Photography as a Spiritual Practice: A Symbol of Hope

Photography as Spiritual Practice – A Symbol of Hope

Guest writer: Eve Turek

“Heaven is under our feet as well as over our heads.” – Henry David Thoreau

On a recent fall morning, burdened by all the trouble I saw and felt, close to home and far away, I sat with my journal and wrote these words:

“With all that is going on, going wrong, in the world, how and where do we find HOPE? As a photographer, I often seek an image to help answer that question or point to a pathway when I seek direction for my soul’s daily journey. How do we not lose heart? How do we continue to seek joy or peace or love, compassion or understanding when confronted by circumstances that seem to mock any of these as pipe dreams, impossible to achieve or sustain? Where shall I go? Lord, I do ask for an image of HOPE. I ask that. I need Hope now, Lord; we all do. We need some symbol, something to hold on to. Light in the dark. Please, that. I am asking for that.”

Then my analytical, photographer’s brain took over, trying to visualize what sort of image I could make, hearkening back to photos I had made before, like a dolphin leaping out of the waves or a shooting star flaming toward Earth from the heavens above. Either could seem symbolic of the hope I found elusive. I so quickly forgot I had asked the Lord of the Universe, the Great-Creator, for His symbol.

In the late afternoon, the glass ornaments I have hanging in my western-facing living room windows, as much to prevent bird strikes as to provide beauty to the room, often cast dots of rainbow color on the rug. But the day after I penned my morning request, I saw something I had never seen before, something I could not explain and had no frame of reference to pre-visualize. Suddenly, what looked like the shape of a large hand making the “peace sign” flashed in vibrant rainbow hues onto the carpet at my feet. I grabbed my phone and took a quick photo before the pattern changed and faded. I still cannot fathom what combination of sun angle and what particular ornament could have created the momentary pattern.

As I looked down at the floor where I walked, I immediately remembered Thoreau’s quote as well as familiar affirmations from Scripture:

“How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news, who proclaim peace…” (Isa 52:7; Rom 10:15)

“…having your feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace…” (Eph. 6:15)

I remembered that the One Isaiah proclaimed as the Prince of Peace told His disciples, and tells us today, “Blessed are the Peacemakers.”

As I ponder how best to live out my own daily life, bolstered by and infused with the peace that passes (or as I like to think, outruns) understanding, I find Hope that the God of Peace is with us, both as companion and guide, as we seek paths of peace to walk in.

Eve Turek

Grace Chapter Daughters of the King at Saint Mark’s Episcopal Church will lead a prayer vigil on All Saints Day, November 1, 2023, for peace in Israel/ Palestine. The chapel at Saint Mark’s will be open for prayers from 8:30 after Morning Prayer to 5 p.m. before the 12-step Eucharist. People are invited to attend the All Saints Eucharist at noon outdoors at the stone altar in the Columbarium, weather permitting, or 5:30 p.m. Eucharist, and to pray in the chapel during the day, invoking all the saints to help us pray for peace in Israel/Palestine. Prayers for peace will be available in the chapel.

Joanna Seibert https://www.joannaseibert.com/

Imagination as a Spiritual Practice: The Light Under the Door

 Imagination as a Spiritual Practice: The Light Under the Door

“The light under the door to your mind is your imagination. It is always glowing, always searching for a new idea, always alive and energetic. If you want to enlighten your spiritual life, try the one channel of contact to the Spirit that is the most direct: use your imagination. The curious, playful, unlimited vision of what you can imagine is a hint of how the Spirit thinks. It is a point of contact for us because when we open ourselves up to thinking and seeing in new ways, we are stepping into a sacred process. If you want to find the Spirit, open the door.”—Bishop Steven Charleston Daily Facebook post (3/7/2019).

Bishop Charleston affirms that using our imagination is one pathway to connecting to God. My experience is that my prayers are more meaningful if I imagine each person I pray for sitting near me or holding the hand of Jesus, God, or the Holy Spirit. I am turning each of them over to our loving God, who is guarding and caring for them.

In the forgiveness prayer from Contemplative Outreach, Ltd., we imagine being with someone who has harmed us. First, we sit in a safe place, with God beside us, as we tell the person how they have hurt us, and then we hope we can say words of forgiveness for the harm we may have done to them. This is not a one-time prayer, but a practice we repeat over and over in our sacred space until we reach the place of forgiveness—with God by our side.

In the Ignatian study of Scripture, we imagine ourselves in the scenes of Jesus’ life when he was on earth. We join the crowd following Jesus. We may become the Samaritan woman he meets at noon. We may stand in the crowd at the foot of his cross as he dies. We may be with the women who first discover he has risen.

In dream work, we practice active imagination by conversing with people and images as they present themselves in our dreams. In our imagination, these participants in the dream can tell us who they are and explain to us the parts of ourselves they represent.

