“Who Tells You Who You Are?”

John 15:12-17

First Presbyterian Church of Jamestown , New York

The Reverend Thomas A. Sweet

May 16, 2010

Easter 7

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Last Sunday night at our senior high youth gathering, I posed the question, “Who tells you who you are?”  Leo Tolstoy once said that certain questions are put to us not that we should answer them but that we should spend a lifetime wrestling with them.  “Who tells you who you are” is one of those “certain questions” about which Tolstoy was talking because it is one we need to consider at every age and stage of our lives.  Like our lawns that need to be mowed again next week, it is a question we need to ask ourselves over and over lest we wake up some day and find that we have no idea who we are or why there is a haunting emptiness in us where joy should be.  

“Who tells you who you are?”  More to the point, to whom do you listen?  Who will tell Greyson who he is along the way and to whom will he listen?   (Note to web readers:  Greyson is an infant boy being baptized today.)  

Derek Walcott has a poem that talks about the danger of allowing someone else or something else to define us, to tell us who we are.  Called “Love After Love,” it seems that someone had permitted a love interest to tell him who he was and, so, when the relationship comes to an end he is devastated, lost.  Or it could be a woman.  Walcott doesn’t say.  The poem takes the voice of a wise friend offering some adroit counsel.  This sagacious friend says,  

                                                The time will come

                                                when, with elation,

                                                you will greet yourself arriving

                                                at your own door, in your own mirror,

                                                and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

 

                                                and say, sit here.  Eat.

                                                You will love again the stranger who was your self.

                                                Give wine.  Give bread.  Give back your heart

                                                to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

 

                                                all your life, whom you ignored

                                                for another, who knows you by heart.

                                                Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

 

                                                the photographs, the desperate notes,

                                                peel your own image from the mirror.

                                                Sit.  Feast on your life.

 

I love the lines in which Walcott says, “You will love again the stranger who was your self.  Give wine.  Give bread.  Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life, whom you ignored for another…”  Do you remember that great sentence right in the middle of the parable of the prodigal son? The prodigal, having listened to a myriad of voices not his own telling him who he was and then landing in desperate straits because he believed them, takes stock of his life or, in the fabulous way Jesus put it when he was telling the story – “he came to himself…”?  When we are able to escape the tyranny of tempting or troubling voices trying to tell us who we are and come again to ourselves and return to our own hearts and listen to “the still, small voice” within us, it feels sacramental.  Give bread.  Give wine.  

Listen again, because the poem has another level of meaning, too, I think.  

The time will come

                                                when, with elation,

                                                you will greet yourself arriving

                                                at your own door, in your own mirror,

                                                and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

 

                                                and say, sit here.  Eat.

                                                You will love again the stranger who was your self.

                                                Give wine.  Give bread.  Give back your heart

                                                to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

 

                                                all your life, whom you ignored

                                                for another, who knows you by heart.

                                                Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

 

                                                the photographs, the desperate notes,

                                                peel your own image from the mirror.

                                                Sit.  Feast on your life.

 

Perhaps we also can say that the poem is about finding again our true self after it has been obscured by our quest to feed our ego, or false, self.  For the purpose of our question – who tells you who you are – a “what” is also a “who.”  Our work, for instance.  Do you let your work tell you who you are?  How about your bank account?  Your status or standing within the company or the community?   Students, do you let your grades tell you who you are?  Or the schools into which you gain acceptance?  Artists and musicians, do you let audience response and reviews tell you who you are?  Athletes, do you let your statistics tell you who you are?  Parents, do you let the way your children turn out tell you who you are?  Do you let your health or illness tell you who you are?  

Do you let your enemies tell you who you are?  Or your enmities?  Or the causes you support?  Do you let the “shoulds” and “oughts” of polite society tell you who you are and what to do?   Or do you resonate more with St. Paul as he reminded the Galatians that “for freedom Christ has set us free and therefore do not submit again to a yoke of slavery”?   The poet David Whyte has it in one of his poems that 

                                                You must learn one thing.

                                                The world was made to be free in.

