My Invisibility Cloak

On the Front Rows

How the youth ended up on the front three rows of my home church, I’ll never know. Twice on Sunday and again on Wednesday, my backside occupied one of those front pews during my growing up years. I could describe every stained-glass window, including the one in the baptistry. There were an odd number of air vents on the ceiling surrounded by a large amount of even numbered tiles.

Of course, I listened to the preacher, too—well, most of the time. Growing up in church, the stories were familiar, and the sermons seemed to drone on and on. The words to all the hymns—first, second, and fourth stanzas—were memorized and sung methodically each week. But church was comfortable. Familiar. Safe. And even though I often zoned out, I was grateful to be in church, learning about God.

Still Out Front

As I grew older, I wanted more out of church. I wanted to know this God we heard and sang about. My life needed to change. People needed to be reached with the gospel. And I was no longer content counting ceiling tiles on a Sunday morning.

Bible studies, women’s events, conferences, camps, and groups became my new way to get to know God outside of church meetings. Daily I sought him through bible reading and praying. But, no matter how much good stuff I invited into my life, I still felt a heavy disconnect—a deep emptiness in the pit of my soul.

Still sitting on the front rows of church, I ignored the feeling and continued adding more and more spiritual commitments to my already full young adult plate. Without hesitation, I took on leadership positions, volunteered for service projects, and created ministry opportunities as often as possible. My life needed to reflect Jesus and making his name known was first and foremost.

The deep emptiness, that heavy disconnect, was soon clearly defined, though. Sin. I had unconfessed, hidden sin that was wreaking havoc on my insides. But everywhere I traveled within Christian circles, no one was talking about their sin struggles. Everyone wore a plastic mask and acted like their life was perfectly put together—so I thought I was a bad Christian because my struggle with internal sin was so great.

Sitting on the Back Row

Then I moved to the back of the church. My hoody acted like my invisibility cloak as God confronted me in my sin. All I wanted to do was hide. As the blinders fell off my eyes, I saw the excuses and justifications for what they were and clearly saw how my sin was breaking God’s heart. None of the performance. None of the service. None of my good deeds grew me closer to Jesus. In fact, those activities blinded me to the truth.

God didn’t want my hands—he wanted my heart. He wanted my struggles. My brokenness. My fears. My hurts. My questions. And even my sin. See, Jesus came to this earth to pay for those sins that I was trying so hard to bury underneath. He needed me to stop pretending to be a Christian and learn to actually live like one.

There in the confines of my invisibility cloak, on the back row, for the first time, I realized what a fraud I’d been. A pharisee. A hypocrite. I was never going to find my fulfillment in the activities that surrounded a Christian life until I found my identity in Christ alone and allowed him to change me from the inside out.

So, I hid for a while. Stepped down from all leadership positions. Stopped serving. And learned to be content with getting to know my Savior. He showed me the damage my sin had done and slowly he mended my broken heart. I learned about his kindness. Compassion. Love. Forgiveness. And grace. He showed me that I was no longer defined by the sin I committed, but by the Spirit he placed inside me.

When the preacher spoke, I listened with every fiber of my being. When the music played, I sang the words from my heart, no longer with just my lips. Inside, there was hope. Joy. Peace. And contentment. I was no longer a jumbled-up ball of questions and struggles—I was learning to rest in the assurance of Christ.

In the Front Rows Again

The season of hiding has ended, and I’ve moved back to the front of the church. God grew me as I hid on the back row, under my invisibility cloak. But now it’s time to let him use me. The places he leads are often uncomfortable and require great faith and courage—none of which I can muster alone. But I now understand that ministry and service come from a heart that wants to know God more, not from a place of seeking to earn his favor. He’s not going to love me any more or any less than he already does, so I rest in that great assurance of his continual and unfailing love.

Seasons are inevitable. The front row looks a little different now. But then so does the back. I’m grateful for all my seats—especially under the invisibility cloak. There’s nothing like hiding in the sweet embrace of Jesus and learning to trust his heart. And now that I’ve learned to trust him, there’s nothing like showing someone else the way to his sweet embrace, either.

“I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” John 15:5 (NIV)

“Even now,” declares the Lord, “return to me with all your heart, with fasting and weeping and mourning.” Rend your heart and not your garments. Return to the Lord your God, for he is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in love, and he relents from sending calamity. Joel 2:12-13 (NIV)

© Copyright Christy Bass Adams, August 2022

All pictures from Canva