(Each Saturday, a faith leader offers a personal perspective in this space. To become part of this series, email religion@recorder.com)
Recently, while masked and at a safe distance, I encountered another masked person. Despite her mask, I recognized her, but she did not recognize me. I said “Hello” and called her by name. Astonished and surprised, she did not know who I was until I said my name. We exchanged pleasantries and went our separate ways.
The wearing of masks seems to be the norm for the foreseeable future. Our COVID-19 masks have safety and health as their purpose. But masks have a way of hiding what is real, or if you will, masks have a way of hiding who we really are, the person behind the mask.
Interestingly, the word “person” did not originally refer to the individual in the way we tend to use it today. Instead, “person” came, via French, from the Latin word “persona,” which referred to the mask worn by an actor to portray a particular character. The masks in Greek theater consisted primarily of themes of comedy and tragedy. Actors wore masks so the audience could see the facial expression clearly. In addition, the actors had to make exaggerated movements so that the audience could understand what was happening, much as actors did during the silent movie days of old, before “talkies.”
Greek theater masks had large holes for the mouth. The actors needed to project their voices through the large opening of the masks, which were made of light materials such as linen, leather, wood or cork. Interestingly, it seems that voices projected through the mask were affected by the masks themselves. Actors often switched roles by switching masks, and they did so by turning away from the audience. Actors would never reveal themselves when changing their masks.
Our persona is very much related to the roles we play, i.e., the masks we put on to play the parts we play. A person’s public persona might be that of a strong, determined leader, but in private, behind the mask — the persona — that person might be extremely insecure. The old adage comes to mind, “Laugh clown, and smile, though your heart might be breaking.” Who are we, really, each one of us, behind our masks, behind the persona? Appearances are and can be deceiving.
There is fear behind the mask I am wearing — yes, fear for my health and fear for the health of all the ones I love and cherish. There is also a deep sadness behind the mask I am wearing. Like many others, I have recently and tragically lost a dear friend to this disease much before her time. But behind this mask I am also deeply sorry for the tragic loss of life around this globe due to this fiend. I share profound sadness for the loss of employment and well-being of so many. And yes, behind this mask lies extreme anger at those in power who refuse to give more aid, and at those who somehow have the immoral capacity to benefit from the sufferings and losses of so many less fortunate
But thankfully, there is also a deep and lasting hope behind the mask I am wearing. I see the goodness of people reaching out, willing to risk even their own life and well-being for others. As I look out beyond my mask, I see the resilience of people, and good-will, even humor, and I rejoice. I have a profound belief in, and trust that truth and goodness will prevail over the lies and greed. I have an abiding hope in the resilience of humankind, believing as Anne Frank that despite the horror of her times, people are basically good.
And finally, I have an unshakable hope and trust in the God of love, who abides with us and guides us, especially during the most difficult times. We all wear masks, persona, all of the time. Even so, we are known perfectly, completely, as we really are: “For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror, then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.” I Corinthians 13:12
The Rev. Lloyd Parrill, Ph.D., is a retired United Church of Christ (UCC) minister. He served the Trinitarian Congregational Church, UCC, in Northfield for 35 years, from 1977 to 2012.