For what might be obvious reasons, I love Autumn while at the same time ruing its symbolism. It’s hard not to be struck by the beauty of the foliage painting the landscape into countless shades of yellow, orange, and red. Nevertheless, it is also a sign that Summer is over, and the icy grip of Winter is drawing nigh. For those who love cold weather months, this comes as a welcome transition. I, personally, prefer to bask in the last fleeting rays of warmth in the ever-shortening daylight.
There is a transcendent beauty that accompanies Fall. I suspect it is due to the fact that during Autumn, opposites collide. Summer and Winter meet and dance together for three months while one dance partner takes the other’s place. Their dance itself is stunning. Indeed, Summer and Winter each have an inherent beauty all their own, but the beauty they create when they meet in the middle transcends anything either is capable of on their own. Opposites found in nature tend to do this.
Genesis 1, in part, is structured by the balancing of opposites. Immediately from the start, light stands opposed to the dark, allowing for the creation of day and night. The “sky” formed on the second day serves as the boundary between that which is “above” and “below.” Water is then gathered to one place on the third day, allowing for the emergence of land. These are all opposite realms with distinct functions, each beautiful in their own ways. But when these opposites collide, much like Summer meeting Winter, there is a transcendent beauty that exists which neither could display without the other.
For instance, any young man with common sense would not approach a young woman he is trying to woo and invite her to join him as they watch the sun inch its way across the noon-day sky. At best, that isn’t romantic—at worst it would make her go blind. It is entirely a different story if he asks her to meet him a half-hour before dusk so the two of them could enjoy watching the day dance with the night at sunset. There is a transcendent beauty when these two opposites meet and the night trades places with the day.
If our young man is committed to doing something in the heat of the day, at least invite her to an afternoon at the beach where the land meets the sea. How many young women reveal that among their "likes" includes “long walks at the beach”? As with a sunset, there is a certain distinct beauty where land and sea join together as one. (To go a bit further, is there anything more stunning than an evening at the beach while the sun is setting?)
Perhaps the only other place on earth that might leave you just as breathless is on a mountaintop—the place where the heavens touch the earth. If you ever get a chance to visit Rocky Mountain National Park, do yourself a favor and make your way to the Alpine Visitor Center. That’s as high as you can get by driving. From that point, my two oldest sons and I made our way on foot to the peak 12,000 feet above sea level. It was a majestic experience that took our breath away—partly because the air is significantly thinner at that altitude, but more so because of the raw beauty present where two opposites—land and sky—come together.
There are other opposite pairs that when meeting together form no less a unique beauty that neither could attain on their own. Think of an eclipse, when the path of the sun crosses that of the moon. Think of a rainbow that dazzles when grey storm clouds give way to calmer blue skies. And at the risk of being evocative, think of the ecstatic experience shared when husband and wife meet in marriage.
There are many other ways to slice the creation narrative in Genesis 1, each of which shares a unique side of the story. This is but one of them. What God created is formed around pairs of opposites that are not intended to compete, but to balance one another. Each certainly bears its own unique beauty, but the beauty these balancing opposites create when they meet together stands out above anything they are capable of producing on their own.
Such is the beauty of Autumn. When Summer and Winter meet and dance and change places, creation explodes in celebration with dazzling colors. It is a transcendent beauty matched only when the two opposites reunite again in the Spring, as the dormant death of cold weather buds, flowers, and unfolds into new life.
There is yet one more set of opposites to be explored. At the end of the creation week, God made man in his image, in his likeness. A pair of opposites: one human, the other divine; one a loving Creator, the other a beloved creature. It is to this pair that the beauty of Autumn—and certainly the other balancing opposites—points.
It is worth recognizing that each of these balancing pairs came about through an act of separation. In Genesis 1:4, God separated light from darkness: it is when they reunite in a sunset and sunrise that a stunning beauty takes place. In 1:6-7, God separated water from water, sky from earth: they reunite on a mountaintop where you are left literally and emotionally breathless. In 1:10 God separated land from sea: a certain transcendent beauty is found on a jagged coast or a sandy beach. We should also not overlook that by taking a rib from Adam’s side and forming a woman, a different kind of separation took place.
And so it is fitting that, on this side of the fall, we often speak of the divine-human relationship in terms of separation. God and the humanity are clearly distinct, separated in kind and quality. But a more violent separation took place through an act of disobedience. God had to search for the first human couple in the cool of the day because they were hiding. Light and dark, sky and earth, land and sea, man and woman, Winter and Summer—these were designed to be distinct, to exist as balancing opposites who dance together in beautiful ways when they reunite. But the separation that took place between God and humanity is tragic; we weren’t meant to be apart, distanced by an impassable void. It is like winter never giving way to new life; like darkness never fading into light; like being adrift at sea, never spotting the shore.
The good news of the gospel is that this isn’t how it ends. Instead, we find Jesus—Immanuel, God with us. In him, we have a reunion of just those two things: the divine and the human coming together in one person, the Messiah of God. We also find Pentecost: the very Spirit of the living God mysteriously and spiritually inhabits and sanctifies believers. For me, the beauty of Autumn points to a greater promise we have that is yet to be fulfilled: a loud voice someday announcing, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God” (Rev. 21:3).
Think of the dazzling display of a sunset; the breathless wonder of a mountain peak; the sublime crashing of waves on the shore (and the ecstasy when other opposites meet, if you catch my drift!). These all create an incredible beauty that deserves to be celebrated and enjoyed. But they also serve as signposts, pointing to a greater reunion of opposites that awaits when Christ returns. I imagine that the beauty of those reunion-of-opposites pales in comparison to the radiant joy to be discovered when we finally see God face to face and enjoy unhindered fellowship with him, world without end.
For me, Autumn serves as a reminder of what once was and will be once again—an unhindered, unbroken intimate fellowship that humanity shares with God. In fact, Autumn is not alone, for the beauty on display whenever opposites collide serves as a reflection of a greater reunion that still awaits, when Heaven and earth shall be one, and when the dwelling place of God is with man.
Enjoy the beauty of Fall. Summer embraces Winter, and it is glorious. And as you appreciate the colors that explode during this dance of seasons, may it point you toward the more transcendent majesty that awaits when the world’s Savior embraces his creation once and for all.
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