The Scallop

August 24, 2020 By Mary van Balen 16 Comments

A Morning Walk’s Prayer of Attention

green leaf glowing with sunlight — PHOTO: Mary van Balen

Sometimes my “church” is the outdoors. I take an early walk for exercise and to pray the prayer of attention and gratitude for whatever is given. Last week, I was two blocks from home when the morning sun shining through large, broad leaves of an old tree stopped me in my tracks. Some leaves caught the morning rays and glowed bright green against the deep shades of others hanging in the shadow, gleaming like illumined stained-glass windows in the dark stone interiors of medieval cathedrals.

Light streaming through the canopy of leaves into a small ravine was the next gift. Tucked between two homes, the space held trees, undergrowth, and scattered, pop-up choirs of resurrection lilies singing out praise with their glorious purple-pink blooms.

And so it went. But before long, I found myself distracted by walkers and runners, like me, out to enjoy the morning. Unlike me, not wearing masks. As we approached one another on the sidewalk, few made any effort to distance themselves. Time and again, I crossed the street to ensure safe distance. Irritation began to overshadow meditation.

I reclaimed my focus, intentionally moving it away from people and back to the moment, being attentive to the Sacred proclaimed by creation. Slowly, wisdom rose in my heart: gratitude for the beauty around me and awareness of the privilege that allowed me to walk in a neighborhood that offers such respite.

A deeper recognition stirred, one of being part of the greater Whole. Along with the tress and other growing things, I am part of a reflection of an unknowable Presence – unknowable, but with Grace, sometimes experienced.

The trees spoke to me of Presence that exists beyond, yet encompasses all time. The Mystery informs each moment and remains when the moment has passed.

I noticed old trees that have witnessed much and thought of ancient ones around the world that stood as wars have come and gone. Trees that have seen floods, droughts, and fires rage. That have outlasted plagues. Trees that have seen governments and empires, dictators and saints, come and go. The ancient ones that have watched economic booms and busts, seen hatred and the love that overcame it.

I remembered a quote by Thomas Merton:

“A tree gives glory to God first of all by being a tree. For in being what God means it to be, it is imitating an idea which is in God and which is not distinct from the essence of God, and therefore a tree imitates God by being a tree.”
Thomas Merton Seeds of Contemplation

What is true for the oldest of trees is true for the newly sprouted plant coming up between cracks in cement. It is true for the birds and squirrels that rustled leaves on trees and shrubs as they sought safety when I walked by. And it is true of me.

When I am authentically myself, I reflect the Divine within to the world without. Presence permeates all that is. That will never end.

When I am gone from the earth, well before the trees I passed, I will still “be” in some way or other. And along with the trees that will remain to calm some other earth-walkers in future decades, I will be a part of the Mystery.

These days are passing, but while I am here in this moment, it is important to share the Divine spark given to me. It is equally important to welcome the Presence, to sink into it, to melt into it and know peace in the reality that all things are part of the One Holy Mystery, now and always.

“Open your eyes, alert your spiritual ears, unlock your lips, and apply your heart, so that in all creation you may see, hear, praise, love and adore, magnify, and honor your God.”
St. Bonaventure Itinerarium

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: authentic self, creation, prayer, Presence, present to the moment, St. Bonaventure, Thomas Merton

May 5, 2020 By Mary van Balen 10 Comments

Liberation Day and Inspiration from WWII

“Food, Peace, Freedom” Commemorative Plaque 1945, Delft

Yesterday I received an email from a cousin in the Netherlands telling me about two special days observed in her country, yesterday and today: Day of Remembrance (May 4) and Liberation Day (May 5). The first honors those who gave their lives during WWII. The second celebrates the end of German occupation of Holland and the end of the war.

In her email, she shared stories of her mother and father’s work during those dark days. Her mother helped bring hungry children from the city to Friesland (a northern province of the Netherlands) where the farmers had food and people were happy to provide shelter and nourishment to the youngsters. Her father helped collect guns, air dropped in nearby fields, to be used by the Dutch resistance. He and his comrades carried messages by bicycle- with wooden wheels- to those in the resistance. (Bicycles were forbidden, so just having one was dangerous.) All this was done on moonless nights to avoid being discovered.

