shadows of gray

I grew up thinking things were black and white.  Right and wrong.   Good and evil. 
Things were nicely compartmentalized.  Clean cut.  Sealed in nice boxes.


But, as I've grown older, I have come to realize that the world I live in is gray.
Things are messy. 

I am a musician.  Things are never as good as they could be.  We spend our time reaching for some attainable "white" perfection, which never comes.  Yes, that may be the best I've ever played it, but I still didn't get that one phrase - and that chord wasn't voiced the way I wanted it to be.   There are specks of black in the whiteness, and they meld together.      gray.

I am a Christian.  The Scriptures inform my theology, and yet my experience sometimes tells me, even screams, the complete opposite.  The wrong seems oft so strong, but God is the ruler yet.   How do I turn this truth into experience?  How do I reconcile the God of the Scriptures with the world I see around me?  There is much wrestling to be done, but I find hope in the Apostle Paul's exhortation: continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling.  On the one hand, it is finished.   Done.  Complete.    But on the other hand, it is up to me to work it out in the day-to-day.  What does it mean to live it?       gray.

I am human.   And on weeks like this, I am disgusted, mortified by what we are capable of. The darkness seems overwhelming.   daunting.  black.   And yet, there is beauty.   There is laughter.   I hosted a game night at my house at seemingly the worst time.   Finals.  The busy Christmas season.  On a day of terror and vileness and mourning and grief.    Black.    And yet, it was exactly the right time.  Because joy can exist simultaneously with sorrow.   They are not mutually exclusive.   Because tears of mourning can flow beside tears of joy.   Because we are capable of good and of evil, sometimes in the same breath.      gray.


This is why I love Advent.

Because Advent is gray.
Advent is not either-or.  It is both-and.

Advent doesn't ignore the pain.  the longing.   the sorrow.  the darkness.
Advent is waiting.   It is crying out "how long?"
Advent is need.  desperation.
Advent is black.

But Advent is also about hope.
Advent is living in the light of the promise. 
Advent is living the truth that the Baby is on His way.
Advent is clinging to the hope that it will not always be like this.
Advent is white.


Sometimes it's easier to live in a black and white world.  It seems simpler.  And the truth is: there are things that are black and white.  And for this, I'm grateful.

But I am thankful that there is also room for the doubters, the questioners, the wrestlers.
I am thankful for the permission to struggle, to work through my faith.
I am thankful for Advent - for it's rough, and even sharp, edges.  For it's messiness.  For its assurance that expressions of hope and despair can come from the same lips, in the same breath.
I am thankful for the cross, where sorrow and love flow mingled down.  Where the dark, grotesque, bloody blackness of our sin meet the unceasing, resplendent, life-giving whiteness of God's grace.

I am thankful for gray.