Tonight I watched a movie in which the martyred hero - who dramatically proclaimed much-needed change to an entire nation gripped by fear - never showed his face. He never even spoke his own real name. His praise was sung after his sensational and inescapable death. Even the gruesome, appalling things that the masked man did (when I was still trying to decide if he was some mad man or a champion) were somehow turned to right and wonder in the end. The long-suffering heroine learned to love her mysterious rescuer, this somewhat-different-than-man who spoke a truth she had never heard before. But even she never got a glimpse of his face. He had a mission for which he was willing to die, and he would suffer no obstacle to stand in his way. If his mission was for the ultimate good, surely everything he did was acceptable, even applaudable. Thus ran the story. The cringing masses were stirred up to free themselves from the bonds of their power-hungry oppressor - all thanks to the fearless vision and action of this one masked man.
Yet still we never get to look at his face. And now you know my chief dislike of the movie. The mask. It never came off - it never changed its somewhat ghoulishly grinning expression - to his very last breath, the man behind the mask remained concealed, unknown. If they wanted to build a hero, I at least wanted to be able to look into his eyes. But even the girl who loved him frankly admitted that she hardly knew a thing about him - where he grew up, who his parents were, if he had any siblings. Normally well-known facts between lovers.
Nonetheless, our masked champion clung to his disguise to the very end, ashamed, I think, of the true appearance of his own face. He had been unspeakably disfigured and cruelly scarred, and he carried the unseen wounds to his death. So intent on his enormous mission that he would cover his own self with a blatant lie. “I am not what you see,” the mask seemed to gravely say. “But you cannot see what I really am.” And so he strictly forbade everyone personal access to himself. He chose the mask, and it cut him off from living as a human.
Dear God, I am glad You are not like that! Compare the fearless hero, dead and masked at the end, to the Jesus Who died, bleeding and naked, on a cross. He hid all - You hid nothing. You promise to reveal Yourself to those who seek You, and in a world where “facelessness” is becoming more and more common, this is a dear promise indeed. It is a dangerous thing to blindly follow the beguiling voice behind a mask, even if it would be a hero. To wear a mask is to hide - to pretend - to remain untouched and untouchable. Poetic, I am sure - but not very life-giving.
But You, God, have never stopped making Yourself knowable and approachable. Your mission is redemption, not for one nation, but for a world, and You invite us all into unlimited access with You. And if we will come into Your presence, You do not rush to cover the truth of Your being, but gladly reveal to us Your face and Your name. And so in all ways You have proved Yourself as the God without a mask.
