected on her own life in a small little town, hidden away from the hustle and bustle of big cities, but with plenty of action and challenges of its own. She lives there and makes a contribution, however small, to the people and places she touches.

We talked about suffering. About struggle. About politics and how this election is likely the most important one in our lifetimes. What direction will our next president take the country? What will be the vision of our country? We hope it is Obama’s. One that takes the poor and their needs seriously.

The conversation wends back to our personal struggles and the part they play in transforming the world, no matter how slightly. We, and that nameless creature in the cave at Davis Memorial. (I tried to look it up. No luck. If the Division of Natural Resources can help, I will let you know.) And the millions of other people who make it through, one day at a time, saying something kind. Providing help or encouragement.

“Everyone’s life counts,” I told my young transsexual daughter who, at that time, I thought was my very depressed son. She couldn’t see how she would ever fit into the world. She has. And does. And makes a difference.

Rita would understand. And when she called back to continue our conversation a while after our first had ended, I smiled and told her what I was doing at that moment: I was writing about her in the little journal that holds notes on my blessings, lest I forget.

Thank you, Rita. And Happy Birthday!

PHOTO: Mary van Balen No, not a “lousy T-shirt.” While admitting to a bit of beach envy, I was happy to receive the bounty of my brother-in-law’s garden and produce from their refrigerator which would not last the week. Michael’s homegrown eggplant, peppers, tomatoes, and potatoes inspired me to create my own ratatouille this morning. I threw in some zucchini, onion, garlic, and fresh basil and thyme snipped in the rain from my potted herb garden.

Not only do I have lunch and dinner for a couple of days, I have an apartment filled with the earthy aromas of fresh vegetables and herbs. A perfect compliment to a grey, rainy morning.

With food prepared, the remainder of my day is free for writing, prayer, and errands that pile up waiting for a day off. As I go about my work the fragrance earth’s bounty will tease my appetite and the words of the Psalmist will fill my heart:

Bless the Lord, my soul!
Lord God, how great you are,
clothed in majesty and glory,
wrapped in light as in a robe!…

You founded the earth on its base,
to stand firm from age to age.
You wrapped it with the ocean like a cloak:
the waters stood higher than the mountains.

At your threat they took flight;
at the voice of your thunder they fled.
They rose over the mountains and flowed down
to the place which you had appointed.
You set limits they might not pass
lest they return to cover the earth….

From your dwelling you water the hills;
earth drinks its fill of your gift.
You make the grass grow for the cattle
and the plants to serve our needs,
that we may bring forth bread from the earth
and wine, to cheer our hearts;
oil, to make our faces shine
and bread to strengthen our hearts…

I will sing to the Lord all my life,
make music to my God, while I live.
May my thoughts be pleasing to God.
I find my joy in the Lord….

Bless the Lord, my soul.

from Psalm 104

News coverage of the riots and deaths stemming from rage at the short movie, “Innocence of Muslims” reminded me of a Catholic News Agency article by Michele Bauman I read in my local diocesan paper a couple of weeks ago. It’s title, “Study Reveals Increasing Hostility in US Toward Religion” caught my attention. “I’m not surprised,” I thought, and placed it on my desk, intending to comment in this blog. There the article remained until this morning’s news moved me to write the post.

First, a little background on the groups that put out the study cited in the CNA article. One, the Liberty Institute headed by Kelly Shackelford, is a conservative Christian advocacy group that focuses much of its attention on pro bono legal cases involving people or churches who believe their first amendment rights are being violated on the grounds of their Christian faith. A prominent case, dubbeded the “Candy Cane Case,” defends the right of a young student to bring candy canes with a religious story attached to the class Christmas party.

The second organization is Family Research Council, headed by Tony Perkins. This group was designated a “hate group” by the Southern Poverty Law Center in 2010 for its dissemination of “false and denigrating propaganda about LGBT people.” The Human Rights Campaign’s president, Chad Griffin writes in the Washington Post’s Opinion page that “The real issue is the Family Research Council’s well documented and continuous pattern of hateful rhetoric.” Hardly credentials for writing about hostility against a group of people.

