Love, Not Atonement: Reflections on the Incarnation and Paschal Mystery
March 25, 2021 By 10 Comments

Love, Not Atonement: Reflections on the Incarnation and Paschal Mystery

This year, the feast of the Annunciation falls just a few days before Palm Sunday and the beginning of Holy Week. The proximity of the two feasts brings to mind the connection between the Incarnation and the Paschal mystery, and these questions: Why did Jesus come into the world and what is the meaning of his death on the cross? Big Questions. Impossible to answer but not to ponder.

Growing up, I couldn’t believe God, who created everything and who loved us all, needed Jesus to be tortured and crucified to make up for the sin of Adam and Eve and the rest of us. I attended Catholic schools and my share of Lenten services, including the Stations of the Cross. Church rituals and liturgies spoke to me, but the Stations of the Cross left me sad and confused.

God loved us and made the earth and everything on it, my teachers said. The stars. The planets. Whatever else was out there. And God was born to be with us always. That’s what Emanuel meant: God-with-us. That image of God didn’t fit with a vengeful Deity who demanded Jesus suffer and die because people sinned.

As I grew, thought the disconnect remained unresolved, it didn’t claim my time or attention. Let theologians hash it out if they must. I ignored the claims of a vindictive God and trusted my experience of a merciful one. I knew there were consequences for sin and that my own contributed to the corruption of the world and to the suffering of the Christ who dwells in all. I knew it affected the planet I live on and that I needed forgiveness and a deep transformation of heart.

But I never believed that God demanded a horrible death to put things right.

Later I learned there were names for theories like this: substitutionary atonement, for example, and that it was not the only theory. There had been and are other ways of understanding what Scripture has to say about the Incarnation, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Of course, God is God with wisdom beyond human imagining. Being “right” isn’t the goal. Yet, human beings look for meaning.

During my studies for an MA in theology, a professor introduced me to the medieval, Franciscan theologian, John Duns Scotus (c. 1266-1308), who did not agree with interpretations that held the Incarnation was necessary because of human sin or that Jesus’s crucifixion was the sacrifice required to pay a debt. The incarnation wasn’t a rescue plan. It was always the plan. Jesus came to reveal the face of Divine Love and to show how it looked to live that out as a human being. Then he asked us to do the same.

Close up of two hands clasped in support. One hand is dark. The other light.
Photo: Mary van Balen

Citing John Duns Scotus and the Franciscan “alternative orthodoxy” that he espoused, Richard Rohr, OFM, connects Christmas and Easter: “… Christmas is already Easter because in becoming a human being, God already shows that it’s good to be human, to be flesh. The problem is already somehow solved. Flesh does not need to be redeemed by any sacrificial atonement theory.”

The incarnation led to crucifixion because of the state of the world, not because of God’s demands. Jesus stretched his arms out on the cross because a sinful world could not deal with his radical Love. He stood with the poor, the marginalized, and the oppressed. His life and teaching were threatening to those in power, both political and religious, who kept these people on the fringes. The requirements of Love to forgive, to serve, to embrace the other, to reverence the Divine within every person and treat them with the respect and care all deserve, to love enemies – it was too much to ask. And so, the broken world executed the one who was Love.

And God wept.

This Holy Week, I will remember the Incarnation and the call to participate in Love. I will ponder how my living contributes to it and how it undermines it. I will ask forgiveness. But more than that, I will pray for courage to open my heart and change my ways, to contribute to Love and not to intolerance, hatred, fear, or violence.

The Incarnation says I am with you. The crucifixion says accepting the invitation to follow Jesus’s example of being Love has consequences. The Resurrection says that in the end, Love is what lasts. Always.  

Featured image: Photo taken by author in Saint Johns University Alcuin Library, Collegeville, MN, 2009.

Sculptor: Paul Granlund

©2021 Mary  van Balen

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Thank You, NASA Mars 2020!
March 4, 2021 By 6 Comments

Thank You, NASA Mars 2020!

Image of the Mars 2020 logo being installed on the United Launch Alliance Atlas V payload fairing on June 18, 2020 inside the Payload Hazardous Servicing Facility at NASA's Kennedy Space Center. Logo is large red circle with white graphic image of the Perseverance rover and a small, four-pointed star in the upper right quadrant of the circle. Photo Credit: NASA/Christian Mangano

Watching the Mars landing was a family affair, though virtual. I wore my NASA hoodie (a gift from my NASA-engineer son-in-law), poured a glass of wine to toast the landing (and a bowl of peanuts, a NASA tradition 1), and texted with my daughters and their partners for over an hour. The amount of knowledge, work, precision, imagination, and commitment that makes a mission like the Perseverance landing a reality is overwhelming.

Consider just a few details:

  • Over the eight years, NASA teams around the world designed, built, and tested a rover that would travel 292.5 million miles before reaching its destination on a moving target – a small area in a lakebed on Mars.
  • Perseverance and the small drone helicopter (Ingenuity) launched atop an Atlas V-541 rocket from Cape Canaveral on July 30,2020.
  • Because of the time lag between the transmission of signals from the space craft and their reception back on earth, Perseverance landed herself. Perseverance executed the entry, descent, and landing sequence—over 500,000 lines of code—without human assistance.
  • Perseverance is looking for evidence of past life and is equipped with, intelligent cameras, a weather station, a robotic arm, a drill to collect and then store rock core samples (amazingly, to be picked up later and returned to earth during future missions), and a radar imager that can look beneath the surface for geologic features2.

The science and engineering involved in this mission are staggering3. But for NASA folks, I suppose, they are a given, simply a part of the quotidian routine.

