Masks and the Armor of God

The Mask and the Person

Our English word for “person” comes from the Latin word “Persona” or the Greek equivalent πρόσωπα (prosopon). ^a This Greek version of person should conjure in the mind of the reader the idea of ancient Greek theaters and the various “masks” they would use to express emotions and communicate identity. Today phrases like “be my own person” reveal that we share this Hellenistic inclination to use person as an expression of who we are as an individual. Or perhaps, like the Greek actors, we use masks to contrive an identity as to alter how we are seen by others.

The Greek theatre modeled itself after the Greek god Dionysus. Dionysus is famous for his bodily transformations and for appearing to mortals as a variety of creatures, as a male or female, and as the patron of wine and various ceremonial meals. Professor Thanos Vovolis of the American University of Greece describes a connection between the mask and the Dionysus. “This contradictory, polymorphous, paradoxical god [Dionysus], was most often depicted as a mask.” ^b

The various characters Dionysus becomes are masks of an exaggerated morphological God. And in a proto-Jungian fashion represents archetypal human characteristics and psychological sentiments. For example, Dionysus becomes female (puts on the female mask) that he might express the feminine ideals. At his core, he is still understood to be Dionysus, but his personality puts forward this mask on top of his deity to express a new identity. With helmets and breastplates, St. Paul describes the Christian life in similar terms with the “putting on” a new person through a spiritual wardrobe.

The Armor over Blood

St. Paul writes, “Put on the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.” (Ephesians 6:11) Often overlooked in the idea of “putting on armor” is the thought that there is something underneath that is worthy of protection. It is obvious in modern warfare that a bulletproof vest is helpful to protect the vulnerable flesh it shields. For just a small trauma on the wrong vein or artery can lead to an exsanguinating death. But in St. Paul’s description of a spiritual armor, we are given tools to protect what we often assume to be a spiritual body. What is it that the armor of God protects? It is the very gift of faith and a “new heart.” The Lord promises, “A new heart also will I give you, and a new spirit will I put within you: and I will take away the stony heart out of your flesh, and I will give you an heart of flesh. And I will put my spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes, and ye shall keep my judgments, and do them.” (Ezekiel 36:26-27)

The process of receiving a new heart in salvation implies a new life. The Reformational tradition is exceptional in its emphasis on the death of the old man and the resurrection of the new. This new life is in one sense a restoration of an edenic wholeness with our perfect human nature restored in being “born again.” It is made accessible to mankind because the same perfect human nature that was taken upon the Godhead through the incarnation of the Son. Christ’s incarnation therefore affirms the worthiness of our human nature as not only good, but lovable and worthy of sacrifice – even the sacrifice of the only begotten Son of God. Thus the armor of God is the Spirit protecting what has been redeemed. It is the reminder that our humanity – a created body and soul – merits divine attention. Or more simply, it is evidence that God really cares about you.

While St. Paul writes of armor of peace, righteousness, and truth – we often find ourselves living lives that fall short of these Biblical ideals. Rather than walking with feet shod by peace, we struggle with discord in the church and at home. Despite the promise of a righteous shield, we feel the hot, fiery darts piercing our tender souls through our personal failures to overcome temptation. We struggle to wear the helmet of salvation as our beleaguered arms refuse the carry the weight of the Spirit’s sword. Each day seems to be filled with labored thrusts pulled from an already exhausted self. To the Christian who has already been trying, the idea of the Lord’s armor can seem to be another burden for an exhausted soul.

Armor and Masks

Our masks can be intentional, habitual, or even latent. When grandmother comes for a family visit, perhaps you put on a mask that is more mindful of your language and is respectful about table manners. Perhaps we put on a mask that seems interested in the world of sports around crowds of sports fans. Our masks can be reactions to trauma or dissatisfaction. We’re insecure so we mask ourselves in the false security of style or other symbols of wealth. We mask a broken marriage with endless smiling photos together on Instagram.

We have trouble “putting on the armor of God” because it doesn’t fit over the “masks” we wear. The armor wasn’t meant to comfort us when our fleshly weakness is exposed or even to save us the embarrassment of human failure. St. Paul declares that the armor of God is given that “ye may be able to stand.” Our false personas may protect us from the judgement of others, but they also shield us from the fullness of God’s transforming power.

The masks we choose to wear are similar to the Phoropter at the eye doctor’s office. This is that giant set of lenses that the optometrist places before your face while they ask, “Which is better, one or two?” On the other side the doctor is flipping the cross-cylinder lens to try and match its strength to your eyes. Our masks are our attempt to focus on the world around us by adjusting the way others see us, when what we need is an adjustment of how we see ourselves.

The scriptures ask, “Who is able to stand before this holy Lord God?” (1 Sam. 6:20) The Armor of God enables us to stand – to stand blameless before the throne of God. It is Christ who bought you and today it is Christ who protects you with the whole armor of God. Let us lay aside our masks as we seek to find our identity in God’s call on our lives rather than the circumstances of this world.

1. A word also worthy of study for its Christological implications in the work of Theodore of Mopsuestia.  (back)
2. The Acoustical Mask in Greek Tragedy and in Contemporary Theatre by Thanos Vovolis  (back)