When I was a preteen, my friends and I were very much into mood rings. Remember those? Actually, I guess, technically, they still exist, but back in my preteen days, they were a MAJOR trend. In fact, because they were so trendy, you could actually invest in more than just a mood ring—there were mood bracelets and necklaces and anklets. The claim was that each piece of jewelry contained special crystals that could essentially read your mood and then put it on display for all the world to see. Sure, anyone could pretend they were feeling a certain way; but the mood ring would tell the truth.

These pieces of mood jewelry typically came with a guide that told you what each color represented. The meaning of the color depended on the guide, and there were multiple, differing guides out there, so official definitions vary; but it usually went something like this: maybe dark blue was sad, light blue was calm, teal was reflective, green was energized, yellow was unsettled, red was fearful, and maybe purple meant you were in love.

Of course, the actual truth was that the crystal changed color based on the temperature of a person’s body. Much to my preteen disappointment, they worked more like a thermometer rather than the advertised magic mood reader. A major letdown, for sure.

But perhaps the biggest letdown, at least in my experience, was the shelf life. The mood jewelry my friends and I could afford didn’t last very long. After just a few weeks, we’d notice that the crystals would permanently turn a dark, murky gray color and we knew that the lack of color meant the “magic” had run out.

I share all that because I think we know what’s it like to practice our faith in that dark, murky gray. We might long for a faith that is bright and colorful, but we often experience a faith that’s merely black and white. Dull. Drab. Dreary. Two-dimensional. Monochromatic. Sometimes, it’s like we’re stuck in a colorless abyss.

Now it’s important to recognize that, as often as we might try to avoid them, these dry, gray seasons are inevitable. They are part of the human experience, and sometimes, there is just no getting around them. Hear me say, there is no shame in a gray season. In fact, the good news is that sometimes the growth we most need happens in the murky gray.

That is true. And…

I think we sometimes forget the color. The significance of a faith that is abundant and intricate and vibrant and vast and rich and layered and nuanced. We’ve settled for a faith that is washed-out and surface-level. We’re content to go through the motions all while forgetting what the motions really mean. It’s a faith that might feel distant or thin. It’s a faith that, maybe, has faded a bit.

And so I wonder what might happen if we were able to remember and revive the color of our faith. Here’s what I mean.

For many of us, we’re accustomed to a faith that relies heavily on intellect, on head knowledge, on correct thinking. And don’t get me wrong—I don’t think those things are wrong; it is important to study and dig and engage our faith intellectually. But I do wonder if maybe, an intelligent faith in and of itself is incomplete. If, maybe, there could be another significant layer. As Eugene Peterson highlighted, there is often a disconnect between people “who talk learnedly and officiously about God but…don’t seem connected to a relationship with God."

And so, I wonder what it might look like to engage our faith creatively. To shift from not only what we know, but also how we feel. Not to discount what we know, but to enhance it. We might find that the two actually go hand-in-hand. Both left-brain and right. So I wonder what it could look like to add a little color.

The great news is that engaging our faith creatively means that we—each of us—get to be creative. We each get to consider what might be most meaningful for us. For some, your color wheels might already be turning, and you’re ready to give some new practices a try. But, in case you are someone for whom creativity doesn’t come easy, here are just a few ideas to consider and explore:

1. If you’re part of a liturgical tradition, color already has a part to play. Different seasons of the church year are represented by different colors: blue for Advent, purple for Lent, white for Christmas and Easter, red for Pentecost, and green for Ordinary Time. In a way, the church calendar is our color guide. Now, maybe you’ve never paid much attention to those colors. Maybe you could be intentional about noticing the ways they are weaved into your worship space and service. Simply noticing can make a difference. And if your church currently doesn’t use the liturgical colors, maybe you could consider volunteering to incorporate them somehow.

2. You could pray in color. This idea comes from a woman named Sybil MacBeth. I actually discovered her work while reading a book called Sacred Compass by Brent Bill, and I’ll let him tell you a bit more of Sybil’s story and practice. Brent writes,

   “Sybil…came up with a way of praying in color…during a time in her life when family and friends were dealing with a multitude of illnesses. She found no words for her prayers, and so took up pens and colored markers and began drawing. She added names and colors to the shapes she drew. Sybil says when she finished each drawing she saw each as a wordless act of holding her family and friends in prayer and commending them into God’s care.”

   The truth is, sometimes there are no words—or there are, but we can’t bring ourselves to say them. Praying in color is a great way to say the thing to God, without actually saying the thing. It’s a great way to lament, and also a great way to celebrate.

3. Ask yourself this question: “If your faith were a color, what would it be?” This is a question I actually first heard from one of my professors, Jan Johnson, and I now ask myself this question on a pretty regular basis. For me, it’s a creative way to be honest with myself and with God. A creative way to check-in. Over time, I’ve inadvertently come up with my own internal “color guide,” though sometimes, the meaning of a color might change. And sometimes, my answer is even multicolored. Through this practice, I’m learning to welcome whatever the color might be—positive or negative—remembering that each color has its place, that God can create beauty out of any palette, and that I am loved, even in the murky gray.

Now, those are just a few possibilities—the list is certainly not exhaustive. And if you have other ideas, I’d love to hear them! Feel free to reach out and share those ideas with me; with your permission, I might even include them in my March Re{collection} letter!

As we begin to wrap up this episode, and as you consider the impact adding a little color might have on your faith, I’d like to share a story:

The year was 1939, and my grandfather, who was around 13 or 14 at the time, was sitting in a movie theatre, about to see the much-anticipated film, The Wizard of Oz. As you might imagine for the time-period, black and white film was the norm. There were a few exceptions, but my grandfather had only ever seen black and white. He had no idea what was in store…

The movie was off to a good start, with both an engaging plot and beautiful performance of Somewhere Over the Rainbow. My grandfather was invested and engaged. The plot continued, with Dorothy running away, a twister getting closer and Dorothy and Toto finding refuge in the house. But soon they were spinning, and Dorothy hit her head, and the house kept spinning, spinning, spinning, until they landed. And Dorothy woke up. And walked toward the door. And opened it…

At that moment, the entire theatre audibly gasped. All of the sudden, everything was in color. Bright, vibrant, technicolor. Even in his 90s, my grandfather recalled that it was the most amazing thing he’d ever seen.

In that one scene, in that one moment, a creative shift took place, for my grandfather, and really for the entire audience. Something was ignited and kindled within. They experienced a movie in a way they never had before. They saw something they’d forgotten was there all along. It was an experience that painted a truer picture. It was an experience that stuck.

Color can enrich what feels overly familiar. Color can enhance our experience and even deepen our understanding. And maybe color could even help us remember what is honest and true.

So today, if your faith feels dull and dreary, it might be time to add a little color. May we explore and find ways to cultivate a more rich and vibrant faith as we seek to be the people God is calling us to be.