Hiding in Plain Sight

In Ken Burns' two-part, four-hour movie Hiding in Plain Sight, more than 20 young Americans talk of anxiety so constant that it feels like a companion, of addiction hiding behind ambition, of trauma so deep it rewrites the narrative of youth. The title of the film captures the paradox of suffering that is obvious and invisible at once: the young teen who wakes in the night afraid to tell anyone; the college-aged adult who smiles in class but carries a secret self-harm habit; the Indigenous youth whose history of intergenerational trauma is invisible to others but alive in her own waking hours.

Burns and his team approach these stories not as curiosities but as intimately intertwined with our own communities -- our schools, our churches, our families. "As a society, we continue to test the resiliency of youth without truly understanding how the stresses of today are impacting them,” Burns said. To watch this movie is to hear invitations whispered: I felt no one knew. I was shame-bound. I felt lifeless even in a crowded school.

As we are reminded each Sunday in our Inside Out sermon series, a biblical understanding of human emotions calls us to be present, to enter in, to seek justice. And in a world where the internet demands our attention and drains our energy, anxiety, fear, and trauma are headliners in so many of the lives that surround us. 

Hiding in Plain Sight names the storm: “Trauma can be the trigger -- from personal crises to environmental disasters, racial injustice, and pandemics.” And then the film invites resilience -- not as a simple bounce-back, but as a long, winding path of presence, of being with, of community. As the Apostle Paul wrote, suffering produces endurance, endurance character, and character hope (Romans 5:3-4). Hope is not naive, but deeply rooted in faith in the unseen.

And we each play a role. As we encounter others in the workplace, at the grocery store, in our living rooms, in the Ministry Center, we can say, simply, I see you. We can create spaces where others don't feel they need to hide. We can listen without rushing to fix. We can build rhythm into our weeks so that the observer on the margins is invited into the circle.

We can light a candle during Advent and speak boldly: Some of us wait in the grip of storms. But Christ comes for you. Christ waits with you.

And for those among us who carry hidden burdens, know that you are not unseen. Your internal narrative is not separate from our communal story. The love that entwined your history did not disappear. The One who entered a stable -- who entered death and rose again -- enters your sorrow, enters your waiting.

“We hope that this film will save lives,” Burns said. And as people of faith, hope, and community, we join that work -- drawing into the light the pain and fear that is hiding in plain sight.