Costume Party

The kids’ aisle in a novelty shop from my childhood seemed to stretch out as far as the horizon, and its shelves seemed to touch the sky. The aisle was packed with box after box of the most marvelous costumes. The artwork on each box was so impressive and realistic that I was convinced that there were real cowboys, pirates, and astronauts in those boxes. Well not really, but more like the contents were going to transform me into an actual cowboy, pirate, or astronaut. It was terribly difficult deciding which person I wanted to be or which personality I wanted to portray. Picking out a Halloween costume was serious business. My costume would say a lot about me. After I would make my choice, I couldn’t wait to get home and pop the box open.

Each year I would snap the tape that held the top of the box and pull the top off, but instead of laughing with delight, I would let out a big sigh. The contents of the box never, and I mean never, lived up to the hype of the artwork on the box. Inside was a cheap plastic mask with an even cheaper and flimsier elastic band. The mask was paired with a large, thin plastic apron vaguely resembling the apparel of the character portrayed in the artwork. On Halloween, instead of riding through the neighborhood like a cowboy, or swashbuckling the asphalt sea like Blackbeard the Pirate, or floating weightlessly from house to house like Neil Armstrong, I fumbled, bumbled, and stumbled around wearing what looked like a giant lobster bib and a painted plastic mask.

Ironically, the mask designed to keep people from “seeing” me actually prevented me from seeing other people and most everything else. The mask had two very small peepholes for vision. They were so small they didn’t allow any peripheral vision at all, and whatever was straight ahead was just barely observable. Negotiating the sidewalk and crossing streets was incredibly dangerous. In addition to the peepholes, there was an equally small hole in the mask for breathing. The breathing hole was similarly obstructive. It was too small to allow an appropriate amount of fresh air in and way too small to let the exhausted air from my lungs escape. After breathing back in stale air and bumping into cars and lampposts, I would be forced to lift the mask so I could see and breathe. I held out as long as I could so my disguise wouldn’t be compromised. The joke was always on me. That mask and plastic apron in no way, shape, or form hid my identity from anyone. I wasn’t a cowboy, pirate, or astronaut to them. I was Dave in a silly lobster bib costume. After a few years of that, I learned why adults spent more on better, more elaborate costumes for their parties.

I thought back at how dangerous my kids costume was, but I’ve seen that adult costumes can be equally - if not more - dangerous. As each person approaches adulthood, they find themselves in an imaginary costume shop deciding who they want to be when they grow up. As a young adult, I tried on several different “costumes” and kept the ones that brought the most attention and success. I put on a persona that concealed the real me, and in the process (just like the kids costume) obstructed the real world. People could not see me, and I could not see them. Their reactions and praises for “costumed” Dave made me wonder if they would ever like the “real” Dave. I wondered if I liked the “real” Dave. I wouldn’t dare remove the mask. But the problem with leaving the mask on was the same as with the cheap plastic mask; it made it difficult to breathe. In a spiritual sense, I was filling my lungs with recycled stale air.

“You let the world, which doesn’t know the first thing about living, tell you how to live. You filled your lungs with polluted unbelief and then exhaled disobedience. We all did it, all of us doing what we felt like doing, when we felt like doing it, all of us in the same boat.” (Ephesians 2:2-3, The Message)

…all of us at the same costume party wearing a cheap mask that wouldn’t allow us to be seen, see, or breathe - doing what the “world” expected of us. The sad, funny part of it all is that though we couldn’t see each other, we were so totally exposed to God. We were just a bunch of kids bumbling, fumbling, and stumbling through life in lousy plastic aprons and masks, desperately in need of fresh air. He knew who we were, and we looked plain silly being everything but who He intended us to be. God is serious about us living out the lives He intends for us. He does not want us encouraging each other to put on costumes. Rather, He wants us to encourage each other to discover who He has made us to be.

“Direct your children onto the right path, and when they are older, they will not leave it.” (Proverbs 22:6)

It is an invitation to a party where people can be seen, see, and breathe fresh air. I’m invited, and you are too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner