The Cloak of Invisibility

I had this awesome opportunity recently to go to this really upscale restaurant this evening for a work event. By upscale I mean, multiple courses were served, wine, beer, the works, and yes. They even came in with a “crumb swiper” (what I cleverly named this particular device I never knew even existed) between each course.

I’d been looking forward to it all week and I was not let down. I knew that it’d be better than I imagined, and boy, was it! There was a point though, when I realized that even more than most waiters and waitresses, the jobs of these waiters and waitresses was to be invisible. They attempted to disappear. The effect that we were supposed to notice was glasses never being empty, food magically appearing before us, and wow – crumbs from our own sloppiness suddenly being gone. The sign that the job was well done was people not noticing you and not  thanking you.

I can see the appeal. It feeds an illusion that “I am the center of everything”, which most people appreciate once and again, especially if they don’t feel they matter in the rest of their lives. But for the people whose job it is to be invisible, I felt sorrow.

As I thought on it more, I recognized how much similarity that bore to my experience in the faith. Being invisible was a good thing. I thought being “emptied of myself” was necessary to being “filled with God”. I thought being myself was inherently sinful because if I lived for God, I no longer existed. I mourn for my grave misinterpretation here. But I feel like that idea is bolstered through faith communities. And even moreso for women. That issue aside, invisibility itself seemed virtuous. In fact, it sounded a lot like humility.

What is humility? Humility, to me at one time, was: not drawing attention to yourself, not accepting compliments, not allowing others to see you shine, not shining. Not standing out. I heard lessons on it. People often described me as humble. I wonder sometimes if they were praising a wrong attribute.

At the time I equally despised and embraced invisibility, thinking it was humility. Thinking it was noble and virtuous, all while demeaning myself, God’s creation. Acting as though I was embarrassed by it. Perhaps even being embarrassed by it.

Philippians talks about humility. About Jesus not seeing equality with God as something to be “grasped” or “used to his advantage”, or whatever your translation says. If Jesus is the image of humility, holy crap, we have got to redefine it. I can’t think of many people more visible than Jesus. He did things that were weird, that brought attention to himself, that would naturally lead people to praise him. Did he do it for the attention and praise? That’s debatable, I suppose, depending of definitions and interpretations; regardless he didn’t shy away from doing things that brought attention to himself or caused himself to stand out.

Likewise, we are God’s creation. Don’t we think that what he creates is good? Don’t we think that if Jesus was so visible that we can be too? This isn’t justification for us to act as though we have all the answers. But it is reason to question why we so seek invisibility.

I think we seek invisibility for one reason. We are ashamed. We are ashamed of what God created when he made us. We are ashamed of what we have become. And we are afraid others will see us and think the same awful things of us that we think of ourselves.

That’s why our culture is obsessed with anonymity. The internet seems to have been invented for crap like that. We love to hide behind our usernames and say things we wouldn’t have the boldness to say elsewhere. Even “in person”, we love the freedom of interacting with people we know we will never ever see again, knowing that they probably won’t judge us and that even if they do, it won’t have the power to affect us the next day. We love anonymity. We love things that isolate us, all while simultaneously hating to be lonely. We love the mystery that we are while fearing that no one would love us if they truly knew us and fearing that we will never be known (ultimately my biggest fear).

Or we embrace the spotlight… At least insofar as we are projecting the values we admire and think others might too. I have received a handful of awards in my lifetime. I am simultaneously ashamed and proud of them. I don’t want people to know because I don’t want to be reduced to what the awards say about me. But I want people to know because, man, I want people to recognize that I am officially worth something, not just subjectively. I am a huge words-of-affirmation person. I need it to feel like I matter, to feel like life is worth living. Yet, I’m terrified of standing out because I feel it is ungodly.

Ironically, I don’t think standing out is. Being recognized isn’t. Being blessed by it isn’t. Yet, embracing the spotlight as affirmation of where I stand because of shame I inherently feel? Embracing anonymity because of the shame I inherently feel? That demonstrates a lack of security in my understanding of God’s love for me. That’s not meant to bring on more shame or more expectations. It’s meant to bring further reason to rest in God and to seek his vision and his love for us.

Over the past several months, prayer has become terrifying to me. Because more than ever I have desired anonymity, even with God. Sometimes it’s hard to serve a God who “knows my name”, as the song says. It’s easier to serve a faceless God who doesn’t care about names. I get that. It’s how I think. It’s how the world operates. More risk is involved when it includes me. All of me. And prayer is impossible when anonymity is involved. Prayer is the central place where the cloak of invisibility is removed and where I am forced to come to grips with who I am truly. With all my good traits and bad. And to know that all of me is accepted by God. Or to trust it, even when my fear doesn’t allow for that sort of love to even be imaginable.

I pray to be a presence that doesn’t drive people to seek anonymity or the spotlight. I pray to be a presence that truly sees people and affirms who they are. Man, forget that. Even my language shows my strive for anonymity. I don’t pray to be a “presence”. I pray to be a person, man. I pray to be that kind of person. One that accepts fully in a way that doesn’t cause people to pull back in fear or shame of revealing themselves and one that accepts so fully that people don’t feel the need to exonerate their best qualities to make up for where they lack. And God, I hope one day I trust that I’m accepted fully and that maybe, just maybe, I can appreciate myself in the same way.

EDIT: Totally meant to close with this quote from Marianne Williamson. I know many people who take offense to it and think it's a horrible, self-exalting stance. But given the thrust of this blog entry, I hope we can all appreciate this quote in a new way (even if, like me, you already loved it):

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.