Assembly participants contributed scraps of cloth from many places to make a comforter for Heidi, our co-pastor who is living with cancer. Heidi has lived many places over the years, and so have people from the congregation. So there is cloth from Africa and Japan, and the Philippines, and other places. And there are many prayers that came with the cloth, and that continue to wrap Heidi and Mitch and the boys. And a moment of light from later in the day.... Sunday evenings, John and I attend Faith House Fellowship, a small house church that meets in the downtown house that serves as Faith Mennonite Church's office and gathering space. Tonight was the first time for a fire this fall -- light that we regularly enjoy when we gather for worship in winter's darkness.
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Early this morning I read Heidi's Caringbridge blog for the past two days, which held a mix of the hard times of radiation treatment and celebrating life in the moment. I headed out for my usual walk, carrying my camera, just as the sun was coming up. Here it is again, that combination of light and dark that so often appear together when I become aware of a spark of light, that moment which in some way causes my heart to sing. As I walked on, it occurred to me that those moments often cluster in transition times. Early morning and late afternoon light create more interesting photos than the full light of day; the change of seasons brings new color; life’s transitions often make us more acutely aware of the gifts of the present. A fall leaf is beautiful, and bittersweet, and precious because it is both. Returning home, I started noticing a scattering of diamond bright light sparking from the short green grass – morning sunlight hitting the dew on the grass blades. I didn’t bother pulling the camera out. I took delight in the light, but knew I didn’t have the photographic skills to capture it.
I came in to read today’s email and found this Word for the Day from gratefulness.org, a quote from Bengali poet and Nobel winner for literature, Rabindranath Tagore: For many years, at great cost, I traveled through many countries, saw the high mountains, the oceans. The only things I did not see were the sparkling dewdrops in the grass just outside my door. I had to go back out and commemorate my grass diamonds, whether or not the photo did justice to it. If you look closely below, you’ll find dewdrops, but the flashes of fire are missing. You’ll have to go out and look for them in the dewdrops in the grass outside your own door. What other sparks of light will you find as you look around your everyday life? For months our congregation has been lighting a peace lamp each Sunday. We hear about one of the world’s troubled spots, light the lamp and respond to the leader’s “The light shines in the darkness” with “And the darkness cannot put it out.” (John 1:5) This past Sunday one of our pastors, Heidi Siemens-Rhodes, shared with us that she learned earlier in the week that the cancer she had ten years ago was back. On Monday she had further tests and the news was bad. Not only is it back, but it has spread to several new locations. Radiation treatments started on Tuesday. Heidi, her husband Mitch, their three young boys, and their network of friends and family are still reeling. There are many tears, and many prayers, and many photos of candles posted to Heidi’s facebook page. “The light shines in the darkness.” It was raining Sunday as we heard the news, a slow, steady, relentless rain. As we anointed Heidi, we sang "Rain Down, rain down, rain down your love, God of life." (Jaime Cortez, OCP Pub) It kept raining all day. It has continued raining all week, interspersed with moments when the rain eases. Yesterday brought one of those breaks in the rain, and the sun even came out. I seized the opportunity to get outside and walk around my yard and garden, checking on things. My attention was caught by the splendor of sunlight reflected in rain drops scattered over burgundy rose leaves. The sight seemed to capture something of this week’s spirit of tears and of hope, of God's light shining in the darkness and in the midst of lament. It occurred to me that a good practice these next weeks would be to look for the daily moments of light, and to try and capture them in a photo or words. And having just gotten this website up, a blog seems a good way to structure this prayer of hope and attention. I won't post every day, but I will keep watch, with my eyes and with my heart. |
My approach to contemplative photography --
"Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it." Mary Oliver in "Sometimes" Archives
August 2020
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