I downloaded the Executive Summary of “Survey of Religious Hostility in America” and as one would expect from such groups, the only “religious hostilities” mentioned are those perceived against Christians or Christian churches or causes. What about cases of hostility against Muslims, Jews, or non-believers? Our country is not homogenous in any way: ethnicity, race, or religion. As a country we must be respectful of everyone’s right to believe and worship, or not, according to his or her beliefs or lack of belief.

Such respect was not given to Muslim believers by the makers of the film mentioned above, ridiculing Mohammed and portraying him as violent and obsessed with sex. According to an AP article by Michale R. Blood, the permit for the film has been connected to a Christian charity, Media for Christ. Sigh.

So you see why, when I saw the headlines of the CNA article in my local Catholic paper, my response was not surprise. With hate-filled rhetoric and religious extremists on every side, why wouldn’t the general public have less and less respect for religion? Why one might feel hostility toward organized churches is not difficult to comprehend.

I am not advocating it, of course. Most people who attend religious services and who claim belief in God do not go out and make offensive movies, hurl bricks through windows of Muslim owned businesses (This comes to mind from conversations with friends in Minnesota who are trying to reach out to the Somali population there.), or denigrate Jews. It just doesn’t go along with believing in a loving God.

Nor does spewing hate-filled rhetoric about gay, lesbian, transsexuals, or transgendered people. Or people of minority races. Or atheists. Or anyone else.

Like most God-fearing people, I am tired of the extreme wings of any faith grabbing headlines and that is what the CNA article has done. It, and articles like it, fan the flames of violence and intolerance that are spreading around the world.

Let’s look for leadership from places other than those who plant themselves squarely on the far fringes of believers.

“Lament” clay sculpture by Connie Butler As much as I would prefer to leave Sister Simone Campbell’s joyful presence standing at the top of my blog posts for a few days, this story demands comment. On Thursday, Sept. 6, 2012, Bishop Robert Finn of the diocese of Kansas City-Saint Joseph, was found guilty of a misdemeanor count of failing to reportsuspected child abuse. Unlike most recent cases (see my blogpost on Msgr. Lynn’s trial or the NYT’s article on his conviction.) this offense occurred in 2011, ten years after the American Catholic Bishops made reporting such abuse part of their recommended policies. (I say “recommended” because in the end, the bishops answer only to the authority of the Pope.)

While this event marks the first time a bishop has been found guilty and sentenced in a civil court, something that gives me hope for future moves to accountability, the slight sentence of probation is a disappointment. Not that I take pleasure in seeing someone sent to prison, but the damage done to at least one boy and likely other children at the hands of a priest protected by his superior, is not reflected in the punishment given to Bishop Finn. It reflects a lack of understanding, putting the case in the best possible light, of children and the lifelong effects of such abuse. Bishop Finn should resign, and if he doesn’t, he should be removed.

Today,iOL News quoted Barbara Dorris, outreach director of the Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests, saying, “Only jail time would have made a real difference here and deterred future horrific cover-ups, anything less will not produce any meaningful reform.”

The Catholic hierarchy is notoriously secretive. When they backslide again it will be hard to catch them, everyone involved must be hyper vigilant if kids are truly to be safe.”

Her comments reflect the frustration of many who are outraged that members of the hierarchy involved in coverup and placing pedophiles in positions where they had access to children have not accepted responsibility for their culpability as enablers of sexual abuse of children.

Would women in the ranks of clergy and hierarchy had made a difference? As a woman, mother, and educator, I think “yes.” We, of course, will never know the answer to that question. Still, as weak as the sentencing of Bishop Finn is, this conviction does hold some hope that those involved in such horrible crimes are not above the reach of civil law. Admitting to their part in these scandals and accepting the consequences would go far in healing the Church. As Bishop Conlon of Joliet, IL said“Our credibility on the subject of child abuse is shredded.” He compared today’s situation with that of the Reformation, when not only local clerics were discredited, but the bishops and pope as well.

