Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here! (I Corinthians 5:17)
I’m stuck on this identity thing. What would Jesus say about all these labels that we give ourselves in order to feel as if we matter? What comes to mind is the story of the ugly duckling or the ugly dachshund. A swan raised by ducks, or a Great Dane in a family of dachshunds, trying so hard to be a good duck or a good wiener dog. The whole point of the story is that when they give up the lie of being that they aren’t, they become noble, beautiful creatures.
Christians may have been born WASPs, or African Americans, or females, or Autistic, or any of the countless other labels. When we become Christians, our skin color doesn’t change. Our organs don’t disappear. But according to Scripture, we are no longer human. We are new creations. Those old creation things that still exist may stick around for another eighty years, but they still aren’t where we should be finding our identities.
Perhaps this bothers me because the same wrong thinking plagues me. I have had numerous battles with labels. Years ago, I insisted that I wasn’t a jogger, even though I was jogging six-and-a-half miles a day, five days a week. I spent years unwilling to wear a cross or put a fish decal on my car because I didn’t want to embarrass God by claiming that label. I would love to earn a Ph.D. so that I could claim that label, but I could list "MBA" after my name, and I don’t.
That’s not to say that I don’t give myself labels. I’ve been a glorified stock clerk. I’ve introduced myself to people as “The Wicked Witch of The West.” They stopped believing me. It was such a letdown. Remember the story about the four people: Somebody, Anybody, Everybody, and Nobody? Somebody should have done it, but nobody did it? I’m a nobody, and that’s one I’m sort of proud of.
But until recently, I was my father’s caregiver. Now I’m not that. I have learned to say that I am a writer. Having finished one novel, I suppose I could say I’m an author. Someday, I want to be a published author, but the truth is that doing so won’t really establish my identity.
This topic is one that I think I need to explore further, partly for me, and partly for folks who are trying to find their identity through things that cannot satisfy.
Christians may have been born WASPs, or African Americans, or females, or Autistic, or any of the countless other labels. When we become Christians, our skin color doesn’t change. Our organs don’t disappear. But according to Scripture, we are no longer human. We are new creations. Those old creation things that still exist may stick around for another eighty years, but they still aren’t where we should be finding our identities.
Perhaps this bothers me because the same wrong thinking plagues me. I have had numerous battles with labels. Years ago, I insisted that I wasn’t a jogger, even though I was jogging six-and-a-half miles a day, five days a week. I spent years unwilling to wear a cross or put a fish decal on my car because I didn’t want to embarrass God by claiming that label. I would love to earn a Ph.D. so that I could claim that label, but I could list "MBA" after my name, and I don’t.
That’s not to say that I don’t give myself labels. I’ve been a glorified stock clerk. I’ve introduced myself to people as “The Wicked Witch of The West.” They stopped believing me. It was such a letdown. Remember the story about the four people: Somebody, Anybody, Everybody, and Nobody? Somebody should have done it, but nobody did it? I’m a nobody, and that’s one I’m sort of proud of.
But until recently, I was my father’s caregiver. Now I’m not that. I have learned to say that I am a writer. Having finished one novel, I suppose I could say I’m an author. Someday, I want to be a published author, but the truth is that doing so won’t really establish my identity.
This topic is one that I think I need to explore further, partly for me, and partly for folks who are trying to find their identity through things that cannot satisfy.
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