Mary van Balen

"Three snows after the forsythia blooms"


How long will it last, O Lord?
Will you be angry for ever?
Will your anger blaze up like a fire?
Mid-Morning (Terce) Ps 79,5



My grandma, Becky, used to share this folk wisdom about forsythia and snow each spring as we waited for warm weather to arrive and stay. While on a walk this morning, I saw these forsythia blooms capped with snow that fell the day before: "One," I counted.

I relish lingering cold weather, not one to bask in summer heat, but I know I do not share that sentiment with many in this mid-western state. Becky's adage can also serve as a metaphor for spiritual life and vitality.

As we journey through Lent, we hope for the triumph of Easter Resurrection to fill us with joy and to strengthen our faith. Is Easter what does that? Or is it the waiting, the faithful perseverance of our journey that works this miracle in our souls? Read More 

PHOTO: Mary van Balen
I take heart remembering that Blessed Pope John XXIII, in his autobiography, "Journal of a Soul", called himself a beginner when it came to prayer, always a beginner. Last night I went to bed in an agitated state, thinking about full time jobs and my lack of having one, the mess waiting to be neatly repacked in boxes, and final papers for the dissolution. I woke in pretty much the same state, so I shouldn't have been surprised when quiet prayer was anything but quiet. Read More 

PHOTO: A U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service Employee

Waiting for Dad to don pajamas and prepare for bed, I sat on a couch tucked away in a nook off the nursing home’s wide hallway. I checked voicemail, made a few calls, and then looked out the window beside me and watched a spider working on her web. She was large, her bulbous abdomen marked underneath with an orangey hourglass shape, and her long legs were darker at each joint. She waved them about until they detected a strand of silk, then she hurried along it to the end. Once there, she dropped quickly to another point along the window frame where she attached the new thread, then began waving her legs around again.

I looked at the web from a variety of angles but could see no pattern let alone the familiar radiating design I expected. Read More 

They said to him, "Who are you?"
Jesus said to them,
"Why do I speak to you at all?"
Jn 8, 25

As I read the passage from John, these words stopped me dead. I have heard them before. I have muttered them myself. I smiled, not at Jesus' frustration with those who never seemed to "get it" no matter how many ways he tried to say it: I am the one sent by God; When you see me, you see the Father; You have greater than John here..."

I smiled at the common human experience of not being able to make oneself understood. We have all been there. Mutual lack of understanding is built into the parent/child relationship. You many not be a parent, but everyone was a child. We can identify with the exasperation of the Son of God. Divinity not withstanding, he just couldn't make those people understand.

Sometimes I think most of Jesus' disciples were particularly dense. Or, more kindly, I imagine their minds were not open to a reality as radical as the one Jesus was presenting to them. I should choose the kinder interpretation because many times, I am standing right with them.

How often have I failed to recognize God-With-Me or doubted the Presence of the Holy One working in the world? Overcome with uncertainty, with the current state of humanity, I don't get it. I don't remember that as Julian of Norwich so positively proclaimed: "All will be well," and that it will be well because the One Who Created All Things will not abandon what has been made.

One the other hand, I also know there are those who, like the Psalmist in today's reading, are destitute, suffering beyond anything I have known, and who feel alone:

My heart is stricken and withered like grass;
I am too wasted to eat my bread.
Because of my loud groaning,
my bones cling to my skin.
I am like an owl of the wilderness,
like a little owl of the waste places.
I lie awake;
I am like a lonely bird on the housetop.
Ps 102, 4-7 Read More