I hope the other bishops and the Vatican are listening.

(Photo of Bishop Finn: Tammy Ljungblad)

Sister Simone Campbell at the DNC On Wednesday, the Nuns on the Bus arrived at the Democratic National Convention and one of them, Sister Simone Campbell, stood on the podium to remind those with ears to hear that the Romney/Ryan budget “failed a moral test,” echoing the statement of the United States bishops.

Sister Simone, executive director of NETWORK, and a group of sisters traveled through nine states, spreading their message of concern about the budget adopted by the Republican party, a budget that would cause great harm to those most vulnerable in our country by cutting funding to programs that provide help to those who need it.

In light of the difficulties between the US Catholic Bishops and the members of the Leadership Council of Women Religious, some might have been surprised to hear Sister Campbell align herself with the bishops at the beginning of her remarks. However, on the issue of the Romney/Ryan budget, they agree. As Sister Campbell explained, despite Congressman Ryan’s claim that “his budget reflects the principles of our shared Catholic faith,” it would hurt those who live in poverty.

She shared poignant stories of individuals she met while on the bus tour: two young boys trying to care for a sick mother, a woman who died of cancer when loss of her job meant loss of health care, a man who depends on food stamps to help feed his family since his employer reduced his hours.

“I am my sister’s keeper. I am my brother’s keeper,” she said.

“Whatever you do to the least of these, you do to me.” Those are Jesus’ words.

As election day approaches, people of faith, no matter the denomination, have much to consider, including the implications of adoption of the Republican budget that includes huge tax cuts for the wealthiest, repeal of the Affordable Care Act, and budget cuts in programs like food stamps.

You can watch a video of Sister Campbell’s remarks here or read the text here. The Catholic News Service April 19, 2012 article, “Letters to Congress: USCCB opposes proposed cuts in services to poor”can be read here.

While thinking them over, you might also think about what is happening in New York, the home turf of another Catholic speaker at the DNC, Archbishop Timothy Cardinal Dolan, president of the USCCB. Despite saying he was not endorsing any candidate while he prayed at both conventions, in his archdiocese, a parish priest reprinted a letter written by six former US ambassadors to the Vatican, encouraging “… our fellow Catholics, and indeed all people of good will, to join with us in this full-hearted effort to elect Governor Mitt Romney as the next President of the United States.”

A petition is making its way around the Internet, asking the archbishop to instruct the priests in his archdiocese to refrain from putting such partisan material in their bulletins. I hope Dolan heeds its message and holds the priests to USCCB’s standard of not endorsing either candidate or party as stated in their booklet, “Faithful Citizenship: A Catholic Call to Political Responsibility”

“Our Church does not offer contributions or endorsements. Instead, we raise a series of questions, seeking to help lift up the moral and human dimensions of the choices facing voters and candidates.”

I am reminded of another person Sister Campbell met while on the bus tour. A thirty-something woman, who felt isolated by the political polarization in her community, asked for names of people she might contact. She longs for people to listen to one another rather than yell. Sister Campbell reassured her that she is not alone.

I know that is true, but the campaign has already been full of vicious attacks and promises to become uglier. Church leaders should be busy about articulating the values that are the foundation of our faith, and trust in the goodness and good sense of the faithful to discern the truth and vote their conscience.

Saint Rose of Lima Yesterday was the feast of Saint Rose of Lima. The first thing listed in the Catholic encyclopedia article about Rose is “Virgin.” Of course. No surprise from a church that covers up sex abuse and struggles to deal with sex and sexuality in a healthy way. I am put off right away. “What about women who are mothers?” I think. Still, second class, I guess. Countless saints, there, I am sure. Someday might “Mother” be first on the list of saintly qualifications? I move on.

Then comes the hagiography: Her infant face was seen transformed by a mystical rose…whatever that means. The list continues with constant prayer, adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, secluding herself in her room, committing to virginity, to a meatless diet (the connection to cooking vegan with my sister and sister-in-law) and eventually to eating almost nothing. All this as she struggled against the opposition of family and friends.

