The Message the Mask Never Tells

We live in a busy world today. An airplane just flew over my head, probably carrying some two hundred people, each distantly pondering their own lives, their expected destinations, and their constantly buzzing phones. They probably didn't notice they were going some 200 miles an hour...or flying in the air, for that matter.

Cell phones beep constantly. Our thumbs are always tapping on their bright little screens, our eyes are always down, our heads are always spinning.

Cars zoom by. A dog barks. We squint against the wind, hide our faces from the sun. The boss calls, the baby whines, news reporters scream—and there goes that dreaded alarm again. The toaster dings, your headphones sing, advertisements gleam.

Headaches pound, the pills go down...and life drags on. We're weary, broken, panicked souls—tired, moaning, dulled.

Sunday comes, the church bells ring—or do we even have those any more? The pastor preaches, we all shake hands...lunch and day-long chores.

And all the time we never see that this busyness, this mess—this ain't reality.

Let me put that to you again: This is not reality.

We live in a world where production is key, where work comes first and time never stops. I mean, sure, this stuff is happening. It's "real," in that sense. But I think we know, somewhere deep down—in a place we've all but blocked off—that there's more to it than this. We're yearning for something deeper, secretly hoping all the noise will stop and the bustle will cease. We know that the giant mask of distraction championed by, well, nearly everybody these days is throwing us off, keeping us from that more meaningful message, that "real-er" reality. But we're scared—frightened out of our minds—to take our chances, to quiet our worlds ourselves. Aren't we? Aren't we worried by silence? Terrified at the thought of sitting down and reflecting, at abandoning the agendas and tackling head-on the whispers that flit through our heads in those few seconds where the distractions haven't managed to dull them enough?

Enough.

You know all this, don't you? You're painfully familiar with this busy world. Your heart cried as I described it. You long to settle down. We all do.

So what would we hear if we stopped, if we really stopped—not just the incessant tapping on screens or the unending sound waves bursting our eardrums, but the tiny voices that pester our souls, the quiet whispers that tell us the pain or the masks or the insecurity or the worthlessness is all there is? What if we moved into a silence that was deeper than all that—the deepest vibrations of reality? What would we hear? What message really lies underneath all the humdrum we've built up to drown it out?

Calm your mind down—right here, right now. Be still.

Now take some time to read this:

"For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life" (John 3:16, NIV 1984).

You've heard it before. I know that. But slow down. Read it again:

"For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life."

Breathe. One more time:

"For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life."

What's really real is not the streaking cars, the blinking lights, or the worry they so faithfully share. No, child. That stuff is a mask, a distraction—pulling you from what the silence might otherwise convince you to hear. The deepest recesses of reality pulsate with a different message. Take a deep breath, and listen.

Watch the leaves as they flicker gently in the breeze. Run your hand through the ocean waves. Let your hair out. Smell the flowers. All creation is whispering one phrase, rejoicing in the truth of this well-known yet oft-forgotten verse: Your Father loves you.

Your Father loves you.

You. Yes, you. The one with the shaking hands and the stumbling feet. The one who spilled the milk yesterday. The one who just can't seem to dull her pain or quiet her pounding heart. The one who forgot how to tie his shoes. The one who can't muster up "faith," the one who can't remember a lick of Scripture, the one who never shows up to church on time...even the one who doesn't show up at all, the one who doesn't yet know His name. He's calling out to the liar, welcoming the criminal, the prostitute, the tax-collector, the broken, the bleeding, the clumsy, the insecure, the frightened, the weak, the imperfect—He wants us all. You've messed up. I have too. He knows that. Gosh, He knows that better than we do. But you know what the cross says? It says that, in it all, He loves you. The God of the universe loves you. And He wants you to know that. He gave everything so you could know that—and know that for eternity with Him.

It's a messy world. It really is. And we are messy people—every one of us. But, for ten minutes today—right now—would you just close your eyes and let Him speak over you? Let Him tell you what His love is like. My words are but a poor shadow of the relentless passion of your eternal Father. Let Him tell you. Choose right now to take a break, to rest, and to just know this one thing, the never-ending beat of His heart:

He loves you.