Mary van Balen

PHOTO:Bernard Gragnon Statue of Saint Paul,Damascus




Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Go out to the whole world; proclaim the Good News to all creation.
Mark 16,15





Today is the feast of the Conversion of Saint Paul. You may remember that, while on his way to Damascus to round up more Christians to take back to Jerusalem for punishment, Paul was knocked off his horse by a blinding light and confronted by the risen Lord: Why do you persecute me? The event and its aftermath changed Paul forever.

I have a friend who said he would like to have a "knocked off my horse" experience, something that would help him know with surety what direction to go in his life. Wouldn't we all? With all due respect to Saint Paul, making a drastic life change would be easier to do if Jesus Christ flooded me with light and we had a heart to heart about what he wanted me to do. Of course, Paul needed courage and faith to follow his road which was fraught with conflict, persecution as well as success. His conversion and mission eventually led to his death.

Most of us do not have a "knocked off my horse" moment, but rather discern God's presence and direction in our lives bit by bit. Here our path is similar to Paul's.
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PHOTO: Mary van Balen
I know the plans I have in mind for you – it is the Lord who speaks – plans for peace, not disaster, reserving a future full of hope for you. When you seek me you shall find me, when you seek me with all your heart. (from Mid-morning reading, Terce - Jeremiah 29:11,13)

Today's readings continue to bathe us in hope, or more accurately, reason to hope. The first reading from the Mass is Isaiah 29:17-24. Verse after verse declares freedom from oppression "for the tyrant shall be no more..." In these lines the blind see, the deaf hear, and "the meek shall obtain fresh joy in the Lord."

When most news we read today is filled with accounts of war, suffering, and injustice, Isaiah's words bring relief. I read them over and over, silently and out loud, and they were like cool water sliding down a parched throat. They allowed me to hope and to believe that hope for the poor and hurting in our world was possible. Not only possible, but sure. Not an empty promise but a reality whose time would come.
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PHOTO: MAURICE FLOOD
"Out of my distress I called to the Lord,
and he answered me;
From the midst of the nether world I cried for help,
and you heard my voice...
Then I said, "I am banished from your sight,
yet would I again look upon your holy temple."

The waters swirled about me, threatening my life;
the abyss enveloped me; seaweed clung about my head...
But your brought up my life from the pit,
O Lord, my God.
When my soul fainted within me,
I remembered the Lord;
My prayer reached you
in your holy temple. Jon 2, 3; 5-6;7b-8

After a long night of caring for my father, I woke this morning after just a few hours of sleep. Life always looks darker to me when I am exhausted. Jonah's description of his predicament, prayed from the belly of a whale, resonated with me. Seaweed wasn't clinging to my head, but similar tangles of dread wrapped themselves around my brain making clear thought impossible and crowding out hope.

Two lines in this reading reached deep into my center.  Read More 

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 

Every day is a good day on the beach. A least that is my opinion. Yesterday morning I pulled a yellow rain slicker over my wool jacket, slipped the hood over a winter cap, and headed down Coast Guard Beach on Cape Cod. Not many people share my opinion of beach walking weather, I guess, because the shoreline was almost deserted. A few tourists stood at the top of the access steps and snapped photos of huge waves crashing on the shoreline. That was as close as they wanted to get.

I walked for hours between the high cliffs on my left that rose from the sand and the roaring ocean pounding the coast on my right. When I looked ahead, everything disappeared into thick, gray mist. The drops hitting my face were a tangy mix of rain and spray from the turbulent sea. Each breath drew briny air deep into my lungs where I imagined it worked the same healing as it did in my soul.

As gusts of wind pushed at the slicker’s hood, I tightened its draw stings and snapped the top fastener, walking with my head bent slightly into the blustery weather. Two pelicans were riding out the storm close to shore, disappearing into watery troughs and then lifted into sight again on the swells. Occasionally, gulls circled, but, but most of them had found shelter somewhere else.

A few crows had fun with air currents, feet dangling straight below their bellies, wings spread wide, they swirled, hovered, fell back, and plummeted down, sometimes colliding into each other as the wind took them for a ride. They hung on to brambles that covered the tops and edges of the cliffs and rested a moment before taking off again.

I often look down when I walk the beach, searching stony rubble, amazed by the variety of specimens tumbled and deposited by the sea. Yesterday I found a green stone circled by a textured strip of quartz-like crystals growing vertically, branching out and looking like a miniature stone forest. I put that one in my pocket. After a few hundred feet, the mounds of rocks disappeared, replaced by single stones laid feet apart.

"Why so far apart? Why alone?" I wondered. The pattern repeated until the beach disappeared into mist.

I walked between the stones, examining them closely: Some were a homogeneous black or charcoal gray. Others were brightly mottled wet granite showing off their colors. The variety was limitless: green, translucent, knobby rose-colored stones, dark ovals filled with tiny white remains of sea life frozen like meteors in a night sky.

Waves crashed and sent foamy arches of water washing over the solitary stones, flowing around them when returning to the sea. The stones looked lonely to me. Like people close enough to see one another, but too far away to touch. Receding water carved interesting patterns in the sand between the rocks and the shoreline.

I watched for a long time, not sure why my heart was touched by these lone sentries, keeping watch over ancient rhythms that smoothed their edges, left them alone on the beach, and one day would pull them back into its watery depths.

Leaving them untouched, I continued walking the beach, more aware of the Presence in which I moved. Read More