PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN
The official said to him, “Sir, come down before my little boy dies.” Jesus said to him, “Go; your son will live.” The man believed the word that Jesus spoke to him and started on his way. As he was going down, his slaves met him and told him that his child was alive.So he asked them the hour when he began to recover, and they said to him, “Yesterday at one in the afternoon the fever left him.” The father realized that this was the hour when Jesus had said to him, “Your son will live.”
Jn 4, 49-53a

Before assuring the official that his son would live, Jesus had rebuked him for his need for a sign in order to believe. As it turned out, the man believed before he had the sign: his son’s recovery.

I am not as trusting, though I try. My biggest problem is trusting God with my young adult offspring. When children are young, parents have more control. Their words are truth, their instructions eventually followed. Young adults have seen their parents’ clay feet, know they are full of misinformation as well as good intentions, and listen to suggestions with appropriate skepticism.

This is frustrating, especially when a young adult who once barely filled her mother’s cradling arms is facing challenging times and difficult decisions.

I wish, after placing my children in Jesus’ care, I could turn and walk away like the man in John’s gospel. The official pleaded with Jesus for the life of his son, and when Jesus told him not to worry, the man didn’t. He simply began to walk home.

The scene plays differently in my life. I hesitate. Restate by request to make sure God understands. I turn to leave and remember something else I should say. God may be God, but I am a mother. Eventually I make my way home, with a few glances backward to see what God is doing. I also don’t usually receive the same affirmation the official did when his servants rush up to tell him the good news: His son has recovered. My “signs” are slow to come, if they come at all, and the more time that passes without a “sign,” the more I find myself wondering about prayer and if it is just me talking to myself.

I grow weary with worry, emotionally worn out. I want to shake sense into my daughter and yell at God for lack of action. This is where a good Psalm of Lament would come in handy. I could pray the ranting, cursing words with feeling, and question God about the Divine whereabouts when it was most needed.

At least that is what the situation looks like from my point of view: Need, pleading, but no one close enough to hear or inclined to do anything about it. I can’t see the whole picture, and I desperately want to know it all turns out fine. I want to know that my children and I eventually reach the center of our labyrinths even if the journey is long and filled with countless turns and backtracking.

I want to believe what Julian of Norwich says so simply: All will be well and all will be well, and all manner of things will be well.”

Lord, I want to believe. Help my unbelief!

© 2010 Mary van Balen

Look to him and be radiant

Ps 34 5a

This verse reminds me of recognizing Jesus as the primordial sacrament. I recently explored this understanding with my university students while discussing Vatican II’s implication that the Catholic Church has nine sacraments, not only the ritual seven. The first is Jesus, and the second is the Church itself.

In his book, “Understanding Sacraments Today,” Lawrence Mick states that Christian sacraments are the signs of God’s continual work in the world (83). The Incarnation of God, Jesus, is the primary sacrament through which God gives the Divine Self away to us and to the world. In Lumen Gentium, Light of the Nations, Jesus is the first light. Since he is no longer bodily present on the earth, the Church (in an inclusive sense) continues to be that Presence.

Only in the measure that the Church reflects Jesus can the Church be a light to world. A metaphor used to illustrate this relationship between Jesus and the Church is that of the sun and moon. The moon has no light of its own; only by reflecting the brilliance of the sun can it bathe the earth with its silvery glow. In the same way, only by reflecting God’s own glorious self can the Church provide the earth and its people with the gift of that Self. Without the Holy One, the Church is nothing.

The moon has a dark side that faces away from the sun, as does the Church, and whenever those who comprise the People of God turn from their source of life and light, they have no life to give away. The moon, of course, has no ability to change its orientation; its dark side remains forever dark. That is not so with us.

Ps. 34 calls us to look to God and be radiant. Each time we do, God’s gift of Self is poured out in new and wonderful ways, transforming the earth and all who dwell on it.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN

He will come to us like the rain,
like spring rain that waters the earth.

Hos 6, 3b

Winter is finally over, or so it seems. Snow piles are melting. Wild snow drops are covering the ground and a few crocuses have poked their colorful heads above ground. When I take the short cut to my car, the earth gives beneath my step. Some people are watching for the forsythia to bloom so we can quickly get past the folk wisdom of “three snows after the forsythia blooms.” Some people are not waiting. On the first truly sunny day that we have had since February, I have seen shorts and t-shirts and sandaled feet.

Even I, a winter-lover, enjoyed running errands without a jacket and opening doors and window blinds, allowing spring sun to flood the living room. My soul is ready for spring. Spiritually, this has been a long winter and often my soul has felt dry. Not that God hasn’t been raining Grace all along, but winter rain is cold. Rather than opening up to receive it, I sometimes close in on myself, like I do when I walk out into a January storm. I pull my coat around me and sometimes wear a hat to keep the water from soaking my head and chilling my body.

