I didn't wear the mask. The mask that everyone wears in this place. A place one shouldn't need to wear a mask. Some despised me for it. Others were jealous. A handful thought I was brave.

Some were vocal, especially those who disliked or were angered by my choice. By not wearing the mask, I upset the status quo. These people told me in no uncertain terms that I was being difficult or too critical. That I promoted disunity because I asked questions they didn't like to think about. Questions that required them to think more deeply than they cared to. Questions about the appearance of doing something to help others when the truth of the matter seemed more about giving themselves a pat on the back for a 'job well done.'

Others were more discreet in their attacks. They wrapped barbs in the saccharine sweet coating of a compliment. Designed to give the appearance of flattery, it left a bitter taste in my mouth. Without the mask, however, I saw them for what they were. Those barbs did not stick to me. I brushed them away with a smile. My reaction was not the one they wanted, so they upped the ante. They spread false tales about me. They didn't come right out and say those things. That was too direct. During prayer time, one raised their hand to ask for prayer, "I'd like to ask for prayer for myself. I am dealing with a difficult person, and no matter what I do, nothing makes the situation better. I would really appreciate your prayers." Gossip disguised as prayer.

Still others ignored me. They didn't acknowledge my presence. They passed me in the corridors without so much as a hello or a good morning. Some of this group even went so far as to treat me as a leper, moving as far away from me as possible in a room. No longer invited to sit with certain people, I found myself more and more alone. An outcast among those people who assert to be open to all kinds of people. Lip service to the deity they profess to follow, but there is no love to be found in their actions.

There were few who offered encouragement. "You are so brave," one said in hushed tones, looking over her shoulder. "I could never do it."

"Of course you can," I answer. "You aren't meant to wear the mask."

Shaking her head, eyes wide, she scurried away like a mouse afraid to be caught.

Another one offered an encouraging smile from across the room. Small as not to crack the mask's veneer. Rushed so no one else but me sees. Appearances must be kept up after all.

There have been others like me, ones who didn't wear the mask. None of them lasted long. Each one looking for truth, for realness, for vulnerability. Each one looking for more than a superficial connection, to know they were not alone in their struggles in this life. Each one driven away by the people declaring truth and love and joy and peace. The ones who don't hesitate to discuss the storm outside the walls. It's the storm within they ignore and cover up with their masks.

As I stand watching the spectacle before me, I realize there is no help to be found here. People come through the doors seeking to be unburdened. Seeking honesty and truth and freedom. Life is hard, and faith isn't always easy. Instead, they are offered unhelpful platitudes. People leave, never to return, and the only response is, "That's too bad for them." Those in the masks are content to sacrifice people upon the altar of their own self-importance.

I will not find what I need here, a community to support and to be supported by. They do not wish to remove their masks, and I refuse to wear one. Therefore, it is time for me to leave this place, but I leave hopeful. Hopeful that I can find a place where people don't wear masks. A place where those who are maskless help others to remove their masks. A place where one can be truly free.

My search begins.