The 60-Second Sabbath

Just One More Prophet

"You're crazy," they announce,
    after hearing him articulate
        his experience of the sacred,
    after witnessing
        his unreasonable joy
    after seeing
        his love for what they could not comprehend.

"And not only crazy
    but perhaps dangerous...
    and certainly not one of us,
        the faithful."

Then comes a voice they can not recognize
    (though he does--yes!),
        the voice of the formless,
        the voice of his gap-filler,
        the voice of his center:
    "Oh, he's crazy all right," says the voice,
        crazy like divinity,
            like holy insanity.
    If it makes sense,
        how can it flow from the infinite?"

"Crazy," they say again, unhearing,
    shaking their heads,
    shutting their doors,
        their windows,
    shading their hearts
       from the painful light of innocence.

They retreat into safety.
He expands into all.

Text and image © 2019 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
Visit PhotosByDirk.com for fine-art photography.
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August

I lean over the sink
    nectarine in one hand
        paper towel in the other.

First bite:
    impossible sweetness.

Second bite:
    juice runs down over my fingers, my palm,
        drips into the sink.

All subsequent bites:
    messy, sensuous delight.

I'm over summer's heat,
    but these nectarines can live forever.

Text and image © 2019 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
Visit PhotosByDirk.com for fine-art photography.
Visit The60SecondSabbath.com, where spirit and image merge.

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Follow this link: https://www.churchpublishing.org/contemplativevision

Thursday Prayer

God-ever-with-us,
    God giving and forgiving,
        passionate and compassionate,
            graceful and gracious,
grant us freedom from blame.

Replace our blaming with action.

Replace blame with love.

Amen.

Text and image © 2019 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
Visit PhotosByDirk.com for fine-art photography.
Visit The60SecondSabbath.com, where spirit and image merge.

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Follow this link: https://www.churchpublishing.org/contemplativevision

On the Gospels

What's your favorite gospel?
    Matthew?
    Mark?
    Luke?
    John?

I've heard it said
    that Matthew is the gospel of sinners,
    Mark the gospel of adventurers,
    Luke the gospel of crusaders,
    and John the gospel of orphans.

Of course I speak poetically, metaphorically,
    but I've generally found this to be true.

Do I think of myself more as a sinner?
    an adventurer?
    a crusader?
    an orphan?

Definitely an orphan,
    which is why the gospel of John
    appeals to me,
    speaks to me,
    moves me,
    engages me,
    connects me with the Divine
more than the others.

I love them all,
    but John is my gospel,
the gospel of orphans, mystics, and dreamers.

How about you?

Text and image © 2019 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
Visit PhotosByDirk.com for fine-art photography.
Visit The60SecondSabbath.com, where spirit and image merge.

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Follow this link: https://www.churchpublishing.org/contemplativevision

Sacrilizing, Part 2

After posting last Thursday on "Sacrilizing"
    (click here to see that post:
        https://www.the60secondsabbath.com/photos-by-dirk/2019/08/sacrilizing.html)
a friend responded on Facebook with several questions:

    What does this look like in daily practice?
    What does it feel like?
    What doesn't it feel like?
    When do we know we’re doing this?
    What’s the first tangible sign we’ve drifted off track?

I've thought a lot about these questions since last week,
    and, mostly for my own sake,
I want to try to answer them
    or at least to reflect on them, even if not directly answering.

These are themes I frequently address in my blog posts--
    mindfulness, attention, awareness.
All are key factors in "sacrilizing."
    When I engage mindfully in any activity--
cooking, bathing, doing laundry, ironing, walking, eating--
    I feel at peace, I feel lighter, I feel more alive,
I feel, in a word, happy.
    With mindfulness and awareness,
even the most mundane activities
    become pleasurable, are not a chore;
mindfulness and awareness bring joy...
    simply because that is the result of mindfulness and awareness;
be fully with and in the activity,
    and your heart is lighter, fuller, clearer.

There are lots of places to learn more about mindfulness--
    plenty of good resources exists (print, audio, digital).
Mindfulness takes commitment and practice,
    but it can bring rewards fairly quickly.

Sacrilizing also involves keeping front of mind what I believe is true
    about God and my relationship to God
(and for that matter, all of our relationships to God):

• God is all and in all.
• We are one with God and God with us;
      the idea that we are separate from God (or each other) is an illusion.
• We are one with each other.
• We are one with God's creation.

