Separating the Black and the White from the Grey

We romanticize the Second World War because it was the closest our nation ever came to experiencing the triumph of good over evil. If black and white exist at all, and they do, they existed then. The enemies were powerful, numerous, and ruthless. But relatively speaking, the moral lines were clearly drawn. Our soldiers could fight with the peace and confidence that comes with taking a stand worth taking. Such clarity of purpose is a tremendous asset. Not everything in history has been so clear, however. And a shrewd enemy would know this. He would know to calculate ways to convince us that there are no moral lines at all. He would know to blur the distinction between one direction and another. And he would know to constantly make us question whether there was ever a war in the first place.

A shrewd enemy would know what happens when black and white fade horribly into grey, and how demoralizing the fight becomes when all directions seem the same. Herein lies a serpent waiting in the grass. If the enemy can succeed in blurring our vision, what need does he have of attacking us? If he can lull us into a slumber then what use would it be to awaken us?

When an enemy attacks overtly, he sacrifices some tremendous tactical advantages: his location and of course, his very existence. The United States has enemies all over the world. Recent terrorist attacks have not heralded the birth of a new enemy, but have merely alerted us to the presence of an enemy which was there all along. And there was something strangely liberating about these attacks: we were forced to wake up. As a nation we had to stare an ugly truth in the eyes: We are not alone in this world, and there are those who wish to do us harm. So how can that be liberating and refreshing? Simply put, it isn’t the presence of an enemy which gives one peace. That we cannot control, anyhow. It is the awareness of that enemy’s presence which gives one peace. It is the exhilaration of witnessing the black and the white separating from the grey. It is the peace that only comes upon learning that though all directions seem the same, they are not.

As Paul teaches, the god of this world deals in lies. In blindness. And the enemy is full aware of the poisonous effects of the grey. I have found that certain threats loom even more sinister in times of uncertain peace than in times of black and white crisis. As a child I read stories about the Spanish Conquistadors who scoured the Americas for strange fountains and cities made of gold. But more than all that, I remember learning of a particular Conquistador who would land his troops on the shore and then set fire to his ships behind him. Surely his army must have groaned sighs of uncertainty as their only means of escape sank to the bottom of the ocean, but once the work was finished there was no alternative to pressing on except starvation or worse. And that, of course, was the whole point.

In times of crisis, many temptations are of no consequence. One can only choose between pressing on or languishing, even perishing. In the lulls of peace, however, these same temptations can pose a special threat. In particular one is tempted to move, if only for motion’s sake. Eyes begin to stray.

On the night of Christ’s arrest Peter simply wanted to be faithful. He declared that he would lay down his life for Christ if necessary. Peter was honest, but naïve. He wasn’t asked to die that night. No black and white crisis overtook him. His trial did come, however, but not on the terms he had expected. The enemy did attack. And Peter did fall. He denied Christ three times. Peter braced himself for a giant, but it was the grey that overtook him. Imagine if Roman soldiers had attacked in the manner Peter was expecting, holding a sword to the neck of Jesus and challenging Peter to sacrifice himself. The distinction between this hypothetical trial and Peter’s actual trial is critical, albeit difficult to draw.

I believe that the difference is this: in the hypothetical trial, Peter is able to stare Jesus in the eyes and to feel the god of this world breathing at his back. Clearly threatened, there is no room for grey. Moral lines are clearly drawn, and Peter can fight and die with the peace that comes with taking a stand worth taking. Lucid, if perhaps terrified, Peter can look eternity in the eyes and choose.

In his actual trial, however, Peter seems less to have collapsed under the weight of a giant than to have merely stumbled into a trap unawares. Peter was expecting something far different from merely being asked, "Art thou also one of this man’s disciples?"

Herein lies the key. In Peter’s actual trial one can fairly say that Peter was not fully conscious of the gravity of his choice. One doubts whether he was aware of a crisis at all. The god of this world was not behind him, growling fear and "seeking whom he may devour", as Peter expected. Rather, Peter was caught with his eyes straying. In this time of uncertainty, such a temptation posed a special threat.

Continuing his letter to the church at Corinth Paul writes, "For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ." II Corinthians 4:6. Paul wonderfully declares that the reply to darkness must be light, the reply to Satan’s lies must be truth, and the reply to blindness must be the "glorious gospel of Christ."

This appeal is written for a sole reason: to awaken those adrift in peaceful half-slumber. I have raised this specter in confidence, as one emphatically aware of its presence. The rest I leave to others wiser and more experienced than myself.

Copyright Nicholas Clay Harrison