The Director thanked the minister for visiting the Mission, said his goodbyes, and added, "By the way.  You may want to know; I used to be one of them."

I'm sure that there are a lot of reasons for the minister's tirade. We have different language for that place. "I just about broke." "I almost lost it completely." "That's it; I give up." "I can't take anymore."

And we vent...   

When we are tired.

When we feel vulnerable.   

When we feel guilty for wasting time.

And we vent when we are afraid.  

Here's the deal: I believe that the well-known minister saw himself in those men.  Such a reflection--some part of us unsightly, unrefined, or broken--is unnerving if we have spent our life trying to be "somebody," creating a persona, or an artifice of achievement.  Novelist Susan Howatch calls it our "glittering image."

A couple of weeks ago, walking through the lobby in an upscale hotel, I found myself carried along by a stream of people dressed in formal wear, on their way to an "event."  Off to the side, I watched a father fussing over his young son's tie.  The boy--maybe three or four--is dressed in a full suit replete with bow tie, his blonde hair neatly parted and combed.  I hear his father say, "Okay.  Now remember.  This is very important.  You need to be on your very best behavior."  The little boy nods his head, wanting to make certain that he makes his Daddy proud.

Somewhere along the way, we buy the notion that our very identity hinges on how well we keep that promise.  I can tell you that I know this is how it happened in my own life.  "Whatever you do," the voice in my mind still whispers. "Don't ever let anyone see how uncomfortable that suit really is."

So we wear it, the suit or role or label or mask, and eventually grow accustomed to it.  Of course, my "suit" changed, as I grew older.  Just like that minister, I did my best to create an image of togetherness, well-being, and success.  And above all else, control. 

Maybe you can relate? 

"Are we there yet?" 

No wonder we're tired at the end of the day.

I suppose that I wanted to be "impressive."  And Lord knows you can't be impressive if there are visible chinks in the armor.  After all, we still live in a world where any sign of weakness is best left unmentioned.  So.  We distance our self from the discomfort and stain of incompleteness (or feeling of failure), and from any resemblance to "them."

It's hard to erase, isn't it?  This gnawing sensation that there is a part of us beyond redemption.  (Of course, that is the part I want to hide.  Or pretend exists only in "them.")

But what if?  What if the reality of spirituality (of our spiritual journey and our spiritual "wholeness") abides in (or actually finds a home in) this sense of incompleteness?  What if it is okay that we are still "unfinished?" 

In Yearnings, Rabbi Irwin Kula explains, "This is the essential paradox of human life: We are always and inevitably incomplete, on the way, slipping and sliding, making mistakes.  But the ancient voices insist that this is not failure; it is rather the necessary reflection of the paradox that we are.  Paradox is the nature of be-ing human, of human being." 

Here's the good news.  If we recognize that we are still unfinished. . .

Instead of venting, we will find Grace. 

Instead of venting, we will give ourselves the permission to slowly unmask, and remove the glittering image we hide behind. 

Instead of venting, not only do we find redemption, but freely offer the gift of redemption to those whose paths we cross.

I confess that (often) I learn more at the movies than I do from any Sunday homily.  If you are a Star Wars fan, you'll know what I'm talking about.  The series storyline carries a recurring enactment of "unmasking."  Padmé takes off her helmet to speak with the mortally wounded Cordé; Luke removes his storm-trooper helmet to introduce himself to Leia; Leia pulls off her bounty hunter mask to profess her love for Han; a dying Anakin pleads with Luke to remove his mask.  Sometimes it is as simple a matter as no longer needing a disguise.  However, on a deeper level, if masking represents the replacement of one identity with another, then unmasking marks the return to the genuine self. 

I didn't preach at a Union Gospel Mission this weekend, but I did have the pleasure of meeting new friends and talking with a group of nurses and caregivers north of Dallas about presence.

About the freedom that comes when we no longer need to pretend we have our act together.   

We give up our need to be perfect and our need to be in control.   

We admit with confidence, "I used to be one of them."   

And Grace meets us there.

Summer is making an early departure from the Pacific Northwest, if today is any indicator. The temperature has dropped and thunder showers entertained us most of the day. Here they are unusual and fill the sky with the sound of great tribal drums. I've always loved the autumn garden because it seems so unpretentious in its beauty. With the vigor of early spring gardens, the robustness of summer, autumn gardens are for sipping wine, savoring the late rose blooms and letting go of the "to-do" list that still lingers. Autumn gardens reminds us that with nothing to prove and no one to impress, we can pause; stare up into the roiling clouds and heavenly spectacle, and savor the gift.