Mary van Balen

PHOTO: Disney
Last night a couple of friends and I spent the evening at the local art theater watching Disney's new Earth Day offering: Oceans.
That it was short on storyline did not present a problem since I went for the images; the movie does not disappoint. I am an ocean soul and treasure every moment I can muster in the waves or walking the beach. I left the movie theater with a more profound respect for the complexity and wonder of the world under water.

The images were breathtaking: an octopus that looks like a silk scarf patterned with gold and brown undulating through its blue world, a leafy sea dragon that is almost indistinguishable from the plants it eats, humpback whales hanging upside down to sleep. The list is endless.

Some creatures travel thousands of miles every year while others that stay put like the leafy sea dragon that cannot survive if moved to a different depth or location.  Read More 

Spring rains pour down from the night sky soaking the earth and pounding against the roof making a familiar sound. Rainy nights often send me to a good book and a cup of tea, content to spend time quietly, but tonight rain sounds sink into my heart and remind me that I am alone with my book, computer, and thoughts. My stomach aches and my heart is empty as I finish another game of FreeCell.

I have not been alone all day. In the late morning I drove to my new part time job only to discover that the orientation had been canceled. I used some of the unexpected free time to find a pair of dressy black slacks, fifty-percent off. After a year of writing a book on my own schedule and then almost another year looking for work and moving, my wardrobe is tired and faded, not suitable for work.

Around two-thirty I headed home. As I approached the exit near my daughter’s house, I called and offered to pick her up and treat her to a late lunch, thinking we could buy cheap food, return to her place, and visit for a while. Read More 

PHOTO:MARY VAN BALEN - Saint John's Arboretum
At last. A bishop admitted that he did not report sexual abuse of children by priests and did not challenge the accepted Church practice of keeping such horrendous behavior within the institutional “walls.” Bishop James Moriarty of Kildare is not the first to resign over the abuse scandal in Ireland, but his candor and acceptance of personal culpability are refreshing, if late. He is a truthteller.

The Vatican can continue to berate the media for attacking the Pope and trying to bring down the Church, but pressure from the secular press is forcing the issue and compelling the Vatican to begin to deal with the issue.

Pope Benedict can continue to share his deep pain, praying and weeping with survivors and promising “church action,” but that is not all that is needed. We, the faithful, need more bishops to publicly acknowledge their complicity in the crimes and by implication, a longstanding accepted Church policy of cover-up and shifting offending priests around unsuspecting parishes.
We need the Vatican to admit to this institutional sin.  Read More 

PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN
Sparkling drops of water dripped from broccoli flowerets and lettuce leaves. Radish red and carrot orange were bright and the eggplant's smooth, purple flesh looked like satin. I stood in front of the vegetable case, a pilgrim to a fresh food shrine. Slowly, I made choices and piled the cart with colorful, fragrant produce that would soon grace my dinner plate.

I am returning to basics that have been missing from my life for a while, and in addition to cooking fresh foods, I am setting the alarm early enough to insure time for quiet prayer before the day gets rolling.

Cooking fresh provides the opportunity to appreciate the beauty and variety of creation while reverencing life and the One who set it in motion. I remember once sitting in the student union while an undergraduate student, raising an apple to my lips, stopping before a first bite. Read More 

PHOTO: SAINT JOHN'S ABBEY
Life’s twists have turned me into a vagabond, and my Benedictine spirit is rebelling. A large canvass tote packed with a change of clothes, calcium pills, and a notebook sits at my bedside, ready to go. My purse holds a toothbrush and phone charger as well as more standard fare. I have deodorant and a Ziploc of herb teas on the nightstand at a friend’s house and have to look at my planner to remember where I need to be the following night.

This morning, I walked into the kitchen of my father’s home, switched on the electric teakettle, and felt an overwhelming need to cook. I wanted to fill the refrigerator with foods like eggplant, sugar-snap peas, and chicken. I wanted to stay put instead of shuttling between the house I am preparing to sell, a friend’s where I crash after I’ve packed a day’s worth of boxes, and the big home where I grew up. I carried a mug of tea into the upstairs bathroom where I sank into a tub of hot water and read a few pages of Anne Lamott before realizing that what woke me at 6am was the same thing that had dogged me for a couple of weeks: My monastic soul longed to stay put. I needed to cook, to pray, and to be faithful to the writerly life. Why didn’t I? Read More 

PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN
Last evening after dinner I decided to see a movie at the old local art theater. As I waited for lights to dim, I pulled a small black notebook out of my purse and began writing starting with the day’s date and time in the top right corner as I always do: “April 12, 2010, waiting for “The Ghost Writer.” I jotted down a few thoughts and suddenly remembered a conversation with a friend I had had the day before. She was just beginning to post remarks on twitter.

