Mary van Balen

PHOTO: MARY VAN BALEN
The official said to him, "Sir, come down before my little boy dies." Jesus said to him, "Go; your son will live." The man believed the word that Jesus spoke to him and started on his way. As he was going down, his slaves met him and told him that his child was alive.So he asked them the hour when he began to recover, and they said to him, "Yesterday at one in the afternoon the fever left him." The father realized that this was the hour when Jesus had said to him, "Your son will live."
Jn 4, 49-53a


Before assuring the official that his son would live, Jesus had rebuked him for his need for a sign in order to believe. As it turned out, the man believed before he had the sign: his son's recovery.

I am not as trusting, though I try. My biggest problem is trusting God with my young adult offspring. When children are young, parents have more control. Their words are truth, their instructions eventually followed. Young adults have seen their parents' clay feet, know they are full of misinformation as well as good intentions, and listen to suggestions with appropriate skepticism.

This is frustrating, especially when a young adult who once barely filled her mother's cradling arms is facing challenging times and difficult decisions.

I wish, after placing my children in Jesus' care, I could turn and walk away like the man in John's gospel. The official pleaded with Jesus for the life of his son, and when Jesus told him not to worry, the man didn't. He simply began to walk home.

The scene plays differently in my life.  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 

A new semester is about to begin, but I will not be teaching this time around. Instead, I am joining a host of other Americans looking for full time employment. As much as I enjoy teaching theology as an adjunct instructor, I cannot give the time and attention required for large classes while searching for a job that comes with benefits. Perhaps the opportunity to return to the university classroom will come again. Meanwhile, I am searching the Internet for openings and filling out applications.

This exercise requires me to revisit my educational background and employment history time after time. I imagine the application of a once stay-at-home mom who worked at a variety of part time jobs while keeping the home-fires burning looks different from those filled out by career people who have lost their jobs to downsizing and the poor economy. Read More 

Photos: NASA
"…Letting go of things we thought we could not live without…” The words crashed into my heart with such force that I glanced around to see if anyone else felt the tremor. All eyes were on the speaker; I jotted the words in my ever-present notebook and settled back to hear more.

Jay Jackson, a colleague and friend, was presenting his final paper, “Kenotic Aging: Life Discovered in Letting Go,” before receiving his Master of Arts in Theology degree next week. Kenosis is ancient Greek for “emptying” and is used in Christian theology to speak both of Jesus’ incarnation, emptying himself “…taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness.” (Phil 2.7), and our personal self-emptying that allows God to fill us with Divine Self.

Theological discussions can sound technical and far removed from everyday life, but Jay took Kenosis and brought it home: Self-emptying is letting go. This Christmas, my first not part of a couple, I am particularly aware of letting go. I won’t be arranging gifts under the Christmas tree at 2 am. Instead, I will drive a few hours to spend Christmas with my daughters at one of their apartments. Holiday preparations are minimal. Instead I am studying for the GRE, filling out applications, and finishing a freelance writing job.

Rather than allowing myself to become nostalgic and focus on what is not happening this Christmas, I am becoming aware of the upside of letting go: openness to new life and new opportunities. As Jay pointed out in his presentation, emptying oneself of some things opens one up to receive others. While that sounds exciting, living it out is not easy. Accepting new life and embracing new opportunities requires waiting, facing unknowns, and trusting that what eventually fills up the emptied places will be life giving.

Christmas invites me to trust. The Maker of All Things, Jesus Christ, became a vulnerable human infant, trusting Mary and Joseph to protect and care for him, to nurture him as he grew. Undoubtedly, he had to empty himself of human concerns and fears to be filled with Spirit and Love that enabled him to trust completely as he walked his adult path, embracing even death.
Jesus showed us what a human life filled with God’s Self looks like.

Sometimes, life does the emptying: Jobs are lost; loved ones die; accident, illness or age diminish vitality. Even before birth, emptying is built into our genes “programming” the basic physical and mental selves we begin with. “Letting go” can be accepting with grace what has been taken from us, not filling the space with bitterness and anger. Sometimes, the emptying is intentional, and we choose to let go of things in our lives.

I am reminded of a few lines of favorite poem by Sir Thomas Browne:

If thou could'st empty all thyself of self,
Like to a shell dishabited,
Then might He find thee on the ocean shelf,
And say, "This is not dead,"
And fill thee with Himself instead.

Kenosis is not a self- loathing type of emptying; instead, it frees us up to be our best selves. God created each of us, a unique and beautiful reflection of Divinity. As we move through life, that self is hurt, distorted, crowded out by life’s busyness and demands. Kenosis is an invitation to let go of everything that is not us, and let the bit of God we have been given to shine on the world fill us again.  Read More 

My friend and I took a back way to Panera’s for breakfast, using a new road that zigged and zagged through an expanse of flat field before ending in a parking lot that wrapped around the strip mall from behind. Surprisingly, the sharp turns unsettled my sensitive inner ear and motion sickness set in with each bend.

“Why the turns?” I asked. No hills, rock outcroppings, streams, nothing necessitated the erratic course. The black asphalt looked as though someone had painted it with a fat brush and jerky hand across a huge, pale canvass of dying weeds. How much easier to lay two lanes straight and even.

“They’ll probably fill this field with little shops and restaurants,” my friend replied.

The shops would have to be small, I thought. On the other hand, I don’t see the big picture. The road was like life, taking turns and changing direction for no apparent reason. By this time next year, no one will remember what the field around Panera’s looked like before our consumeristic lifestyle ate up one more parcel of rich farmland. Life takes longer, but eventually, I will look back and see how its crooked lines wrote straight, forget the motion sickness and confusion, and wonder why I couldn’t trust the sense of it all along.  Read More