In the midst of this holy season, one cannot help but note that, for the entire commercial world, the colors of the season are red and green. Red and green which communicate gaiety, joy and festivity.

In the life of the Christian Church, however, the colors of the season of Advent are more muted and complex: they are purple or blue. Blue, which we are using this year at Old South, represents the color of the sky and symbolizes Christ who is called the “Dayspring” or source of day. Blue is also the color associated with Mary. In paintings she is traditionally depicted as wearing a blue robe. Blue, therefore, also reminds us that during Advent the church waits with Mary for the birth of Christ. Purple, the traditional color for Advent, symbolizes the royalty and sovereignty of Christ.

But there are a host of other colors to this season we are in. So, I have compiled a wish-list of colors and what they mean to me.

First, I ask for gray. Gray to remind us of the elderly, the lonely, and those bent this season by grief or sorrow. Gray, so we don’t forget the homeless in Boston and elsewhere. Gray, because it speaks to me of bleak and chilly nights, of abandoned children and rock-bottom desperation. Gray, because it speaks of the agony of difficult decisions and of the emptiness of the soul without God. Gray, because it is unadorned and brings us face to face with sorrow, and because Jesus came into this world unadorned and, as the prophet wrote, “as a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.”

Next, I ask for brown. Brown to remind us of the earth, of the rich soil patient for spring. Brown to remind us of the Sudan, of wasted bodies and small bloated bellies. Brown to remind us of the horror of genocide in Darfur, a place where fear and machetes wreak a terrible havoc.

I ask for red. Red is the color of martyrdom, the color of passion, the color of the fiery, untamable Spirit of God. I ask for red because it is the color of blood, the color of torture … because even now, even in the 21st century, even in democratic countries, torture is practiced with government sanction. I also ask for red, because many our Christmas poinsettias are red representing loved ones who have died, whose memories we cherish and honor with memorial flowers.

I ask for green, the color of hope. I ask for it not only for myself, but for you, for our church, for every church around the world: because, friends, hope is hard to come by these days, but without hope we are lost. I ask for green because it reminds me of tiny shoots pushing up out of the dark earth and heading straight and true for the light of the sun. I ask for green that we might be like those tiny shoots: brave and unswerving, struggling out from under the darkness of life, and heading straight and true for the light of God. I ask for green because it is the color of our Advent wreath, a symbol of the unending love of God.

I ask for yellow. Yellow because it is the color of angels’ wings and saints’ halos. And, although I’ve never seen winged angels or haloed saints, some day I hope to. I ask for yellow to remind me of cowardice, mine and yours, for the times we fail to stand up for what we know to be right and true. I ask for yellow for the sun, for candles lit in hope, for the memory of summer’s flowers.

I ask for olive green … the color of soldiers uniforms and camouflage so I don’t forget the soldiers away from their homes and families. The color reminds me of the absurdity and disgrace that leaders of nations have still not learned a better way to solve disagreements than by sending young people into harms way. Olive reminds me of all the men, women and children in every war-torn area of the world. But, olive, also reminds me of the Mount of Olives, where Jesus often went to pray. It was in the Mount of Olives that soldiers arrested him with swords and violence … to which he responded with words of peace.

I ask for blue, the color of sky, the color of peace, the color of the United Nations’ flag. I ask for blue, because it is so many people’s favorite color. And, because there is so much blue – in sky and ocean, rivers and lakes – I suspect it is God’s favorite color as well. I ask for blue because if we go outside and look up – whether from Boston, Massachusetts, or from a paddy field in China, or from a crumbled home in Iraq, or from a trailer in New Orleans – we all share the same blue sky. I ask for blue because it is the color associated with Mary, who with us awaits the birth of Jesus.

Finally, I ask for a non-color, an invisible or translucent color. The color of love. We can’t see it because love doesn’t call attention to itself and because love doesn’t have its own color. Love doesn’t exist alone. I imagine that love is like a prism, attracting pure, white light, refracting it into a myriad of rainbow colors, and sending these to dance over the surfaces of the world, and over the complex planes and contours of our individual lives.

Through acts of kindness, sacrifice and compassion the dancing kaleidoscopic light of God’s love continually reaches hitherto untouched lives and places. We can’t see the color of love, any more than we can see God. But we can discern where the love of God has been and, sadly, we can discern faces and places God’s love has not yet reached.

The Jesus we welcome on Christmas day does not come neatly wrapped in red and green, but rather in the true and varied colors of humanity. He does not come under a decorated tree, but under the shadow of a bare cross. The colors of this season are like the colors of a kaleidoscope … as multifarious, changing and complex as our lives on earth.

The Jesus, whose advent we await, breaks into the world and into our lives in myriad colors, beautiful colors -- less than beautiful colors… the real colors of our real lives. As his life and ministry unfolds, we watch with awe and gratitude the ways his kaleidoscopic love breaks into the world.

But, love, like color, cannot exist on its own: it needs the surfaces of our human lives to absorb it, to reflect it back, to refract it, to bring it to life and to pass it on. The purpose of this season of Advent is to prepare ourselves to do just that: to receive and absorb the love God offers us in this amazing child … and then, in our turn, to reflect it back into the world.

Thus, may this gift of God, like the gift of light itself, bring to our weary world, color and life and love.