Today, the people of the Netherlands will remember the Allied Forces that brought the war to an end and the GIs who rescued the “hungry and exhausted people of Holland.”

She also remembered my father, who joined in a flight that was part of Operation Chowhound/Manna dropping food to the starving Dutch people. He was stationed in England, an Intelligence officer, but went on the mission because his father was a Dutch immigrant with a large family remaining in the Netherlands.

Decades later, a Dutch couple appeared at my parents’ door. They brought a brass flare that had been used to light up the field where food was dropped near their home. It was a gift to Dad, a “Thank You.”

I have a Delft plaque that memorializes that food drop. Looking at it now, I pause, remember, and give thanks for the self-giving of so many.

Life brings unexpected challenges. For my parents’ generation, WWII called them to great sacrifice, making the world a safer place for generations to come.

For us today, the great challenge is the pandemic. The first call is for us to do our part in stopping the spread of COVID-19 starting with quarantine, social distancing, and wearing face masks. But a bigger challenge will remain after a vaccine is found and the people of the world are able to move about more safely. Like WWII, the coronavirus will require people and countries around the world to work together. But instead of fighting to end the scourge of Nazism, our struggle is to change the way human beings live on this planet.

We must find ways to respect the earth and live without destroying it. We must find ways to live as a global family, not as warring tribes.

Remembering, along with my cousin, the sacrifices made by our parents has awakened a deep appreciation for the example they have given us: the courage to hope at a time when what needs done seems impossible; the willingness to sacrifice for the good of others, and the strength to go on when all seems lost.

Today, commitment to the common good is lacking in the hearts of many who, instead, hold on to a sense of privilege and of the value of working for self interests rather than for what is best for all. The uneven response in the U.S. to this pandemic and the clinging to an illusion of rugged independence with little regard for “the other” is evidence of such a mindset.

Mindful of the demands WWII placed on people of the world, I listen in disbelief to protestors today who cry that their rights are being trampled when they are told to wear a face mask. Wearing a face mask in public to protect others and combat this virus is too much to do? Really? A friend suggested that perhaps they don’t understand the importance of that simple action. Perhaps. I hope they catch on soon.

Our challenge is overwhelming. It’s about creating a new, sustainable way of being with one another and with the earth. Different than what faced those in WWII, the response must also be different. The way forward needs to be one of peaceful cooperation, not war. It seems impossible.

Now, when I look at that Delft plaque, it will be a source of inspiration to move ahead and not only of remembrance. It will encourage resolve to continue the legacy of those who worked together for a common purpose. As we begin the long process of change, I’ll draw hope from their hope. And love from their love.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: climate change, Common Good, cooperation, justice, Liberation Day, Response to COVID-19, WWII

April 22, 2020 By Mary van Balen 14 Comments

Sunday Prayer: A Mindful Loaf

Sunday, I decided, was the perfect day to use some of my precious yeast and flour to make a single loaf of bread – the day Christians set aside to gather and remember God’s great gift of self, given and shared with all creation. Baking would be my prayer.

My old Tassajara Bread book’s cover is stained and bent, but its respect for the ingredients and the nourishment of body and spirit as well as its slow, mindful approach was perfect for my prayer – of course it would be. The book’s author was a young Zen student, later Zen priest, at the Tassajara Zen Mountain Center, Edward Espe Brown.

Strains of Holst’s The Planets filled my little kitchen with a sense of the cosmos and my small place in it. I gathered the ingredients and, lighting a beeswax candle, took a few quiet moments to remember that, as always, I was in the presence of the Holy One whose Love and Breath is the Source of all that is. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. Begin.

The first step was making the sponge – something Tassajara introduced into my vocabulary. This stage gives yeast time to grow, uninhibited by the salt added later. As the sponge rises, gluten is formed; that makes kneading easier. I poured warm water into a large bowl. Sprinkling yeast on the water, I marveled at the tiny grains that would come to life and make my bread rise. Simply by being itself, the yeast would move a pound or two of heavy, dense dough.

May I be myself, moving the world forward ever so slightly, by giving the gifts and Love entrusted to me to share.

