Mary van Balen

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 " Crucifixion" Scholars' Lounge, Alcuin Library, Saint Johns University




When Jesus had received the wine, he said, "It is finished."
Then he bowed his head and gave up his spirit.
Jn 19, 30







“It always rains on Good Friday,” my mother used to say. Often she was right. It was appropriate for the day we remember the suffering and death of Jesus as well as our sin that contributes to the ongoing pain and evil in the world. The Stations of the Cross were a regular Lenten prayer every Friday while I attended Catholic elementary school. Then, after Holy Thursday liturgy, the altar was stripped down to bare wood, the crucifix was covered with purple cloth, and in solemn procession, the priest carried the Blessed Sacrament to a side altar. The bare church sent a chill through my body. During Good Friday services in place of bells, a wooden mallet struck a small board, its hollow sound echoing off the walls.

On Good Fridays I am aware of emptiness - Jesus closed up in the tomb, not yet risen, a hole in the world where he used to be.  Read More