Watching events unfold in Mission Control at the Jet Propulsion Lab (JPL) and listening to commentary provided by several of those involved in the mission, particularly Dr. Swati Mohan, the guidance, navigation, and control operations lead, and Rob Manning, JPL Chief Engineer, my family and I were filled with the excitement, hope, and nervousness evident in the scientists at Mission Control. We had a personal resource in my son-in-law, who provided insight into procedures and answered questions peppered throughout our texted conversations. I love these hangouts with my crew!

Wisdom from the Mars 2020 mission

Humility

A couple of thoughts shared by Manning, resonated deeply with me. First, as he described preparing for the mission and then watching it live, he talked about the possibly of failure:

“We’re human beings. We’re not perfect. Mistakes can be made. We each count on each other to find our own mistakes, and we work very hard to learn from mistakes from the pat. We’ve had many failures…We remind people that roughly over half the missions to Mars over history have failed. And that could happen today, too. Even though we’ve had a wonderful stream of successes in the United States, it’s still a bit of a gamble…But if we do fail, and something bad happens today, I can tell you, we are going to learn. We’ll have the data to tell us what happened. We’ll know why. We’ll figure it out. And if we are allowed, we will pick ourselves up and get us back on the horse. And if Congress and NASA allow, we we’ll try again. As we always do. We will learn from our mistakes…”4

It takes humility to acknowledge past mistakes and the possibility of failure in the present endeavor. And, by live streaming the event with the whole world watching as it unfolds, NASA bravely embraced that vulnerability.

Certainly, there are things that best remain private. But not all. As tempting as it might be to exclude others from a journey as it unfolds and instead, wait until the outcome is known – sharing successes, hiding failures – sometimes inviting others as companions on the way provides opportunities for support and growth for everyone, no matter what happens.

Members of NASA’s Perseverance Mars rover team study data on monitors in mission control, Thursday, Feb. 18, 2021, at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, California. Photo Credit:NASA/Bill Ingalls
Photo Credit: NASA/Bill Ingalls

When people work together

NASA photo of Mars 2020 Perseverance Rover team in Mission Control, cheering when they heard the news that Perseverance had landed safely on Mars.
Photo Credit: NASA/Bill Ingalls

Cheers and applause greeted Perseverance’s safe landing on Mars. Not only had it found a good place to land in a terrain full of hazards the rover had to avoid, but it also landed in the area NASA scientists believe is likely to hold evidence of ancient life: a lakebed near a river delta. It was a triumph for the team.

Images streaming from Mission Control showed the team’s jubilation. The pandemic ruled out handshakes, but there were plenty of fist and elbow bumps and eyes shining with smiles above the double masks. I teared up, as usual when witnessing such events.

My family and I raised our glasses.

Manning was exuberant.

“NASA works,” he said. “When we put our arms together and our hands together and our brains together we can succeed. This is what NASA does. This is what we can do as a country on all other problems we have. We need to work together to do these kinds of things and make success happen.”

Yes. Work together to meet the problems we have. And we have plenty, including and going beyond the pandemic and vaccination rollout: climate change, systemic racism, White supremacy, division, and hatred of “the other.” There are organized attacks on voting rights that are threatening our democracy and targeting the poor and people of color. Some people have no problem denying basic human rights to many, including women and LGBT people. For many American citizens, access to healthcare and housing is unavailable. The list is long.

Not a technical problem

If we can successfully land a rover on Mars, we certainly have the knowledge and technology to develop alternative energies and address climate change, an imminent danger to this country and to the world. As one of my daughters observed soon after watching the Mars landing, it’s not a technical problem we face. It’s a social problem. The country must have the collective will to do it, and that can emerge only when honest reporting and facts are presented to the population.

Photo of members of NASA’s Perseverance Mars rover team, a young white woman and a young Black man, study data on monitors in mission control, Thursday, Feb. 18, 2021, at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, California.
Photo Credit: NASA/Bill Ingalls

In addition to stalling massive action on climate change, misinformation also feeds fear, hatred, and violence against minorities and people deemed “other.” America has enough wealth and resources to feed its people. It has the means to provide healthcare to all. Again, what is missing is the collective will to do so. Raising up those in need does not mean tearing others down. But is does require a mindset that values the common good.

Diversity is a strength. It is critical to understand that the talents contributed by all people are necessary for a healthy, thriving society. Everyone’s gifts are needed. As Manning pointed out, the team that put Perseverance on Mars was a diverse one. That was obvious in the images from Mission control: women and men, a variety of races and ethnicities, of ages, of backgrounds. And the group at the JPL were just part of the thousands involved in the mission:

Manning said, “We haven’t done this before with this vehicle, ever. This is its first attempt to actually land. We can’t try this on earth… We don’t have test pilots to try this out on this planet before the big show… We’ve done our best testing we can do in bits and pieces. But, you know, it’s the best we can do but I think our team is up to it. This team is the best. It’s diverse. Intelligent. Amazing group of people. These are people from all over the world who have worked on this…”

Thousands of people put their arms, hands, and brains together to make Mars 2020 a success. Thousands and even millions of people across this country and around the world can transcend self-interest, fear, and hatred to put their hands and brains and hearts together. If greed and power are no longer prime motivators of policy and those who make it, but instead Common Good and universal human rights5 become the guiding principles, success can be achieved.

Thank you NASA, for the stunning reminder of what is possible when people work together. Congratulations to you all!

It’s up to the rest of the country to come together, to join hands, brains, hearts, and efforts, to focus on the common good and work to address the challenges that face the United States and the world.

