I want to tell you a story about an old backpack I found back when I was in elementary school. I don’t remember exactly when I picked it up—maybe recess sometime in fifth or sixth grade?—but I’ve carried it with me ever since. With just a quick glance as we pass each other on the sidewalk, you’d have no idea I was wearing it. You have to believe me, though: I carry this thing everywhere. I can forget my wallet, my phone, my keys—anything—but I have never lost this backpack.
You see, this backpack carries all my masks.
I didn’t have too many when I first started, though. Maybe two or three? One for parents and teachers, one for friends, one for the world. But as time went on, my collection started to grow. I carved a mask out of stuttering movie quotes and elevated heart rates for the ladies and another one from scattered Bible Verses and Sunday School stories for my deacons and elders. That was years ago, though. Since then, I’ve stopped counting. Regardless of the situation—however obscure, however foreign—I can always find the right one to help me fit in.
These masks have become part of who I am. This backpack never comes off.
I’m a chameleon. A method actor who can’t turn down a new part.
I’ve heard stories of actors who have spoken in foreign accents for so long that they’ve forgotten how to sound like themselves and have to hire a vocal coach to teach them how to be themselves again.
When you spend enough time living out a lie, someone has to remind you of the truth.
For me, I found my truth in Paul’s words to the Ephesians. What I hadn’t realized through all my acting, through all my facades, through all my masks was that underneath all of the manufactured personas was the man God created. And no matter how convincing my masks became, God always knew me as the man His Son died for. The man he created.
In the first three chapters of Ephesians, Paul reminds the church of Ephesus who they are in Christ. While I’m generally not one to pull verses out of context, look at Ephesians 2:10. This is from the ESV: “For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.”
“We are his workmanship...”
The first half of the letter has so many more truths than just this about who we are in Christ, yet this is the one which has most impacted my life. We are God’s workmanship. We have been brought near to Him. We are blessed. You see, truth is more than just an aspect of who we are. It is the foundation of Christ’s work in us.
Truth isn’t quite as tangible a quality as others. It’s nebulous, hard to grasp, hard to define. It is more than honesty, although honesty is definitely a piece of the puzzle. Like our calling, truth is the process, not the end itself. It is the slow grounding of our convictions. Truth requires challenge and adversity and patience.
It’s not just there at the snap of your fingers. It takes time.
As much as I may want to get a bonfire going down by the lake, rip this backpack off my shoulders, and toss all these false identities into the blaze, it just doesn’t happen that way. The process of grounding our convictions is one that takes time to dig in deep and uproot all of the untruths speaking lies into our lives.
Truth requires patience. Meditation. Deliberation.
I’ve still got this backpack on, but each day as I pour into God’s Word, I swear I can feel it getting lighter.
Stay golden,
Noah Huseman
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