I stirred in a little honey to give the yeast something to feed on, added flour, mixed, and then set it aside to rise for an hour, covering the bowl with a damp towel—carefully chosen—printed with illustrations of shells found along New England beaches. I remembered rhythmic sounds of ocean waves, smells of salty air, the variety of sea creatures, all mingled with my awareness of vast cosmic space. My small kitchen was becoming spacious.

There are times in our lives that are “sponge-times,” blessedly free of experiences that hinder growth. They are respites and retreats. They are moments or hours or days.

I am grateful for the sponge-times that bless my life, from childhood to this uncertain moment of pandemic; for the people and places and books and words and music and art and night skies and all things that have been doors of such grace for me.

Next came the folding-in. With gentle, around-the-bowl-and-toward-the-center motion of the wooden spoon, I blended in salt and oil, careful not to tear the tender dough. I folded in more flour until it held together, a ball in the middle of the bowl.

Oh, that we may hold together, this world of people, in these times.

I didn’t use the mixer, but kneaded by hand on the countertop. I felt the dough becoming supple, stretching, not tearing. The gluten was forming, ready to capture bubbles of carbon dioxide made as the yeast grew. Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, passed.

Can I stretch, not break, when life pushes and pulls in different directions?

Next, more time to rise in the warmed oven. Time to wash dishes, clean the countertop, and put the canister of flour and bottle of oil away. I closed my eyes and listened to the music. I remembered walking on beaches and finding shells and an occasional piece of sea glass.

Lying on the couch, I put my feet up, and wondered: Who tended the bees that made the local honey? Who grew the wheat and ground it into flour? Who delivered the groceries to the store and put them on the shelves? I didn’t think much about these jobs before these days of self-isolation.

I am grateful for the people whose work provides what is needed to make a simple loaf of bread. Scarcity and the need for others to risk their health make me value each ingredient. I am careful not to waste. I am sorry for not always having been so careful.

Next came the punching-down. The yeast and gluten had done their work. The dough had risen high in the bowl. But I made a fist and gently pushed the soft dough until it was almost flat again. It seemed counterproductive. Why squash air pockets the yeast and gluten had worked together to make? Bakers know. Still, it seemed unfair. I punched anyway, re-covered the bowl, and let it rise again. And it did.

May I rise back up when life punches the breath right out of me. Can I trust that the Spirit living within me won’t be beaten so far down that it won’t be able to rise again? Yes, so far. But there have been times – dark times – when I didn’t. I’m grateful for people in my life who trusted the spirit in me when I couldn’t.

I gently kneaded the risen dough one last time and put it in the pan. Yes. It had to rise again. Then it was ready for the oven. The aroma of baking bread filled the apartment. I had time to wash dishes again while listening to the music and imagining planets not included in Holst’s suite: planets spinning around other stars in other galaxies.

I began cutting up onions and mincing garlic for soup to have along with fresh bread for dinner.

The oven timer buzzed. The loaf was ready. I had made a small roll, too, for eating while it was still hot, melting a smear of butter.

Bread. Many grains, one loaf. Gift of the earth. Work of human hands. I placed the roll on a small blue plate, gift of a Cistercian monk-friend years ago. Made by potters down the road from the monastery, the plate’s dark blue glaze edged with white misty swirls has always reminded me of the night sky, the Milky Way, or photos taken by the Hubble. It’s my “cosmos plate.”

I poured red wine into the matching chalice and sat quietly. My family and friends, my communities, the city, the world and all its people, the earth and all the “helpers,” the cosmos—all were gathered in, sitting with me in the Presence of the Source of all.

The world is not the same as it was when a tiny virus brought us all into this time of uncertainty. May I have the courage to move forward into a new time with a will to change, to create new ways of being with one another and with our planet. May we all be willing to shed the old “normal,” as comforting as it might seem, and to make something new, kinder, and better, together.

“Eucharist” means “thanksgiving.” My Sunday baking liturgy finished, I gave thanks, broke the bread, and ate. Amen.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: baking bread, coronoavirus, creation, Eucharist, grace, Mindful baking, prayer, present to the moment, spirituality, Tassajara, Zen

March 23, 2020 By Mary van Balen 12 Comments

Coronavirus and Being Apart – Together

Changing the slogan

Apart Together – Mary van Balen

A few days ago, a friend sent an email that, among other things, suggested a change to the slogan often heard in the midst of the Coronavirus pandemic. “Getting through this together” could use a little tweak. In light of the urgent need for people to self-isolate, she thought “Getting through this apart” might better reflect the message being sent by medical experts world-wide, and locally, by Gov. Mike DeWine and Director of the Ohio Health Department, Dr. Amy Acton.

