For a photographer, light and shadows are everything. Without light, there would be no color. Without shadows there would be no definition. When the light is dull and flat, the shadows appear smooth and barely noticeable. Subtle. Nearly invisible.
This is the most desirable type of light. It’s easy and it looks good.
In the brightness of direct light, especially sunlight, shadows become crisp. They become dark. They define the features of whatever they appear on. They are harsh. They are unattractive. In most circumstances, the photographer hates them. If he is to capture his subject “well” and flatteringly, he will likely try eliminate them.
This tango with the shadows—how much like every day is it? How much like every life is it?
In the direct sunlight of true righteousness, even a subtle blemish casts shadows, dark, sharp and unattractive. They mar what they fall on. In such light, the subject is uncomfortable, squinting to see. And the camera, it captures every hideous ridge and outcropping of the subjects deformed features.
But in a life that is dull, lacking of the direct rays of the Son, the blemishes are hidden from sight. The deformities are hidden from view. The problems are construed, even into being something attractive. The subject goes on, unaware of their condition. Comfortable with the smooth gradient of light across their faces that goes from light to dark between features.
They are never the worst, nor could they ever be the best, but they always look good. They are satisfied with the illusion and the comfort that rides in tandem.
But God is a photographer and he always shoots his photographs with direct lighting and no blemish is ever obscured. But God, the brilliant photographer that he is, always shoots the faithful with a fill light. And for them, no shadow is ever seen. Brilliant.