So, when I make pesto, as I did last Friday,
    I am aware that the hands that are making the pesto
are not just mine, but also God's.
    I am aware of all that went into the basil I just harvested from my patio--
the original grower of the young plants we purchase at Home Depot
    (and all the people involved in shipping, displaying, watering, selling them),
as well as the care with which Tim and I planted them,
    how often we trimmed them, watered them,
moved them out of harm's way (a hail issue here in Denver).
    With this awareness comes gratitude.
I smell the basil as I pull each leaf off the stem.

I enjoy the same awareness as I measure out the olive oil,
    as I spoon out the crushed garlic and shredded Parmesan,
as I pour in pine nuts.
    All my senses rev up.
I am in the moment, experiencing flow.
    I enjoy our kitchen gadgets,
including the food processor that then blends these ingredients
    and creates fresh, fragrant pesto in about 30 seconds.
When I remove the lid from the processor--Yes!
    we created this...God and I and everyone involved in the long process
of bringing to our home all these good ingredients.

This is sacrilizing.
    This is when making pesto becomes a holy act.

What I do is sacred--and feels holy, honoring, respectful,
    gracious, loving, celebrational, centering, complete--
when done in this way.

(And not to try to sell more books,
    but this is what Contemplative Vision is about,
though specifically in regards to photography;
    the concept carries over into most any other activity.)

When do we know we have drifted away from this?
    When what we do fails to bring joy.
When what we do feels like drudgery.

It's not just you,
    it's also the Divine, God, Presence, the Source.

It's not going through the motions,
    it's being here, now,
which, incidentally, is the only place we find God--
    here and now.

And that's how sacrilizing looks and feels to me.

Text and image © 2019 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
Visit PhotosByDirk.com for fine-art photography.
Visit The60SecondSabbath.com, where spirit and image merge.

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Follow this link: https://www.churchpublishing.org/contemplativevision

Sacrilizing

Can you make sacred
    all you do?
Whatever you do,
    can you do it with intention?
    with spiritual intention?
    mindfully, with awareness of the divine?

We do nothing alone;
    we are always in partnership with God,
and how we move through our days
    impacts God, ourselves, other, the world around us.

All of life is sacred,
    no matter how thrilling the moment
or how mundane.

Can you sacrilize this day?

Text and image © 2019 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
Visit PhotosByDirk.com for fine-art photography.
Visit The60SecondSabbath.com, where spirit and image merge.

Have you ordered your copy of Contemplative Vision: Photography as a Spiritual Practice? 
Follow this link: https://www.churchpublishing.org/contemplativevision

On Justice

I know of two types of justice:

    retributive and restorative.

Retributive justice views crime
    as the breaking of a law.

Restorative justice views crime,
    not just as the breaking of a law,
but as an action that hurts, harms, damages
    people, relationships, communities.

Retributive justice demands punishment.

Restorative justice requires,
    not just punishment,
but healing, helping, reconciliation, repair, renewal.

Retributive justice is the easier of the two,
    less nuanced, less need for relationship.

Restorative justice requires thought, sacrifice,
    compassion, mindful attention, meaningful interaction,
love...
    you know, biblical stuff.

Jesus promotes restorative justice over retributive justice.
    Restorative justice is God's justice.

If you have kids,
    consider the difference been retributive discipline
(evening the score)
    and restorative discipline
(healing, reconciliation, growth).
    Isn't restorative discipline what you want for your children?

Isn't restorative discipline what God wants for God's children?
    Aren't we all God's children?

Text and image © 2019 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
Visit PhotosByDirk.com for fine-art photography.
Visit The60SecondSabbath.com, where spirit and image merge.

Have you ordered your copy of Contemplative Vision: Photography as a Spiritual Practice? 
Follow this link: https://www.churchpublishing.org/contemplativevision

Hospice

She lies in bed.

Where are you now?
    I wonder.
Clearly, you are in the transitional zone;
    you are here, but you are not.
How much of you remains,
    you who told the stories,
you who lived into life,
    you who danced without inhibition
        through the obstacles, the barriers
            of your unique, singular life...?

Your nightgown is printed all over
    with the word dream, rest, sleep.

You shrink, shrivel,
    collapse inward.

The television drones in the background,
    a white-noise, white-vision companion.

You lie suspended
    between this life and the next.

I lift the bedspread and sheet
    and find your hand, tightly balled,
but as I slip one finger into the curl,
    it loosens, it welcomes more fingers,
clasps them, recognizing affection,
    love,
longing,
    memory.

