Creation Gives Voice to Presence

Creation Gives Voice to Presence

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

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

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

PHOTO: Jennifer Stephens

© 2014 Mary van Balen

Lesson from the Leaves

Lesson from the Leaves

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

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

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.

 

 

 

 

 

The Heavens Declare the Glory of God

The Heavens Declare the Glory of God

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

 

I’m always ready for a celestial event, but Ohio skies do not always cooperate. Many are the times I stood under the canopy of night sky, looked up, and saw only darkness. I contented myself with the knowledge that beyond the cloak of clouds, meteors were falling, Mars was passing close, or the moon was being eaten by earth’s shadow. But early this morning, Ohio skies were clear and the full lunar eclipse was spectacular.

I texted and called my daughters, made tea, placed my kitchen step stool on the driveway and settled down to watch with my eyes, binoculars, and a monocular purchased for star gazing.

The heavens declare the glory of God; and the sky manifests God’s handiwork. Day after day proclaims it and night after night shows it forth…

My buddy, Orion was watching, too, his broad shoulders and belted sword visible over my shoulder. Comforting. Orion has been my guardian for years. When my marriage was floundering, I stood on our side porch and felt the overpowering presence of someone taking care of me. Oriron was God’s messenger, silently telling me that Love was Present.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

There is no speech, nor language, nor is their voice heard, yet their proclamation has gone forth through all the earth and their message to the end of the world…

So, it was fitting to sit under the night sky and watch with Orion as the moon turned from bright to red. Lunar eclipses show off the sphericalness of the moon. Sometimes, it looks like a flat silver disk in the sky. Not during an eclipse-definitely a ball. Even with my unaided eyes, I could make out the craters and seas. Once completely in earth’s shadow the moon’s details were easier to see.

A few joggers went by, and a few cars. I wondered if they were looking at the sky or simply straight ahead. The earth, sun, and moon were showing off their glorious dance through the cosmos with a spectacular move, like a deep dip in ballroom dancing, just to make sure we notice how marvelous they are.

Give thanks to the Lord, for the Lord is good….to the Lord who by wisdom made the heavens, for the Lord’s mercy endures forever…to the Lord who made the great lights, for the Lord’s mercy endures forever; the sun to rule the day, for the Lord’s mercy endures forever; the moon and stars to rule the night, for the Lord’s mercy endures forever…

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

In the quiet of the morning, in the splendor of the eclipse, I knew we, on the spinning sailing earth, are but a speck. I know we are making a mess of things: wars, pollution, gouging the earth for oil and gas and gold and jewels, changing the climate, and trashing the landscape. We hate as much as we love. We destroy as much as we create. Yet, there is hope. In spite of our weaknesses we do love. We do create. Like the moon in eclipse, we sometimes fall into shadow, but God’s light shines, ready for us when we are ready for it. The cosmic dance continues, and Orion reminds me that Love remains…the Lord’s mercy endures forever.

Living in Black & White

Living in Black & White

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

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

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

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.

Join Me for a Journaling Retreat

Join Me for a Journaling Retreat

mkvbh-210-Journal_from_jeJournaling has long been a way of prayer for me. Writing can help me be present to the moment, aware of Grace in ordinary experiences. It also helps me reflect on life as it unfolds. Sometimes it’s a book or movie that touches my spirit. Sometimes a passage from Scripture or a photo, or a conversation. It might be current events or listening to YoYo Ma.

What begins as thoughts and feelings scribbled across pages becomes prayer: Lament, thanksgiving, plea for help, or simple amazement. My journals are my books of prayer.

Come join me on Sept. 13 at Corpus Christi Center of Peace and begin to create your own. We will spend the day exploring different approaches to journaling. Whether you are new to the practice or an experienced journaler, you’ll find something new to take home with you.

Journaling the Journey flyer for Corpus Christi CoP 2014-1

 

God Who Comes in Whispers

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.