A team of engineers at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, California, install the legs and wheels — otherwise known as the mobility suspension — on the Mars 2020 rover.
Photo Credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech

Feature Image Credit

Photo Credit: NASA/Bill Ingalls

First post image of the Mars 2020 logo being installed on the United Launch Alliance Atlas V payload fairing

Photo Credit: NASA/Christian Mangano

Sources

  1. NASA’s lucky charm for a success mission? Peanuts
  2. Learn more about instruments on board
  3. Learn more about the Mars 2020 Mission on NASA Mars 2020 Mission Perseverance Rover website
  4. Manning’s quotes were transcribed from the over two hours recorded NASA’s live stream of the event found on NASA’s YouTube Channel
  5. Universal Declaration of Human Rights
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A Contemplative Lent
February 25, 2021 By 14 Comments

A Contemplative Lent

While Lent is sometimes thought of as a season to give up something, this Lent comes after a year of pandemic and unrest that has many feeling like they’ve already given up a lot. For some it has meant no in-person visits with family or friends for close to a year. Some have lost jobs. Some suffered from serious cases of COVID-19 while others lost loved ones to the virus. Life has changed for just about everyone. The sense of loss is real.

While Zooming with a group of friends shortly before Ash Wednesday, one said she thought she’d have a “passive” Lent. Further conversation revealed she didn’t mean she would do nothing, but that she wasn’t going to pile on extra activities or give up anything particular. She simply was going to try to be open to receive grace offered in her ordinary routines.

That requires paying attention. “I know I’ve missed God’s Presence with me in the past,” she said, and thought she might make a list or keep a journal, reflecting on places and times in her life, recognizing God’s presence while looking back.

“Contemplative” might be a more accurate word to describe her approach to the season.

In his book The Dark Night of the Soul: A Psychiatrist Explores the Connection Between Darkness and Spiritual Growth, Gerald May wondered if John of the Cross’s much quoted sentence Contemplacion pura consite en recibir (often translated “Pure contemplation consists of receiving” – which sounds pretty passive) might be better understood if translated with what May considered a more accurate rendering of recibir – “Pure contemplation consists of welcoming with open arms!” (p 78).

I remember my Grandma Van Balen, who waited at the top of the steps, arms outstretched, when we arrived at her home for a visit. We scrambled up the staircase, wanting to be the first one she gathered up in her embrace and pulled onto her welcoming lap.

When someone showed up at my parents’ house, they stopped whatever they were doing and welcomed the visitor. After offering tea, coffee, or something to eat, they’d sit and visit, enjoying their company and listening to their stories.

Mr. Rogers was said to have been good at that. When he engaged with someone, he was so attentive that they felt as if they were the only person in the world. That’s deep listening. That’s receptivity. That’s openness at its best.  

Practicing such deep listening to the Holy Presence in our lives could be a fruitful way to observe Lent. We could ask ourselves “What gets in the way?” The tendency to multi-task through the day? Worry about the future? Regrets over the past? A hectic schedule? Pressing family responsibilities?

Sometimes much of what fills the day is beyond our control. Welcoming God “with arms open wide” might mean focusing on the person or task in front of us and trusting, with a lift in the heart, that God is in us and around us as we work as well as when we take some quiet, reflective time.

We can also remember that such openness to receive isn’t a one-way street. God is always welcoming us to share in Divine Life. But we forget. Then something – a moment, words, a song, a sight or sound or feeling reminds us that we indeed exist in God’s embrace.

Poet George Herbert (1593-1633) provides an image of this Divine hospitality in his poem, “Love (III).” In the first two stanzas the speaker, aware of his sin, draws back from the space into which Love invites him. He lists what makes him unworthy to be Love’s guest, but Love persists, wanting only to welcome and to serve. The poem ends:  You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat./So I did sit and eat.

This Lent, instead of “giving up” or “adding on,” how about doing whatever it takes to open our heart-arms wide? Sit down at Love’s table and enjoy what is offered every moment of every day.  

©2021 Mary van Balen

Unless credited otherwise, photos by Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Kathryn Holt
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Light in Darkness
February 12, 2021 By 16 Comments

Light in Darkness

I’m embarrassed to say I don’t know the people who live in the apartment across the street from mine. (There are six two-story flats, three on each side of the street, mirror images of each other.) I can’t completely blame pandemic restrictions for my ignorance. While one tenant moved in during the lockdown, the other has been there for years. I suspect the newer occupants and I share some convictions. Once they moved in, a Biden for President sign appeared. So did the rainbow colored one that states, among other things, “Black Lives Matter,” “Science Is Real,” and “Love is Love” in descending stripes of color.

We share something else: Christmas lights glowing out into the darkness. Theirs are brightly colored and encircle the small front porch, winding up one wrought iron support, across the front of the little roof, and down the other. Bigger lights frame the picture window in their living room.

My white, mini-lights shine through the picture window from the small artificial tree that stands on the buffet. This would not be unusual except that it is January 31. We’re the last holdouts on the street.

Each evening I go over to the buffet and switch on the lights. They are the only thing left on the tree. Ornaments from family and friends have long returned to storage, but I just can’t bring myself to banish the lights to the basement.

I look across the street to see if my neighbors’ lights are still up, wondering who will be the first to take them down. Passersby might shake their heads or think it’s laziness or just plain craziness that makes someone keep Christmas lights up into February.

It’s not. I have reasons. For starters, the past twelve months haven’t been the usual and for most people around the world, holiday celebrations were radically changed.

I’m a dyed-in-the-wool “nothing ‘Christmas’ up until close to Christmas Eve” person. I credit my Catholic upbringing that focused on Advent during the weeks before December 25. And my parents, who, by some miracle of stamina and determination, didn’t hang a single Christmas decoration until we all returned from the December 24 midnight vigil mass, had a snack to break the fast, and me and my four siblings were snug in our beds. No wonder mom had to pry dad out of bed at the crack of dawn so eager kids could descend the stairs into a magically transformed house complete with tree, candles, and piles of presents.

But this year I carried my tree up from the basement the first week of December. What possessed me? I longed for the comfort of Christmas lights. Making peace with my inner Catholic guilt, I added ornaments slowly, a couple a day. Actually, it was lovely. The carefully chosen few had strong connections to my daughters, family, good friends, and memories, and I had time to savor each one.