Winter rain has a purpose. Plants are nourished even when they lie dormant and unaware in the dark earth. God’s Presence, though sometimes difficult to embrace, feeds my soul whether I know it or not.

But Spring rain is warm and welcome. I used to delight in taking long walks in warm rains, returning home drenched and happy. Once I indulged in such a walk last year in Minnesota. I walked in the woods, looked at the flowers and green shoots coming up. Color looks more intense to me in the rain. The walk was one of rejoicing. Ice was receding from the lake, birds were sining and scavenging for nesting materials, already preparing for new life.

Spring rain brings hope for future harvests. I think hope is what makes spring arrive in the soul, opening it up wide to receive life-giving self. Hope is warm and expectant and vital. After a long winter, after a long Lent, I am ready for God to rain into my heart.

PHOTO: WORDPRESS

Open wide your mouth that I may fill it.
Ps 81, 11b

God’s instruction sounds so simple, but anyone who has tried to feed an infant or toddler who doesn’t want to eat knows better. Thus the silly games we play, making the spoon into an airplane, train, or other method of transport to deliver the food to the hanger, station, or whatever. We cajole, distract, and plead, all to no avail if the child refuses to open her mouth.

God is calling Israel to fidelity, reminding them of their delivery from Egypt, and lamenting their stubbornness. The Psalm ends with a mother’s hope for a softening of their hearts: “But Israel I would feed with finest wheat, satisfy them with honey from the rock” (v. 17).

The gift of Divine Self is always being poured out. It is a fountain of Love whose Source is inexhaustible. God’s desire is to find hearts open to receive it.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: MAURICE FLOOD

Whoever is not with me is against me, and whoever does not gather with me scatters.
Lk 11:23

This verse reminds me of another, two chapters earlier in Luke’s gospel. Jesus’ disciples saw someone casting out demons in Jesus’ name, and they tried unsuccessfully to stop the exorcist who was not one of their group. They told Jesus about it and he said, “Do not prevent him, for whoever is not against you is for you” (Lk 9,50).

The temptation of the world is to divide its people into “them” and “us,” and that process begins early. As children we are quick to point our finger at someone else as deserving of blame: “I didn’t do it; they did!” I remember one day years ago, sitting on the floor with my younger sister in the large bedroom we shared with another sister, a brother, and a grandmother. We must have been making too much noise playing because mom had called up and in her no-nonsense tone told us we had better quiet down.

We leaned against the footboard of one bed, touched our toes to the sideboard of another, and made a pact: We will NEVER forget what it was like being a child as our mother obviously had. My own children would say I had forgotten long before they were born. What is natural bonding and response to growing up is different from the hateful divisions that are purposely created by adults.

Flagrantly putting walls around “us” to keep “them” out was condoned by our society when “them” equaled “Black.” Skin color is not the only attribute that marks people as “other,” though it is the most obvious. Language and ethnicity give rise to discrimination and division. These prejudices continue today, sometimes more subtly, and include less conspicuous populations like transsexuals, the poor, and mentally ill. Divisions can become hateful even between religious denominations, faiths, and political parties. Wars are fought over such differences.

Jesus was not concerned with such classifications. Instead, he was focused his mission of bringing God’s Kingdom. Jesus was interested in intent and actions, not who was intending or doing. Do our actions bring love and unity to God’s people or do they plant fear and division? Do our actions help bring the kingdom or do they impede its coming? Perhaps we need to focus on what mattered to Jesus: the heart.

Jesus didn’t ask about his apperance or sexual orientation. He didn’t need to know if he was well educated or wealthy. The exorcist was contributing to the work Jesus had come to do. That was enough for him. It should be enough for us.
© 2010 Mary van Balen

Photo: News One

However, take care and be earnestly on your guard not to forget the things which your own eyes have seen, nor let them slip from your memory as long as you live, but teach them to your children and your children’s children.
Dt 4, 9

In today’s Old Testament reading, these and the verses that follow tell of Moses reminding the Israelites of the day God gave the Ten Commandments and the instruction to observe them in the Promised Land. Moses tells the people to remember and to teach their children not only about the wondrous way the commandments were given, but also about the responsibility to live by them.

We teach more by our actions than by our words. What are mine teaching? I have false gods that rob time and attention from the Holy One? Do I keep the Sabbath? Do I reverence others? The commandments are deeper than their literal meaning, and Jesus summed up them up along with the Law and the prophets in his two great commandments to love God and love neighbor.

These verses remind me of a magnet on my friend’s refrigerator. The souvenir from the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. is black with three phrases written in small orange letters: The next time you witness hatred; the next time you see injustice; the next time you hear about genocide. In large white letters interspersed between the phrases is the sentence: THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU SAW.