Your face reflects your pending departure,
    packing itself inward,
your body down-sizing,
    preparing for the move.

What's it like,
    hanging in this in-between,
straddling the liminal line?

When the tiny slits of your lashless eyes close,
    what do you see?
What do you feel?
    peace? anticipation? fear?

In your more present moments--
    "present," that is,
because who can imagine what presence,
    beyond imagining,
beyond us,
    you're now knowing?--
you profess confidence in your Savior,
  as you have throughout your life.

This is you, fearless,
    ready to move on,
forward,
    inward,
upward.

We talk to you--
    loudly, because your hearing aids
rest in their charger on the night stand--
    about the past,
and about laughter and those we loved,
    and about how much you mean to us.

We recall times you cared for us,
    babysat us, fed us,
took us to movies, the beach, for dinner,
    for ice cream, sat with us in church.
We recall when you made your holiday popcorn balls
    wrapped in colored cellophane,
when we decorated your Christmas tree...

Are you still my aunt?
    Of course--
you may now be, in fact,
    more essentially my aunt
than you've ever been
    as you leave behind the nonessentials,
drop whatever unnecessaries and annoyances
    plague us as humans,
release the need to be anything other than who you are,
    deep inside,
in that place where you and God
    have always been one,
completely at rest,
    entirely whole,
all the aunt, daughter, sister, child of God,
    you were ever meant to be.

So that's where you are.
    I get it now.
Here or there, now or then,
    I want that too.

You are both here and there,
    now and then,
on your way to there, to then,
   to a joyful, free and simpler there, then.

Do you understand that I am saying goodbye?

Text and image © 2019 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
Visit PhotosByDirk.com for fine-art photography.
Visit The60SecondSabbath.com, where spirit and image merge.

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Follow this link: https://www.churchpublishing.org/contemplativevision

On Waiting

From Teilhard de Chardin:

    Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
    It is the law of progress
        that it is made by passing through
        some stages of instability--
        and that may take a very long time...

The future--
    your future, my future--
is unknown and uncontrollable.

This is life.

The unknown, the uncontrollable
    can be a doorway to the divine.
It's okay to live in suspense,
    to live incomplete.

God works slowly;
    each stage from here to there
is necessary for us;
    each stage prepares us for the next.

Living in that space between here and there
    requires the grace that is faith.

Can I relax into
    the uncertainty?
the wait?
    this in-between?

Can I trust God?

If all were certain,
    I'd need no faith.

Text and image © 2019 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
Visit PhotosByDirk.com for fine-art photography.
Visit The60SecondSabbath.com, where spirit and image merge.

Have you ordered your copy of Contemplative Vision: Photography as a Spiritual Practice? 
Follow this link: https://www.churchpublishing.org/contemplativevision

What Does It Feel Like to Be Alive?

She was enslaved...
    times two,
first to human captors,
    using her for financial gain,
and second to some sort of spirit
    that enabled her to foretell the future
and uncover hidden knowledge.

She was enslaved,
    exploited,
likely abused.

She was not free,
    not the woman
God dreamed for her to be.

When she sees Paul and companions,
    she follows them "for days,"
continually crying out:

    You, like me, are also slaves--
        slaves to the Most High God--
    and you proclaim to us
        a way of salvation.

Is this hidden knowledge, now revealed?
    Are Paul and company really "slaves to God"?
Are we hearing the voice of the spirit of divination,
    or does she now announce divine truth?
Might it be both?

In the name of Christ,
    by the grace of God,
Paul orders the spirit, "Out!"
    and it is gone,
much to the annoyance of her owners;
    what good is she now?
There goes retirement.

Paul and buddies end up stripped, beaten, imprisoned--
    this business of standing up for others is a risky one;
freeing people--spiritually, mentally, physically--
    requires sacrifice.

And the woman?
    The story leaves her future a mystery,
but I imagine her saying,
    as she finds her way back to her family,
"This is what it feels like
    to be alive."

    This is what it feels like
        to be alive.

(Read the story in Acts 16:16-34.)

Text and image © 2019 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.
Visit PhotosByDirk.com for fine-art photography.
Visit The60SecondSabbath.com, where spirit and image merge.

Have you ordered your copy of Contemplative Vision: Photography as a Spiritual Practice? 
Follow this link: https://www.churchpublishing.org/contemplativevision