I forwarded the email and added my thoughts: How about “Getting through this apart—together”?

A Robert Frost poem came to mind, “The Tuft of Flowers.” I hadn’t thought of it in years.

The poem

This poem spoke to me immediately when I first read it as a teenager in The Complete Poems of Robert Frost, one of my Book-of-the-Month Club purchases.

The speaker in “The Tuft of Flowers” is a man going out to turn the grass in a field mowed by someone earlier that morning. The speaker looks for the one who had gone before, listens for the sound of his whetstone, but without success. He had gone on, alone.

Watercolor sketch for my journal

“As we all must be,” the man says in his heart, “Whether they work together or apart.”

But, getting ready to toss the grass to dry, he spots a butterfly, searching for a flower remembered from the day before, circling around one lying, cut and drying out, with the rest of the grasses.

Suddenly the butterfly turns toward a brook. The man looks and sees what it had discovered: a tuft of flowers, untouched by the scythe, a “leaping tongue of bloom” rising up from the cut grasses along a reedy brook.

He senses that the mower had left the flowers standing out of sheer joy at their beauty. That realization opened him up to be present to the moment, to noticing birdsong. And, to his surprise, a connection with the one who had cut down the meadow and disappeared into the morning.

Instead of feeling alone in his work, the man felt the companionship and support of the unknown mower and carried on a heart-conversation with him, a kindred spirit.

The grace of that encounter with the butterfly, the flowers, and through them, the mower, flipped the man’s perspective. He was not alone after all.

“Men work together I told him in my heart, whether they work together or apart.”

Our work to do

This poem holds wisdom for us, as we face the Coronavirus and Covid-19 pandemic. Taking the lead where our President has not, some governors in our country (Thank you Gov. Mike DeWine and Dr. Amy Acton) have already ordered their citizens to shelter in place. I hope they all do, and soon. Not only for the sake of individuals’ health, but as a way to slow down the virus spread. To “flatten the curve.”

Staying inside one’s home alone or with family members is isolating. But it is our work to do. And as the poem reminds us, what one person does affects countless others. We are interconnected in more ways than we can imagine. Like the mower and the one who came after to turn the grass, we are working together at the same task. Even though we will never know the names of those who heed the warnings, follow the orders, and isolate themselves, we can draw strength from their actions.

For us, they are of life and death significance.

Some people cannot stay home. Healthcare professionals, grocery store workers, and so many others whose work is critical during this time, are putting themselves a risk to serve the rest of us. But for every person who decides not to be part of the effort – those who could stay inside but don’t, those who make unnecessary trips or insist on attending large gatherings, secular or religious, those who go on about life as usual – the strength of the communal effort is weakened. Thousands more will die.

Illusion of an unconnected self

In our country, individualism is glorified. “Doing it my way.” “Pulling oneself up by the bootstraps.” “I don’t need any help.” “Keep government off my back.”

“Going it alone” is an illusion. None of us “makes it” or fails to “make it” alone. And this crisis will not be met by individuals. It will be overcome by a nation, by a world of people working together as they live apart.

If you’d like, read the poem, “The Tuft of Flowers” online. Or if you, like me, have an old 1964 copy of The Complete Poems of Robert Frost sitting on your bookshelves, read it there on page 31.

Journal pages – Mary van Balen

Filed Under: The Scallop

February 15, 2020 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Valentine’s Day Reflection

My uneven heart

I’ve been reviving my prayer practice of drawing/painting. Sometimes my efforts are part of a journal entry. Words often come first. Sometimes, like today the image is first, and words come after.

I didn’t intend the reflection and prayer. The painted heart was to be a Valentine’s Day text to my daughters. I hadn’t planned enough ahead to send a card as I usually do.

So, out came the watercolors. No matter how I try, I cannot draw a symmetrical heart. One side is always rounder or larger or sits lower. Today was no different. Eventually, I quit trying and simply sat in silence with the painted heart for a while, trying to hear what it was saying…

Love isn’t “even,” it said. Love isn’t meant to be measured in its giving or receiving. It’s a flow, a reality in which we dwell.

