First of all, I chose grey over gray, because grey just looks and feels more grey to me. I think about an old TLC special I watched called The World of Dogs or something like that, and remember the segment on greyhounds being augmented by a background of fog and an overcast sky. Just one more way the media is infiltrating my life and conditioning my thinking, and years down the road at that.
The greys are also what I see much more of in life than blacks and whites. In fact, I think the greys permeate and even constitute our thinking on the most important things: theology, philosophy, politics, art, etc. If this were not the case, it seems to me, there would a lot less arguing in the academies and churches and polities.
But it’s a fine line. I find the greys both liberating and exciting and a bit terrifying. After all, they simultaneously provide the freedom to explore and question and live a philosophical life, but they also demand humility and a recognition of the fact that I might just be dead wrong. In fact, I am dead wrong. On a lot of things. Which ones? I couldn’t tell you. I am a very opinionated person and neither accept nor abandon commitments easily, but I must be willing to allow that, as a fallible, finite human being, some of my most deeply held beliefs are probably wrong. But I, just like everyone else, am doing the best that I can with what I have, and I am convinced that that is enough.
As Derek Webb laments in “The Truth”: “Maybe there’s no grey and I was wrong to tell ’em so.” A frightening thought, but I think there is some grey. And there is grace and redemption in the face of our misplaced trust and unjustifiable opinions and failure to recognize the greys for what they are, and maybe even a black and white or two. After all, as Mr. Webb concludes, “The truth’s not contingent on me.”
I take great comfort in that.