Mary van Balen

On Wednesday, both my daughter and I had the opportunity to attend H.H. the 14th Dalai Lama's address on human compassion at the College of William & Mary. (The tickets sold out in 16 minutes the day they went on sale. Someone who works with Kathryn gave her a ticket. I resorted to standing outside with a borrowed "Ticket Needed" sign and at the last minute received the gift of a ticket from a kind young man in scrubs who seemed to already know a lot about compassion!)

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"I think you have a cricket in your basement," my sister said after spending the night in "the guest room," a queen bed in the, thankfully dry, basement.

I investigated, and sure enough, the cricked was chirping loudly and stopped abruptly for a few moments when I turned on the lights. Her hiatus was brief, and then her song bounced off the cement block walls once again.

Today, I found her, clinging to the side of an old brick next to the wall behind the dryer. I moved the dryer and she stopped her fiddling. We looked at each other. Well, I imagined she looked at me. I know she knew I was there.

"Thank you for your song," I said, "but you can't keep playing in here."

I walked upstairs and returned with a plastic container that had held treasures from my trip to the Northwest. I gave a slight bow to my guest, managed to guide her into the container without damaging her delicate instruments, and carried her upstairs and out the side door Read More 

"Have you celebrated that, Mom?" my daughter asked as I mentioned that this month would mark the beginning of my twenty-seventh year of writing my monthly column, "Grace in the Moment."

"Well, no. Not really."

"Well, you should. You should celebrate your accomplishments, and that is a big one."

I conceded that one ought to celebrate, but wasn't sure how to do something like that. I mean, shouldn't someone else plan the celebrating? It seems odd to throw a party for yourself.

"It doesn't have to be something big. Go out with a friend and have a drink, or go to lunch, or something."

She had a point. Our lives are busy with work, family, and friends. The house can always use some attention. There is shopping and laundry, and yard work. Who has time to think about celebrations? But we should.

Honoring our achievements is not bragging. It is a way to reverence who we are and the way we contribute to the world. Sometimes by our work. Sometimes just by who we are. Recognizing an accomplishment empowers us to go on, to build on what we have done. It is as much a push to the future as it is a nod to the past. Celebrating milestones is a kind of self-care: making sure we appreciate and nurture the gifts we have. Read More 

Today is the International Day of Peace, originally declared by the United Nations General Assembly in 1981 to be celebrated each year on the third Tuesday of September by a cessation of acts of war and access for humanitarian aid access in areas affected by war. In 2002 the date was fixed on September 21, and in subsequent years, a call to non-violence was included in the twenty-four hour observance.

People worldwide observe a minute of silence at noon, and various ways of honoring the day have emerged around the globe.

Today is also the feast of St. Matthew, evangelist, whose gospel includes the Beatitudes and the parable of the final judgement when all are judged on their love and charity to others. The reading from Ephesians 4 for today's Mass as well as the gospel reading (Mt 9,9-13), stress love, mercy, and peace. Paul writes< "...I...urge you to live in a manner worthy of the call you have received, with all humility and gentleness, with patience, bearing with one another through love, striving to preserve the unity of the Spirit through the bond of peace: one body and one Spirit, as you were also called to the hone hope of your call; one Lord, one faith, one baptism; one God and Father of all, who is over all and through all and in all..."

As I spent time in quiet prayer this morning the words "one God of all, who is over all and through all, and in all" lodged in my heart. Before we can bring peace, we must, as Vietnamese Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh writes, be peace.  Read More 

According to James Lipton’s book An Exaltation of Larks, a group of turkeys is called a “raft,” as in a large, often motley collection of things: a raft of books. (p 47). I do not intend to challenge the term found in the 1486 book by Dame Juliana, "The Boke of Saint Albans," or the earlier "Egerton Manuscript," 1450, but rather to add to it my own term of venery for a gathering of these birds based on personal experience.