Do I think about and remember what I see in the world around me so I can “teach my children?” or do I go about my days as if no one slept homeless on the streets, or lived with cancer because they can’t afford health insurance, or were hungry because they have no jobs? Do I remember the times I have heard others speak with hatred and derision of those they fear or do not understand? Do I not only enjoy the fruits of the earth, but also live in a way that helps insure they will be here for future generations? Do I speak up when I see injustice? Do I take time to communicate my concerns to leaders who make laws and determine policy?

What do I do with my time? With my gifts? What do I remember about God’s great commandments? What am I teaching the children?
© 2010 Mary van Balen

PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN

Make known to me your ways, Lord:
teach me your paths.
Guide me in your truth and teach me,
for you are God my savior.
For you I wait all the long day,
because of your goodness, Lord.
Ps 25, 4-5

How do we learn God’s ways or discern God’s paths? How do we learn Divine truth and allow it to guide us through life’s daily challenges as well as times of life-changing choices?

For me, quiet prayer is the answer. I read and pray Scripture, practice Lectio Divina that is not only prayer, but also informs my writing. I try to use my gifts in service of God and others. But, even those activities, well intentioned as they are, are not the same as sitting quietly with my Compassionate Friend and being drawn deeper into the relationship that gives me life and purpose.

Much prayer is focused outward toward God and others. We try to pray for others and to keep their needs in our hearts. We take the energy and clarity we find to fuel our work, our efforts to bring peace, to care about those we love who struggle or need support.

All these practices and good and important. Yet, we need to be quiet, to retreat from the outside world and remember ourselves in God’s Presence. We need to listen to God’s words of love for us, feel God’s embrace, and know God’s way.

Like the Psalmist, we may long for Holy Guidance as we make choices and live our lives, but we cannot hear it in bustling activity and constant “noise.” We must sit at God’s feet, like Mary of Bethany, enjoy the closeness and listen with our hearts.

PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN
Naaman came with his horses and chariots and stopped at the door of Elisha’s house. The prophet sent him the message: “Go ad wash seven times in the Jordan, and your flesh will heal, and you will be clean.” But Naaman went away angry, saying, “I thought that he would surely come out and stand there to invoke the Lord his God, and would move his hand over the spot, and thus cure the leprosy. But his servants came up and reasoned with him. “My father,” they said,” if the prophet had told you to do something extraordinary, would you not have done it? All the more now, since he said to you, ‘Wash and be clean,’ should you do as he said” So Naaman went down and plunged into the Jordan seven times at the word of the man of God. His flesh became again like the flesh of a little child, and he was clean.
2Kg 5, 9-11; 13-14

As I write, I hear the Oscars on the downstairs television and am struck by the irony. Many people are glued to the television screen watching the annual glamourous awards for high profile achievement while I sit in my office, reflecting on the expectation of a man for a dramatic miracle but who is instructed instead to perform a common action: bathe in the river. Naaman was incensed. Had he journeyed so far only to be told to do what he did routinely in his homeland? Elisha’s instructions were insulting.

Our society values celebrity, as evidenced by tonight’s television extravaganza. Importance is often equated with wealth, fame, and good looks. Our heroes and heroines are stars of sports, movie, music and we like splash and pizzazz.. So did Naaman.

We also value great achievements. They might be accomplished by a pilot like Scully, who landed a plane on the Hudson without losing a life, or a scientist who develops some new procedure to treat illness. Our heroes are usually bigger than life people who do extraordinary things.

But Elisha had a different message for us: Miracles and healing happen through ordinary means. This is hopeful for those of us who will never win an Oscar, write a bestseller, or find a cure for cancer. Great work is hidden in clear sight, in the simple things we do every day: Taking time to visit an elderly friend, putting flowers on the table, having a cookout for friends, shoveling someone else’s walk, listening, smiling, being patient.

The little things communicate God’s healing love and we have the opportunity to do them every day. No special training needed. Just being present to another and being open to God-With-Us allow grace to flow and miracles to happen. Ordinary people living their lives with love and concern for others do more good than they know. They do not receive a statute to put on their mantle, but they change the world.

BYZANTINE MOSAIC: MOSES AND THE BURNING BUSH
Meanwhile Moses was tending the flock of his father-in-law Jethro, the priest of Midian. Leading the flock across the desert, he came to Horeb, the mountain of God. There and angel of the Lord appeared to him in the fire flaming out of a bush. As he looked on, he was surprised to see that the bush, though on fire, was not consumed. So, Moses decided, “I must go over to look at this remarkable sight, and see why the bush is not burned.”