As many lives of saints who lived in this period, Rose is said to have practiced severe acts of mortification especially after becoming a member of the Third Order of Dominicans (Her parents refused to let her become a nun.), and worn a metal circlet studded with spikes like thorns everyday, a metal chain around her waist, and coarse clothes. She also fashioned a bed of broken glass, pot shards, and thorns. Will the holiness never end?

On the bright side, she was an artist with a needle and made lace and needlework to help support her family when they fell into hard times. And she preformed works of charity. That gets limited notice in this article.

Happily, I did not read only the Catholic Encyclopedia account of Rose’s life. It turns out in her final years, she opened up a room in the house to care for homeless children, the old, and the sick. Her actions are said to have been the foundation for social services in Peru. This didn’t make the CE article. Again, not a big surprise seeing how the Vatican reacted to the LCWR’s emphasis on just such work with the poor and marginalized instead of spending more time proclaiming the Church’s teaching on abortion, homosexuality, and same sex marriage.

I thought about these things as I drove to spend the morning with my sister-in-laws learning to cook a healthy, meatless meal. My sister and I had a great time and eventually brought home some delicious food for dinner. I mentioned Rose of Lima and my discoveries about her.

“Hope you don’t mind being in a blog,” I said, sure the day would somehow find its place in mine. As we worked together in the kitchen I thought of the things about Rose of Lima’s life that spoke to me and might speak to my readers. Certainly not sleeping on a bed of glass and thorns. Or being a virgin. No. What Rose did was remain true to herself despite continued opposition and ridicule from those she loved.

That is tough in any time or culture. I think of marginalized people and how they face oppression and ridicule. They might be poor, homosexual, transsexual, abused, unemployed, homeless. I thought of people who decide to live a simpler lifestyle eschewing the consumerism that has a death grip on this country (and other parts of the world.) They might be people who, for whatever reason, make choices that are not mainstream.

I also thought of Rose’s self-denial. If the stories are to be believed, to say she was extreme is an understatement. Yet, her desire to give up comforts that she perceived as impediments to a relationship with God is something we can emulate.

The Incarnation tells me that creation is good and the world is not to be abandoned, but transformed. That means no need to sleep on glass or puncture your head with a metal crown of thorns. But, to resist buying what we don’t need, to use resources wisely, to spend some time in prayer and reflection that we might otherwise fill with television, iPods, and other gadgets (Which are also great tools to be used, just not non-stop)…these are things we can do.

We can resist the siren call to a life of comfort, isolated from those most vulnerable, and use our time and talents in service to the common good. That would look different for everyone. For some it will mean staying home to raise their children or juggling work and parenthood.Or maybe working two jobs to make ends meet. Or using the free time economic security provides to volunteer somewhere. It can mean eating less and more healthily (as my morning of cooking prodded me to consider), consuming less material goods. Just allowing oneself times of quiet and prayer can be challenging today.

Being holy means being who God made you to be, no matter what everyone else thinks. And part of that journey is taking to time to figure that out. Rose of Lima didn’t have much time to accomplish that. She died at thirty-one.

If I were to write the list of attributes that preceded an article on you Rose, I would write: “Contemplative, Strong Woman, Servant of the Poor and Needy.”
But then, no one asked me.

“Gratia Plena” by Stephen Heilmer PHOTO: Mary van Balen

While in Seattle, I visited the Chapel of St. Ignatius on the campus of the Jesuit’s Seattle University. The chapel, designed by architect Steven Holl using “A Gathering of Different Lights” as the guiding concept, won a design award from the New York Chapter of the American Institute of Architects and the scale model of it is part of the permanent collection of the Museum of Modern Art in New York. The chapel is stunning. All of it. But today, being the feast of Our Lady, Mother and Queen, I decided to focus on one of the striking elements of this place of prayer. I don’t identify the title of “Queen” for Mary, but “Mother” is another story.