© 2014 Mary van Balen

Patience

Patience

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Almost three years ago, I bought a Christmas cactus plant at Trader Joe’s. It was my first Christmas in my apartment and the plant looked cheery. It wasn’t big. Actually, it looked as if someone had stuck three stems in a pot of dirt. But it had blossoms. I took it home and placed it on a little prayer “table” that held a book of daily readings, a small cross, and a smattering of sea shells, small stones, and a feather. I think it liked its home because it bloomed at Christmas, but also at other times during the year.

Once, I found a single leaf-like pad had fallen from the main stem. I wondered if it would root if I stuck it in the dirt around the plant. So, I did. I watched it for months. It didn’t wither or turn brown or black, so I figured it was still “alive.” Every month or so, I’d check. No change. A year passed. Nothing. One day I pulled at it gently to see if it had rooted at all. It didn’t offer any resistance, but when I lifted it a bit I could see a white thread-like root, I assumed, so I quickly pushed the leaf-pad back into the soil.

Months passed. Then, a few days ago, when I watered all my plants, including the Christmas cactus, I saw it: A tiny pale green leaf pad growing right out of the top of the one that had been sitting in that dirt for a couple of years! Amazing. A smile spread across my face. I could never bring myself to pull up the leaf, but really, I didn’t expect it ever to grow.

Patience. Some things just take time. I never guessed what work was going on inside that little leaf that looked as if it had been doing nothing for the past year and a half. You just never know. We can be the same, often not a good judge of what is growing and changing in others or even within ourselves. If we believe the Spirit dwells within every person, then shouldn’t we also believe that something is growing within each of us? That God is up to good, even when we see no evidence?

Patience with others. Patience with ourselves. Patience with God’s time.

I called my sister to tell her the news.

“I forgot to show you when you were over tonight. The Christmas cactus leaf is growing!

She promised to have a look when she stopped by next time she stopped over.

“It reminds me of the parable of the fig tree,” she said. “You know, the one where the fig tree doesn’t produce fruit, and the owner wants to pull it out, but the gardener says ‘give me another year…'”

It did:

Luke 13, 6-9  Then he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree growing in his vineyard, and he went to look for fruit on it but did not find any.  So he said to the man who took care of the vineyard, ‘For three years now I’ve been coming to look for fruit on this fig tree and haven’t found any. Cut it down! Why should it use up the soil?’

 “‘Sir,’ the man replied, ‘leave it alone for one more year, and I’ll dig around it and fertilize it.  If it bears fruit next year, fine! If not, then cut it down.’”

The little Christmas cactus needed longer than a year. I’m not sure if the scripture passage suggests that God is patient, or that we’d better get going because God won’t wait forever. I think God waits. It’s earth-time that runs out. When it does, I believe God is there, ready to celebrate what has sprouted from the bit of Divine Self planted in each of us.

Prayer: When Words Fail

Prayer: When Words Fail

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

 

Let me seek, then, the gift of silence, and poverty, and solitude, where everything I touch is turned into prayer: where the sky is my prayer, the birds are my prayer, the wind in the trees is my prayer, for God is in all.

Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude

Jesus Weeps

Photo by James McGinnis

Photo by James McGinnis

The headlines are difficult to read: Plane shot down over war zone, man struggles for two hours during his execution, turning children away at the border, Christians driven from their ancient homeland in Iraq, rising casualties in the Gaza war, conflict escalation in Ukraine, teenagers bludgeoning a homeless man to death…I can’t bear to read much of it. If my heart is weeping, what about the One who created this universe, this exquisite planet and all the people on it?

There are bright spots for sure: New executive orders that provide protection for many among us, interest in wind power in Texas, individuals responding to others in need, moving reception of bodies from Malaysian flight 17 tragedy as the Netherlands declares a national day of mourning and accepts and honors all victims remains regardless of nationality. Good things do happen. We don’t hear about them as much.

This morning, all I could do was sit quietly and hold the world in my heart before God in prayer….and let my tears mingle with those shed by the Divine.

Reentry

Reentry

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

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.