I'm Just Fine...I Think

How am I?
Fine.

(And I dare you to try to find out how I really am.

I wish I could tell you what’s really going on with me.
Please try to really know me; I want to tell you how I really am.)

It may be difficult for some of us to be open and intimate with others, but doesn’t Paul make it clear that, as the Body of Christ, that is God’s plan for the Church?

“If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it” (I Cor. 12:26.) God designed His church in such a way that we are not meant to be independent. We are to depend on one another for the care each can provide. If you are one who prefers to take care of yourself and not need others, this truth can be a bit unsettling.

So when the answer to “How are you?” is “Fine,” what does that mean?

It probably means that nothing terrible has happened to me or my family recently; that I am alive, in reasonable health, and not anticipating any imminent catastrophe.

But sometimes, Fine really isn’t.

Fine could mean:
“I’m lonely, but I’m embarrassed to tell you because everyone wants to be your friend.”
“My heart is breaking because of what’s going on in my family, but there’s no way I could share that with you because your kids are perfect.”
“I’m desperate; I don’t even know if I can pay the bills this month, but you wouldn’t understand and I don’t want anyone to feel sorry for me anyway.”

“My arthritis is so bad today that I don’t know if I can make it to the car, but there’s nothing you can do about it, so I don’t want to tell you about my weakness.”

“I’m depressed, but I don’t want you think of me as needy or pathetic.”

“My faith is wavering, but I can handle it, and I don’t want you to think less of me.”

“My heart is cold; so cold that I don’t really care, so how could you care?”

So, we groom ourselves carefully, dress in our best clothes, put on our best smile, and go do Church. But what God deems our Sunday Best is our open hearts, our honesty, our true selves.  As I thought about picking up my Bible and my mask when I leave the house for church, I remembered a poem called Masks written by Cheryl Mariano.

In my bedroom drawer neatly tucked away

What mask to church will I wear today?

There are four from which I have to choose

Today, I’ll wear the one that hides the Blues

My Smiley mask, I’ve nearly worn out

It hides so well my fears and doubts

My Spiritual mask works like a jewel

It hides me when I’ve been mean and cruel

The mask I call my Ace in the Hole

Hides me when my heart is cold

Sometimes, I wish others could see
Right past the mask an into me

And help me find my way back home

To God’s dear arms from whence I’ve roamed

But others seem to do so well

My failures I wouldn’t dare to tell

Then, the question to myself I ask

“I wonder if they too, wear a mask?”

We as a church are called to live together openly, but that’s really hard to do. It involves tremendous risk, so sometimes we hide behind masks, trying to look as if we have it all together in our relationship with God, our families, or our work. The idea of complete vulnerability can feel like a dangerous way to live. Transparency is another word for openness and vulnerability. The problem is, when I think of something transparent I think of something filmy, gauzy, or vaporous. Those are things I never wanted to be. I want to be the one to tell you what’s back there behind that curtain; I don’t want you to see right through me!

I don’t think I’m alone in my difficulty with transparency; I don’t know too many people who find it easy to be open and vulnerable. (In fact, the most transparent people I know are under the age of 9.)

Jesus didn’t wear a mask. He told Peter, James, and John, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me” (Matt. 26:38.) He wasn’t ashamed to show his agony or ask for their help, even if they let him down. He didn’t say he was Fine, or he could handle it himself. In fact he asked 3 times for them to pray and keep watch for him, even though they failed him by falling asleep 3 times.

Father, forgive my pride. Help me to be open and vulnerable so that those who love me can care for me as you intended. And please forgive my self-centeredness. Show me what I can do for others, even when they aren’t able to tell me what their needs are. When I do know of the hurting and sickness and sadness of others, may I be the kind of friend who shares their pain and lightens their burden, through Jesus. Amen

Lynn Anne Hughes

Stephenville, Texas