Hinc videndum. For a number of months now – since our website has been revitalized and comtemporized under the watchful eye of Nicola, my wife – I’ve tossed around the idea of attaching to it a blog (or web log, in its abbreviated form) as a forum for the community of St. James to offer opinion, observation, accounts of personal experience and the like for the consideration of fellow parishioners; or for that matter, anyone who might trip over the site as they Google their way across the internet. In essence, ‘views from the pews’. Hence, the christening of said blog, intended to reflect not only a longstanding preoccupation of mine with how we, as individuals, uniquely see things, but to offer a tip of the hat to an early mentor of mine, a senior high school Latin teacher who has engendered in me a love of inquiry, language, and free expression.
This past Saturday a dozen or so parishioners joined Lynn, Lorne, and Ed Leidel, a ‘small church coach’, to have a look at the St. James community, our values, identity, and ultimately, purpose. A particularly compelling (personally) part of his presentation involved a short video prepared by National Geographic photographer, Dewitt Jones, and centered on the old saw: seeing is believing – turned on its ear to underscore his main point that, in fact, believing is seeing. Briefly, Jones was urging us to let go the expectations, structures, plans, rigidities that frequently surface when we are disappointed by a circumstance that departs from what we might have hoped or prepared for, often resulting in our abandoning it as time wasted, opportunity missed; and to be and remain open to the potential of what is before us. Ed’s purpose, in part, for the inclusion of this moving video was to provide a springboard into a discussion of ‘appreciative inquiry’ – more of that another time. For me, it touched an additional chord: a need to cultivate, to discover, if I remain in the metaphor, a lens through which to view the world, to focus our experience, literally ‘seeing again – for the very first time’.
Many years ago (forty to be precise), I had the good fortune as a young man to live for several months in London, England – although, with little money and fewer prospects, ‘fortunes’ were deemed to be something less than good at the time. Dusting off some of the memories, the tiniest shards of which involved a visit with an acquaintance to St. Paul’s Cathedral, I recalled only playing the standard, touristy game of planting our selves on opposing sides of the ‘whispering gallery’ and attempting to share ‘secret messages’ (privy to no one save the fifty odd other tourists playing the same game). Nothing of the compelling grandeur of the building, nothing of the quire, alter, dome, art, organ case; and most particularly, nothing of the light that pervades and illuminates Wren’s amazing structure. I might as well have entered with eyes closed, senses (for the most part) shut. (I also lived in Aix en Provence only to discover thirty years later that it was home to Cezanne, a now favorite of mine! What was I thinking? Probably nothing – as I picnicked on Mont St. Victoire.)
Early January this year, opportunity presented once again – seven days in London with the Cathedral Singers (Nicola and I are kind of the church music equivalents of band groupies – but don’t tell anyone) charged with the somewhat daunting responsibility of singing Evensong services in St. Paul’s for much of the week; but affording me the chance to revisit this marvelous building again – for the first time. Photographic prohibitions aside (Terry Marklevitz and I became practiced ‘belly button’ photographers), I looked and studied and framed and saw what had ever been there, but was hitherto unseen by me. My passion for and blessing to have found the camera’s lens as a personal conduit into the world, a compelling (and I’ve come to have very mixed feelings about this word) interface that beckons one for a closer, lingering look, has spawned a hugely expanded appreciation not just for the subject (that alone would be lots) – but the light, the angle, the changes cross time; and perhaps most important to my own growth, the readiness to sit and wait and watch, quiet, patient (hopefully!), reflective, appreciative – for what is.
Back to blog, as it were. A second means of my processing what I experience is to attempt to write about it in an effort to better understand my own reactions to or thoughts about. I certainly have no illusions that many (or indeed perhaps any) members of our community will have a burning compulsion to read the ramblings. What I do know – and what I had touchingly and articulately re-presented to me in Jones’ film – is that, from time to time, we all benefit from the discipline and added stimulation of a ‘lens’, a vehicle prompting, even demanding attention to our surround; one that pulls us out of the expected into the realm of the possible, the unanticipated, the unappreciated. My hope would be that some of you may, from time to time, wish to contribute your stories for the ‘consideration’ of the community – as we get to know each other better.
David Howard.
This past Saturday a dozen or so parishioners joined Lynn, Lorne, and Ed Leidel, a ‘small church coach’, to have a look at the St. James community, our values, identity, and ultimately, purpose. A particularly compelling (personally) part of his presentation involved a short video prepared by National Geographic photographer, Dewitt Jones, and centered on the old saw: seeing is believing – turned on its ear to underscore his main point that, in fact, believing is seeing. Briefly, Jones was urging us to let go the expectations, structures, plans, rigidities that frequently surface when we are disappointed by a circumstance that departs from what we might have hoped or prepared for, often resulting in our abandoning it as time wasted, opportunity missed; and to be and remain open to the potential of what is before us. Ed’s purpose, in part, for the inclusion of this moving video was to provide a springboard into a discussion of ‘appreciative inquiry’ – more of that another time. For me, it touched an additional chord: a need to cultivate, to discover, if I remain in the metaphor, a lens through which to view the world, to focus our experience, literally ‘seeing again – for the very first time’.