Sometimes we are full of love and it flows outward. Sometimes we’re running low and, if we’re open, it flows in.

It’s not something we have or hold on to or save up. It’s meant to be savored and given away.

Love is.

And I am grateful for all those in my life’s river of love.

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: grace, love, unconditional love, Valentine's Day

August 24, 2019 By Mary van Balen 10 Comments

Niksen: A Time for Be-ing

Woman in a chair looking out over a lake

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

There is a Dutch word for doing nothing: Niksen. I know this not because of my Dutch heritage but from an article that made its way to my email inbox.

What does it say about our modern sensibilities that an article about doing nothing and not feeling guilty about it was an internet hit? The value of multi-tasking is being reevaluated and the ability to say “no” to opportunities for going somewhere or doing something is beginning to look as desirable as saying “yes.” Perhaps we’re longing for some “be-ing,” not “do-ing,” time.

The contrast between “be-ing” and “do-ing” is nothing new. From high school days, I heard the phrase “Who you are is not the same as what you do.”

It made sense, but as life unfolded, allowing that truth to filter from head to heart wasn’t easy. In society’s eyes, one’s job reflects one’s worth: A professor is more important than the worker who maintains the school building. A mother who works outside the home is making a greater contribution than the one who chooses to work full time at home.

We value being busy. Our culture espouses achieving, earning what you get, and the idea that hard work brings success.

Not true. Some of the hardest working people aren’t successful in the eyes of our culture. They don’t make big bucks or hold prestigious positions. Sometimes they can’t make enough to meet basic needs. There are lots of realities besides work that factor into “success”: race, privilege, opportunity, socio-economic status, and just plain luck to name a few.

I emailed my cousin in the Netherlands to see what she thought about niksen and if, as the article suggested, it was a part of the Dutch culture. Jeanette responded quickly.

Talking about niksen was unfamiliar to her since it’s something the Dutch don’t think about a lot since it’s just part of their way of life. Unlike many Anglo-Saxon cultures, she said, they are not “ultra work focused.”

“What seems like the difference between our two cultures is that we take time to relax as a rule. We sit down for coffee in the mornings, lunch at lunchtime, and tea in the afternoons. Kids and teachers do the same in school. We incorporate moments free of duty into our days, and they work well for us.”

“Niksen isn’t planned. It is a way to feel free to stop doing things for a minute—or a little longer—and let your thoughts linger on,” she wrote.

It could be putting your feet up and doing nothing or watching rain pour down outside. It’s a bit of time to recuperate for ourselves.

Children can be a good example of that. One of my daughters recounted a morning she recently shared with a friend and two children.

American Dagger Moth caterpillar. Yellow with five bunches of long, black bristles.

American Dagger Moth caterpillar
Photo: Kathryn Holt

The children hurried through breakfast, looking forward to a promised time in the park. While there, they discovered a bright yellow caterpillar with five bunches of tall, black bristles. The kids were enthralled, and their enthusiasm was contagious. Soon the adults joined in, making little obstacle courses with sticks and leaves, clapping hands when the caterpillar went under rather than over, and apologizing when it fell from an offered stick.

Telling the story, my daughter’s eyes sparkled. “I was as excited as they were,” she said. “So much joy and fun just watching a caterpillar.” Sigh. “It was a wonderful little ‘vacation’ from my adult life.” Niksen.

I imagine that Jesus was good at niksen. Time alone in a boat on the lake or wandering in the wilderness wasn’t always filled with fasting, intense prayer, or planning his next move. I bet he spent plenty of time simply enjoying sunlight sparkling on water or watching clouds changing shape in the sky. From his stories we know he took time to gaze at flowers and observe nature. He liked kids and spent time with friends. The talk wasn’t always serious or the activity always purposeful. He let his thoughts wander and sipped tea or drank wine with friends. Simply resting in Grace. He was a “be-er” as well as a “do-er.”

It’s good to remember. Ecclesiastes says there is a time for everything under heaven. That includes niksen.