“I opened my account, posted one remark and minutes later I had a follower,” she said.

“A ‘follower?’ What’s a ‘follower?’”

“It’s someone who reads your Tweets, you know, someone who follows what you are doing.”

“I don’t do anything interesting enough for anyone else to care,” volunteered our mutual friend who was driving us all to a play.  Read More 

WOMAN'S HEAD, BY KATHRYN HOLT, PHOTO MARY VAN BALEN


Years ago, my daughter sculpted a woman’s head for an art class but forgot to make a hole in the base to allow the escape of heated air. The piece exploded in the kiln, and she was irritated at her oversight. Her instructor, ceramicist Tony Davenport, had a different opinion.

“Don’t worry,” he said as she glued together large pieces that remained. “This may be the best thing that happened to it.”

Kathryn wasn’t sure how to take his remark. Did the hours painstakingly dedicated to creating the head count less towards its artistic merit than the accidental explosion?  Read More 

PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN
One sunny afternoon, a friend asked me if I had taken photos of the pear trees in her neighbor's backyard.

"Just yesterday they were all bloom. Today the tops are greening with leaves. The beauty of a tree covered with flowers is fleeting."

From the second floor room where I write, I see dogwoods beginning to bloom. They look almost golden, as do the flowers and tassels that dangle from the sugar maple tree. I am reminded of Robert Frost's poem, "Nothing Gold Can Stay:"

Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf's a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.

My friend was correct: Springs blossoms drop soon after they flock trees in white and pink. Frost's poem begins with ephemeral golden moments of April and moves to ponder the transience of much earthly beauty. Yet, as Frost's poem suggests, when one beauty or good is gone, another takes its place: Flowers are lovely, but leaves provide food for the plant; dawn is rosy, but we live in the light of day; Eden was lost, but as we just celebrated at Easter, the gift of Divine Love and life is given to all. Nothing gold can stay, but would we want it to? One thing must give way to another as we grow. We must die to live again. Read More 

PHOTO: NASA - "THE INCUBATOR"


Then Peter began to speak to them: “I truly understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him.”
Acts 10, 34-35



Peter prefaced his story of Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection with a declaration of God’s inclusivity. As Easter is celebrated around the world we do well to remember that message. Jesus grew to understand it as he prayed and faithfully proclaimed God’s Kingdom. He announced that sinners and tax collectors would enter the kingdom before some of the religious leaders and those considered righteous. He had conversations in public with a Samaritan woman, and one of his most remembered parables featured a nameless Samaritan as the hero, not the priest or Levite who walked past a victim of violence lying beaten and dying beside the road.

Jesus ate with sinners and healed the child of a Roman centurion, actions which announced as clearly as his words that God’s healing love was for all, not only for the Jews. In our world torn apart by fear, ignorance, and violence, Christians must preach Divine inclusivity with their lives as Jesus did. When we are tempted to choose comfortable ignorance rather than disturbing truth or smug self-righteousness rather than open acceptance we should stop and reflect on Jesus’ life and remember how he died. He forgave those who crucified him and embraced the criminal hanging beside him. His resurrection is a promise of eternal life for all and an invitation for us to join in proclaiming this good news as it echos through the universe.

Happy Easter!
© 2010 Mary van Balen Read More 

Out of my distress I called on the Lord;
the Lord answered me
and set me in a broad place.
Ps 118, 5


The women were terrified and bowed their faces to the ground, but the men said to them, "Why do you look for the living among the dead?He is not here but has risen. Remember how he told yo, while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must be handed over to sinners, and be crucified, and on the third day rise again." Then they remembered his words, and returning from the tomb, they told all this to the eleven and to all the rest. Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. But these words seemed to them an idle tale.
Lk 24, 5-11


I love the phrase from the Psalm: "...the Lord answered me and set me in a broad place." When I read it, my breaths are deeper, the air is electric with promise, and my eyes are ready to see what they have not seen before.

I once had friends, Dave and Jeanette, who lived on land perched high on a ridge. When visiting them, I stood a long while outside beside the single outbuilding and gazed over the hills that braided themselves below as far as I could see. My eyes felt good, like they were meant to look far and not have their vision stopped short by rows of buildings as is was in the city where I lived. Read More