 

                                                Give up all the other worlds

                                                except the one to which you belong.

 

                                                Sometimes it takes darkness and the sweet

                                                confinement of your aloneness

                                                to learn

 

                                                anything or anyone

                                                that does not bring you alive

 

                                                is too small for you.     (from his poem “Sweet Darkness”)

 

Do you let anything or anyone that does not bring you alive tell you who you are or what you must do?  

Do you let your childhood or what has happened to you in the past and along the way, good or ill, tell you who you are?  

How about what religion calls sin?  Do you let your sins tell you who you are?  Does guilt or a poor self-perception define your life?  (If your answer to either question is “yes,” I want you to know that there is more mercy in God than there is sin in you.)  

I have to tell you that, for me, the question I am asking today – who tells me who I am? – to put it in personal address, is not simply grist for a sermon.  It is the great struggle of my life not to let my worth and identity be determined by what other people say about me or think of me.  It is the great struggle of my life not to let other peoples’ opinions tell me who I am.   But I find myself, much of the time, on the losing end of it.  That great line in one of Mary Oliver’s poems – what are you going to do with your one wild and precious life? – is a great challenge to me because more than I care to admit my answer is more a whimper than a bang: too often I give others the power to tell me who I am by yielding to other peoples’ expectations and in doing so make my life smaller than otherwise it could be.  

So, it may not surprise you when I tell you that my sermonic conclusion today is that I think our lives would be better, mine included, if we let God tell us who we are.  Many of us do not, I think, love ourselves enough as Christ’s love command bids us to do.  That makes it harder both really to love other people and to live joyful and satisfying lives.  In the forty-third chapter of Isaiah, God says, “I have called you by name and you are mine.”  That establishes our worth in the world.  God does not love us because we are valuable; God’s love makes us so.  Our value is a gift that comes before any and all attempts to achieve it.  It is not dependent on our making something of ourselves.  It is not dependent on our moral rectitude.  It is not dependent on our rank or class or grade in life.  We do not have to prove our worth.  We already are accounted worthy and thus the privilege and work of our lives is to live authentically into our own life rather than to live a life we look to others to authenticate.  Mary Oliver says in her poem “Wild Geese” that  

                                                You do not have to be good.

                                                You do not have to walk on your knees

                                                            for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

                                                You only have to let the soft animal of your body

                                                            love what it loves…

                                                Whoever you are…the world offers itself

                                                            to your imagination.

 

She doesn’t mean that we need to have no accountability in our lives nor that we never need to amend our ways.  But she does mean that we are to live our lives, the ones we imagine.  God already loves us before we do anything.  That is one of the reasons why I always have loved and supported the baptism of infants for in so doing we are not baptizing a life already resplendent in accomplishment.  Rather, the child being baptized a priori has God-given value and worth, as indeed all lives do, and baptism is a sacramental sign of it.  What a difference it will make in Greyson’s life if his parents and his church can help him to attend to that deep truth.  

The other thing God says to us comes through the voice of Jesus saying to his disciples, “I do not call you servants any longer, because the servant does not know what the master is doing; but I have called you friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father.”  In The Bible, being a servant or a slave is usually a good thing.  At one point Jesus obviously thought of his disciples as servants since here he says he calls them that no longer.  Remember how Jesus on his last night with his disciples and took a basin and towel and, in the mode of a servant, washed the disciples’ feet?  To be a servant of God is a title of honor.  But now Jesus calls his disciples and followers friends, a term of intimacy, affection, and steadfastness.  Friends stand by friends no matter what.  Friends, as Jesus suggests, get to go deeply into one another’s life.  “I have called your friends, because I have made known to you everything that I have heard from my Father.”  Maybe that is why John Calvin insisted so adamantly that knowing God and knowing ourselves go hand in hand.  One cannot happen in any depth without the other.  Will you let these words of Jesus tell you who you are?  Will you consider yourself a friend of God’s and let that be the defining feature, the defining adventure, of your life?  

Who tells you who you are makes all the difference in your life.  

Who tells you who you are?  If it is not God, can it be?   

Amen.

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