Mary van Balen

Maybe it's because I just had a conversation with my sister about the Roman Catholic church's secrecy around its position paper on transsexuality. (Even enlisting the help of members of the hierarchy, I could not access the Vatican's position document on transsexuality issued "sub secretum" in 2000 and later sent to presidents of bishops' conferences.)

Maybe it's because I have written and talked to political representatives about passing laws to provide job and housing protection for transsexuals to no avail.

Maybe it's because I have a transsexual daughter.

Maybe it's because I have admired the Episcopalian's willingness to discuss difficult moral issues openly and to include in the conversation everyone from the Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori to the person in the pew. (Saint Benedict would be proud. See Rule of Saint Benedict, Chapter 3

Maybe it's because, like so many others, I grow tired of waiting.

Maybe it's all of the above. No matter. I am heartened by the Episcopalian decision to officially welcome and include transgender people in the ranks of clergy as well as adding transgender people to the non-discrimination canons. I agree with Rev. Susan Russell who said in her column, Episcopal Church Makes Landmark Decision for Transgender Inclusion, July 9, 2012 was a good day to be an Episcopalian.

A good day to be someone who trusts that the Spirit is dynamically present in the people of God, and that includes me and you and the two ladies down the street, and the young child who is afraid to say anything about how she is feeling about the wrongness of her body. A good day to be someone who trusts that the Spirit has something to say to the rest of us through the experience of their lives.

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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 

But now ask the beasts to teach you,/ the birds of the air to tell you;/Or speak to the earth to instruct you,/ and the fish of the sea to inform you./Which of these does not know/that the hand of God has done this? Job 12. 7-9 from Morning Prayer



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The short reading for today's Sext or Midday prayer is simple and appropriate for All Saints Day: Be holy in all you do, since it is the Holy One who has called you, and scripture says: Be holy, for I am holy. Peter 1:15-16

The universal call to holiness, expressed eloquently in the Vatican II document, Lumen Gentium Chapter V, is for all, no matter their state. We are reminded of the two great commandments: Love God and love your neighbor. Holiness is not something we possess but a way we live. It is not something found only in hours on ones knees at prayer or in a church.

Holiness is the way, not the destination. It is sharing with others, with the world, the gift of Love and Divine Life placed in each of us. Read More 

The LORD is close to the brokenhearted;
and those who are crushed in spirit he saves.
Many are the troubles of the just man,
but out of them all the LORD delivers him.
Ps 34,19-20

...But we know where he is from. Jn 7,27a



I once heard a quote, sometimes attributed to Plato that admonished the hearer to be gentle with those she meets because she does not know the battles they are fighting. Today's gospel reminded me of that. Judging someone entails assuming we know a lot more about him or her than we possibly can.

Those who judged Jesus to be an impostor, a blasphemer, assumed they knew where he came from, and in one way they did. They knew where he lived. They knew he was a carpenter from a backwater town. But that was all they knew, and it was not enough. Read More 

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
Send victory like a dew, you heavens,
and let the clouds rain it down.
Let the earth open
for salvation to spring up.
Let deliverance, too, bud forth
which I, the Lord, shall create.
Is 45,7

Thinking of something budding at this time of year is hopeful. At the beginning of Advent, I bought a small Christmas Cactus plant for that reason. The first blossom has emerged, but a number of the tiny magenta buds have dropped. I don't know that that means; I hope not that no more buds will open.

Today's first reading reminded me of my new plant, and of the cold blanketing bulbs and plants outside. When I think of the earth being "open," as Isaiah writes, I think of spring planting when farmers plow and gardeners turn over soil with spades and trowels. But, thinking of the earth's openness in this season brings something else to mind. Read More 

PHOTO:Mary van Balen
Yesterday was a struggle. Perhaps, as my spiritual director suggested, this year's holiday season will be difficult. When she mentioned that a week ago, I was quick to respond: "Oh, I don't think so. I have been living on my own for close to two and a half years. Besides being legally recognized, not much has changed. I'll be fine."

She smiled, and knew better I suspect. This time last year my three daughters joined dad and me for Thanksgiving. This year, Dad is in a nursing home, and I baked a ham tonight to give him an alternative to turkey when my daughter and I have dinner with him at noon on Thursday. Later my daughter and I will visit one of my brothers and his wife. I need to be in bed early to be ready for work in at 4:45 am on Black Friday (Stay tuned for that one!).

Many times all three daughters have not been able to make it home for Thanksgiving. What is different this year is that there is no family home for them to return to, and there will not be again, at least not in the traditional understanding of "family home." Read More 

Painting: The Good Samaritan by Asian Artist He Qi
"Good energy," as my sister-in-law would say, has a life of its own, and last night it kept nine members of the spirituality group laughing and talking even after we had left the dinner table. Having moved into the living room, we presented a challenge to Noreen, the one who was charged with leading the unruly bunch in prayer and reflection.

I looked around the room and silently gave thanks for each person. We have been gathering once a month for seven years, committed to companioning one another as we move through life's joys and sorrows. Years ago we christened our gathering place "Sabbath House" because it provided a safe place of rest, renewal, and prayer, things I crave these days as I scrabble through a particularly thorny patch. Read More 

Once again, I spent part of my day substitute teaching; this time it was language arts. The students were quiet as they took a long vocabulary test and then opened “With Every Drop of Blood,” a Civil War novel by James and Christopher Collier, reading until the period ended. I took advantage of the time and read the novel myself. It tells the story of an unlikely friendship between a Southern boy, Johnny, and one of his captors, a Black Union soldier named Cush Turner. As the boys become friends, they realize the erroneousness of many stories and stereotypes about Blacks and Southerners they had learned growing up.

At one point, after Cush ‘s fierce desire to learn to read and his reverence for Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg address surprised Johnny, he began to rethink his assumption that Black slaves were inherently inferior to their white masters, and realized that he had never considered anything from the point of view of the slave. Read More 

PHOTO: Bead Creative
The call came early in the morning: A seventh grade history teacher was sick; would I like to sub?" Yes. As I prepared for the day, I smiled at the timing. For months I had hoped for calls to substitute, but none came. Then, after my first full day of working as a large department store associate, when I was looking forward to a hot bath and putting organization back into my office, I received the call.

Life has always been like that evidenced by expressions like "Feast or famine," and "When it rains, it pours." The mess of my office would have to wait.

After assisting students as they researched the Catholic Church in Medieval times (a particularly embarrassing stretch in its long history), I spent the evening with my father.  Read More