Face Your Death

One of my previous posts was entitled "Relax, Adam." In it, Adam is running and hiding from reality--all the while being whispered to by the enemy to keep running, to keep hiding, for only in his running and hiding would he find solace. The point of that post is that we run and hide behind busyness, and our busyness masks our true selves--our broken, messy, confused selves.

But some of us are not busybodies. We don't wear the mask of busyness. Maybe it's because we apprehend busyness as a mask, so we don't put it on. Maybe it's because our situation just plain does not allow for busyness. Or, maybe it's because we're just plain lazy... who knows.

I fall into that boat--busyness is not a mask for me. I apprehend it as a mask, I can see others wearing it, and therefore refuse to put it on. I think I'm also a bit lazy, too. But really, I just hate feeling rushed--I hate the person that I become when I feel like I'm being rushed, and more often than not refuse to submit to a fast pace in the name of "getting things done." For me, the reward of feeling like I "accomplished" a lot is cheap compared to the richness of being immersed in the process, of being fully aware in moments.

I have other masks, however. I have other ways in which I keep my true self hidden--things I put on so that when I look into the mirror, I don't have to face who I truly am. One of which I am becoming increasingly aware of is the mask of "hiding."

I run and hide a lot. In concrete terms, it looks like not checking my phone messages, not returning a phone call, or not returning an email. The phone stands in condemnation over me as it blinks red for the fifth day in a row without me picking it up. The post-it notes stuck to my desk stand in judgment over me, each containing scribbles of the messages that I did check, but that were a week old by the time I did. The emails in my inbox mock me as some of them fall under the heading "two weeks ago" or "over a month ago."

Really, it's very simple: I apprehended certain responsibilities or conversations as being messy, boring, trite, challenging, or awkward, and I chose to run from them instead of facing them. Then I find myself having to continue to run, lest those people overtake me and I am revealed for the failure that I am.

I would be much better served to turn and let them all overtake me by admitting that I fall short. Perhaps this is part of what it means to deny yourself, take up your cross, and follow Christ. Perhaps I would fall--bruised, scraped, and cut, of course--right into his hands.