Mary van Balen

Yesterday was the feast of Saint Rose of Lima. The first thing listed in the Catholic encyclopedia article about Rose is "Virgin." Of course. No surprise from a church that covers up sex abuse and struggles to deal with sex and sexuality in a healthy way. I am put off right away. "What about women who are mothers?" I think. Still, second class, I guess. Countless saints, there, I am sure. Someday might "Mother" be first on the list of saintly qualifications? I move on.

Then comes the hagiography: Her infant face was seen transformed by a mystical rose...whatever that means. The list continues with constant prayer, adoration of the Blessed Sacrament, secluding herself in her room, committing to virginity, to a meatless diet (the connection to cooking vegan with my sister and sister-in-law) and eventually to eating almost nothing. All this as she struggled against the opposition of family and friends.

As many lives of saints who lived in this period, Rose is said to have practiced severe acts of mortification especially after becoming a member of the Third Order of Dominicans (Her parents refused to let her become a nun.), and worn a metal circlet studded with spikes like thorns everyday, a metal chain around her waist, and coarse clothes. She also fashioned a bed of broken glass, pot shards, and thorns. Will the holiness never end?

On the bright side, she was an artist with a needle and made lace and needlework to help support her family when they fell into hard times. And she preformed works of charity. That gets limited notice in this article.  Read More 

Today is the feast of Saint Katharine Drexel, daughter of one of the wealthiest families in the United States in her lifetime. She was born in 1858 into the wealthy banking family, one of three daughters. When her father died, she, along with her sisters, inherited 90% of his fortune (He had tithed the rest to charitable organizations.)

Katharine shocked the world by founding an order to serve Black and Native Americans. While in some ways politically incorrect by today's standards, she was a woman ahead of her time. She used her fortune to establish schools across the country, including Xavier University of Louisiana. Still in operation today, it was one of the first all black colleges and it trained many teachers who then worked in the schools Katharine founded.

Today, we can look at her example of using what she was given, both her natural talents, spiritual gifts, and monetary resources, for the common good. High society was scandalized by her choices and when she entered a religious order, her decision was front page news.

Almsgiving is a traditional Lenten discipline. Katharine's life challenges us to take a deep look at our own. How do we use our gifts? How do we respond to the poor and marginalized of our time?

Katharine's life story is interesting as is that of her family. Check out my biography of Katharine and other resources to learn more about her journey. Read More 

"Much will be required of the person entrusted with much, and still more will be demanded of the person entrusted with more." Lk 12. 48

Today's gospel reading begins with Jesus warning "...if the Master of the house had known the hour when the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. You also must be prepared, for at an hour you do not expect, the Son of Man will come...." LK 12. 39-41

Peter asks if this message is meant for the disciples or for everyone. Jesus continues with the story of servants who do good and faithful work while their master is away. When the master returns, the servant is rewarded by increased responsibilities. The servant who abuses power while the master is away, squandering food and drink and mistreating those in his care will be punished and demoted from a position of trust to one of severe servitude.

He ends with the advice much is expected from those who are given much.

Who IS given much? What are their responsibilities? Unlike Peter, I know these words are meant for me, for all of us, today. One thing I pondered is the "much." Jesus didn't say money, or power, or material goods. He just said "much. Read More 

Carrying on a tradition from my Dutch heritage, my children each left a shoe and a carrot by the front door for Sinterklaas, or Saint Nicholas. In the morning the carrots had disappeared, eaten by Saint Nicholas's horse, and candies along with a small gift filled the shoes. A simple celebration, but one that continues. My daughters are all in grad school, but they enjoy receiving an envelope from Saint Nick to open on the morning of Dec. 6. Gold coins recall the three bags of gold Saint Nicholas tossed through the window of a cottage that was home to a poor man and his three daughters who had no dowry. Hard candy, and a gift keeps my daughters connected to family and good memories wherever they are.

Tonight I think of my cousins in the Netherlands. Dec. 5, not Christmas, is their gift giving day. The date is not the only difference in our celebrations. In the United States shopping frenzy begins on Black Friday and continues until Christmas day and beyond, when people return gifts to get something they would rather have at a cheaper price. So much time and energy is spent running from store to store, finding the best bargains, wrapping gift after gift, many people are relieved when the Christmas season is over and they can pack up the decorations and get back to an ordinary routine. Christmas has become almost synonymous with excess and consumerism.

Across the ocean, Jeanette, Piet and their family had a more relaxed day. Each person received one special gift, but perhaps the most fun was reading the poems they had written for one another and opening the little gifts, often homemade, that went along with them.

The poems were often humorous, good naturedly poking fun at the recipient or the gift that was offered. One year their oldest son was preparing to take an test for entrance into professional studies. His younger brother made him a "contraption" to use: It had a calculator, a place for notes, and a little mirror to help him read what others had written. Once, a new washing machine was the wish, but all that was affordable was one made of cardboard given along with a poem extolling the virtues of the old machine that creaked and groaned but still managed to present clean clothes.

Christmas day is more like Thanksgiving here: Time to attend church and then for families to gather, share a meal, and enjoy one another's company. As Christmas approaches, I think we would do well to remember that we don't have to wear ourselves out with endless shopping and that the number of gifts have nothing to do with the love that is shared.

******************************************** SAINT NICHOLAS DESIGNED BY RON HENDRIKS  Read More 

HOMEMADE SNOWFLAKE: DR. MARGARET COOK; PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN


Being unemployed will affect many this holiday season, and while I have a part-time job that will end in a couple of weeks, I put myself in that category. I lingered at the Christmas card display at Half Price Books last night, thinking I might find something to send to a few friends, but decided even reduced prices were more than I could pay. Instead, I decided to make the greetings sent this year. Memories of homemade cards made years ago made me smile.

