I took some photographs recently of a bird flying over a lake. It was a long way off, but I could see that it was a tern, as occasionally it hovered over the water then dived in to catch a fish. When I got home and looked at the pictures on my computer, I got very excited, because I saw that it had mostly black plumage. A black tern! We don’t see many of these in the UK, and they are a species to get excited about if you are a birder over here. But when I looked at it more closely, I realised that the colouring wasn’t quite right: there was too much white underneath even though the rest of it looked right. So I boosted up the brightness and reduced the shadows on my computer, and this is what I found: it wasn’t a black tern at all that I had seen fishing by the lake, but one of the more widespread species, a common tern. My “black tern” just been created by the shadows on its plumage  cast by the morning sun.

Thinking about that, it made me realise how easily shadows can occur in what we look at, so that what we see is not the truth, but just a creation of our own self. In the afternoon Anne and I went to a local nature reserve with a friend. There are three ways of getting there that are roughly equidistant: it’s about 25 minutes away. In the car we took the route I usually take, down a country lane, and I said to Anne that I found this way slightly quicker. Michael agreed, adding that it could depend on the traffic as well. On the way back we found ourselves behind a tractor, so at the roundabout I chose the motorway route instead because I didn’t want to be behind a tractor – even though I would have quickly overtaken it on the dual carriageway. I said: “actually this way is probably just as quick.” Anne said: “That’s interesting, because on the way here, you said the lane was the quickest, and now this way is just as quick. They can’t both be true!“ She was right. They couldn’t both be true. My words were not about the truth, but about what I was trying to prove. This wasn’t even an emotionally charged situation: they were both just throwaway comments about driving choices. But that’s the point: I was justifying my choices, not expressing truth. My focus wasn’t the driving distance at all, but my decisions. In other words, my shadows were colouring what I was looking at. I was seeing a black tern.

As even many atheists know, Jesus said: “I am the way, the truth, and the life.” Truth is found in Jesus. When He first introduced the notion of the coming Holy Spirit to His disciples,  Jesus said this: “And I will pray the Father, and He will give you another Helper, that He may abide with you forever— the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees Him nor knows Him; but you know Him, for He dwells with you and will be in you.” (John 14: 16-17) The Holy Spirit is the Spirit of Truth. We call Him Holy Spirit; Jesus calls Him, emphatically, “Spirit of Truth.” (John 14:17, John 15:26, John 16:23.) Without the Holy Spirit, whom the world doesn’t know, reality will always be obscured. Just like I had to boost the brightness on my computer to see the real bird, it is only when the brightness of the Light of the world is turned up that we see the reality of life.  “Whoever lives by the truth comes into the light, so that it may be seen plainly that what they have done has been done in the sight of God.” (John 3:19)

James said: “All good and perfect gifts come down from above from the Father of lights, in whom there is no shadow of turning.” (James 1:17) God doesn’t change. He is the Father of lights: He created the lights in the universe, and by His word – “Let there be light” – He created material light itself. In His light, we can see the truth; without His light, we only see our own shadows. The Light of the world never changes: He is totally faithful to His word, He is always love, He is always truth. Every turn in our emotions and our agendas casts a shadow: only in Jesus, by the light of the Holy Spirit, are there no black terns, no shadow of terning.