Sunday Morning Mask

It has been said before that the church is like a "hospital for sinners, not a museum for saints.”

To me, this means that the church body is made up of broken, sinful people who need Jesus, not perfect people who follow religious rules.

The church is meant to be a place where you can take off your mask, be real, vulnerable, and broken with those around you.

Yet, I find myself walking in every Sunday with my mask firmly glued to my face.

High heels.

Hair brushed.

Makeup on.

Smile!

"I'm doing just fine how are you!"

"Everything is great!"

Show your teeth now.

Nod.

Yes, everything is fine.

But it's not.

It's not fine.

I think that a lot of others in the congregation keep their masks on too.

We don't show our brokenness. Not even here.

But perhaps there is a person or two here that they can be truly real with.

I only have one. The mask dissolves for her only. And sometimes I have trouble even with that.

We get so good at convincing everyone that we're fine.

Because... We don't want them to get involved. We don't want to be judged. We're emotionally exhausted from sharing with even one person. We don't want to be viewed as weak. Maybe something else...

I don't know where I'm going with this.

It's just another thing I've been thinking about for a while...

It's exhausting to keep up the facade of "I'm fine."

But

It's also pretty exhausting to be vulnerable.

... See ya.