One evening last week, all of us attending the writing workshop at Collegeville, ate dinner at the Episcopal House of Prayer just down the road from the Institute. After wine and lentil stuffed peppers, we walked to see the Oratory that sits next door. Chairs circled the diameter of the prayer room, pillows and mats dotting the space between the edge and the center circle that was filled with sand and held an ornate brass cross on a tall standard. The space above the center telescoped out in softly lit layers that drew the eye to the evening sky.

A small rectangular space sat at the four direction points, a window looking out at the nearby woods. Four women were gathered in one of these, looking outside and discussing a bird in their view.

I heard snatches of their conversation:

“Do you think it’s a wild turkey?”

“No. I don’t think they can fly that high.”

“Maybe it’s a turkey buzzard.”

As one who had made a list of birds I might see while in Minnesota, I walked over and looked out the window to see the mysterious creature.  Read More 

While in Pittsburgh visiting the Carnegie Museum of Natural History, I enjoyed the exhibit, "Read My Pins," a display of over 200 of Madeleine Albright's collection of pins and photographs of her wearing them as she conferred with world leaders. Ms. Albright, it seems, used the pins to alert those she met to her mood, purpose, or hope. It began after Saddam Hussein's government controlled media called her an "unparalleled serpent" after she criticized the leader. The next time she met with him, she wore a snake pin, a symbol of new life, though I doubt that was the message she was sending.

She mixed whimsy with pointed commentary, wearing pins of everything from flowers and dragonflies to wasps and American eagles. She wore a large zebra pin that lay across her shoulder when she met with Nelson Mandela, in honor of his homeland, and a trio of "see no evil, here not evil, speak no evil" when she conferred with Putin, who took offense.

The use of jewelry for more than the sparkle it adds to one's attire is not reserved to Madeleine Albright, though she may have raised it to a new level. Engagement and wedding rings give testament to marriage. High school or college class rings declare an allegiance to a particular time in one's life and a particular place of learning. Hardly "jewelry," the rash of colored plastic bracelets proclaim everything from one's faith to one's favorite causes to all who notice.

I have often worn jewelry to remind me of people, places, and relationships. They have become what Catholics call "sacramentals," things that remind us of God and help us to experience that Holy Presence with us.  Read More 

What is good has been explained to you; this is what the Lord asks of you: only this, to act justly, to love tenderly and to walk humbly with your God.
Micah 6:8 Afternoon reading (None)






Most days, walking to the grocery means passing a beggar sitting at the top of the steps that lead to the metal walkway across the busy street. He is a young barefoot man with a scraggly goatee and dirty clothes. Sometimes he holds a throw away plastic cup. At other times he lays beside the cup and covers his face with his shirt. I don't know whether it is a sign of humility, shame, or just an attempt to keep the bright sun off. I pass by making a mental note to keep some change in my hand on my walk back, but often I forget. Carrying plastic sacks of food, I walk past without adding to his daily take since unzipping my purse and rummaging through it to find coins or small bills is too awkward.

Poverty is all around this city. Families live in metal huts with no plumbing that sprout along alleys and streets behind store fronts and the plastic table and chair restaurants that spill out onto the sidewalks in the evening. Some street vendors have lovely carts refrigerated or piled with ice to keep fruits and meats cold. Some set up stands where they fry batter dipped bananas or bamboo and greens stuffed pastry. Others have little to sell and customers are few. How do they make a living? I wonder. Read More 

On February 18, Buddhists in Thailand celebrated Makha Bucha Day or Sangha Day. It commemorates the unplanned yet simultaneous appearance of 1,250 disciples before the Buddha nine months after his enlightenment. They paid him reverence and listened to him before setting out around the country to spread the teachings which became the root of Buddhism.

"You lucky to be in Thailand now," a friend of mine said. "February a holy month for Buddhists. You go to temple, buy lotus and candle, and walk with the people three times around temple."