Anthony de Mello encourages us to make albums in our imagination of joyful times in our lives. Then, we can return to our album from time to time, especially in troublesome times, to remember what we experienced. De Mello also believes that at the time of a past event, we never appreciated its richness. Therefore, returning to our minds and actually “getting back” into the scene can bring even greater joy, and we may feel greater love than when an event initially happened.

Imagination is one of our best spiritual practices.

Joanna   https://www.joannaseibert.com/

The Story of the Fourth Servant

The Story of the Fourth Servant

Guest Writer: Karen Dubert 

“Again, it will be like a man going on a journey, 

who called his servants and entrusted his wealth to them.” Matthew 25:14

I am the fourth servant

Somehow left out of the telling,

but very much still part—a player.

The event was noteworthy, significant,

Memorable—before the extended journey—

With delegation of duties.

I’m all about delegation, job description,

responsibility, accountability:

Just give me a task and stand back. 

The process, planning, purpose
captivate me as I am on my own journey:

—beginning and end points

—intermediate sign posts

—desired outcomes and goals

—estimated costs and returns

The timeline enchants and strategic vision justifies.

I digress. As I said, I am the fourth servant.

Our loving-strict, fatherly, ex-military boss

assigned the duties:

One received five: a diligent guy, wise investment.

Two received two: a kindness, really. Two had just

            recovered from a personal trauma. Otherwise, capable.

Three received one: he would have to set his mind to it,

            but it wasn’t an impossible stretch.

I was Four. I also received one—but neither I nor it was mentioned.

Delighted to be included, of course,

I could certainly manage one.

The chance for two or three would have been welcome—

But I’m not ambitious, just a pleaser.

So I set my planning into motion:

How to best look after this one. Thoughts

whirled with options and possibilities.

This amount—one—was limiting;

It felt confining, anyway.

Yes, I was grateful, but I could have accomplished

—shone, if you will—

with a bit more. But there you are—

I come from sea-faring folk,

so I looked to the sea.

Fish to be caught and sold:

profit to be made and invested.

Started small: hired a captain and his boat,

bought a middling net,

employed a few seasoned fisher friends

and Out we went.

We started well—caught and sold

—mended nets—paid the men

bought another net—and repeat.

Every day the weather permitted

we were on the waves:

straining at bursting nets, catching fish,

delighting in the tired muscles and breathless laughter

and wind in our hair.

Selling was not my strong suit:

I was tired and not shrewd

—those who sold for me were not kind,

not honest,

not just—

so I released them

and sold what I could

and gave the rest to the poor.

The weather turned and some days were empty—

but work was paid regardless of the take—

The seas were capricious:

what started well spiralled down.

The nets tore and wore;

We mended the mended bits.

No matter how we toiled and strove,

ends barely met.

Finally I could only pay my men with fish from the catch—

the net had out-lived its lifetime twice over—

there was naught to buy another.

What went wrong?

My plan had been careful,

the process clearcut,

the purpose obvious: make a bundle

make Him smile.

All I had to show was a battered net,

some faithful friends

and a few marginals with a bellyful.

Quite unexpectedly our master came home—

I thought there would be so much more time

(He’d been gone for ages, so I expected more.)

But out of the blue,

there he was with his entourage—home

and called each of us who’d been tasked.

You know the story, you heard the score:

One had made five more—high commendation.

Two had made two more—top marks.

Three had hidden his and kept it safe.

(I was wishing I’d been more circumspect—

but how could I have foreseen the bleak forecast?)

My heart sank when he was rebuked for his caution

—his one was given to One with ten

—Three was exiled, fired, extinguished.

Had there been somewhere to hide,

You know I’d have found it.

Instead I stood there—bare feet and tattered clothes

—stuttering my story

—I didn’t even have the one

I had nothing

Except a useless worn out net:

Not a thing to offer

for all my effort and strain and danger

I’d over-estimated myself, took on too much,

and now I was in debt—

I could not even pay back the one

He had entrusted to me.

My eyes groundward,

I felt the others’ eyes on me:

How I wished I could have been clever,

shrewd,

productive

like One and Two.

They were basking

as they deserved.

Hoisting courage I looked into His eyes,

raised my empty, weathered hands:

then dropped them and fell to my knees.

“Sir, I am so sorry. I have nothing to report:

No profit

No payout

I spent the deposit and it is gone.”

Cringing, I knew I deserved worse than Three—

but what could be worse than to be thrown out?

I felt a hand on my arm, a guard to take me away—

no doubt to debtor’s prison—

But it was my master.

“Reports of the poor being fed have reached me.

Widows and orphans,

the dispossessed and disabled.

Your fish have nourished hope in them—

You have repaid me

by feeding the weak in my land.

Come share my joy.”

Karen Dubert

Karen is a Third Culture Kid married to one and has raised two. She has taught and mentored in Eswatini, China, Moçambique, Zimbabwe and South Africa. Now in her autumn years she coaches young people for cross cultural work in southern Spain.

Joanna Seibert. https://www.joannaseibert.com/