Every evening, after turning off ceiling lights and lamps, I switched on the Christmas tree and sat in darkness to enjoy the tiny points of light. Sometimes I looked at a few illuminated ornaments and thought about the person it brought to mind. Sometimes I just sat and stared and didn’t think much of anything.

The lights stayed on as I fixed dinner, read, watched a movie, or connected with someone on the phone or texting. Before heading to bed, I curled up on the couch and gazed at them again, then reluctantly switched them off while looking across the street. My neighbors’ lights were always on.

Red dragon and other Christmas ornaments on the tree

Epiphany, the feast that celebrates the arrival of the three wise men who came to honor Jesus, the newborn king, is the last of the 12 Days of Christmas. In past years, my family celebrated it with a little party and small presents. Then we’d take down the tree.

This year, Epiphany came and went, and while I removed the ornaments, the tree with its lights stayed put. “I’ll take it down next week,” I’d tell myself. But I didn’t. I still haven’t.

What is it about light in darkness? Throughout history, in religions, philosophies, literature, and language, light and darkness are often presented in conflict: darkness is something bad, something to be dispelled by its benevolent opposite, light. But such dualistic thinking doesn’t provide a true picture.

Darkness gets a bad rap. True, darkness can be threatening, hide dangers, or feel oppressive. But it also can hold grace and life. Seeds sprout in the darkness of soil; human beings develop in the darkness of the womb; soul-growth often happens beneath one’s consciousness, like during a classically described dark night of the soul. Darkness can provide a time of rest. There’s a reason people buy black-out blinds for their bedrooms and sleep experts advise the elimination of screen time as night approaches.

You can have too much light. When I bought the little Christmas tree, it was covered with lights. I didn’t notice just how many while looking at it in the garden store. The price tag boasted hundreds of lights in keeping with “the more lights the better” mindset. In that big, bright space, they looked fine. It wasn’t until I took the tree home, decorated it and plugged it in for the first time in the darkened living room that the problem become apparent.

Strings of lights overpowered the ornaments which disappeared beneath the glare. My new “burning bush” was too bright to enjoy. Looking at it hurt my eyes. The following year, the center string of lights burned out, the perfect excuse to remove them and replace with fewer strands. The ornaments, no longer lost in the white-out, shared their colors and memories. I could sit on the couch, sipping a cup of tea, and enjoy the sight.

It’s the balance. My tree with its mini-lights certainly will not dispel the darkness of my living room, of the troubled world that leaks into it, or the dark places in my soul. That’s not the point. It’s the both/and that brings comfort to me these dark winter nights.

We need the dark to see the light. And the tiny lights help me appreciate the shadows and restfulness of the dark. I can sit and absorb the healing graces of both.

My Christmas lights have done their work, soothing my spirit and reminding me that darkness as well as light can provide nurture, a place to grow, and a place to rest.

I’m ready to take the tree to the basement. Candles will take its place. I wonder if my neighbors will be able to see them.

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We Can’t Wait ‘Til We’re Ready
January 27, 2021 By 14 Comments

We Can’t Wait ‘Til We’re Ready

I’ve always known the call to write. Mom supported my efforts, placing a small table in the dormitory-style room that held beds for me, my siblings, and our grandmother. The writing space didn’t last long; getting into closets on either side required sliding the desk one way or the other. But the message was clear: Mom knew I was a writer.

I wrote away, crafting stories in class instead of doing assignments, sending articles and poetry to magazines and contests. When I became a young mother, working around loads of laundry and late-night feedings, I filled journals and wrote what was in my heart.

“Someday I’d like to have a column,” I confided to a friend. His response was that I didn’t have the credentials or enough published work. Undeterred, I continued submitting work.

Persistence paid off. A few articles were published. One led to a book contract. Eventually, the editor of this paper offered the opportunity to write a column. I said “yes” then spent the next few weeks worrying how to find topics for a year’s worth of column inches.

I thought about my writer’s journey recently – small steps taken without courses or credentials, just trust in a knowing that stirred within – after reading a line in Mark’s gospel. Having finished speaking from a boat to a crowd on shore, Jesus asked his friends to take him to the other side of the lake. He needed some downtime, and they obliged: Leaving the crowd, they took Jesus with them, just as he was.

What did that mean – just as he was? What was the alternative? Giving him time to go home, pack some food and grab another tunic?  Wasn’t Jesus always ready, just as he was? Aren’t we all?

It’s tempting to think we can move forward only after becoming better prepared, but despite feelings to the contrary, deep down, we are ready to take next steps in our lives. Jesus knew that. He didn’t look for perfect people to join in his work. He didn’t wait until they had studied up on their scripture or understood everything he was saying. He called them, just as they were, trusting they’d learn and grow as they walked with him.

We will, too. We’re called to contribute to the holy work of building the beloved community, just as we are.

We might be full of fear and anxiety. Maybe we’re burdened by the weight of injustice or buoyed by unrecognized privilege. Maybe anger saps our energy or optimism gives it a boost. Whatever we carry, wherever we stand, when we give ourselves to it, the journey will change us. One way or another, it offers what we need to take another step, no matter how small. It may require a change of direction or going places we’d rather not go. (In Mark’s story, Jesus and his buddies were unknowingly headed into a storm.)

I write this after a momentous two weeks. White supremacy, hate, division, and violence were on display during the January 6 insurrection at the Capitol Building. U.S. deaths from Covid-19 topped 400,000. The inauguration of the new president and vice president proceeded without incident, but in a city fortified with thousands of troops. In his speech, President Biden called for healing and unity in meeting “these cascading crises.” Amanda Gorman called us to be brave enough not only to see the light but to be the light in her poem The Hill We Climb.

