Identity Theft
When you lose your identity, there’s one question you should ask yourself.
For a brief period of my life I suffered from a recurring nightmare. Several times a year I would dream that I had lost my photo ID at a time when I critically needed it. Sometimes I was traveling overseas and didn’t have my passport to get home, sometimes I needed to pay for something and couldn’t because my wallet was gone, and other times I was pulled over while driving and my license was MIA. Always, there was a sense of panic when I realized I had no way to prove who I was or get where I needed to go because I didn’t have my ID. I had lost my identity.
The anxiety within these dreams was largely fueled by a low-grade panic in my waking hours that I didn’t actually know who I was. The years during which I had these nightmares were transformative years (ages 18–25) when I was discovering what I believed and who I wanted to be. I was growing up but the process was sometimes messy, the way forward unclear. The insecurity of that season is something I’ve never wanted to repeat and yet, I find myself wading through similar feelings today. This time, my insecurity is rooted not only in who I am, but in who the Church is. What, exactly, is the identity of the Church in America today? Do we still know who we are?
Honestly, it doesn’t seem like it. I’ve watched as Christians in this country have become increasingly divided, unable to agree on how to define themselves or who they belong to. Do they belong to God? To America? To a certain political party or a certain politician? What is their actual mission? What, actually, is the gospel? Do they even know how to hear God anymore?
As I’ve watched prominent Church leaders and prophets wrestle through these questions, I’ve been asking the same ones. So much of me is rooted in Christianity that I’ve found myself scrambling — again — to figure out my own identity. Many groups to which I formerly felt I belonged aren’t as comfortable a fit as they used to be. Others have seemingly changed shape from how I remember them. Trying to fit back into them the way I used to is like putting on a previously comfortable shirt that suddenly fits weird. Shoot…did this shirt shrink or have I gained weight? What has actually changed shape, the clothing or me? Has this relationship, group or stream of Christianity changed so much, or is it I who have changed? The trifold question I’m asking myself lately is: Who am I in this season of life, how is God changing my shape, and where do I best fit?
This process of identity reformation is uncomfortable but I don’t believe it’s bad. In fact, God himself asked questions prompting us to reflect on our identity. There is one question in particular, recurring throughout Scripture, that I feel gets to the heart of our identity.
Where have you come from and where are you going?
The question is first found in Genesis 16 in the story of Hagar, but rather than examine her story I want to examine the question itself. I don’t think it’s nearly as straight-forward or literal as it seems.
“Where have you come from” speaks to our history or our origin, whether spiritual, geographical or familial. What parts of our past have shaped us into who we are today? What, or who, has made us? Boiled down, I believe the question asks, “How did you come to be?” It’s a question of design.
“Where are you going” is not a question of design but of destiny. It inquires about what our future holds and what our plans are. What are we meant to do with this life we’ve been given? Are we pointed in the right direction?
Trying to answer this loaded, two-in-one biblical question feels like an enormous amount of pressure. I find myself wanting to scrawl a quick “IDK” like so many of my sixth grade students do on their math quizzes. Who can even answer this question confidently? Oh…well, there is one person, I guess.
I know where I came from and where I am going.
Jesus spoke these words, informing those questioning his identity that even if he testified on his own behalf, his testimony would still be valid because he knew himself through and through (John 8:14). He knew his origin and his future; he understood both his design and his destiny. But…how did he know?
I think it’s as simple as this: Jesus knew himself because he knew his Father. Christ’s origin and his final destination were a person, not a place. By being intimately acquainted with the person of his Father, he stayed entirely secure in his identity. We wonder why we struggle, both personally and in the Church, with our identity but Jesus made it plain: “You don’t know me or my Father” (John 8:19). The measure to which we know our Designer is the measure to which we will know our design.
We could experience so much security in our identities if we would just believe God’s Word.
Where have I come from? “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb” (Psalm 139:13).
Where am I going? “Alive, I’m Christ’s messenger; dead, I’m his prize. Life versus even more life! I can’t lose” (Philippians 1:21 MSG).
For those of us who claim to know Christ, our origin and final destination are set. Like Jesus, our design and destiny are bound up in the person of God.
Is this overly simplistic? Maybe. I will say that we, as individuals and as the Church, do have some things to sort through concerning our earthly identity. We need to do the work and answer the hard questions. We need to dig in and reacquaint ourselves with God’s image so we’ll understand what our image should look like in this life (our ID’s should match!). But as we figure out who we’re made to be on earth, we need to remember that our identity transcends this globe we’re standing on. Our design and our destiny aren’t dependent upon what happens in politics or in the Church. Even if we never fully find a place to belong in these bodies or in this Body, we are still secure. Regardless of how messy the various chapters and books of our life look, the two bookends of our life are God; he designed us and he’s our ultimate destination. There is no identity more secure than that.
