Viewfinder Faith

I walked into class the first day, surrounded by a dozen teenagers, wondering, “What in the world am I doing here! How does this fit in with the rest of my life of potty training, ballet class, laundry folding, and moms group?” Shaking off my doubts, I pulled out my new camera, grabbed a pen, and started taking notes. ISO and aperture. Shutter speed and f-stop. I thought, “I know these terms, already.” Then I remembered why I was sitting in on my colleague’s class, hoping to quickly learn (at no cost) how to use the digital version of my daddy’s 35 mm camera—the one I first strapped around my neck twenty years ago, as I set out to capture my own high school photography assignments.

Eight classes later, and we had yet to take a photograph worth printing. It took over four hours of instruction just to show us how to set our digital cameras properly. In my anxiousness to get to the picture taking, I thought of my restlessness back in high school, too. All I wanted to do was get the end result. Apparently some things, as well as some people, haven’t changed very much.

While my young classmates listened to the ins and outs of photography, I found myself interested in terms like focus, composition, and subject on an entirely different level. It was as though I was sitting in on two classes simultaneously, scribbling notes pertaining to photography on the handouts while God was writing a lesson on my heart. I listened to the instructor lead us through the questions a photographer must ask, like: What is your subject? Where is it located on the frame? What is your depth of field, meaning is the whole picture or just the subject in focus? What does the light meter read? These questions reminded me of the times I’ve asked God, "What is your will for my life? What do you want me to do? How do I make Jesus the center instead of pushing Him to the edge?"

In one particular lesson, our instructor was leading us through the steps of setting the AF mode, which determines the exact point in which the camera should take its light reading. As I looked through the viewfinder, different points blinked on the scene before me. I followed her instructions to lock in on the AF point that was dead center. She explained that, for this class, you always want your light reading to be recorded from the center of your frame. At that moment, the lesson became clear as I pictured Jesus, the Light of the World, locked in as the center of my life. Dead center.

The camera fell from my face, which fortunately was strapped around my neck, thanks to the insistence of our instructor. Dead center. I squirmed. Dead center. My thoughts settled only for a moment, as class continued. The lesson wasn’t going to wait for my spiritual epiphany to conclude. I pressed on, fumbling to get that tiny little window up to my eye, while clicking the buttons as told.

Manually focusing the lens, while steadying a camera on my oily face (twenty years has not helped in this department!), is no easy task. As I struggled to focus on the subject, while evaluating the light meter, the viewfinder became an instrumental part of the photo-taking process. Unlike other digital cameras, the screen on the back is only good for viewing your photos and changing your settings. I’d forgotten the level of concentration it requires to use a viewfinder, yet realized a distinct benefit. When your eye is to the camera, ready to shoot at a moments notice, you’ll likely capture the photo with authenticity. Holding the position and viewing life through the lens, filters out the distractions of sights and sounds nearby that often cause us to miss the perfect shot.

As I squinted and clicked, I began thinking of how the process of following Christ is similar to that of viewfinder photography. Jesus reminds us over and over again in Scripture to follow Him. To the Rich Young Ruler, Jesus said to come follow Him. To Levi the Tax Collector, Jesus said to follow Him. To Philip, in the book of John, Jesus said to follow Him. I’ve often wondered, but how? What does that mean? God then whispered into my heart, “Become Christ’s paparazzi.” I pictured what that would look like, leaning beyond the crowd, stretching across the gate, crouched and ready with the camera. It wasn’t hanging around my neck or hovering out in front, but zoomed in on the One and Only star, captured dead center in my frame. That is what it means to follow Jesus. To be instantly ready to move, go, follow wherever He may go—to have a viewfinder faith that focuses on the prime subject, prepared to capture His beautiful composition.

I guess a least one thing has changed in twenty years. Now I know that following Jesus isn't about telling Him where to go so that we will get what we want. It is about watching where He's going, and keeping in step right behind Him.

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