Mary van Balen

On today's Universalis site, after a two saints listed for remembrance, Blessed John Henry Newman shows up. (I mentioned him in my May 2 blogpost The Vatican, Nuns, and John Henry Newmanas a champion of lay persons' call and ability to be bearers of truth and prophetic speakers of truth to power.)



Today, I remember his poetry and writings. One has long been a favorite:
"Dear Jesus, help me to spread your fragrance everywhere I go.
Flood my soul with your spirit and life.
Penetrate my being so that all my life
may only be a radiance of you.

Shine through me, and so be in me
that every person I come in contact with
may feel your presence in my soul.
Let them look and see no longer me,
but only Jesus.

Stay with me, and then I shall begin to shine as you shine,
so to be a light to others.The light, O Jesus, will be all from you;
none of it will be mine.
It will be you shining on others through me.

Let me thus praise you in the way you love best,
by shining on those around me."

The other speaks to my frustration today with where I am, making a living, and striving to remain faithful to the call to write and share what small light entrusted to me:
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Today is the International Day of Peace, originally declared by the United Nations General Assembly in 1981 to be celebrated each year on the third Tuesday of September by a cessation of acts of war and access for humanitarian aid access in areas affected by war. In 2002 the date was fixed on September 21, and in subsequent years, a call to non-violence was included in the twenty-four hour observance.

People worldwide observe a minute of silence at noon, and various ways of honoring the day have emerged around the globe.

Today is also the feast of St. Matthew, evangelist, whose gospel includes the Beatitudes and the parable of the final judgement when all are judged on their love and charity to others. The reading from Ephesians 4 for today's Mass as well as the gospel reading (Mt 9,9-13), stress love, mercy, and peace. Paul writes< "...I...urge you to live in a manner worthy of the call you have received, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another through love, striving to preserve the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace: one body and one Spirit, as you were also called to the hone hope of your call; one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all..."

As I spent time in quiet prayer this morning the words "one God of all, who is over all and through all, and in all" lodged in my heart. Before we can bring peace, we must, as Vietnamese Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh writes, be peace.  Read More 

(Originally published in the Catholic Times, May 13, 2012 © 2012 Mary van Balen)

“How do you manage Liturgy of the Hours?” I asked a friend who is an oblate of a Benedictine abbey.

“I don’t get to it everyday. I do it when I can. Often, I just read through the Psalter.”

That conversation came to mind when I was discouraged by my inability to fit more of the Hours into my daily life. So, I pulled a Psalter from shelves in my study. A gift from a Trappist friend, the old book had been rebound in the monastery with a plain burnt sienna fabric and blue end papers. Father Maurice’s name is written across the top with pencil in his beautiful calligraphic scrip along with a small cross and the year: 1965.

The Grail translation, new at the time, like the translation of psalms found in the Jerusalem Bible, is made from the Hebrew. As I held the book and read from the yellowed pages, I imagined Fr. Maurice sitting in the chapel at the Abbey of Gethsemane in Kentucky, chanting these ancient hymns day after day, year after year. I thought, too of my friends at Saint John’s Abbey in Collegeville, and the time I spent with them praying the psalms throughout the day.

Sometimes, reading the more violent ones, I have wondered why they remain in liturgical collections. I have heard others voice that concern and remember a story shared by a monk at St. John’s. At one time, they were considering the collection of psalms used in their prayer. Someone suggested removing the more violent ones. Why pray war songs, songs that include dashing children against the rocks or slaughtering one’s enemies?

A monk of great stature in the community objected. Violence is part of Old Testament history. Indeed they are part of our history. “Remove those,” he said, “ and the Psalter just collapses.”

Our world today is not so different from the ancient Hebrew one. Using drones to kill our enemies makes their deaths and those civilians who lose their lives, euphemistically called “collateral damage,” invisible but no less gruesome. Read More 

"And it's a chance to step back for a moment, for us to come together as brothers and sisters and seek God's face together. At a time when it's easy to lose ourselves in the rush and clamor of our own lives, or get caught up in the noise and rancor that too often passes as politics today, these moments of prayer slow us down. They humble us. They remind us that no matter how much responsibility we have, how fancy our titles, how much power we think we hold, we are imperfect vessels. We can all benefit from turning to our Creator, listening to Him. Avoiding phony religiosity, listening to Him." from President Obama's National Prayer Breakfast Address

This morning I happened to be at home when President Obama addressed those assembled for the National Prayer Breakfast. I was drinking a cup of tea and preparing my own breakfast when the news channel began live coverage of the event. I sat down and listened. The opening remarks cited above reminded me of how I have become caught up in the busyness of life and have not taken time to slow down in prayer often enough. If the president can begin his day with prayer and a little Scripture, certainly I can do the same.

The past week an good friend of forty years (can't be!) came by for a visit. We rarely see one another and squeezed in a lot of catching up in the couple of hours remaining until I needed to leave for work. At one point in the conversation she said, "I don't have the time that I used to have to just pray. To just be still and pray. I need that." Read More 

He was listed under "Other Saints" on the Universalis:Today site that designated today as simply Wednesday of week 17 of the year. I had never heard of Titus (Anno) Brandsma, but his birth in Friesland, Holland (place of my family's origin), work as a journalist, and contemplative spirituality (He was a Carmelite priest.) piqued my curiosity. I googled his name and found numerous sites that provided information on this man who, along with the Dutch Church, refused to accept Nazi orders for Catholic newspapers to print Nazi articles and who eventually paid for public resistance with his life.