These times call for action. From everyone. These times pose questions: How to bend the moral arc towards justice? How to root out systemic racism? How to combat the coronavirus? How to restore respect and commitment to the common good? I can’t wait until I’m “ready.” None of us can.

We have to go, just as we are. Now. And trust in a few things: Love dwells within each of us. Sinking into to quiet, connecting to that Presence, we are empowered to share that Divine spark. When we do, we help transform the world, bit by bit. We are enough. We are a work in progress. Together, we are The Work in progress.

When life is overwhelming, I remember: I don’t go alone. None of us do.

© 2021 Mary van Balen

 Take the first step in faith. You don’t have to see the whole staircase, just take the first step.

attributed to Martin Luther King Jr. by Marian Wright Edelman in Mother Jones 1991
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Annunciations – Mary’s and Ours
December 18, 2020 By 14 Comments

Annunciations – Mary’s and Ours

What image comes to mind when you think of the annunciation? A painting by Bellini or Da Vinci? A woman kneeling on ornate pillows? My friend and poet, Fr. Kilian McDonnell, O.S.B., wrote a poem, “In the Kitchen,” that offers a different view. “Bellini has it wrong,” it begins, as Mary gives her account. She wasn’t kneeling on a satin pillow. She was bent down, wiping up water spilled on the kitchen floor when she noticed a light on the wall “as though someone had opened/the door to the sun.”

Kilian’s Mary is down-to-earth. A young Jewish girl living in an occupied country, she would not have been surrounded by luxury when the angel came. She’d have been busy with everyday chores like drawing water from the well and getting food on the table.

Dorothy Day knew the danger in naming someone a saint. The title separates, making those great witnesses too easy to dismiss. They’re not like us. They’ re different. Their circumstances are far removed from our own. But as Kilian reminds us, neither is true: Saints aren’t a different breed, and all people are called to holiness.

Photo: Mary van Balen

It does take practice. Mary needed to be awake, tuned in to God’s Presence in ordinary life. For many on this planet, everyday life is a harsh battle to survive. For others, daily chores and choices are not matters of life-and-death but are so repetitive they can be done without thinking. How does one stay attentive to grace in the moment – to annunciations – when the moments are so fraught? Or so predictable?

We might think that ignoring an angel or bright light or voice from heaven would be impossible, no matter how one lived their life. But maybe not. In her poem “In the World I Live In,” Mary Oliver says that “… only if there are angels in your head will you/ever, possibly, see one.”

Throughout her young life, Mary of Nazareth was listening, expecting God to be present. God had a long history of working in the lives of her people and in hers as well. So, when the message arrived, she was ready to hear it.

Sometimes, Presence breaking into life is spectacular. Perhaps not an angel, brilliant light, or vision (though it could be – it’s happened before). But inbreaking can be jolting: a dreaded medical diagnosis, the loss of job, or an unexpected opportunity, all life changing. Inbreaking can be the realization that a wonderful relationship is blossoming or that one is dying and beyond repair.

Photo: Mary van Balen

Whether annunciations come through the ordinary or spectacular, one must be awake to recognize them. Once perceived, they present a choice: to let them in or not. Mary had a choice. The Creator of all that is waited for her answer. She could have said “no.”

Besides being awake to God’s presence, Mary was open and empty, like a monk’s begging bowl. She wasn’t full of herself and her plans but had room to receive what was offered. She could have thought, “Joseph and I are going to be married. No thanks. I’m happy with how things are going.”

Mary was humble. She had plans, but was willing to consider that God had others. She listened. When she was puzzled about the when’s and how’s, she accepted that reality is sometimes beyond understanding.  

Mary had courage. She didn’t know what lay ahead if she embraced God’s call. But if she was needed, she’d give herself to something bigger.

We are all meant to be mothers of God…for God is always needing to be born.

Meister Eckhart

Mary had hope. Not knowing what her “yes” would bring, she trusted it would be good: not easy, neat, or predictable, but good because she knew God was good. She knew God’s track record in her life and the lives of her people. Even in their suffering, God was present.

Her birthing of Jesus introduced the world to God as it had never known God before. We, too, are called to birth Christ into the world.

When annunciations come, opening new ways to birth Love into the world, we will be better able to say “yes” if we’ve practiced. If we’ve been awake and listening. If we’ve worked to open our hearts and empty them to receive. We will be better able to do our part if we are humble and recognize that we can’t see the big picture, that there is something much bigger than what we can imagine. To trust God will not leave us stranded to face suffering and struggle alone.

 And to have hope. Because God is good. And God is coming. Has always been coming. And indeed, is already here.

©2020 Mary van Balen

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Jesus, Servant-King
November 29, 2020 By 2 Comments

Jesus, Servant-King

Even with my usual activity restricted by an ever-worsening pandemic, time has passed quickly for me. The liturgical year is drawing to a close this Sunday with the Feast of Christ the King. Then the new year begins with Advent.  

I’ve never warmed up to the image of Christ the King. “King” has too many political overtones. Images of a stern king enthroned and bedecked in robes and a gleaming crown, maybe with one hand grasping a scepter, a symbol of power, have put me off. It seems an odd segue into the celebration of the ongoing Incarnation and the remembrance of Jesus’s birth in poverty.

Kings and kingship have a long history, including the Judeo/Christian tradition. Samuel resisted the people’s desire to have a king. Their reasoning – because everyone else has one – seemed shaky. But a king they got, for a while.

I suppose there have been genuinely good kings (and queens) over the centuries, but the associated trappings of power and wealth are hard to overlook. And they do tend to corrupt.

In his lifetime, Jesus resisted the title of king, and when people clamored to make him one, he made himself scarce. Of course, the “kingdom of God” is central to his message. But it is a kingdom unlike any earthly kingdom: there is room for all. It isn’t observable. It’s a work in progress, and the progress depends on the people.

