Our True Identity
The world is having an identity crisis.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote:
All society
How’er unequal, monstrous, crazed and cursed,
Is but the expression of men’s single lives,—
The loud sum of the Silent Units.
When we look around, it seems the unequal, monstrous, crazed, and cursed are over populous these days. Often, we’re part of the din.
In his book, The Omnivore’s Dilemma, Michael Pollan describes how closely tied to corn Mexico’s early inhabitants were, and how that identity has filtered down to the present day:
“Descendents [sic] of the Maya living in Mexico still sometimes refer to themselves as ‘the corn people.’ The phrase is not intended as metaphor. Rather it’s meant to acknowledge their abiding dependence on this miraculous grass. The staple of their diet for almost nine thousand years. Forty percent of the calories a Mexican eats in a day comes directly from corn, most of it in the form of tortillas. So when a Mexican says ‘I am maize’ or ‘corn walking,’ it is simply a statement of fact: The very substance of the Mexican’s body is to a considerable extent a manifestation of this plant” (19).
Pollan details how many—and it is shocking, indeed!—of the ingredients in the average American grocery store are derived from the same plant. We, too, are “corn walking.” Corn has become a panacea for the food industry, a false god. It’s an ingredient that can comprise any product, grow any livestock, and produce any food that consumers will buy and put in their bodies.
Whether or not we realize it, we almost can’t help but find our identity in corn.
But there are plenty of other ways we find identity other than what we eat:
- What we do
- What we drive
- How our have kids turned out so far
- Who our friends are
- What we create
- What we wear
Thin veneers, all. Tempting, but not true identities.
What is our true identity? Easy. We stink. Like, we literally smell bad. And I’ve never seen an armpit that doesn’t need soap. We’re gross, and there’s no foundation with coverage complete enough to change our faces from the inside out. (That’s a disturbing thought, anyway.) Any nurse or mom could recount the myriad ways people are just plain icky.
Our even more true identity, though, is that we carry the image of God in our inmost being. The Creator loves us despite our stinkiness, despite our pettiness, despite our unworthiness and imperfection. You and I are beloved because of who made us, not because we’re snazzy in any particular way.
We are like Jesus’ disciples with their sweaty, sandy feet that Jesus washed clean in John 13. Only because of Christ’s work are we fresh and nice to look at. Without what Jesus did, we’d stay mired in our stink. “God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Rom. 5:8, ESV).
Even when we slip into focusing too much on the other ways we find identity, this is still the heart of our identity: we are God’s beloved.
The people around us don’t see our true identity. They see whatever is most convenient. Others see our social media profile. They see the best of what we can show the world while we quietly tuck our suffering away from the prying eyes of the internet. Or when something bad happens, they see someone to shift the blame onto.
David knew this well. He was harassed, exiled, and narrowly escaped death at the hands of a madman. Unfortunately for him, that madman was also king. Saul marshaled his many forces against David, so David’s only two choices were to run or die.
More in number than the hairs of my head
are those who hate me without cause;
mighty are those who would destroy me,
those who attack me with lies.
Today, others aren’t always so blunt about their misinterpretation of our identity. They often don’t have a clue how wrong they have it. They don’t hurl spears at us, but they’ll easily base their entire opinion of us on a five-minute side conversation—with a woman who was an acquaintance of our friend ten years ago.
It’s like a game of “Telephone,” where the players are productive human adults with advanced degrees, but who play the game with the same emotional intelligence as their own children. Even though their opinion of us might be loud, it’s still ludicrous to believe what they say about us. Your true identity does not depend on others’ opinions.
David endured his attackers, maligners, and attempted assassins with patience. He felt the genuine pain of others’ slander and the fear of Saul’s attacks. But he didn’t let the “Telephone” players define him. Despite his own personal failings, David relied on God to define his identity, his path forward, and his true purpose. Lord, grant us the steadfast faith to do the same.
is a homeschooling mom of five and proud Navy wife. She works hard to be what Chesterton called a “Jill-of-all-trades,” chronically trying new projects for the sheer joy of exploration. She’s addicted to coffee, enjoys dark beer, and loves to be in the mountains. You can find her on Instagram @rhikutzer.
Photograph © Alicia Petresc, used with permission