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment, The Scallop Tagged With: be-ing, grace, Niksen, present to the moment, quiet prayer, re-creation, spirituality

July 28, 2019 By Mary van Balen 5 Comments

Do What You Are Doing

Liturgically speaking, summer is all “ordinary time.” It’s a break after the Lent/Triduum/Easter seasons that concluded with the feat of Pentecost. That’s fine with me. Summer is full enough without more events and expectations. Besides, I love “ordinary” time. It gives us breathing room to discover just how extraordinary ordinary is.

PHOTO: Mary van Balen

There is a Latin phrase that provides wisdom for living and praying the “ordinary time” moments in our lives: Age quod agis or “Do what you’re doing.” Finding the origin of the Latin phrase was impossible. Finding its use was easier. It appears in things as diverse as the old western movie, Tombstone, Pope John XXIII’s Journey of a Soul, Saint Ignatius and Jesuit spirituality, and school mottos to name just a few.

Whatever you’re doing, do it with attention. Throw your whole self into it. It’s tempting to idealize this interpretation of the phrase, applying it to individual tasks. You know, if you’re folding laundry, well, concentrate on the laundry. Enjoy the smell and feel of clean clothes. Be grateful you have that neat stack.

On the other hand, such single-mindedness isn’t always possible and isn’t always the wisdom age quod agis offers at a particular moment. The recent family scene in the living room of my nephew and his young family comes to mind.

He and his wife were busy folding loads of laundry and sorting it into piles for each of their four children. They were preparing for a month-long trip to visit both sets of grandparents and, in addition to that, camping for a week. In the midst of their preparations, they offered hospitality to a visiting aunt, which would be me. And of course, all four children were around, talking to their visitor and taking care of their own preparations—which may have included cleaning rooms and gathering books to take. I leave it to your imagination. Not a lot of time there to sniff the laundry.

Life and prayer are a communal endeavor. “What you’re doing” can be one thing or a number of things. Those young parents were taking care of laundry while answering questions, directing activity, and making me feel welcome. Their “what you are doing” was being good parents while welcoming the visitor. They gave it their all.

Same with us. We might be students, teachers, employees, parents, or members of a community (vowed or not). We might be children, arranging care for an aging parent. And while it would be nice to give ourselves completely to a solitary walk on the beach, listening uninterrupted to a symphony, or gardening quietly in our yard, life doesn’t always happen that way. It’s more likely a hodgepodge of activity.

What ordinary time says to me is that’s ok. No, not just “ok.” That’s the path to holiness. “Do what you’re doing.” No matter what that is in the present moment, it’s where we meet God.

We celebrate feast days of a number of saints in July who were good at this. While the lives of all these virtuous predecessors can speak to the holiness of living fully the ordinary, everyday life, Benedict (July 11), Mary Magdalene (July 22), Joachim and Anne (July 26), and Martha (July 29), hold a special place in my heart.

Watanabe Sado (1913-1996) Tokyo. Stencil print on rice paper.Hangs in the Gathering Place at the entrance to Sacred Heart Chapel at Saint Benedict’s Monastery, St. Joseph, MN

Benedict for his great Rule written with emphasis on community as a way to holiness and his understanding of humility, compassion, and care for one another as spiritual disciplines right up there with prayer and fasting. Flexibility was key then as it is now. Mary Magdalene for her courage and deep love of Jesus. Hers was the woman’s voice that first proclaimed the resurrection to others who were disinclined to believe her. Joachim and Anne (or if those aren’t their actual names, the parents of Mary) for being good parents. Enough said! Martha, who often gets a bad rap for hanging out in the kitchen when she could have joined the others at the feet of the teacher. She took care of the nitty-gritty and, as one who has spent countless hours doing that, surely heard most of what was said!

Happy summer. Courage! Age quod agis!

Filed Under: Grace in the Moment, The Scallop Tagged With: age quod agis, grace, love, Ordinary Time, prayer, present to the moment, Saint Benedict, Saint Martha, Saint Mary Magdalene, Saints Joachim and Anne, spirituality

March 20, 2019 By Mary van Balen 11 Comments

Tea, Haiku, and a Walk in the Woods

To celebrate this first day of Spring, the Vernal Equinox, I gave myself the gift of a slow morning and filled it with tea, haiku, and a walk in the woods.

