Mary van Balen

Exultation is the going
Of an inland soul to sea,
Past the houses—past the headlands—
Into deep Eternity—

Bred as we, among the mountains,
Can the sailor understand
The divine intoxication
Of the first league out from land?
Emily Dickinson


With the surf pounding beside us, my daughter and I walked the beach this afternoon. My lungs appreciate deep breaths of salty sea air. My heart and soul appreciate the gift of the sea. Emily Dickinson had it right. For this inland soul anyway, going to the ocean is cause for deep joy.

I remember the first time I experienced the ocean. I had finished freshman year at college. My parents, my sister, brother, and I took a trip to the East Coast. Though Mother's family was from Massachusetts, we had never been. I'm not sure what beach we visited first, but I will never forget the moment. Sounds of pounding waves were the first hint of the immensity of what lay ahead. Then, walking beyond the dunes, I saw it. I was overwhelmed with its beauty. Its energy and power. Surely, this was holy ground.

I have never recovered.  Read More 

Originally appeared in the Catholic Times, issue: May 12, 2013

When beginning studies for a Masters Degree in theology, I was in the midst of a difficult time in other areas of my life. Perhaps it was Providence that one book assigned for a seminar was Ronald Rolheiser’s The Holy Longing. The instructor required each member of the class to prepare a presentation on a particular chapter. Mine was “The Paschal Mystery.” That was almost eight years ago, and I still find hope and wisdom in Rolheiser’s presentation of that holy mystery.

Rolheiser put a colloquial twist on the Ascension, describing its message this way: “Do not cling to the old, let it ascend and give you its blessing.” A necessary step to Pentecost, where we accept the Spirit for the moment we are living.

I had always thought of the Ascension as an event in Jesus’ life, not in my own. He told his disciples during their last meal before his death that his going away is necessary:”…for if I do not go away, the Counselor will not come to your; but if I go, I will send him to you.” Death. That was Jesus’ first “going away.”

His followers were devastated. Confused and afraid, they talked, and waited, and worried. I’m sure they prayed, but perhaps it was the same type of prayer we hold in our hearts when life takes turns we do not understand, and we cannot find God anywhere in it.

Then came the resurrection. Jesus was back! He shared food with them, blessed them, and walked with them. When they finally realized who he was, they must have been euphoric. But there was a problem: He wasn’t going to stay. Read More 

Originally published in the Catholic Times, Feb. 10 issue









Ohio Dominican University celebrated the feast of Saint Thomas Aquinas with their annual Convocation in this year featuring a lecture by theologian Fr. Thomas F. O’Meara, OP titled “Vast Universe: Extraterrestrials and Christian Revelation” (Also the title of his latest book). O’Meara’s presentation treated those attending with the opportunity to stretch their minds and understanding of Christian revelation here on earth by considering the possibility of free, intelligent extraterrestrial life sharing with human beings a capacity for relationship with God, the Creator of all.

He began with a quick review of the growing body of scientific knowledge of the universe gathered in part from increasingly powerful telescopes that probe its vast expanse. Scientists estimate the existence of about 125 billion galaxies each holding billions of stars. The Drake Equation that looks at probabilities of the existence of intelligent life on other planets, suggests that in our galaxy alone, the possibility lies anywhere from one thousand to one million intelligent civilizations.

In his lecture, O’Meara moved into considering how this speculation impacts Christian understanding of Jesus of Nazareth as the revelation of God.

No problem, I thought as I scribbled notes in my journal, having long entertained the probability of intelligent creatures existing somewhere in the universe. How could they not? Two favorite authors came to mind: Madeleine L’Engle, in the book “A Wrinkle in Time,” shows her young protagonists meeting Centaur-like creatures on planet Uriel, their first stop along a cosmic journey battling evil. These creatures exist in what we might call a “Garden of Eden” state, always filled with light and love. At a later point in the story, gentle sightless creatures who live on planet Ixchel healed the space travelers from an encounter with evil.  Read More 

In today's gospel reading, it was the little things the woman noticed when Jesus entered Simon's house: No one brought water to wash Jesus' dusty feet; no one greeted him with a kiss; no one wiped his face and refreshed it with oil. Changed by his words of God's loving forgiveness, she had come to seek him out. Perhaps to give thanks for lifting a burden from her heart and replacing it with hope.

The lack of honor shown to this man moved her to tears, and she washed his feet with them, drying with her hair. She broke her alabaster jar of perfume and anointed his feet, covering them with kisses as she did.

Simon was shocked and offended. Jesus felt the warmth of her love and said so: She had been forgiven much and she loved much. He had no such words for his host, who, if he were open to the moment, was abashed.

A lifetime of paying attention to the "little things" make a saint.  Read More 

(Originally published in the Catholic Times, August 26, 2012 © 2012 Mary van Balen)


I had just returned from a trip to Seattle, and while a three-hour difference in time didn’t seem like it should make much difference to my body clock, it did. I dragged myself out of bed for early Mass, did some grocery shopping, and not much else despite a long to-do list. Then came a call from a friend who had just seen the movie, “The Intouchables.”

The trailer for that movie had intrigued me earlier in the summer, and I knew I would want to see it. Checking my work schedule and the film’s show times, I decided to rouse myself and go. A friend agreed to meet me at the theater. Despite the price, I bought a pizza slice and cup of soda for dinner, and we found a seat.