The first card I made as a young adult was complicated and, as a result, few were sent. I wrote a short story, typed up the pages, illustrated them with watercolors, and sewed them into blank red deckle-edged card stock purchased at a college bookstore.

Then there were the linoleum block printed ones with white pine trees on brown paper. I wrote an original poem inside each one (This was long before computers made printing them out fast and easy). They were so labor intensive that the last ones were sent out in July with a caveat: "Christmas is Everyday."

More recently, I have made copies of my December column on green paper and sent it to those who do not subscribe to the Catholic Times.

"Maybe I will do that again," I thought as I moved toward the bookstore door and headed out to the car. It might work for a few friends, but most can easily access my columns online.

I remembered a card I received from Madeleine L'Engle one year. Reading one of her Crosswick's Journals had inspired me to send her a box (A "Mary K. box" my children said.) filled with things I thought she would enjoy: A crystal growing kit, a homemade book introducing myself and my children, a shell from a favorite Cape Cod beach, some columns, and of course, a letter.)

She surprised me with a wonderful letter, a Christmas card poem, and her newsletter. Her card was simple: Hand lettered poem and line drawing copied on the lovely blue paper that office stores sell: between pale and neon.

"Maybe I will write a poem."

It would have to be short. Between grading papers, filling out grad school and job applications, studying for the GRE, and writing magazine articles I don't have lots of time to write poetry.

"Maybe a reflection from my "Lectio Divina."

The more I thought about the project, the more ideas materialized. That is the joy of homemade: I was taking time to entertain ideas, think of my friends and what I could offer them from my life at the moment. No matter what I decide or how late the cards are sent, the recipients will know a bit more about my heart and my experience of the Incarnation season than they would have if one of the boxes of cards had proved irresistible. And, in the making, so will I. Read More 

Yesterday, between grading stacks of tests and reflection papers, I took a walk around the neighborhood. The sky was October blue, and the stunning orange sugar maple leaves brought me to a stop. Overwhelming beauty moved my heart to reverence and thanksgiving for such gifts. Perhaps this prayerful interlude made the intrusion of tacky plastic Halloween decoration more jarring than they would have been if I had come upon them first.

House after house displayed an array of "decorations." Strings of plastic ghosts and pumpkins that light up at night strung over bushes, along porch overhangs, and between branches; a variety of creatures looking as if they were struggling to emerge from their graves; headstones, gauzy fake cobwebs in a variety of colors; witches and ghosts swinging from trees.

I was reminded of a similar blight on the landscape while driving thougth a small town. A giant inflatable spider hovered over an assortment of ghosts, zombies, and skeletons. On the left of the yard was a small pool and fountain of questionable taste at its best. For Halloween the water is died red and gushes out of a skull's mouth.

What happened to Halloween? Is it card companies or manufacturers of cheap plastic throwaways that drive this excess? Occasionally, between "Halloweened houses" a porch would be decorated with pumpkins or gourds, nature's contribution to the season. But on the street I walked, natural displays were the exception.

I am reminded of a professor who taught education courses when I was studying to become an elementary teacher. She had been a British Headmistress of an infant school in London. She was always amazed at the American fascination with holiday decorations and themed work she observed in our schools.

"Every year, turkeys, hearts, ghosts and witches," she would muse. "Why? There is no 'meat' in them for study. Year after year students can count on doing the same thing." She shook her head. "Only in America."

A victim of breast cancer, she passed away a number of years ago. She would have shared my dismay at the trend of draping one's home with plastic and lights, in your face tacky that distracts from the true beauty of the season.

Why not take time to marvel with a child at the exquisite artistry of a spider web or the wonder of changing leaves? Why are we such eager consumers, willing to buy the silliest things that will end up in a landfill in a week or two? It is easy. It is fast. Faster than making homemade costumes, carving jack-o-lanterns, reading stories and poems, or taking walks through a pumpkin patch.

We are a drive-through consumeristic society and gullible enough to think supporting more disposable junk somehow makes a holiday more fun and exciting. We are on clutter overload and so are the children. Enough plastic lights and headstones and no one takes notice.

What if the money spent across this nation on holiday gewgaw was spent instead on food, schools, or dare I say it...taxes...that might make a positive difference for someone? The thought entered my mind but left as I turned a corner to see yet another Frankenstein emerging from someone's lawn. Read More 

My friend and I took a back way to Panera’s for breakfast, using a new road that zigged and zagged through an expanse of flat field before ending in a parking lot that wrapped around the strip mall from behind. Surprisingly, the sharp turns unsettled my sensitive inner ear and motion sickness set in with each bend.

“Why the turns?” I asked. No hills, rock outcroppings, streams, nothing necessitated the erratic course. The black asphalt looked as though someone had painted it with a fat brush and jerky hand across a huge, pale canvass of dying weeds. How much easier to lay two lanes straight and even.

“They’ll probably fill this field with little shops and restaurants,” my friend replied.

The shops would have to be small, I thought. On the other hand, I don’t see the big picture. The road was like life, taking turns and changing direction for no apparent reason. By this time next year, no one will remember what the field around Panera’s looked like before our consumeristic lifestyle ate up one more parcel of rich farmland. Life takes longer, but eventually, I will look back and see how its crooked lines wrote straight, forget the motion sickness and confusion, and wonder why I couldn’t trust the sense of it all along.  Read More