It isn’t about exteriority but what’s in the heart, for that is where the kingdom resides, where the Word is spoken and takes root and grows. The signs of the kingdom are love, service, joy, peace, willingness to suffer for the good of others. God sows this Word-seed in human hearts. It has power to grow and transform every person and, through them, works to transform the world.

In our particular time and place in a world ravaged by pandemic and political turmoil, the call is to follow this Servant-King. The power to be wielded is that of Love, prayer, and service.

The kingdom is both/and. Already here and yet to come. “Already here” because the Holy One has placed a bit of Divinity in everyone. “Yet to come” because it must grow with cooperation and surrender.

The kingdom is Presence and Possibility. All creation exists in the embrace of the Christ – “The soul is in God and God in the soul, just as the fish is in the sea and the sea in the fish.” (St. Catherine of Siena) All creation, including human beings, is becoming – “Above all, trust in the slow work of God.” (Pierre Teilhard de Chardin)

It is a servant-king that Jesus modeled. He didn’t sit on a throne or live in opulence or control with commands or hang out with those in power. He didn’t have a place to rest his head. He led by example. The poor and marginalized where his companions.

Jesus was a man of both action and prayer. He preached, healed, fed, walked, and sat with others. And when he prayed, he didn’t sit in a privileged place but more likely on a rock in the wilderness.

In our particular time and place in a world ravaged by pandemic and political turmoil, the call is to follow this Servant-King. The power to be wielded is that of Love, prayer, and service. Jesus provides the job description in Sunday’s gospel. When he does “sit on his glorious throne,” the criteria for judgement is love in service. Did you feed the hungry and give drink to the thirsty? Did you clothe the naked and visit the prisoners? What did you do to open yourself to Love and then give it away?

If I were asked to create an image of Christ the King, it would be of a person busy taking care of others. Ordinary attire would replace robes and crowns. The scepter would be gone, and if a hand was free at all, it would hold a shepherd’s staff or maybe food to be given away, a stethoscope, a cooking pot, seeds, a pen, a book, a brush. Whatever one needs to be who they are created to be. To do their work in bringing the kingdom.

Papier-mache mask
Artist: Laurie VanBalen

©2020 Mary van Balen

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To Live Justly, To Love
October 27, 2020 By 3 Comments

To Live Justly, To Love

Painting by Laurie VanBalen, Project Director and Producer of Columbus Crossing Borders Project

The Scripture readings for Sunday, November 25, and Pope Francis’s new encyclical, Fratelli Tutti, share major themes that speak to current global and national issues. The texts clearly place this call front and center: Love and care for our neighbors (that’s everyone) and the common good, and turn from “idols” that hinder us from doing so.

Exodus reminds us that the poor, marginalized, and vulnerable among us deserve special respect and care. This is not an option. This is not charity. It is justice required by a compassionate God. When they are mistreated, God hears their cries.

The pandemic has highlighted the inability of the global community to work together to address the crisis. It has revealed failures and fissures in this country’s polices, institutions, and lack of will when it comes to justice and providing for those living on the edges.

Pope Francis introduces the social encyclical’s first chapter, “Dark Clouds Over a Closed World,” saying he intends “…simply to consider certain trends in our world that hinder the development of universal fraternity” (9). [Numbers after Fratelli Tutti quotes indicate the paragraph in the document where they are found.]

His list of concerns includes a throwaway world where “Some parts of our human family, it appears, can be readily sacrificed for the sake of others considered worthy of a carefree existence. Ultimately, persons are no longer seen as a paramount value to be cared for and respected, especially when they are poor and disabled, ‘not yet useful’ – like the unborn, or ‘no longer needed’ – like the elderly” (18).

Among other topics addressed in this section are the pandemic (32), loss of a sense of history that leads to “new forms of cultural colonization” (14), the spreading of despair and discouragement and using extremism and polarization as political tools (15), unequal respect of universal human rights (22), the fading sense of being part of a “single human family” (30), and poor treatment of migrants crossing borders around the world (37).

In Sunday’s gospel from Luke, Jesus elevates the call to love and care for our neighbors. When asked what the greatest command was, he had two, not one: Love God and love your neighbor as yourself. Everything, he said, depends on these two.

Chapter Two of Fratelli Tutti reflects on perhaps the most well-known parable in the New Testament: The Good Samaritan. Francis warns against the danger of hypocrisy evidenced by the priest and Levite, who passed the injured man without stopping to help: “It shows that belief in God and the worship of God are not enough to ensure that we are actually living in a way pleasing to God (74).” He encourages readers to start small, acting at local levels and then moving out to needs in their countries and in the world. “Difficulties that seem overwhelming are opportunities for growth, not excuses for a glum resignation that can lead only to acquiescence” (78).

Detail from The Good Samaritan by Vincent van Gogh

He writes forceful words about the Samaritan caring for the injured man and what that example means for us:

 “… it leaves no room for ideological manipulation and challenges us to expand our frontiers. It gives a universal dimension to our call to love, one that transcends all prejudices, all historical and cultural barriers, all petty interests” (83).

In Sunday’s second reading, St. Paul praises the Thessalonians in part for turning away from idols to serve the true God. When reading about idols in Scripture, I don’t always make the connection to the idols in my life. It’s tempting to relegate them to earlier eras and the worship of statues or images.

But certainly, this age has its idols that get in the way of serving God and joining in the work of bringing God’s kingdom.

Everything, then, depends on our ability to see the need for a change of heart, attitudes and lifestyles.

Pope Francis Fratelli Tutti

Fratelli Tutti makes numerous references throughout to what I would call “idols” today: aggressive nationalism, limitless consumption, individualism, wealth, control, and self-interest to name a few.

