Exploring Video as a Contemplative Practice

What is it about a video with not much happening but some grass moving in the breeze and a few bird songs that captures me, that centers me, that nourishes me? I’m not certain, but creating what I’ve been calling #QuietVideo is becoming an important contemplative practice.

Living in the pastoral setting of the woods and fields of southwest Michigan, as well as the particular beauty of the Hermitage retreat center where I work, I have plenty opportunities to partake of interesting and beautiful scenes.

A #quietvideo invitation to simply pause for 30 seconds and gaze at a tree. This is the first in a series exploring video making/watching as a contemplative tool.

I’ve taken plenty of pictures here, as well as done a few audio recordings of forest sounds, recently video has become the format that has captured my attention.

While taking still pictures can be a very valuable contemplative activity, what I’ve discovered in doing video is it forces me to stand and wait in real-time as the video is captured. I can’t just click and move on to the next shot, but I must stand there, quietly for as long as I want the shot to be. Experiencing time in place seems to be one of the critical experiences of creating video. And then, when I’m back home viewing my work, I must put in the same amount of time viewing the shots.

I started this project shooting 30 second clips. That felt like a long time to just stand there as nothing happened. I’ve moved up to 60 second clips. As I’m mostly shooting very still scenes with very little movement in the video, I feel like a minute is good length. If I had a little bit of action, or really good audio I’d consider going longer.

My tool for this contemplative practice is an older iPhone, with very little memory. I was out shooting this weekend and after 7 minutes my memory was full. This is far from ideal and naturally I covet a better camera and more memory but working within your limits can be a good practice as well. At times I will also use a hand-held audio recorder which records in stereo, and where I can also block out wind noise. So far, I’ve been very happy with doing single, still shots, so a sturdy tripod was a great investment.

Another in the #quietvideo series

A critical thing that video includes that isn’t present in photography is audio. (Fully silent video is an option, but not one that interests me at this point.) I’m very happy when a good image can be matched with good audio. I’m certain it is my affinity for and sensitivity to sound that has drawn me to working with video.

I’ve had a couple videos with bad or inconsequential audio, mostly due to wind rumble, and I’ve tried out created a soundtrack with me playing guitar. I’m not sure I’m as pleased with these as with the videos with the “natural” audio but it’s been a helpful learning experience.

When the sound I get with a video is nothing worth listening to I try to add my own soundtrack. I should spend more time getting it right, but there ya go. #quietvideo

I am very aware that I have very little critical knowledge with which to assess the things I am creating. I am not a cinephile, or trained in any artistic medium (excepting a year of guitar lessons). I have some awareness of design and some knowledge of my iPhone camera’s capabilities, but by and large I strive to work on awareness and instinct. Keeping my eyes and ears open and recording scenes that intrigue me even if I don’t exactly know why.

On one level I know I’m a hack just pointing my cheap phone at stuff but there is something about the experience of recording, and reviewing that makes me feel more present, more centered. It would be wonderful if I made videos that were by some critical measure “good”, but their real purpose is personal.

I’m aware of books on photography as a contemplative practice, but I’ve not found others who specifically talk about creating video as a contemplative practice. The work of filmmaker Patrick Shen certainly inspires me, and I’ve recently discovered and been fascinated by some of the works of James Benning.

I know that this practice nurtures my soul, and I know that through this practice I am learning of/experiencing God – but I’ve yet to figure out how to put this into words. A big part of what I like about my video creating experience is the complete absence of words. It is my hope that in the creating and viewing I, and others, experience small sparks of revelation, of awareness, of knowing beyond words.

You can find the videos I’m creating on my YouTube channel.

Amos 5:1-17. A targum

Hear these words of lamentation, oh you who are so comfortable.

Destitute, with no more power to earn are the accomplished.

Evicted, having defaulted on their mortgage are the entitled.

For this is what God says,

The retirement plan that once held thousands now holds hundreds,

The health care plan that once covered everything now charges you by the pill.

For this is what God says,

Seek me and live.

But do not look to your wise investments,

And do not enter your safe communities,

Or look for security from systems that upheld your privilege.

For your investments are lost,

And your safe communities have been flooded.

Seek God and live,

Or God will come to destroy al that gives you a sense of security,

And nobody will be there to protect you.

Ah you that turn laws into loopholes 

And make a mockery of justice.

Seek uprightness and not easy comfort,

That you may live,

So the Lord, the provider of all security will be with you.

Hate injustice and love love,

Establish compassion in your courts.

It may be that the God of your immigrant ancestors

Will be gracious to you all

This is what the God of the universe declares,

On all the cable news networks there shall be wailing,

And every Facebook post will be a call for help.

