“To be loved but not known is comforting but superficial. To be known and not loved is our greatest fear. But to be fully known and truly loved is, well, a lot like being loved by God. It is what we need more than anything. It liberates us from pretense, humbles us out of our self-righteousness, and fortifies us for any difficulty life can throw at us.”
— Timothy Keller
“Therefore confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.”
— James 5:16
PRETEND PEOPLE HAVE PRETEND PROBLEMS
In college, I had the incredible opportunity to disciple many of my younger peers. We’d meet weekly, wrestle with life, and chase after God together. Each new semester, I’d sit down with the them and start with a conversation that was always difficult but necessary.
We’d sit down in the student union and I’d let them know that I was there for them no matter what came our way that semester.
No matter the mountaintop or valley I was committed to be in their corner and step into the fight with them. But, I would let them know that I couldn’t help the person they pretended to be. If true relationship was going to be fostered I needed a commitment to be known, a step out of the shallows and into the depths. Real relationships require real honesty.
Each time, this conversation stirred something powerful.
Walls came down, authenticity emerged, and genuine transformation occurred over the time we had together. It wasn’t because I had special insight or extraordinary wisdom, it was simply because truthfulness and vulnerability create space for God to work in powerful ways.
Yet, as I moved beyond those college years, I realized that this struggle isn’t unique to college students.
We live in a society obsessed with the surface, enamored by the image, and terrified by the messy, hidden reality of the heart.
If we are honest, the surface is killing us slowly.
We’re starving for authenticity but settling for applause.
We're seeking connection but only offering a carefully manufactured character we think others will desire.
THE HEAVY PRICE OF HIDING
The great irony of our age is that, despite unparalleled connectivity, we feel lonelier and more isolated than ever. We’ve mastered projecting the right image, carefully curating the self that others see.
Yet, beneath this carefully managed veneer lies a painful and quiet desperation: the aching longing to be known.
Often times our life experiences leave us terrified to be vulnerable. And candidly, it makes sense.
Vulnerability—by definition—implies risk.
The word “vulnerability” itself comes from the Latin word vulnus, meaning “wound.”
So to be vulnerable literally means opening yourself up to being wounded. Vulnerability requires the courage to risk being hurt, misunderstood, or rejected in pursuit of something greater: true intimacy, genuine connection, and authentic love.
Brené Brown puts it this way:
“Vulnerability is not weakness; it’s our greatest measure of courage.”
Culturally, we’ve flipped it.
We see vulnerability as weakness, a dangerous admission that could cost us our carefully constructed reputations. Instead, we choose to conceal our struggles, doubts, and weaknesses behind an illusion of strength.
But here’s the tragic consequence: when we hide, we forfeit the intimacy we crave.
THE POWER OF "ME TOO"
If you've ever summoned the courage to share a true struggle with someone and heard them reply, “Me too,” then you understand this life-changing power.
The most profound connections we forge with others rarely arise from our achievements; they bloom from shared struggles, disappointments, and vulnerabilities.
When you admit, “I’m hurting,” “I’m failing,” or “I’m wrestling with doubt,” you invite others into a sacred space of authenticity.
C.S. Lewis beautifully captured this when he wrote:
“Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another, 'What! You too? I thought I was the only one.'”
Vulnerability creates the doorway through which genuine relationship can enter. Authentic friendship isn't based on mutual admiration of strengths, it's rooted in shared recognition of brokenness, need, and grace.
KNOWN BY THE ONE WHO KNOWS ALL
God Himself models vulnerability for us.
Consider this: the all-powerful Creator of the universe chose to enter our world not as a conquering king, but as a fragile baby. Jesus Christ, the incarnation of God’s vulnerability, entered into our pain, experienced our rejection, and bore our sin. He didn’t project strength to gain approval—He embodied perfect humility and openness.
Because of his sacrifice we get to experience the abundant life. If you call yourself a Christian, you’ve already admitted your need for a savior. You’re saying in essence, “I can’t do this on my own.” Yet, so many believers continue down the lonely road of carefully crafted personas.
However, the God who wrote history can see behind the veil. Psalm 139 shows us that God sees us completely, He knows every hidden thing about us—every fear, every doubt, every shameful secret—and his love remains.
James reminds us that confession—bringing the hidden things into the open—is not meant to condemn, but to heal:
“Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed.” (James 5:16)
We desperately need the kind of freedom that comes only from knowing that someone sees the muck and the mire and still loves us completely.
PRACTICING VULNERABILITY
So how do we move from hiding to healing, from performance to authenticity?
Confess Honestly: Start small, perhaps with just one trusted friend or mentor. It’s a conversation, not an Instagram post. Admit the struggles you’ve been hiding. Trust that freedom is on the other side.
Reject Isolation: Refuse the lie that you must carry your burdens alone. God designed you for community.
Normalize Imperfection: Realize that your imperfections and struggles are precisely the bridge God uses to connect you deeply with others.
Risk Authenticity: Stop projecting who you wish you were and invite others into where you truly are. Not everyone will respond perfectly, but the reward of genuine relationship is worth the risk.
A FINAL CHARGE
Friends, this week I challenge you: stop pretending.
Imagine a life where your hidden struggles become the ground for connection rather than isolation.
Picture relationships where authenticity is celebrated and vulnerability is honored.
Envision a community built not on polished perfection but on shared weakness, shared grace, and shared growth.
Vulnerability involves real risk.
It may cost you admiration from some. But I promise you, the alternative is far worse: living a hollow life behind a mask, never experiencing the beauty and depth of relationship as God designed it to be.
So step out boldly. Confess your sins, share your struggles, admit your weaknesses, and risk being known. It is here—and only here—that you'll find the intimacy, love, and freedom your heart longs for.
Stop pretending.
Take off the mask.
Be known.
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