Sunday, March 18, 2018

Thanks Goodness for Anonymity

Since my first discovery, a few months ago, my curiosity has fostered a perplexing follow up on this anonymity fade sweeping across the world, on line. Partially, I know it has been ignited by my desire to understand more of the development of the 'Millennial' and 'I' generations. At any rate, there is kind of an interesting trend taking place in the online social media  world. I’ve found more and more websites offering the opportunity to air one’s darkest secrets, no matter of the generational age. Visitors put into words the very thing they have spent a lifetime wanting no one to know about themselves. While visiting, they can also read the long-hidden confessions of others, and recognize a part of humanity that is often as obscured as their own secrets—namely, I am not the only one with a mask, a conflicted heart, a hidden skeleton. “Every single person has at least one secret that would break your heart,” one site reads. “If we could just remember this, I think there would be a lot more compassion and tolerance in the world.” 
So often the world of souls seems to move as if instinctively to the very things asked of us by a sagacious (new word) God. I’ve found the invitation to confess what is present in some of the oldest stories of the Old Testament. After his defiance of God’s request, Adam is asked two questions that invite an admission of his predicament; first, “Where are you?” and later, “Who told you that you were naked?” God similarly inquires of Cain after the murder of Abel, “Where is your brother?” Turning pages into the New Testament and reading how the culture had changed vastly and the emergence of the story of faith, the same invitation to confess is still given consistently.  Like: “Therefore confess your offenses to one another and pray for one another so that you may be healed,” writes the author of James. A similar thought is proclaimed in 1 John 1:7. “If we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, his Son, purifies us from all sin.” I’m thinking that perhaps the call to transparency is not from a God who delights in the impoverishment of His subject, but a God who knows my deepest need. 
I can’t help but wonder if the hope these precious souls find by an online confessional brings them a step nearer to meeting the need of bringing what is hidden to light, and think it is somewhat commendable that so many are giving in to the impulse to explore the ancient gift of confession. On the other hand, perhaps such an impulse to haul the truth from obscurity is worthy of something even greater than anonymity. I believe light is not meant to be kept in shadows; the benefit of openness is not meant to be experienced alone. All the stories and scriptures I’ve found speak of the element of community in confession, the promise of fellowship where there is courage to be honest with each other and each other’s needs. On websites of nameless visitors, though I tell my darkest secret, everyone still remains nameless to one another. While it may help significantly to know that I am not the only one with a mask, I still have my mask. The anonymity factor offers the glimpse of light while maintaining the security of darkness. But I realize this is undermining the very light I might be seeking? It is akin to lighting a lamp and putting it under a basket.
I’ve been reminded again that Jesus reminded crowds full of secrets and sinners that there was no reason to do this. When a hemorrhaging woman in a swarm of people reached out to touch the fringe of His robe, she did so anonymously. Her condition would have classified her among the unclean, and it was therefore illegal to touch anyone. I imagine she probably calculated, “If I could just touch the hem of His robe, I could be healed.  The crowd will keep me hidden. He won’t be bothered; He won’t even need to know.” But this isn’t what happened.  Jesus knew He had been touched and immediately called the woman out of her anonymity. Before Him, she was not lost in the crowd. 
I think that while many a person may successfully remain shrouded in disguise from the community around them, the Christian story invites anyone and everyone to see that he stands unobscured before Christ and united with Him nonetheless. I can’t imagine that such a thought might be terrifying: before Him, none are disguised. But more than this, it is inherently a gift. In His presence, none are kept in obscurity, hidden in mask or shroud; there are no shadows of anonymity that can hide, nor crowd large enough to keep a person hidden. There’s not a person on earth who is not disparaged for the flesh and blood and material of humanity, but shown instead its true and greatest fulfillment.
Just like every other person the invitation to emerge from my darkest failings, lies, and secrets is not an invitation to dwell in my own impoverishment but rather a summons to light, reconciliation, and true humanity. The unique message of Jesus is that there is no reason to hide.

Father, God, I give thanksgiving that Eons before I came up with plans to improve my image or learned to pretend with masks and swap for a better identity, You saw who I was and who I would become and determined to approach me regardless. Before I found a way to conceal my many failings or even weighed the possibilities of unlocking my darkest secrets, it was You Who came near and called me out of obscurity by name.  I glorify You, Your Son, and Your Spirit. Amen

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