We were not disappointed. Without giving too much away, I can say this French film about a wealthy French quadriplegic and his live in caregiver, a young man from the projects, is exhilarating and dramatic, a comedy and inspiration. We laughed and shed tears, and left the Drexel theater making plans to bring another friend and see it again. It is that good.

I am glad I saw it when I did, just back from a trip to the other side of the country. While there, I found myself thinking about the diversity of people in the world. How many faiths? How many ways of prayer? The types of jobs, struggles, and joys are as many as the people on the planet. And all have something to teach us. To show us about how to live and how to love. Read More 

While in Seattle, I visited the Chapel of St. Ignatius on the campus of the Jesuit's Seattle University. The chapel, designed by architect Steven Holl using "A Gathering of Different Lights" as the guiding concept, won a design award from the New York Chapter of the American Institute of Architects and the scale model of it is part of the permanent collection of the Museum of Modern Art in New York. The chapel is stunning. All of it. But today, being the feast of Our Lady, Mother and Queen, I decided to focus on one of the striking elements of this place of prayer. I don't identify the title of "Queen" for Mary, but "Mother" is another story.

"Be sure to see the statue of Mary," my Dutch cousins suggested when they learned I would be visiting the chapel with my friend the following day. "It is unique." How right they were. One walks through the chapel doors (a story themsleves) along a sloped entryway and along the processional corridor, and looks to the right into the nave or main sanctuary. Much vies for attention in a subtle kind of way, but my eyes fell immediately on the Mary statue, unlike anything I have seen before.  Read More 

I stand on the patio behind the apartment and watch rain pour down in long lines, like strokes from a pen, shrouding everything in gray. Thunder rumbles in the background. A small chickadee, sinichka my friend from St. Petersburg called them, takes shelter in the blue spruce beside me. We are both hushed into reverential silence. I stand close to the brick house, beneath the overhang. Together, sinichka and I feel the wind and watch it play across the water, patches of light blooming and then, just as quickly, dissoloving back into dark as the wind changes its mind and churns up brightness somewhere else on the lake. Sometimes the light races across the surface, hanging on to the wind, but can't keep up and lets go, falling back into smooth green water.

We wait, sinichka and I. I'm not sure what she waits for. I suspect that once the heavy rain turns into a gentle summer shower, she will fly off in search of food, calling out "chick a dee dee dee" as she dips and darts away. I am waiting for Grace.  Read More 

Apartment 7 has a new couch and chairs, new beds, but the same wall of windows overlooking the lake. From the moment the door opened up, I felt at home. This was the same apartment I lived in a few years ago while a resident scholar at the Collegeville Institute. I am honored to have been invited back for a weeklong writing workshop on spiritual autobiographical memoir directed by Lauren Winner.( Still: Notes on a Mid-Faith Crisis; Girl Meets God)

Along with eleven other women from across the country, I will be spending the days writing, workshopping one another's pieces, and learning about the craft of memoir. Of course there is time for conversation, making new friends, and praying with the monks in the Abbey Church. Read More 

On Father's Day I was winging my way to Collegeville, MN to participate in a weeklong writing workshop with Lauren Winner. My father was winging right along with me, I know. And how appropriate: Father's Day. I can't imagine a better father. Right up to his last days he was encouraging, giving hugs, and bestowing his warm smile. Love sparkled out of his blue eyes. Everyone at the nursing home loved dad. "A real gentleman." "Such a sweet man." "He waved at us when he was wheeled into the dining room."

My blessing. My grace to have such a father. I remember working with him in his workshop when I was a high school junior. I wanted to enter a painting contest and even though I could not fit art class into my college prep schedule, the art teacher had agreed to sign off on my entry. Dad was stretching fabric over a piece of wood. I wanted to paint a pregnant Mary, never having seen an image of her carry the child before.

Dad and I talked as we worked. I confided my dream of writing a book. As was usual in our home, I was given encouragement. Read More 

While in Pittsburgh visiting the Carnegie Museum of Natural History, I enjoyed the exhibit, "Read My Pins," a display of over 200 of Madeleine Albright's collection of pins and photographs of her wearing them as she conferred with world leaders. Ms. Albright, it seems, used the pins to alert those she met to her mood, purpose, or hope. It began after Saddam Hussein's government controlled media called her an "unparalleled serpent" after she criticized the leader. The next time she met with him, she wore a snake pin, a symbol of new life, though I doubt that was the message she was sending.

She mixed whimsy with pointed commentary, wearing pins of everything from flowers and dragonflies to wasps and American eagles. She wore a large zebra pin that lay across her shoulder when she met with Nelson Mandela, in honor of his homeland, and a trio of "see no evil, here not evil, speak no evil" when she conferred with Putin, who took offense.

The use of jewelry for more than the sparkle it adds to one's attire is not reserved to Madeleine Albright, though she may have raised it to a new level. Engagement and wedding rings give testament to marriage. High school or college class rings declare an allegiance to a particular time in one's life and a particular place of learning. Hardly "jewelry," the rash of colored plastic bracelets proclaim everything from one's faith to one's favorite causes to all who notice.

I have often worn jewelry to remind me of people, places, and relationships. They have become what Catholics call "sacramentals," things that remind us of God and help us to experience that Holy Presence with us.  Read More