“She’s not who I thought she was.”
Those words are enough to stop anyone in their tracks. We spend so much time on impression management, making sure that the “me” everyone else sees is acceptable, good, and even holy. But when someone sees past that, when we slip up, when a shred of unplanned vulnerability slips through our curated image, we feel exposed.
There is nothing wrong with curating our image; in a world where there is an implied demand on our vulnerability and “real-ness” through the oversharing space that is social media, holding onto one’s privacy and safeguarding the stickier parts of ourselves can be a form of self-defense. We keep quiet what is private, rather than sharing everything about ourselves with the world.
Some call this stewardship. Others call it healthy boundaries. But what happens when this self-protection turns into the impulse to hide all the parts that are messy, instead showcasing to the world a façade of who we would rather be instead?
In doing that, you are one person in front of others and another person behind closed doors. This is duplicity. Going beyond the protective instinct to keep vulnerable parts of yourself sacred, duplicity intentionally presents one image of self to others while keeping the real, oftentimes more negative self, private and locked away.
On a campus where Catholicism is everyday and sainthood is conventional, there is the temptation to act holy and devoted in front of others in ways that are inconsistent with our authentic interior lives. Daily Mass goers harbor addictions behind closed doors. Household brothers and sisters attend Lord’s Day on Saturday afternoon after partying and underage drinking late into Friday night. Students study theology, reading the Bible for homework, but then cheat on tests and papers. FOP worshippers pray with open hands and tearful eyes, but hold inside a heart so numb that it is difficult to feel anything at all.
And under all of this is a fear that, if I were found out, if they truly knew who I was, then I would not be seen as a good person.
I would be seen as broken.
I would be seen as unintelligent.
I would be seen as unworthy.
We are all broken. Each of us has crosses we bear and sins we struggle with which keep us from being who we truly want to be. When we curate an image of someone who is holy, it exposes the desire in our hearts to be what we proclaim to be.
But part of being holy is being brave.
Vulnerability is scary. Admitting that you are lacking, that you need help, that you struggle is incredibly difficult – but it is also incredibly brave. Friends, how can we inspire others to holiness when we aren’t willing to do the holy thing and admit we need the Lord? How can the flame of sanctity be catching if we blow it out the minute we are alone?
This is not to say you need to share every vulnerable, messy part of yourself with everyone you meet – that would be spiritual and personal oversharing. But in order to be truly holy, we need to lead an integrated life. This means that what is going on inside our hearts, in our relationships with the Lord and with ourselves, needs to match our exterior. This is true authenticity.
The reality is, the war between good and evil is alive and active, and its terrain is the human heart.
And in this war, authenticity is a battle for human souls, and we succumb to it in duplicity. We hide out of pride and shame, and we pretend out of fear and insecurity. But the Lord does not desire this for us. He desires us to be real.
So, friends, let us be authentic. Let us be real. For it is in this realness, before God and before those we are called to share ourselves with, that we become truly sanctified. Let’s be brave.