THE MASK

Nobody really knew. For that matter, I didn't really know. It was so artfully concealed that even those closest to me could only have sensed that things were a bit out of kilter. But that's all. Most probably put it down to being a more emotional or melancholy sort. 'Oh, Mark? He's OK – a bit up and down, perhaps, but basically just a typical arty type!' I always described myself as an emotional yoyo anyway.

But, in late 2005, I had to come to terms with a situation that was more serious than that. Prior to that point, I had masked it – not least, from myself.

On the pros and cons of masks

I was one of those antediluvian types who studied Classics (Latin and Greek) at university. But having been heading that way for many years, I didn't find myself as gripped by it as some (I eventually switched to theology, studying each for two years). There was one exception: Greek tragedy. These ancient plays seemed grippingly contemporary – I especially fell in love with Euripides. Sure, the plots were outlandish, with gods and demigods prancing around and wreaking havoc on the affairs of princes and cities. But the ways these dramas probed the impact on people's lives, and even psychology, was nothing short of breathtaking. They could have been describing events in the news. This was true despite what (for modern audiences) must be the plays' strangest aspect: the masks.

Imagine some great theatre, a monumental seashell carved out of a Mediterranean mountainside. At the base of this banked semicircle is the circular stage, backed by a great wall of doors, alcoves and openings on multiple levels, from which actors playing gods might intervene in the drama. All the main action takes place on the central stage, however. The genius of these buildings is that the sightlines and acoustics are perfect, despite being open to the elements. An entire audience can see and hear everything. Because all the actors wear identical clay masks, however, the one skill they never require is facial expression. Their movements are rigidly stylized as well. Instead, they must rely entirely on the script and their vocal skills to move audiences to tears or laughter. But this they consistently achieve.

The purpose of these masks was to focus an audience's attention on the characters and not the actors bringing them to life. The effect, I suppose, is a bit like movie stars hidden by layers of prosthetics or digital animation. The mask also reminds the audience that this is make-believe; it is pretence; it is in fact a lie. All acting is lying. But here is the great paradox of drama: if these lies are acted convincingly, truth (whether about reality or relationships) gets conveyed powerfully.

We are perfectly familiar with this, and, in our entertainment-obsessed world, we applaud those who can pull off the widest range of parts.

But should we always be so impressed? The ancient Greek word for actor was hypocrites ([TEXT NOT REPRODUCIBLE IN ASCII]), which, at first, only implied someone who explained or interpreted something. But by New Testament times, it was more negative. It suggested someone who was untrustworthy. They pretended to be one thing while underneath being something else; they presented a good front to mask their reality.

Of course, it needs to be recognized that this is not always negative. Temporary masks have their place, and nearly all of us make use of them. On occasion, it may even be right to use them. We really shouldn't blurt out every thought that pops into our heads. That usually does more harm than good. Self-control is an important virtue, and so this type of mask is as much for others' protection as anything else.

At other times, it is neither appropriate nor necessary for those around us to be aware of every vulnerability or anxiety. A mask is thus a form of protection, necessary to shield emotional wounds from being aggravated, or from being exposed at an inappropriate moment. It is an act, in some ways – 'I'm fine,' we say – a pretence that all is well. That is not a lie as such, but an act of self-defence. As one good friend remarked to me, 'fine' can actually serve as an acronym, standing for 'Feelings Inside Not Expressed!'. It is an understandable mask, and if we never made use of it, we would probably never escape those after-church conversations that already seem interminable enough.

This mask is particularly important for those in Christian ministry. As we seek to pastor and love others, especially the vulnerable, there are times when we must swallow our pride or irritation, ignore our own needs or pressing concerns, for the sake of the urgent or important. We must show consistency and integrity, of course. But when I climb into a pulpit, I may be feeling 1,001 different things, most of which would be irrelevant, inappropriate or unhelpful to mention. We have a duty to teach what is true and healthy, even if we might wish to be miles away. We act out of Christian duty, which invariably conflicts with our emotions and passions. This is true even in normal family life, where it might be necessary to park a discussion or argument because of something more pressing (such as friends coming for a meal). Unsurprisingly, it is necessary in upfront ministry as well. This is not avoidance, but finding the right moment (unless, of course, we don't return to it).

In the strictest sense, that could be defined as hypocrisy. We are pretending. We are acting. But because of the complexity of human nature, there is a sense in which none of us can avoid being hypocritical to some degree. None of us ever has perfectly aligned motives or desires. Even Jesus found himself in great conflict in the Garden of Gethsemane – his deepest fears were militating against his determination to do his Father's will (Matthew 26:36–46).

What matters, I suppose, is how regularly this happens when doing our duty. No-one can be expected to hold in constant balance their duty and passions, their beliefs, feelings and actions, their words and deeds. Being 'out of sync' is not hypocrisy – only the pretence of always being 'in sync' is. And this is where we begin to home in on what Jesus was so critical of. He lambasted the Pharisees for their claims to perfection and their subsequent self-righteous contempt for others:

You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean. In the same way, on the outside you appear to people as righteous but on the inside you are full of hypocrisy and wickedness. (Matthew 23:27–28)

The issue is how honest we are about our weakness and flaws.

Self-defence masks are like that. They are not Pharisaical,...