Francis sees hope in the midst of the gloom – in willingness to dialogue and engage in genuine encounter, in the desire to love. God has placed goodness in the human heart, and many go about their ordinary days trying to be true neighbors, remembering no one is saved alone; we share the same hope; we sail in the same boat.

These readings and this encyclical are deeply challenging, if we take them seriously. In these times, how can we not? As Pope Francis writes, “Everything, then, depends on our ability to see the need for a change of heart, attitudes and lifestyles” (166).

©2020 Mary van Balen

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Remembering Rev. Robert Graetz, Civil Rights Activist
September 29, 2020 By 14 Comments

Remembering Rev. Robert Graetz, Civil Rights Activist

Rev. Robert Graetz 2005 speaking to an Even Start Class Lancaster Ohio Photo Mary van Balen
Rev. Bob Graetz Jan. 25, 2005
Photo: Mary van Balen

Rev. Robert S. Graetz, civil rights activist and the sole White minister to publicly support the Montgomery bus boycott, died at his home on Sunday, September 20,2020. He was 92. You can read about his life and his and his wife, Jeannie’s life-long commitment to work for social justice in the many obituaries and articles in the Washington Post, the New York Times, NPR Newsletter, and other publications.

In 1955, the newly ordained a Lutheran minister (attended the Evangelical Lutheran Theological Seminary in Columbus, Ohio, now Trinity Lutheran Seminary), accepted a call to the all-Black Trinity Lutheran Church in Montgomery. Already active in civil rights causes, he was admonished not to start trouble. He and Jeannie would later say he didn’t start trouble; he just joined it.

I want to share a small, personal story – one that didn’t make news but that touched hearts.

First, so you know a bit about Bob if you don’t already, here are a few facts:

  • He was the only White pastor to publicly support the Montgomery bus boycott, tirelessly driving Black workers to and from work for the duration, organizing, and fund raising to support that effort.
  • He, Jeannie, and their family of young children were targets of the KKK and other White supremacists who found a White man’s commitment to working with Blacks for their civil rights intolerable.
  • The Graetz’s survived bricks through their windows and house bombings (saved once when a large bomb that could have leveled the neighborhood failed to detonate).
  • Their neighbor and friend, Rosa Parks swept up the glass in their kitchen and took up a neighborhood collection to replace the Graetz’s dishes, all broken in one of the explosions.

I encourage you to read stories of Bob and Jeannie and their courageous commitment to live out their faith, no matter what. But now, my story.

Meeting a fellow columnist

I first met Bob at a 1992 alternative commemoration of the 500th anniversary of Christopher Columbus’s landing on the shores of the Americas. Presented by indigenous peoples, the multi-day event was held in downtown Columbus, Ohio. I was covering it for the Catholic Times, where I was a columnist. Bob was there, too.

He had been writing for years for the same paper, contributing to the feature “Point of View’” that provided insights from other spiritual traditions. I enjoyed his unique perspective and remember reading about their small house in southern Ohio, that for a while, had no electricity or running water! Recognizing him at the gathering, I called out his name, and we made plans for lunch. During our conversation, he referenced a recent column he had read in the Catholic Times and wondered, hoped, that I had written it.

I had. It presented the confusing stance of the Catholic Church on ordaining married men. As recent events had indicated, it was ok if the man had not started out Catholic, had been ordained in another denomination, but then converted to Catholicism. No such luck if you happened to be Catholic all along. Still baffling.  

Bob and I stood on common ground. Over the years, I ran into him when he spoke at gatherings on Martin Luther King Day, or I’d see him at his book signings.

Speaking to my students

In 2005, I gave him a call and asked if he’d be willing to speak to my class of adult students in Even Start, a family literacy program that served low income families most in need of services. He and Jeannie were happy to come around Martin Luther King Day. It was a big event for us.

Our students invited the mayor and others in the community and planned refreshments. In class, we studied the Montgomery bus boycott and the civil rights movement and read sections of Bob’s book, Montgomery, A White Preacher’s Memoir.

The big day arrived, and Bob and Jeannie spoke to a group that included our students and staff, the mayor, leaders of the very small Black community in our city, a newspaper reporter, and a few other guests. The Graetzs shared their experiences and spoke eloquently about not only the Montgomery bus boycott but also the continued struggle for civil rights on many fronts: racism, sexism, discrimination against the LGBT community, and the increasing economic disparity between the rich and the poor.

The students were riveted, listening to every word, and as I would discover later, also watching every move.

Bob and Jeannie Graetz Jan. 25, 2005
Photo: Mary van Balen

The cough drop

When the talk ended and time had been given to answering questions, everyone mingled, enjoyed the snacks, and had pictures taken with our guests. Cleaning up our classroom after the event, my students started talking.

They were impressed that Bob and Jeannie stood up for other people when they didn’t have to. They were White. They could have moved somewhere else, they said. But The Graetzs stayed and put their lives on the line.

The students kept talking.

“Did you see how she took care of him? How she slid that cough drop across to table to him when he started coughing?” “Yeah,” someone answered. “You can tell, they really love each other. That was so cool.”

“Really,” I thought to myself. “A cough drop?” That such a simple act of thoughtfulness had captured the students’ attention pierced my heart with the realization that they likely had known precious little, if any, of such kindnesses in their lives. Why else would Jeannie’s sharing a cough drop have made such an impression?

Most had grown up in abusive homes. Some were in abusive domestic relationships at that moment. A number of them struggled with addiction. They had all slipped through the cracks of our education system. And while none were Black in our almost all-White community, they knew generational poverty, discrimination, and the hopelessness they engender.

As we finished up, one of the students suggested going to Columbus that Sunday when Bob would be preaching. “Yeah, can we take a trip up there? I want to hear him preach.” Not many attended church, but they all wanted to go.

