Until It All Comes Clear (blog)

I've been studying the art of photography - not because I want to take pictures, but because I'm fascinated with the idea of seeing something, capturing it, and sharing it with other people. Photographers use bright colors and contrast to catch your eye. They use lines to direct your attention, and light to focus it on a subject. They use viewpoint, depth of field, and a number of other techniques to capture the essence of an experience, so powerfully that you can easily recognize and find meaning in it. But technique is just the photographer's means of connecting us all creatively. The really beautiful thing isn't the picture so much as the experience we are able to share through it. Artful photographs capture the emotions of other people and make us feel things too. They can subtly suggest ideas to us, or stop us in our tracks and make us think critically. They fill us with awe and wonder at life in our universe by framing its ineffable qualities, revealing to us a larger picture, a greater reality. Photographs show us all that we've 'seen' but didn't really see. Do you remember the picture of the man carrying a mother and her baby through the flood waters after Hurricane Harvey? To me, that iconic image symbolized strength and compassion in a time of loss and suffering. What did it mean to you? That picture touched me very deeply because of my friend Kristen, who was trapped alone in her parents' house in Houston at the time. She was updating me by email, and we prayed intensely. Then I didn't hear from her for a day, which was excruciating. When she finally broke the silence with the news that she and the house were spared, it felt so good to share in her relief. Later, I remembered how through it all Kristen had clung to her faith in Jesus as her Lord and Savior, and how she had verbalized that faith to me even as the flood waters drew nearer. Kristen, a medical missionary working in Africa, survived the Ebola epidemic, and now is working hard to help prepare people there as the number of COVID infections increases. Her faith within all of the crises she has endured astonishes me and, like a beautiful and striking image, points me beyond what I'm seeing to something greater, to the strength of God's love and care for us in Jesus. Kristen's faith sees the enduring love of God, captures it and makes it real for me, so that I experience it with her, very poignantly. I'm so glad she shares it with me. What images will remind us someday of the unprecedented experiences we're all sharing in right now, in this time of global pandemic? When I searched "iconic photos of COVID-19" online, I found pictures of people in masks, of empty tourist destinations, of stressed and weary healthcare workers, of people dressed in personal protective gear sanitizing public transportation terminals...of Tom Hanks...One photo caught my eye and really captured what I feel is the essence of our shared experience (at this point, anyway). It's a picture of people stopped in their cars along the road, on their way to a testing station in Utah, near Monument Valley. I've read that the Navajo Nation has suffered severely with the virus. It must have been surreal, waiting in that long line of cars on what should have been a lonely stretch of desert highway, with the sandstone buttes rising austerely in the distance. People I'm talking with still feel disoriented. We're waiting to return to our 'normal' lives here in NJ, though we've no idea what that will look like. I've never thought of the immediate future as sure, but now I know better what murky looks like. Years ago I used a camera with actual film to snap pictures (that were amateur at best), and then took the roll of film to the local grocery store to be sent out for processing. It was hard waiting two weeks to see my pictures, and I never knew if they would come out bad or good. Isn't it interesting how photography is all about capturing light to imprint an image and yet one of the very first steps in processing those pictures happens in a darkroom? I don't really understand how it all works (except that chemicals are used), and I can't imagine how people are able to handle film successfully in complete darkness. I do know that somehow, clear pictures are developed in dark rooms - beautiful pictures, meaningful pictures. Every Friday long lines of cars and people form in nearby Bernardsville, at pop-up food pantries hosted by 2 local churches. What will the future look like for our neighbors who have lost jobs? The local newspaper published photographs of people who are giving of their time and resources at the pantry alongside those who are gratefully receiving the help. These images focus me beyond the immediate need to how God is at work to meet it. And to how He is at work in and through that need. They're so encouraging to me, those images, because they help me to believe that even if I can't see it clearly yet, something amazing and beautiful is developing. Something wonderful is being captured and shared in this dark time, there at the food pantries and in all of our experiences. This week while grocery shopping, I talked with a friend who works as a cashier there at the store. I've been praying with her for her daughter, who suffered a stroke in December and is still in rehab, but who has recovered almost fully and will be coming home in 2 weeks. "God is good!" my friend exclaimed through her face mask. I just stood there for a minute, staring at her through the Plexiglas shield between us. It was disorienting, to hear her say that at such a time as this, and it was beautiful. God is good - that is the experience we can all share in right now. Look around, do you see it? How can we capture it and share it with other people? One day, we will see all of the ways in which God was at work in this dark time. Until it all comes clear, our experiences can only deepen our longing for that glorious day.