First, I poured myself a cup of tea, brewed from fresh ginger root and soft, sweet Medjool dates, as my Korean friend had taught me. Then, I opened a slim, old book of poetry, Haiku Harvest. I bought it when I was in high school and quickly fell in love with the old haiku masters’ elegant simplicity of word and wisdom. Finally, having nourished body and soul, I set out for a walk, stopping first at a patch of snowdrops and slightly spent winter aconite and then making my way to a small nearby woods.

Snowdrops and winter aconite PHOTOS: Mary van Balen

Small green sprout pushing up through last years brown leaves

A small bit of green pushing up through last years leaves

HE IS UNKNOWN

THE POET WHO SINGS

THIS GREATEST

OF ALL SONGS — SPRING!

Shiki

HONKING WILD GEESE COME

SCRAWLING DELIGHT

IN SPRING’S COLD

PALE MORNING SUNLIGHT

So-In

I didn’t hear any honking geese this morning, but the woods were filled with chickadees flitting form tree to tree, dipping and singing spring songs. The woodpeckers remained hidden, but I could hear their calls and hollow drumming on dead tree trunks.

IN MY HOUSE THIS SPRING

TRUE, THERE IS NOTHING,

THAT IS,

THERE IS EVERYTHING!

Sodo

In the woods, tiny green leaves appear sprouting from last year's growth.

Spring greening

OUT OF ONE WINTERY

TWIG, ONE BUD,

ONE BLOSSOM’S WORTH

OF WARMTH AT LONG LAST!

Ransetsu

UNDER A SPRING MIST,

ICE AND WATER

FORGETTING

THEIR OLD DIFFERENCE…

MY HORSE CLIP-CLOPPING

OVER A FIELD…

OH HO!

I’M PART OF THE PICTURE!

Basho

And so we are…

Happy Spring!

Filed Under: The Scallop Tagged With: creation, Grace in the Moment, Haiku, hope, love, mercy, present to the moment, quiet prayer, spring, Vernal Equinox, wild flowers, woods

June 24, 2018 By Mary van Balen 4 Comments

Jesus Spoke Truth to Power. We Are Called to Do the Same

tPainting by Gaye Reissland of diverse group of poeple with hands held high forming a heart shape with their fingers while approaching the Statue of Liberty.

Gaye Reissland acrylic on canvas 26″ x 12″
Painted for the Columbus Crossing Borders Project

Father James Martin, in a Facebook post, calls out all those complicit in the the grossly inhuman treatment of the migrant children being taken from their parents who have crossed the border: “Even then, all those involved in this will have to beg forgiveness from God. Because in the fullness of time, the ones in trouble will not be the migrants. It will be those who sinned against them.”

The Vatican won an international prize for its short video on migrants and refugees from the International Social Advertising Festival or Publifestival awarded its “Best Strategy in Social Action” prize. The video’s poignant images and words remind us of the preciousness of all human life, the potential of every human person, and the imperative to welcome, protect, promote, and integrate (not assimilate!) those who come to us.

But what do we see? Thousands of children separated from their parents. People, adults and children alike, put in fenced “cages” or tent cities while the adults wait for an expedited hearing to learn their fate. All around the world, refugees turned away despite the horrors they are fleeing.

Martin’s and the Vatican’s messages are profound calls to action. But as an ordinary person, not one with political position or money or influence, I increasingly find myself wondering what I can do not only in response to the immigrant/refugee situation, but also in the general climate of deconstruction of policies and initiatives (e.g., eliminating environmental protections and withdrawing from the Paris Climate Agreement) that have slowly guided our country over its relatively short existence toward a more responsible, ethical democracy—as the Preamble of the U.S. Constitution states, “to form a more perfect union.”

I don’t have answers. I pray and try to bring compassion and respect to daily encounters with the people I work with and meet. I call and write my congressional representatives and donate what I can to campaigns. I vote and attend rallies. But these actions seem small.

Some people I know have launched bigger projects, trying to put the issues before the public (Columbus Crossing Borders Project, Through the Checkpoint). One of the project directors lamented, “But it seems like nothing in the face of what’s happening.” What can we do? The answer is different for each one of us. But we must do something.