Unusual field trip

Bus Rosa Parks rode when she refused to give up her seat
On display in the Henry Ford Museum
Photo: Mary van Balen

So we did. A conspicuously White group in that Sunday gathering, we attended the service and heard Bob preach. In the course of the sermon, he asked questions about the bus boycott. My students waved their hands in the air. He smiled and joked that he wouldn’t call on them since he was sure they knew the answers.

They were thrilled. I doubted they had heard those words very often during their school years. But in that moment, they were the ones “in the know.” They glowed on the way home.

That was years ago. Not too long after that, our program closed, having lost its funding. Occasionally, one of our Even Start staff hears from a former student, but that isn’t often. I once received a thank you letter from a young woman we helped escape from her abusive husband, taking her children with her.

Small acts of kindness – courage

We don’t know what effect our work, let alone our small actions or off-hand comments have on others. Today, as I read about Bob’s amazing life and work for social justice, I thought about Jeannie and the cough drop. Of all the things that couple has done in their lives, I’m sure some of my students, to this day, remember the cough drop, right alongside the couple’s courage and faithfulness in the face of injustice.

Today, we face the real danger of losing our democracy to a leader focused on retaining power at any cost. He has plenty of enablers. Building on fear, fomenting anger, violence, hatred, and divisiveness seem the modus operandi.

Centuries-old systemic racism is increasingly uncovered. Consequences of a warming climate are ravaging the globe. And the pandemic adds another layer of suffering and complication to it all.

What can I do? I struggle with this question. I write columns and postcards to voters. I wear a mask, inside or out of public buildings. I try to be thoughtful and kind in the interactions I do have with others. I pray, trying to remember that I am not alone in this walk, that the Holy One, as well as other human beings, are with me in it.

Will I be as courageous as the Graetzs if I’m called to publicly stand up against injustice? Will I find strength in faith?

I’m not sure. But I know, such courage doesn’t just “appear” in a moment. It is something we nurture throughout our lives: with prayer, in our actions large and small. They are related. I remember that the couple who braved threats and bombings also noticed simple needs. They slipped a cough-drop across a table.

© 2020 Mary van Balen

Books by Rev. Robert Graetz

 A White Preacher’s Memoir: The Montgomery Bus Boycott (first published as Montgomery: A White Preacher’s Memoir)

A White Preacher Message on Race and Reconciliation: Based on His Experiences Beginning with the Montgomery Bus Boycott.

I have always contended that the absence of fear is not the point. What you do when you are afraid is what makes the difference. We often had good reason to be afraid.

Rev. Robert Graetz
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The Challenge of this Special Time
September 24, 2020 By 10 Comments

The Challenge of this Special Time

Musée d’Orsay, Paris
Photo: Mary van Balen

In a recent letter, a Trappist monk who has been my friend for decades, wrote this to me: “It is a special time to be living and praying…” This simple phrase immediately went to my heart. It seemed true, with a depth of meaning I would lean into in the days ahead.

My friend is right. These are difficult times with crises on multiple fronts: coronavirus, political upheaval, racism laid bare, climate change, anger, fear, distrust, hatred.

He could have written that these are terrible times to be living through, dangerous and scary—also true. But he didn’t. He said they were special times to be living and praying. The power of that phrase lies in its implication of responsibility. We are living now, in the midst of national and global turmoil and a once in a century pandemic. And because we are here, we are the ones who must do something about it. Living and praying deeply.

The author of Ecclesiastes writes that all is vanity. That there is nothing new under the sun. That what is now has been before and will be again. It’s the long view of human history, and in many ways, it is true. Strife and struggle have always been part of life. Our time on the earth is short. When death comes, the world continues to turn, as impossible as that seems in the midst of fresh, anguished grief.

Yet, here we are. Living. With choices to make, in this particular time in history. Choices, big and small, that will, for good or ill, make a difference. The fate of humanity, of this earth, is not written in the stars, something pre-determined that we watch come around and go away and come around again. The incarnational aspect of our faith says differently. We are not bystanders; we are partners in bringing the kingdom. 

Every person makes a difference. Each one has the call, the gift, to transform the world in some way by being faithful to and sharing the bit of Divinity that lives within. Every act or omission matters.

Ecclesiastes also says there is a time for every thing under the heavens: to be born, to die; to plant, to harvest; to weep, to laugh. The list is long.

What is it time for, now? What do these days demand? What cries out from that biblical list? A time to heal, a time to build, a time to gather stones together. It is a time to discern what to keep and what to cast away – there is much that needs to be cast away. It is not a time to be silent. It is a time to speak. And surely it is time to love in the midst of hate.         

And how will we help these things happen?

My friend’s deceptively simple words suggest living and praying. Not in a superficial way. Living actively in the moment. Praying with our actions. But also finding strength in prayer that connects us to the Presence of Love within that sustains and does the heavy lifting.

To authentically live and to pray in these times is challenging. Again, some biblical wisdom:

Paul writes to the community of Corinth about eating meat that had been sacrificed to idols. In the U.S., not something we deal with every day. (Though what modern “idols” do we worship that demand the sacrifice of lives and health of “essential workers” who harvest our food and process our meat?)

Paul says, “I will never eat meat again, so that I may not cause my brother to sin.” It’s not his response to a dilemma of his age that speaks to me; it’s his reason – a profound love and concern for the other and the willingness to sacrifice some part of his own comfort for them.

Again, this time to the Philippians, Paul writes of putting others first: “Do nothing out of selfishness or out of vainglory; rather humbly regard others as more important than yourselves, each looking out not only for their own interest, but also for those of others.”

And, of course, the life of Jesus, who gave everything he had, even his life, showing us what Love looks like.

My friend’s words have become questions: How will I live? How will I pray, in this special time?

© 2020 Mary van Balen

Pray as though everything depended on God. Work as though everything depended on you.

St. Augustine
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