October 6, 2021
I had noticed that the red-leaved side was south-facing, which I guess means that it has more sun. What I learned was that that is kind of true, but not in the way I think. Because it usually got more sun, the red side was ‘feeling’ the lessening of sunlight hours that autumn brings and was responding by producing less chlorophyll – which is what makes the leaves green. The green side hadn’t noticed the lack of light as much, I guess. (I hope I haven’t got that science part too terribly wrong.)
That got me pondering. One of the many metaphors we use to describe faith is “walking in the light.” The more light we feel the more ‘spiritual chlorophyll’ we produce. So what happens in those seasons when our spiritual light doesn’t seem to be shining so brightly? Do we ‘change colour’? Do we strive to conceal our inner disequilibrium by putting on some sort of camouflage of over-compensating by being extra colourful in some other way?
We wear all kinds of masks in our lives (no, not the Covid kind). We take on all kinds of roles, wear all kinds of hats and costumes, play all kinds of parts. I wonder if it takes deeper strength and extra light-enhanced spiritual chlorophyll to play the part of the authentic ‘me’? The real me. The one I don’t show anyone else. The one only God sees. And it seems to me that the only way to get that light is to intentionally walk in it more and more, as best we can. That’s tougher when the seasons seem to be working against us, and it feels like there’s less light around, but our faith reminds us that we are not alone.
Jesus said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” (John 8:12)
I love the autumn, but I think I may never look at the splendour of the changing leaves the same way again. Now as I look at them I may see a heart (my heart?) crying out for more light. And a reminder that there is beauty, even in the struggle.