real with ourselves—that is brave. Most of us hide our uncertainty about ourselves behind a mask. For some of us the mask is that of the cool academic type; for others the muscular, athletic type. For some it's the 'girl who knows how to handle boys' type, for others the shy, lovable type. For some, it's the 'life and soul of the party' type, for others the aloof, detached, 'I don't need anybody' type. Some people even develop a kind of schizophrenia, adopting different roles depending on where they are and who they're with. I find this happening with some students I know in Cambridge, who have one mask for home and one for university, one for church and one for college. Fundamentally it's a sign of insecurity; they don't know who they really are, or want to be, or are meant to be. Such people are confused about their identity, as this boy was confused. Tragically, some never get beyond that role-play. As they get older the roles change, but the masks become even more firmly fixed to their faces. Eventually the masks never come off, not even in those quiet, private moments when there's nobody there to see them.
To get away from the audience and to engage in radical self-examination marked an indispensable step in this boy's salvation. This is the point Jesus is making. The same courage is required of us if we're going to get out of the hole we're in. We must face up to certain truths, according to Jesus.
The first truth is that we are lost. Our lives are dissatisfied and unhappy basically because of this. The root of his problem dawned on this boy as he sat there in his pigsty: it was not that he lacked something called food. Rather he lacked someone called 'father'. Augustine, one of the greatest prodigals of them all, came to the same discovery. 'You have made us for yourself,' he confessed to God, 'and our hearts are restless till they find their rest in you.' We toy with material things, trying to slake a thirst that lies not in the physical realm but in the
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