I did. Sandra and I took a taxi to a nearby temple. The young Thai driver parked the car and led us through the rituals. We wended our way through vendors of flowers wrapped with three incense sticks and a deep yellow candle. We walked past a few people selling small wooden cages of birds, or so it seemed. Actually, they were selling the opportunity to set the birds free, a symbol of peace and freedom for the people.

The procession, called Vien tien, moved slowly clockwise around the temple with the people remembering the Three Jewels of Buddhism: the Buddha, the Dharma, and the Sangha. As I walked I again prayed to the Holy One who created us all for peace and justice in this world.  Read More 

My thoughts are not your thoughts,
my ways not your ways – it is the Lord who speaks.
Yes, the heavens are as high above earth
as my ways are above your ways,
my thoughts above your thoughts.
Noon reading Isaiah 55:8-9





I look over the ancient city bounded by sea and mountains, and think of the eternity of God. The Mystery. The One Who Is. The Holy One has known peoples from all times and places. Those of us who live on this planet in 2011, those who first walked upright and reflected on their own existence, and everyone in between.

I have walked archaeological sites in Europe and wondered at Stonehenge, touching the huge monoliths before ropes and restrictions made their appearance. I have walked into caves dripping stalactites and growing stalagmites from their floors. I have prayed in great cathedrals of Western Europe, and like the character, Lionel Louge, from "The King's Speech," have walked over great poets and authors in Westminster Abbey.

Those sites and experiences moved me to prayer and wonder, but walking in the midst of a culture so ancient and so different than my own provides a fleeting sense of the infinitesimal place I hold in the expanse of space and time that are but a moment in the eye of God.
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IMAGE:Our Lady of Gudalupe

The Mother of Heaven was standing in the very same place where he had first seen her. He knelt before her and said:
"Lady, my Child, tiniest of my children, I went to fulfill thy command. I saw the prelate and related to him thy message. By his reply I realised he did not think it to be thy order. Send, Lady, a person of mark that he may believe it. My lady, I am a paltry fellow, a man of straw, a bumpkin, a commoner and Thou my child, my lady, didst send me to a place I go not, where I stay me not. Forgive me the great grief I cause thee, lady and mistress mine."

"Listen, my son, least of my sons," the Most Holy Virgin answered him, "Many are my servants whom I can charge with my message; yet I wish it to be thou to make my petition, to help by thy mediation my will to be accomplished. I charge thee, go again to the bishop, tell him again that the Holy Mary, Virgin Eternal, Mother of God, sends thee."
from Nican Mopohua 1545 by by Don Antonio Valeriano

The small parish church I attend has a large number of Mexican members. For a few Sundays over the past month they have held a food sale featuring a wide variety of homemade Mexican dishes from tamales to tres leche. Everything is $1 and I never go away hungry. The sale raises money for the procession and celebration of the feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

The feast commemorates the apparitions of Mary to a poor Indian, Juan Diego, in 1531. She requested that a church be built at the top of the hill where they stood and instructed Juan Diego to carry her message to the bishop. He did, but the bishop did not believe him. Juan Diego returned to the hill and spoke with Mary, who sent him back to the bishop with her request.

On his fourth visit with Mary, she instructed him to gather roses growing on the snowy hill. She arranged them in his cloak and sent him back to the bishop with a sign he had requested. When Juan was admitted to see the bishop and opened his cloak to show him the flowers, the blooms tumbled onto the floor revealing an image on the inside of the cloak of Mary as Juan had seen her. The bishop fell to his knees and soon the church project was underway.

Over the years, the validity of this story has been questioned, as all miraculous events are. Scrutinized by unbelievers or others curious about such things, the cloak is preserved and displayed at the church on the hill of Tepeyacac near Mexico City. Juan Diego was canonized a saint in the Catholic Church in 2002.

Whether or not one believes that the image appeared miraculously on Diego's tilma or not, the story has something to teach us. Read More