“Be sure to see the statue of Mary,” my Dutch cousins suggested when they learned I would be visiting the chapel with my friend the following day. “It is unique.” How right they were. One walks through the chapel doors (a story themsleves) along a sloped entryway and along the processional corridor, and looks to the right into the nave or main sanctuary. Much vies for attention in a subtle kind of way, but my eyes fell immediately on the Mary statue, unlike anything I have seen before.

I stood a long time there, gazing at the golden bowl head, the overflowing stream of milk that poured from it and covered the figure. Carved out of one piece of marble the figure is unspecific yet particular. I could not move my eyes from the bowl and milk which flowed from it.

Maybe my experience of being mother myself, one who nursed three children and who had an abundance of milk to nourish them, made the image more powerful. Perhaps not. Maybe everyone who sees it, mother or not, is riveted by the image of outpouring of life and grace.

Pouring out. That is what I saw. Pouring out as a mother does in countless ways: Life from her womb. Milk from her breasts. Love from her heart. I rejoiced and ached at once, for what mother does not do both?

An image of Mary, Mother of Jesus. An image of God who is Mother as well. An image that calls us to both receive grace as children of the Divine and to pour it out as sisters and brothers of Jesus, transforming the world.

Slowly, I turned my eyes to other parts of the chapel. The light playing on plain walls. The Blessed Sacrament chapel with wall covered with six-hundred pounds of (That’s another story). My friend and I did not have much time. Not enough, this trip anyway. When I return to Seattle someday, I hope, I will take more time in this place. I will sit before the statue. I will simply be. With milk and grace and beeswax and love falling all over me.

Abbot John Klassen OSB PHOTO: Sr. Edith OSB Part Two: “I am doing something NEW….”

Recall, however, that the prophets not only announce to the people an end that the community cannot admit; they also proclaim a hope that the people can hardly believe. There are two dangers or temptations that arise in times of transition. The first is nostalgia, which is essentially a state of denial. The strategy of nostalgia denies that the loss has happened or is happening: with increasing desperation it attempts to cling to a way of life and of faith that are no more.

The second danger or temptation is that of despair, a stance that says that faith is no longer possible in this new situation, that all is lost (alles ist verloren), that no future possibilities are to be found here. Despair inevitably leads to resignation, cynicism, apathy, and spiritual death. Both the strategy of nostalgia and the stance of despair are present in our monastery and in the Church today.

Abbot John Klassen OSB Saint John’s Abbey, Collegeville MN
From : Conference, December 10, 2005 “See, I Am Doing Something New!”
Prophetic Ministry for a Church (and a Monastery) in Transition

I have had the privilege of worshipping with the monks of Saint John’s Abbey, and at times, I hearing Abbot John preach. The conference referenced above, moved me. While much of it is directed at the struggles of monastics today and though it was presented almost two years ago, it seemed a timely reflection for the current position of the LCWR, the Vatican, and the Roman Catholic Church in general.

The confrontation is an indication of the times of deep change in which we live. Of the overwhelming challenges. Of the need for new ways of responding and being people of faith in the world. The two dangers that Abbot John spoke of are very much present in today’s Church. While I am not guilty of the first, I recognize in myself a tendency toward the second.I read articles and listen to radio interviews, and some homilies, and despair of a Church that can change and respond in a meaningful way to its own people, let alone the world beyond its doors. Abbot John speaks of a “hospice theology,” one in which we know God can work miracles, but likely not the ones we expect.

I see the loss but not always the hope. I don’t always believe in miracles.

The abbot ends the Conference with these words: “Our prophetic vocation is to help the Church (and ourselves) to accept a loss they (we) cannot admit and to embrace a hope they (we) cannot dare to believe. Prophets do this by attending to the present groans of the people and positing an alternative future vision. This, I believe, is the essence of being a spiritual leader in the Church during this time of transition.”

I am thankful for spiritual leaders, like Abbot Klassen, who give me a new way to look and the current state of the RCC and by reminding me of the prophets of old and their call, give me the heart to hope.

http://www.saintjohnsabbey.org/abbot/051210.html