Mary van Balen

(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 

PHOTOS: MARY VAN BALEN
For just as from the heavens the rain and snow
come down
and do not return there
till they have watered the earth,
making it fertile and fruitful,
giving seed to the one who sows
and bread to the one who eats,
so shall my word be
that goes forth from my mouth.
It shall not return to me void,but shall do my will,
achieving the end for which I sent it. Is 55,10-11

These verses are especially appropriate to read during this season when winter is slowly melting into spring. Snow is not always linked with bringing forth summer abundance, yet, the psalmist knows that snow not only protects dormant plants from extreme cold but also nourishes them when melts. Robert Frost wrote about that in his poem Spring Pools .

Rain and snow have a purpose: To bring forth life on this planet. God's word also has a purpose. Unlike rain and snow, God's word is not a thing. It is not a command or an instruction. God's word is the Divine Self, the emanation of God's being, not as much spoken as breathed onto the earth and into creation. It is what brought everything into being and what holds it in existence.

Sit quietly with these verses. Lay back, as if you were letting a soft spring rain fall on you and the ground around you. How sweet is that rain. And how sweet is the Word of God. Let it drench your spirit and soak into your soul. Let i saturate every inch of your being. Then, like a seed, softened until the tiny plant within wakes and stretches and grows, your deepest self will stretch and grow and become what God has intended for you to be. That is the purpose for which the Word is sent.
© 2010 Mary van Balen
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PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN
You who dwell in the shelter of the Most High,
who abide in the shadow of the Almighty,
Say to the Lord, "My refuge and fortress,
my God in whom I trust."
God will rescue you from the fowler's snare,
from the destroying plague,
Will shelter you with pinions,
spread wings that you may take refuge;
God's faithfulness is a protecting shield...

All who call upon me I will answer;
I will be with them in distress;
I will deliver them and give them honor..
Psalm 91, 1-4; 14-16

"Momma," said a shaky voice on the telephone, "I am sick."

No matter how far away they live or how mature my children are, when they are sick, they call their mother. Not that I can do anything physically for them. The daughter who owns this morning's voice studies nine or ten hours from my home. Still, a mother's voice is comforting. She may advise the sick one to take her temperature or to find someone to buy coke and chicken broth, what is most needed is knowledge of her momma's presence and love.

While expressing the gamut of human emotions, the Psalms offer to us such knowledge of God. Today's psalm reassures us that no matter where we are or what difficulties we face, God's Presence and love are with us. Like a mother of a sick child, like a hen gathering her chicks, God shelters us under the divine wing. Read More 

IMAGE FROM Rhodes Jewish Museum



Blessed is the one who walks not in the counsel of the wicked,
nor stands in the way of sinners,
nor sits in the seat of scoffers.
but whose delight is in the law of the Lord,
and who meditates on God's law day and night
Psalm 1, 1-2




What comes to mind when you hear the word "law?" Traffic regulations? Tomes of legal statutes? Rules that you cannot break without suffering consequences? Laws, unless changed by legislation or edict, are static and guide individual and societal behavior.

Such definitions come quickly to a modern, western mind, but not to an ancient Hebrew one. To them, law (or Torah) was given by God not only to regulate their behavior, but also to help them become a wise people. (see Dictionary of Biblical Theology by Xavier Leon Dufour)

The Law was not static, but developed as Hebrew history unfolded. By the time the Israelites had returned from Exile and the Psalms were written, "law" was equated with "Wisdom," and to love the Law was to love God. Read More 

During my second consecutive sleepless night I walked to the kitchen, toasted a slice of rye bread, and brewed a cup of herb tea, hoping comfort food would help me drift off before the alarm rang. I had a full day ahead but no energy to meet it. Exhaustion made me less stable and emotions took over. I thought about lack of employment and book manuscripts sitting somewhere on editors’ desks awaiting judgment; tears threatened.

“I just want something good to happen,” I spoke aloud to a God I hoped was listening. A job. An encouraging word from an editor. A place to make into a home. Sleep.

God wasn’t speaking. If she were, I imagined she would say that good things are happening: I have the blessing of time with my father to experience not only his aging, but also his bursts of humor and conversation. Students are excited about my class: “I can’t believe I am coming to a school where I can write papers about things that are really important to me,” one said as he left last week.

I began a mental list of “good things,” but it didn’t help. My heart was “on the ground,” and I couldn’t pick it up. As tears fell I remembered verses from Psalm 56’s lament: God takes note of my trials, my tossing and turning. God saves my tears in a bottle. Like a good mother, she knows when it was best to be still and hold her distraught daughter, letting the warmth and security of constant love give comfort words could not give.

Eventually I did fall asleep. I didn’t get enough, though, and dismissed class early the next night. I walked slowly to my car rolling behind me the small carry-on that held my computer, text books, notes and papers. At home I lugged the heavy suitcase upstairs and got ready for bed. I doubted I would need any help falling to sleep, and pulling the sheet up to my chin I smiled a sleepy smile. Someone cared enough to put my tears in a bottle. Read More