I’m currently reading a new book by one of my favorite authors, Marilynne Robinson, titled “Jack”.
It’s a bit odd to be reading a book where the character shares the first name of my now imprisoned ex-husband. But Robinson is such a masterful story-telling artist, that it really only gave me a short pause, before I pressed “Pre-Order” to purchase it.
Robinson’s previous works have made huge impacts on my life – Gilead, Home, and particularly Lila. Lila cut to my soul in a way very few other works of fiction have before. They start off a bit slow, but pull the reader in word by well-placed word – they are both thought-provoking and relatable. Slices of real life, not afraid to face both the beautiful and hard between the title page and the back cover.
Jack is no exception; I’m completely drawn in…..questioning (in a good way), looking at life through different lenses, being pulled to write myself, because that’s how I process life…….examining and reaffirming and holding on with white knuckles, once again, the truth of grace and mercy and its impact on my own life…as I see it awash in the lives of these fictitious characters.
And, I am thankful. All over again.
For Robinson’s writings, yes. But also for God’s grace and sovereignty. And for the room to question and doubt wrestle and learn and yet still cling to what I know is true.
Robinson’s characters quote a poem by an author I had never heard of before – Paul Laurence Dunbar. Dunbar is believed to be the one of the first African-American poets to receive national acceptance in the field. After doing a bit of research, I’m quite taken with several of his verses. This one, in particular, caught my attention – I imagine you will immediately recognize why:
We Wear the Mask
WE wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.
WHY should the world be overwise,
In counting all our tears and signs?
Nay, let them only see us while
We wear the Mask.
WE smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
Beneath our feet, and long the mile;
But let the world dream otherwise,
We wear the Mask!
~Paul Laurence Dunbar (1872-1906)
The poem “We Wear the Mask” was first professionally published in 1896.
124 Years Ago.
124 Years before this COVID-19 pandemic.
Obviously, Dunbar was not writing about literal masks here. His words are capturing that all-too-familiar scenario we all experience in this thing called life – those moments when we may be shattered inside, yet trying to portray completely the opposite on the outside. Those days when everything inside our soul is shaking, while we feign “we’ve-got-it-all-together” confidence to the world at large, and even to those closest to us.
We’ve all lived that life.
Sure, there are times in life when the pain is so great, so chronic, that we must speak to our tears and keep moving forward through them, as so eloquently captured by John Piper’s essay “Talking to Your Tears” – which I return to for a reread once or twice a year, at the very least.
But that’s different from what Dunbar captures in his poem. No, Dunbar is addressing the hard things that we try to hide from others, for whatever reason. The thing…be it sorrow, or fear, or shame, or doubt…that we are certain no one else would understand. We fear – too often – what others would think, if they truly knew who we are, or what we struggle with. We worry that others will think less of us, if we admitted our weaknesses, or our sadnesses. I love, in particular, this line: “It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes…”, because our eyes can say so much to each other. I can smile all day; yet these big old eyes God has given me, often betray my soul.
It’s interesting, though, to read this poem in today’s mask-filled world, isn’t it? In these days, it is not a figurative mask we are wearing, to hide what pains us…but rather real masks that cover our faces, leaving only our eyes exposed. And, have you noticed? Each and every one of us has had our own unique response to this odd situation we are now in. For me, I have noticed that this season has allowed me to – both positively and negatively – withdraw some. My introverted soul has enjoyed the quieter life….the time with my dear, sweet new husband. The cherished times with my kids, grilling out and hiking.
But I also can tell that this pandemic has numbed my mind and soul, in a negative sense. My compassion that used to be much sharper, is now duller. My drive to learn, lessened. My desire to draw closer to my God, shaded by laziness and lack of discipline.
So while I am willingly wearing my literal mask to protect myself and others from exposure to COVID, I have also donned my old masks of self-reliance, of over-criticalness, of apathy and skepticism. Of fears and nightmares.
Of doubts and questioning of God’s goodness in a world so incredibly turned upside down.
However, turning back to Dunbar’s words – I know that my only hope – and our only hope – is accurately captured in this line:
We smile, but, O great Christ, our cries
To thee from tortured souls arise.
We sing, but oh the clay is vile
~PLD
Just as it was in 1896, our hope lies in something far beyond our human self-sufficiencies, and even beyond our human compassion for one another. Our hope and salvation is grounded only in the God who sees and hears us, in spite of the masks we wear, and in spite of the lies we tell ourselves and those around us. God and God alone, knows the depth of our souls far more than we do ourselves and beyond the masks we each wear – our aches and grieves, our sin and our wretchedness, our hopes and our fears and our dreams and our realities.
He is what this broken world needs.
He is what my broken soul needs.
This 2020 world, and this 1896 poem, call to mind two of my favorite verses in the Old Testament – found at the very end of Exodus 2; words that are the most beautiful way to usher in the story of redemption that we read in the chapters that follow, when God delivered the Israelites from their enslavement to the Egyptians.
24 And God heard their groaning, and God remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac, and with Jacob. 25 God saw the people of Israel—and God knew.
Exodus 2:24-25 ESV
God saw. And God knew.
He knew their suffering. Their groanings. Their grieves and hopelessness.
And, He acted in ways they never expected or saw coming.
And God is the same God that Dunbar calls out to, from behind the mask, in his poem.
And He is the same God today, that we must cry out to from behind our literal and figurative masks.
He sees, my friends. And He knows.
Do not lose hope, or passion, or discipline, or compassion for each other.