Deacon Dave Lawson, photographer, lecturer, and deacon at St Austin’s and St Teresa of Avila in St Helens, shares his thoughts following a silent retreat at St Beuno’s Jesuit Spirituality Centre.

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St Beuno’s, nestled deep in the quiet countryside of North‑West Wales, is a place where silence does more than settle—it reshapes. Returning there for a weekend retreat, I found myself stepping out of the familiar hum of parish life: emails, schedules, conversations, responsibilities. In their absence, a spaciousness emerged. And in that space, images began to speak.

As both a photographer and a deacon, I discovered again that making and contemplating photographs can become a form of prayer. Art does not replace prayer; it becomes one of its languages. It offers a way of noticing God’s presence, listening for His voice, and allowing ourselves to be changed.

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Photography trains attention. When I lift the camera, I slow down. I look for light, texture, relationship - the quiet threads that hold creation together. On retreat, that discipline of attention felt like an extension of the silence itself. Both invited me to be present.

One image stayed with me: a close‑up of a tree trunk with a simple wooden cross nailed to it. Nothing dramatic. Nothing staged. Yet it reminded me that the sacred often lies where we already are—rooted in the ordinary. The cross and the bark together whispered that God’s signs can be humble and hidden, and that creation itself can hold revelation.

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Art deepens faith when we allow it to become a daily practice. Carry a camera. Keep a sketchbook. Notice small mercies each day.

One night, I photographed a small stone chapel beneath a sky scattered with stars. The warm, human‑shaped stone stood against the vastness of God’s creation. That contrast became a visual prayer: our liturgies are small lights in a wide universe, yet they matter. Ministry is often quiet, but it helps others stand in wonder.

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Light is the photographer’s first language. It shapes what we see, what we miss, and what we treasure. One evening, the sun filtered through a stand of trees, reminding me of the retreat’s lesson about thresholds—day yielding to night, work giving way to rest, the steady faithfulness of God’s light even as it changes form.

Photographing that moment felt like naming a truth I had been given in silence: grace arrives in transitions. Beauty can be a sacrament that points beyond itself.

Sharing Images as Prayer  

Let your photographs become the focus of a short prayer. Name what they reveal about God, creation, or your own heart. When we share images with one another, we offer not just a picture but a glimpse of grace.

Invite friends or parish groups to walk in silence, make images, and gather to share what they noticed. Let the photograph and the reflection speak to one another. Art becomes a gentle invitation into contemplation.

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A Prayer for Seeing  

Gracious God,  

thank you for the gift of seeing.  

Teach us to notice your presence in the everyday;

in sunlight and starlight,  

in quiet paths and familiar places.  

May our art draw us and others closer to you,  

and become a gentle doorway into the silence  

where your voice is heard.  

Amen.