Who Are You?
I dated a young woman who was a teacher. Her father was a pastor, and they had a some times contentious relationship, or so it appeared to me. She was very clear, back then, that she was a teacher. Her identity was her calling and profession. The irony is that, a few years later, she was no longer teaching. I’ve often wondered how she identifies herself today.
Who are you? How do you identify yourself? Are you a homemaker, an engineer, a student, a mechanic, a beachcomber, or a politician? Do you have a job but think of yourself as a skier, swimmer, painter, football player, or participant in some other hobby or sport? Are you a mom, a grandfather, uncle, or wife? Do you define yourself by a role or relationship? Is your identity tied up in a work or activity?
I don’t like labels much, as I’ve written previously, especially when they are misused to ridicule or scorn a person’s opinions instead of responding to them. Of course, we need some way to explain what we do and think. Ultimately, words are labels, and our very ability to communicate depends on them.
Many like my friend and others suffer from self-doubt or perhaps even self-hatred. They are convinced that they need some way to conceal or improve the person they regard as flawed or inadequate. Experiences in early life often scar us with labels like ugly, stupid, “just like your father,” or “bad girl!” It is easy to think we are incapable or unlovable. The result is a person who strives to overcome a sense of inherent inadequacy, seeks to earn lost love and affection, or simply lives a defeated life.
A person may claim an identity we hope we have proven to be true or assert something almost as a wish. The more loudly a person makes a certain claim the more he or she may doubt it inside. For believers, the knowledge that God knows “the truth” only adds to the paradox, producing more shame and guilt.
Who are you really? The truth ought to be supremely encouraging, but only if we know and accept it. God created each of us (Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart), and He doesn’t do bad work. Despite our sin, he loves us, not just collectively, but each of us; like any good parent, our heavenly father loves each of his sons and daughters. Like any human child, we carry his likeness, more than the most persistent human characteristic.
I’ve always thought people with meaningful names were blessed; names like Rose or Grace that mean something beautiful, and those like Joshua, David or Michael represent great characters from the Bible. I wonder how people with strange names feel about themselves? My name means “famous spear” although it was the name of some famous kings (I kind of like the variant “Hrothgar!” but it seems to be used for odd people in movies and books. I’ve always likes that I was often the only “Roger” in most places I have lived, worked, or gone to church. The point is that I am Roger. A name represents who I am, and that is all I need.
In the end, my name comes from God. The new name he gives may be something brand new and unique and yet related somehow to our identify in this life, perhaps incorporating the name we already have. He won’t scrap our lives and start over; this life has value in his eyes, despite our failings and limitations. The name we have is our most precious identity; it is how we say, “I am me. I am special. God made me, gifted me, and gives me purpose. He saved me. He loves me.” We need no other identity.