It was early and I was driving youngest daughter to basketball practice. It was early, and yet the grayness of the dawn was lifting just enough that the sun was bathing the trees with this golden light that was more than delightful–it was … divine. I was drinking up the colors of this spectacular fall day, when a bumper sticker on the car in front of me caught my attention. It was hard to read, as most bumper stickers are, but I finally discerned the words laid one over top of each other. “God is” was in a black script overtop the rainbow-lettered word “COLORBLIND.”
“Dude,” was all I could mutter (because it was, afterall, very early). I looked back up at the sky, where the light reached up even higher in the seconds that had passed since I last looked. I looked at the trees, some still holding tight to their gold and fuschia leaves. The gray was lifting even higher and I saw that the sky was going to be blue that day. Grass was still vibrant green below, not yet the dying, still holding the light of the sun.
“Dude,” I thought again, “I think your missing something.”
I know what the bumper sticker is supposed to mean: God doesn’t see the color of people’s skin. And if God is what you believe in and God loves us all equally, I suppose this could be seen as an affirming, loving statement.
But I think it misses the idea that color surrounds us, giving us the richness of a midwest fall, and the striking beauty of a Sedona afternoon (thanks, middlest sister for that image showing up on my phone earlier this week), the sunset over Catalina (thanks for that image, you who shall not be named). You get my point. Skin color should also be considered a part of the palette, a part of the body of work, as it were. It can mean nothing other than a richness of depth and hue, but it also can indicate a richness of variety in culture and in point of view.
Color brings a wealth my heart holds dear. I can’t imagine God planning it any other way. I can’t imagine a world where god would be, could be, colorblind.