Many years ago (forty to be precise), I had the good fortune as a young man to live for several months in London, England – although, with little money and fewer prospects, ‘fortunes’ were deemed to be something less than good at the time. Dusting off some of the memories, the tiniest shards of which involved a visit with an acquaintance to St. Paul’s Cathedral, I recalled only playing the standard, touristy game of planting our selves on opposing sides of the ‘whispering gallery’ and attempting to share ‘secret messages’ (privy to no one save the fifty odd other tourists playing the same game). Nothing of the compelling grandeur of the building, nothing of the quire, alter, dome, art, organ case; and most particularly, nothing of the light that pervades and illuminates Wren’s amazing structure. I might as well have entered with eyes closed, senses (for the most part) shut. (I also lived in Aix en Provence only to discover thirty years later that it was home to Cezanne, a now favorite of mine! What was I thinking? Probably nothing – as I picnicked on Mont St. Victoire.)
Early January this year, opportunity presented once again – seven days in London with the Cathedral Singers (Nicola and I are kind of the church music equivalents of band groupies – but don’t tell anyone) charged with the somewhat daunting responsibility of singing Evensong services in St. Paul’s for much of the week; but affording me the chance to revisit this marvelous building again – for the first time. Photographic prohibitions aside (Terry Marklevitz and I became practiced ‘belly button’ photographers), I looked and studied and framed and saw what had ever been there, but was hitherto unseen by me. My passion for and blessing to have found the camera’s lens as a personal conduit into the world, a compelling (and I’ve come to have very mixed feelings about this word) interface that beckons one for a closer, lingering look, has spawned a hugely expanded appreciation not just for the subject (that alone would be lots) – but the light, the angle, the changes cross time; and perhaps most important to my own growth, the readiness to sit and wait and watch, quiet, patient (hopefully!), reflective, appreciative – for what is.
Back to blog, as it were. A second means of my processing what I experience is to attempt to write about it in an effort to better understand my own reactions to or thoughts about. I certainly have no illusions that many (or indeed perhaps any) members of our community will have a burning compulsion to read the ramblings. What I do know – and what I had touchingly and articulately re-presented to me in Jones’ film – is that, from time to time, we all benefit from the discipline and added stimulation of a ‘lens’, a vehicle prompting, even demanding attention to our surround; one that pulls us out of the expected into the realm of the possible, the unanticipated, the unappreciated. My hope would be that some of you may, from time to time, wish to contribute your stories for the ‘consideration’ of the community – as we get to know each other better.
David Howard.
2 comments:
Well David and Nicola, here is another fine adventure you have gotten us into. I would say that a church blog is inspir.... NO that would be too obvious. What is great about this idea is that it is another and rather revolutionary way to focus on the points of view of others while creating an opportunity to have your own voice heard.
As for our photographic escapades, I believe that a camera lens is by nature a very limiting device. It selects only part of a scene and allows interpretation of the viewer's vision which is often very different than the reality. To use this analogy it is important to remember that most serious photographers strive to see the bigger picture before focusing on the image through a lens. Shooting from the hip as we have done is a great way to have another eye on the scene while not obstructing the ones in our heads.
So how does all this relate to a faith journey? I do not know this is my first blog attempt. Perhaps it is very important to use faith as a way to study and express our own reality, never be with out or you may miss something, but never let it confine the opportunity to realize the bigger view or simply enjoy the 360 of our lives.
Well Done Again
Many years ago, in the early nineteen-fifties, I participated in a service of Holy Communion in Iona Abbey. It was evening, and it was April. Electricity had not yet come to the island and the evening was blustery. The salt laden sea wind whispered and sometimes wailed, through chinks and crannies of the old stone abbey not yet restored to its present state of beauty and completeness. The many candles in their iron stands glittered, and their flames bent and straightened in the cold wind of the Sound. To this natural accompaniment, the Cup was passed from hand to hand: the chalice was beautiful, made of plain clear glass and large and heavy; around its base were engraved the words, "O, Taste and See that the Lord is Good"; between these words was set a pebble from Iona's beaches. All the while this single cup was passing George MacLeod was speaking Jesus' words of comfort in that magnificent voice, which anyone still living who ever heard it will remember clearly.
During this 2008 season of Epiphany I had another memorable experience. I was given a secret gift of such amazing beauty, value, and appropriateness that for the first time in my life I felt overwhelmed with the grace to accept this in the spirit of Jesus' instruction to remember "the widow". This was, and is, an experience of Epiphany for me of life changing significance.
On Saturday 24 February at a workshop with Bishop Ed Leidel an extraordinary event happened to me. As we watched the video presentation of National Geographic photographer Dewitt Jones, we were shown Marion Campbell, the Hebridean weaver. When she entertained 'the stranger' and made tea, cut bread, put another peat on the fire - on the table in her croft house for a shining moment, I saw the Iona Abbey chalice and my Epiphany gift covered by Marion's beautiful, gnarled, work worn, kind hands. Two experiences, over half a century apart, blessed for me at a workshop in St. James' Stratford.
"Believing is Seeing"
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