Taking off the Mask
By Marcel Schwantes
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| Marcel Schwantes |
I remember my dating years as a twentysomething. It was a time when the motto "image is everything" dictated my actions. I had a well inflated opinion of myself, a feeling that came from a false identity filled with self-indulgence on material things and social status—expensive clothes, convertible sports cars, and a manipulative charm used to attract women to like and want me. This air of arrogance fueled an ego with a standard for getting what I wanted, who I wanted. I flaunted the Southern California image until I hit 30 and began a professional career in corporate America. And all along, I had one foot in the door of the church.
Then I met Lizette.*
Six months after meeting Lizette on the dance floor of a ballroom in a glitzy downtown L.A. hotel, I slipped a 1 carat diamond on a solitaire setting around her ring finger. What ensued was the beginning of a rollercoaster ride straight out of a Stephen King horror novel.
My life-altering choice in this story was to marry a rage-a-holic with differing values—a stout believer of new age teachings. Yes, she had a god. She called it her “inner god.” It was an appealing humanistic spirituality, and I immersed myself feet first in her brand of gospel during a time when I had no relationship with the only One that can save.
During most of our relationship, I ignored a series of flapping-in-the-wind red flags, mostly from out-of-control fits of rage that erupted after silly arguments that any couple could resolve with empathy and understanding. “It’ll be okay,” I told myself. “She’ll change.”
As arguments and resentments piled up, we were stuck in a cycle of inflicting pain on each other and we never found a way out. This was a stand-off that, according to one trusted pastor's wisdom, would have never been resolved without the basis of two committed Christians surrendering to a relationship built on trust and unconditional love under God's sovereign Grace.
Numerous blow-ups by Lizette during the marriage conditioned me to live next to a ticking time bomb. I was always on edge. The verbal abuse from her weekly attacks had caused me to shut down emotionally. Counselors later told me I was suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder similar to soldiers returning from war. On any average evening coming home from work, I didn't know which wife I was going to get. I could "sense" the enemy present even before I walked in. It was a home divided in half, with angels and demons in the spiritual world waging war in the living room, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. And yet, I wasn't strong enough to do anything about it.
One such event happened in our apartment after an argument. By now, I was accustomed to the vulgar expletives and other assorted verbal abuse. But this episode was different. She took it to a new level - the physical.
She swung several times toward my face but never actually connected. I felt a "force field" that protected my face from her punches. Lizette was strong from sixteen years of training and swimming competitively. Had she connected, I would have felt the force of rage transferred to her fist. She would’ve caused damage.
Looking back, some things don't make sense in the physical world until you get to analyze it later with a spiritual perspective. I could only attribute this to angels protecting me. But I had not found grace yet.
My misguided adult journey up to this point was a case study of an insecure man hiding behind many masks, unaware of the counsels of the Redeemer that would transform me from making self-destructive life choices to living life abundantly. Up to this point, I had no heavenly compass.
In therapy sessions, my own “crimes” in the marriage began to surface. My diagnosis was the “silent knight.” I was a husband not able to be completely transparent with my wife, a man not able to speak truth about what he truly wanted, which was a life of service and ministry to God. Doing so would mean losing control of the false identity, losing the trophy wife that I had—the tall, attractive swimmer that turned heads. Instead, I took the easy way out—dishonesty and emotional withdrawal. When she needed her husband to offer her grace, gentleness, compassion, understanding and validation of her feelings, I wasn’t equipped to do so. Early in the relationship, she, the staunch agnostic, asked, “Will this Adventist Sabbath-keeping stuff get in the way of us?” and I answered smugly, “no.” I knew the truth. But ego and willpower had the upper hand again.
My truth was devoid of the Love I never knew I needed—one of a Savior who stood in place of my sins so I could live, love, serve. The moment I realized my dysfunction, the reality of change became present. The change encapsulated one word: surrender.
Already clinically depressed, I was at the lowest point of my life. At the office one morning, I was desperate. I walked into the men's room, locked myself in and shut off the lights.
In the dark, I began to feel a calming presence swirling between the generic white walls and cold tile floor. In a symbolic gesture of a man who reached his lowest point, I, the brash, cocky, image-conscious, manipulative womanizer now found myself on bended knees using the toilet as my altar. I had reached the breaking point. I knelt over a place where people sit to expel their human waste. And now, in a way, I was doing the same—expelling the waste of a whole adulthood in one swift spiritual purging. I was about to be made clean by a force I never knew.
That if you confess with your mouth, "Jesus is Lord," and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. (Romans 10:9)
I hugged the porcelain john like a long lost friend, closed the lid, buried my head in my arms, and spoke these words of repentance:
"Lord, I can't do this any longer. I have nothing left. I don't know what to do. So I surrender my life to you. I need you more than ever. I don't know if you're there, but if you are, please come into my heart now Jesus. Take over and give me a new life. I give my life to You. Please come in. Please come in."
Immediately, I felt a presence I had never felt before flooding over me, comforting me, assuring me. I now released this body of flesh full of carnal lusts, hatreds, impulsiveness, sexual sins, shame, guilt and a myriad of other sinful patterns to Him.
I stood up, legs trembling from this amazing catharsis. With the most peaceful calm I have ever felt, I walked outside, took a deep breath and filled my lungs with purified air. I was set free.
I drove home from work having shed a mask that I wore for years—the one which kept me from making eye contact with the Redeemer who had just rescued me.
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