Perhaps journalists who work for Catholic newspapers or magazines know of this man. If not, I will do my part to introduce him. An interesting biography including photos appears on a Carmelite website. The same website hosts a series of short essays or meditations on his life written by social worker, Jane Lytle-Vieira, a member of the Carmelite’s Third Order and a graduate studying theology. Read More 

It is you that the Lord our God has chosen to be his very own people out of all the peoples on the earth. It was for love of you and to keep the oath he swore to your fathers that the Lord brought you out with his mighty hand and redeemed you from the house of slavery, from the power of Pharaoh king of Egypt. Know then that the Lord your God is God indeed, the faithful God who is true to his covenant and his graciousness for a thousand generations towards those who love him and keep his commandments.

Deuteronomy 7:6,8-9



Todays short reading from Liturgy of the Hours speaks to us of God's loving care and faithfulness. Perhaps because sleep evades me more often at night lately, Divine watchfulness and compassion is particularly important as I turn off the house lights and crawl into bed.

I am including a beautiful prayer from Jim Cotter's "Prayer at Night's Approaching." It's simplicity and confidence in God's presence has helped me let go of the day's unfinished business and the future's unknown to find rest and peace in God's embrace. Read More 

But when you pray, go to your private room and, when you have shut your door, pray to your Father who is in that secret place, and your Father who sees all that is done in secret will reward you. Mt 6:6







I slid into the pew at my old parish church, choosing to sit where mom and dad had in the latter years their life. Looking over the sparse congregation, I smiled realizing that I had become one of the "gray-hairs," a euphemism we had used as teenagers to indicate the preponderance of older people in the church.

When Mass began, I looked to discover who was responsible for the emotive singing and powerful notes pouring from the piano. After Mass I learned he is a student soon entering law school.

"He is wonderful," my old friend said. "He is looking at different schools and will probably go where he gets the most financial aid. We want to keep him here, though. He is the choir director now..."

For the parish's sake, I hope a local university makes him an offer he can't refuse. The hymns he chose were familiar and I enjoyed the feeling of pushing strong, clear notes out from my heart. Most of the people were timid when it came to singing, but that didn't stop me. I belted out the notes, hanging them in the air with abandon. Read More 

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
There is a variety of gifts but always the same Spirit; there are all sorts of service to be done, but always to the same Lord; working in all sorts of different ways in different people, it is the same God who is working in all of them.
1 Corinthians 12:4-6 from Mid-morning reading



Today, I walked to a Buddhist festival at a temple in Thailand. A friend who knows of my interest in spirituality suggested that I might want to see it. The evening was warm and humid after an afternoon downpour, but not unpleasant.

As I wandered through the temple grounds, many sights reminded me of parish festivals at home: children hoping to take a gold fish home, games, rides, and lots of food. Of course, plenty of things were different: Monks were chanting as were ever changing groups of laypeople who, after offering orange buckets filled with ordinary items for the monks daily use, knelt and joined in their prayer. No hotdogs or cotton candy, but roasted chestnuts and sweets that included sweet corn as well as chocolates.

Some people purchased a lotus flower, incense sitcks, a candle, and gold leaf squares before stepping over the lintel leading into a shrine of Buddhas. People knelt and prayed, stuck their candles in sand-filled containers and rubbed the gold of the Buddha images.

The evening was an interesting mix of booths, games, food, rides, and prayer. When I looked up the readings for today's liturgy of the hours I was struck by what Paul had to say: One God, many people; different tasks, different people, same God working in them all. Read More 

PHOTO:

At 12:30a.m. I slipped on my long, almost to the ankles down coat and stepped outside into the very cold night. I had not planned on staying up to view the Geminid meteor shower. The cloudy afternoon sky left over from the first real snow the day before had showed no sign of clearing, but sometime between 5:30 and 9, it did.

The neighborhood was quiet. No cars driving by to crunch the icy streets. Christmas lights from a few houses glowed brightly against white snow-flocked bushes and trees. I remembered childhood Christmases celebrated in this same neighborhood. Our Jewish neighbors had four children. Debbie told me years later that she and Julian stayed up on Christmas Eves and peered down through their second floor window into our living room where Mom and Dad were decorating our tree. She wished for a Christmas tree. I had wished for the eight-day gift giving of Hanukah. Read More 

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
Over the past fifty years I have entrusted my heart, soul, and mind to entries in journal pages written in eclectic styles that include reflection, documentation, study, rant, questions, lists, drawings, and pasted bits of print, but whatever the form, the writing always ends up as prayer. At least my definition of prayer, which is presenting oneself to God in the very moment, aware, if only briefly, of resting in Divinity’s infinite self, breathing the Holy One's breath as my own.

In dusty boxes, my life’s journey is recorded between covers of various sizes and colors on unlined pages that allow my pen and mind free range. My fifth grade handwriting teacher would be appalled by the seeming chaos, with words scrawled right to left, up and down along margins, squeezed between drawings, photographs, and program notes. But as the Spirit hovered over the swirling masses of creation, she sometimes shows up and helps me make sense of life that has spilled onto the pages. Read More