They shall call the bankers to mourning,

And those who tell sad stories to wailing.

In the big box stores there will be wailing.

For I will move through the midst of you,

Says our God. 

Disorientation and Welcome

I like to plan. I appreciate having an idea of what is going to happen and I presume others appreciate these things too. I want to put people at ease so that they will know what is going on and what to expect. I believe it is a welcoming and hospitable thing to do.

And yet, I also know that my preference to plan and to anticipate what will happen can muffle my ears and blinder my eyes to what is actually going on around me. Expecting one thing to happen means I am not willing to engage when some other thing happens.

Feeling disoriented is, well, disorienting and it is not comfortable. It leaves me vulnerable to the unknown. I experience this also on behalf of the guests who come to visit The Hermitage. For some retreatants this is their first time here and it may be their first encounter with deep silence. A key part of my job of welcoming is to orient them to how things happen here and what to expect – to remove their own disorientation and dis-ease (whether it is real or projected.)

I remember a pilgrimage my wife and I took to Ireland. Travelling is hard for me, because there are so many unfamiliar things and all my planning can’t prepare me for them all. At the first gathering of our pilgrimage group our leader named the disorientation that many (all) of us were feeling, and the importance of accepting and living in that disorientation. That disorientation is necessary if there is going to be any kind of reorientation.

And so, I need to learn to allow some space for disorientation for our guests and for myself. The next time a guest arrives late for Saturday morning centering prayer after we’ve finished the introduction, (although I feel uncomfortable with the individual’s possible disorientation), I will pray that this be a time of reorientation – both for the guest and me. I will pray that we both are able to simply receive God’s reorienting welcome.

On People, Podcasts, and Being an Introvert

For nearly a year I have worked at a job where I need to be present to people in a way that I’ve never before been. As the Guest Services Coordinator at a retreat center part of my job is to be present to people – on the phone, via email, and in person. Even if there is not a lot of conversation – and being a gently silent retreat center, there usually isn’t a lot of conversation – I am conscious of being present to our guests. I am attentive to their reservation requests and the questions that usually follow. I am attentive to when they arrive and whenever possible, going out to greet them as they walk from their car. I am attentive to them as they join the staff for conversation after morning prayers. I am attentive to them as I prepare and serve meals taking into account guests’ dietary needs.

And my attention to people is not limited to our guests. My work colleagues include my wife and another married couple and our relationship is deeper than merely work-mates – and these relationships require deep attention.

This work of being attentive to people is in strong contrast to my previous job. In my previous work “behind the scenes” in a library, being attentive to others was not part of my job description, and not often part of my work life. My relationships with my colleagues were usually good but largely functional. I also spent a good deal of time working alone.

And podcasts?

In my previous job, and off the job, I listened to a lot of podcasts. While I tended to avoid overly long, overly chatty podcasts, I had people speaking in my headphones for several hours each day. I really enjoyed hearing interesting people tell stories, conduct interviews, and solve crime or science puzzles. There were a lot of people with a lot of words.

Since transitioning to this new work life, I’ve found my interest and desire to listen to clever and the wise words piped into my ears has significantly declined. The talk-filled programs now tire me more often than engage me. I feel bad about this, because I appreciate these podcasts and their creators, but I just don’t have it in me to give my attention to all those people and all their words. It’s not them, it’s me.

It’s not that the headphones have left my head. By no means. Spotify now pipes all sorts of sounds into my ears. But its all music. I’ve noticed that much of the music I’ve been listening to lately either has no words, or the lyrics are in a language I don’t understand. I’m also playing a ton more guitar.

As an introvert I am intrigued to see how I am responding to/coping with a job that involves me putting myself out for people. I love our retreat guests and am honored to offer them my attentive hospitality. And, this attentiveness to the people before me doesn’t leave space for me to give my attention to the people and their podcast world.

The Sounds of Pentecost

I’m increasingly attentive to the presence of sounds/hearing in the Christian scriptures, and today’s story of Pentecost is filled with them. From Acts 2

• there came a sound like the rush of a violent wind

• and began to speak in other languages

• And at this sound the crowd gathered

• each one heard them speaking in the native language 

• And how is it that we hear, each of us, in our own native language?

• let this be known to you, and listen to what I say

• and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy

• Then everyone who calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved.

This exemplifies that God’s presence is often an aural experience. It is in the various sounds, and the listening to the sounds that the presence of the Holy Spirit is made manifest.

This isn’t to diminish the beautiful and power visual imagery of the tongues of flame - and the joyous and powerful red of this Sunday, but the first indication of the Spirit was sound, and the result of the Spirit was more sound.