“If you lose heart, /when adversity comes your strength will only be weakness./ Rescue those being led away to death,/ hold back those who are being dragged to the slaughter./ Will you object, ‘But look, we did not know’?/Has he who weighs the heart no understanding,/ he who scans your soul no knowledge?/ He himself will repay a man as his deeds deserve.” Proverbs 24, 10-12 (The Jerusalem Bible)

Can we find “heart” in the support and example of others? Can we share strength in our communities of faith and love? Can we nurture hope in one another? In the midst of struggle, can we be strong together? Can we raise a chorus of voices that cry out for justice?

We cannot say to God, “Oh, I didn’t know it was this bad.” God knows better. The evidence is everywhere.

“Bad men need nothing more to compass their ends, than that good men should look on and do nothing.” (John Stuart Mill 1867)

It’s nothing new. When we see wrong, we must say something, do something. Jesus spoke truth to power. We are called to do the same.

Filed Under: The Scallop

June 4, 2018 By Mary van Balen Leave a Comment

Join Us for a Retreat: Journeys of Compassion

By Richard Duarte Brown

In these times when divisiveness and fear of the “other” is on the rise, nurturing our sense of compassion is increasingly important. It isn’t easy, though. Blame. Anger. Shutting people out. These responses may rise more quickly than a compassionate one.

Join me and international retreat presenter, Rick Hatem, for a retreat, Journeys of Compassion: A Response to Life’s Challenges and Opportunities, on Friday, June 29 from 7-9pm and Saturday, June 30, from 9am-4pm at the Martin de Porres Center, 2330 Airport Drive, Columbus, OH 43219.

Saturday’s retreat will complement the Friday evening reflections, but both sessions are complete in themselves.

Friday – Begins with quiet prayer and then using art and story, Rick and Mary will invite you to reflect on the “others” in our lives and in the world and how we can open our hearts to meet them.
Saturday – In addition to presentations and discussion, will include time for individual reflection and small-group sharing. There will also be an opportunity to hear about each other’s experience in the larger group. Optional: half-hour quiet prayer after lunch before the afternoon session.To register contact Rick: rickhatem@gmail.com Mary: maryvanbalen@gmail.com Pre-payment by check or credit card – All types of payment accepted at the retreat – Some scholarships available

Rick Hatem

Rick Hatem moved to Jerusalem in 1986 to work for peace with Palestinians and Israelis, engaging in dialogue with Jews, Muslims & Christians. His long involvement with l’Arche* began when he heard its founder, Jean Vanier, speak in Bethlehem in 1987. Rick joined the Bethlehem community, and when it closed in 1991, he returned to the U.S. and continued working with l’Arche in New York, Canada, and as a regional leader in the U.S., as well as by serving as a member of la Ferme Spirituality Center for three years in Trosly, France. Rick has worked as a spiritual director with the Henri Nouwen Society, the Spirituality Network, and other groups. He has led retreats in North America and Europe.

Mary van Balen is the author of four books, numerous articles, and has written the column “Grace in the Moment” for over 31 years. She holds an MA in Theology and was a resident scholar at the Collegeville Institute for Ecumenical & Cultural Research. Mary conducts retreats on topics including journaling and spirituality. She is a spiritual director, having completed the Spiritual Guidance Program at the Shalem Institute. Also an educator, Mary has worked as a classroom teacher, an enrichment consultant, and an adjunct instructor of theology. She has worked with abused women and single mothers in a federally funded poverty program for family literacy.

* L’Arche is French for “the ark.” In 1964 a Canadian, Jean Vanier, began a home called l’Arche in northern France. He welcomed two men with developmental disabilities to create home with him in the spirit of the beatitudes. Since then l’Arche has grown into an international federation of 150 communities in 40 countries. L’Arche continues to create community with men and women with developmental disabilities and those who live and work with them. L’Arche is ecumenical, shaped and guided by the major Christian denominations. Internationally l’Arche is multi-faith. There are 18 l’Arche communities in the U.S. including one in Cleveland, Ohio. The last 10 years of Henri Nouwen’s life were in l’Arche near Toronto.

Filed Under: The Scallop, Widening Our Circles Tagged With: acceptance, compassion, grace, humility, inclusion, mercy, quiet prayer, retreat on compassion, spirituality

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