The atmosphere at our holiday party was pretty low key. People moved steadily between the bar and the buffet, but conversation moved in fits and starts. There was a distinct possibility this would go into the books as one of our less successful affairs.
Until Santa came bursting on the scene.
It took only a few sentences before we realized "Santa" had a slight Boston accent, one never lost in spite of more than thirty years living in the Midwest. It was our departmental vice president capering around in the fur trimmed red suit. After the dancing, singing and general rabble-rousing performance, it will be difficult to look at him in quite the same way on Monday.
There is a certain magic in a costume, especially one as all-enveloping as a Santa suit. Actors are familiar with the phenomenon: no matter how thorough the preparation, a character is never so fully inhabited as when everyone is set to go for the first full dress rehearsal. Putting on the costume frees us to fully take on the personality of our character, to bury ourselves in the role.
We go through a similar process in real life. Each of us wears several costumes - spouse, employee, parent, friend, musician, writer, jokester - the possibilities are endless. We put on a set of acceptable behaviors for each of those roles, switching costume pieces as needed throughout the day.
But who are we underneath it all?
Fearing that without it we are worthless, we cling to the last vestiges of our wardrobe, afraid to be seen naked and shivering, for what we really are.
But God sees through all the fancy frills, period dresses and fake beards, knowing from before we are born exactly who we are.
And He loves us anyway.
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