Praying through the lens, through the year – the art of noticing

Rosie Homer reflects on prayer through the camera lens. 

 

“Stop. Look. Listen.”

 

A phrase drilled into me from a childhood living next to a railway line – said to me every time we walked anywhere and had to cross the track. Repeated religiously, one could even say.

 

That refrain has stuck with me. It still accompanies me every time I go for a walk. It still repeats… religiously.

 

Though I have spent the past three years living in an indoor workspace, surrounded by books and words and thoughts, God and Christ make most sense to me when I’m out in the natural world.

 

Outside, it’s easier to feel a deeper connection with my particular surroundings and what it means to be a tiny part of this incredible universe in which we live. To understand things in relationship with the Divine; and in relationship with our fellow inhabitants of this Earth.

 

A personal practice of mine is to go out with my camera at certain points of the year, around the ancient agricultural festivals that the church calendar so often joins up with. An intentional act of setting aside time to be present through the ever-changing seasons. Photography in this context is my way of noticing, praying, being.

 

Being open to noticing whatever it is that catches my attention… – Stop.

 

Allowing myself time to observe that ‘subject’ to the exclusion of everything else… – Look.

 

Noticing myself paying attention, and my relationship in that moment – to the world around and to the Divine Presence… – Listen.

 

For me, this is prayer without words or intention or liturgy. It is openness and participation in that which already is. Seeing the image of the creator reflected; but also aware of myself as one who is created; and joining in with the ongoing process of creation, in observing and playing with that observation, through the lens.

 

The end product, the image, is more of an incidental by-product of the process. Perhaps in a similar way that a religious icon may be used, the photograph (or the process of taking it) for me is not the image itself, but a means of seeing through it, into what is.

 

Maybe if we stop, look, and listen to our surroundings a bit more frequently and intentionally, I wonder if we might not so often forget the fifth ‘Mark of Misson’ of the Anglican Communion – “to strive to safeguard the integrity of creation, and sustain and renew the life of the earth.”