Mardi Gras

The people of New Orleans set their watches, or at least their calendars, to Mardi Gras. The festivities begin right after Epiphany, and climax on the Tuesday before Ash Wednesday. The festivities are held with an eye toward Lent, and people feel compelled to get things out of their systems before the forty days begin.  

After moving to New Orleans, I was determined to embrace Mardi Gras fully. I attended every ball to which I was invited, ate as many varieties of king cake as my stomach could endure, and bought an expensive costume for the day itself.

I chose an ape costume, more for its complete coverage than meaning. I put it on and made my way to St. Charles Avenue, the uptown alternative to the French Quarter, where I wandered throughout the crowd trying to scare all the students from my new school. It was fun to be silly when no one knew it was me, and I have to confess the freedom of the costume made me do and say things I otherwise wouldn’t.

Looking back, I realize that wasn’t the only time I’ve worn a costume. I've worn many others over the years, and while they might not have been as dramatic or noticeable as the ape, they, too, offered a level of disguise and caused me to act differently when wearing them.

Costumes make us feel safe. People see the costume, not the person inside, so we’re safe behind one more layer of distance.

Costumes send messages. Maybe one says, “high powered lawyer,” another “holy man,” and another “really deep artist,” but they’re only costumes. They’re not real. They’re easier than being real.

Buying a custom-made suit, French cuffed shirt, and shiny cufflinks is easier than being a talented lawyer. Buying a clerical collar, robes, and colorful stoles is easier than living a life true to such a calling. Wearing a wrinkly shirt, smoking and drinking a lot, and speaking with a French accent is easier than picking up a brush and painting.

Today is as good a day as any to look at the costumes we wear, to consider the ways we create false places of safety, to admit how differently we act when hidden by our costumes, and to confess how we portray who we want to be rather than who we are. With such honest reflection, we can awaken on Ash Wednesday with the invitation of living without a costume, having ash rubbed against our faces and not our masks, and walking away from the service, into Lent, free to be our true selves.