A Question of Identity

Earlier this week there was an article in The Hawk Eye about two twenty-something sisters who are having trouble getting Social Security cards. It seems that their parents were lifelong hippies/gypsies, never staying long in one place, getting odd jobs as they went, living outside any system. One daughter was born in a house and the other in the back of a van. Neither birth was officially recorded at the time. Now that they are older, the two women can’t prove their identity to the satisfaction of the Social Security Administration. And without a card they can’t get regular jobs.

Identity papers are a relatively recent invention. They crop up when a government feels the need to distinguish among different groups. Proof of identity has become particularly important in a world fearful of random violence. Somehow we feel more in control if we think we know exactly who everyone is. Never mind that tighter control makes counterfeiting more lucrative, or that some people are frozen out of the system because their personal identity isn’t good enough for a bureaucracy.

On Sunday we will have several questions of identity placed before us. Who is Moses? Who is Jesus? Who is Simon Peter? None of these people will be able to produce identity papers.

The story of Moses’ birth is a long one, befitting his importance. And like a good story, there is suspense. The struggles of the Israelites in Egypt are interwoven with the faithfulness of their midwives, who subvert orders to kill newborn baby boys. One such boy is hidden and discovered by the daughter of Pharaoh, who takes him as her own. Only at the end is the name of this child finally revealed: Moses. But even that drives the story forward. Will this child grow to identify himself as an Egyptian or as an Israelite? What will Moses’ final identity be?

Jesus comes right out and asks the identity question. “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” he questions his disciples. They give him a variety of answers they’ve heard floating around, each a return to life of some famous figure in Israel’s history. John the Baptist. Elijah. Jeremiah (why him? Jesus wasn’t that much of a party-pooper.) Some other random prophet.

Jesus then turns the question on them. “But who do you say that I am?” Simon blurts out the right answer in spite of himself. “You are the Christ/Messiah, the Son of the living God.” Jesus is impressed, so impressed that he gives Simon a new name with a play on words. “Blessed are you, Simon son of Jonah…and I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock (petra) I will build my church.”

It won’t take long for Simon Peter’s swelled head to get cut back to size – that happens next week – but for now he gets it right. And, I think, that is exactly what happens to us. There are moments when we can clearly see Jesus for who he is, when God names us and reveals to us who we really are. Even if we shortly thereafter fall into a confused forgetfulness, it is those moments of clarity that give us our true identity. It may not be one recognized by a bureaucracy, yet it is more permanent than any government card. It is who God knows us to be. And to be known, fully known and loved by God, is all the identity that we really need.


[Pentecost 10: Exodus 1:8-2:10; Matthew 16:13-20. I should note that Roman Catholics and Lutherans and others who fought bitter Reformation wars in continental Europe argue whether Jesus was building his church on Peter and his successors (i.e., the bishops of Rome) or Peter’s confession of faith. I’m thankful that from within the Anglican tradition I can talk about something else.]