When the Lord saw him coming over to look at it more closely, God called out to him from the bush, “Moses! Moses!” He answered, “Here I am.: God said, “Come no nearer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place where you stand is holy ground.”
Ex 3, 1-5

This story is so familiar that Moses seeing a burning bush does not surprise. He is Moses, after all, and those kinds of things happened to him. A close reading of the verses paint a different picture. Moses was doing a very ordinary thing: Leading his father-in-law’s flock of sheep across the desert. This is like your driving to work, filling out reports, teaching students, doing laundry, going to the grocery store. Moses was doing what he always did.

He was not in a special place. Not doing something unusual. Not expecting to find God around the corner, or in this case, hiding in a bush. Moses was not so different from us getting up every day, making a living and taking care of family. So why did I Am Who Am talk to him from a miraculously flaming shrub?

God had something to say to Moses. I Am Who Am had something for him to do and decided that a a burning bush would get his attention. It did, and when Moses walked over to investigate, the Lord instructed him to take off his sandals because he was on holy ground. This was the same ground Moses walked over day after day. There was nothing special about it except that Moses recognized the Lord’s Presence there. And wherever the Lord is is surely holy.

Like Moses, we often need something extraordinary to catch our attention, to remind us that we are on holy ground because God is present in every place and in every moment. We don’t get a burning bush. Perhaps it is the birth of a child, or the love of a spouse or special friend. A magnificent sunrise of night sky can remind us that God is with us.

Often, though, we are too busy to notice some of these signs of God-With-Us, and if we miss the big signs, how easy is it to miss Divine Presence in the ordinary routines of life? Because we may not be aware of that Presence does not change the fact that God is, indeed, with us in countless ways, and that we are walking on holy ground all the time.

In his play, “Our Town,” Thorton Wilder noted our ability to walk through the world unaware in the famous line spoken by Emily near the end of the play: Emily: Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it–every,every minute? Stage Manager: No. (pause) The saints and poets, maybe they do some

The poet, Elizabeth Barrett’s, wrote about the same thing in her narrative poem, Aurora Leigh” :
Earth’s crammed with heaven,
And every common bush afire with God:
But only he who sees, takes off his shoes,
The rest sit round it, and pluck blackberries…

Recognizing the Sacred in our midst takes practice, but even though we will most likely never see a burning bush, we can learn to be aware that we are on holy ground and take off our shoes.

PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN OF SILVER GELATIN PRINT BY RAYMOND MEEKS: JOSE’ ESTUARDO SOTZ ALVAREZ, BOSTON MA 1992 FOR AMNESTY INTERNATIONAL

My son, you are here with me always; everything I have is yours. But now we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to live again; he was lost and has been found.
LK 15, 31-31

Sometimes when reading Scripture, I am tempted to hurry over or skim passages that are as familiar as this story of the prodigal son. This parable is often used to illustrate God’s willingness to forgive when one is repentant or the importance of conversion of heart. Both, of course, are valid interpretations, but what struck me today was the joy of the father. He didn’t question his son about wisdom he might have acquired as a result of his licentious activity or even his unsavory work for Gentiles. The son may have had a change of heart or a repentant spirit, but in the story, none of that is discussed. The younger son barely managed his rehearsed statement before his father had servants putting sandals on his feet, a ring on his finger, and a robe around his dirty, skinny shoulders.

Once he saw his wayward son approaching, the father broke out in a run uncharacteristic of a refined gentleman of the Orient, so I doubt he wasted much time asking for explanations. As he repeated throughout the story, what had been lost was found; what had been dead had come back to life. Both good reasons to celebrate.

The elder son didn’t share his father’s unreasonable enthusiasm, but the parable leaves us hanging; we don’t know if he went in and joined the party or stayed outside sulking and feeding his attitude.

There is no question that the father was having a wonderful time with friends, servants, and his youngest son.

This joy and immediate forgiveness is echoed in today’s Old Testament reading and the Psalm. The prophet, Micah, lived in a politically dangerous time for the Israelites. It was also a time of corruption among leaders including religious leaders and those with economic power. Micah, like Isaiah and Jeremiah, was concerned with the poor and oppressed. His book begins with dire predictions and lament, contains some promise of hope, and then condemns the leaders and common people who are dishonest and unworthy of trust.

Today’s verses are the last in the book and are thought to be from a liturgical rite. They focus not on the wrong doing, but on God who “delights… in clemency.” This is the Father in Luke’s parable. He is eager to rejoice and party with his son, looking past his sin and seeing only that he has returned.

Psalm 103 praises God who forgives and who loves without measure. “As the heavens tower over the earth, so God’s love towers over the faithful. As far as the east is from the west, so far have our sins been removed from us.”

These words bring joy to my heart, for while I hope I can be as welcoming at the prodigal’s father, I know that if I can, it is because God is more than joyful and welcoming to me.
© 2010 Mary van Balen