reading about identity

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The Identifiers We Bring to Books and From Them

Photo by Jez Timms on Unsplash

Blog # 4 of All Things Books

Identity is found everywhere. From the cars we choose to drive, to the clothes we put on, to the jobs we claim, and to the parenting methods we stand by. Perhaps [these] occasions which entangle and burden identity into a messy knot of an idea is more niche to the American experience, but I dare say that books set us all on equal ground where our identities are forged or informed. And yet, our journeys that precede our engagements with books will color our perspectives to receive or deny those bound stories and their claims.

The American thesis on identity is that you are what you do. When this idea was first brought to me, I immediately sought to test this claim. My evidences are mere anecdotes, but proof all the same when they appear pervasive and throughout: When you go to a party and meet someone for the first time, especially you men, what is the first thing that comes up in a conversation? “What you do for a living?”—am I right? When asked, “Who are you?” what is your response? I’ll confess, you would hear something like, “I am a writer, I am a Marine, I am a student, I am...” For women, I’ve noticed the double-portion of doing that is required now (by social pressures) and which informs what their identities “should” be. It is not enough anymore to bear children and rear them, but bear them, rear them, and venture forth into demanding careers, and should they only choose one and not both, well shame on them. They must be incomplete people or misinformed or misguided. It wasn’t until I met an amazing woman by the name of Mary Jean and heard some of the things she spoke, all of which was radically different than what American culture said about one’s identity. She said that, “You are not a human-doing. You are a human-being.” And this claim of hers was made while she was pointing to a book, The Book, which speaks richly of identity as well.

She was, of course, referencing The Bible, and she traced the rhetorical journey back to its authority: to God. And what does God say about human identity? —you are because I am; that is to say, you are a human-being, fashioned in splendor, because God is your creator. It is an unmerited title and one that is wholly dependent upon the artistic prerogatives of The Creator. This is perhaps the greatest identity claim in history. Great in that it offers the utmost freedom one can ever experience, and not become undone by that freedom, but made whole and to feel a satisfaction the world and all its labors can never provide. It is like a soft-spoken brook to quiet the worrying mind which in turn learns of its soul and feels its greater worth. It was what I needed to hear to locate the true north of my personhood because there is a cacophony of voices raised to shout truth-claims on our identities. I was sure to be lost among them without the pull of God. But this pull, this magnetism felt, began well before I took my first breath.

It was first felt by my mother: a sixteen-year-old who braved the scarlet letter society would give her and who defied her own parents’ wishes to have me aborted. And why did she deny my grandparents blood? —her faith in God. When I learned this reality, it informed me that I was privileged to more than an indebtedness of gratitude to my mother, but given the revelation of an identity that is weatherproof and complete for any season of life. By this revelation, and with the gift of time, I was able to look backward and see how impotent I was to call forth my own life, how my life hung upon the threads of the faith of a sixteen-year-old who had the world set against her. In like manner, I find myself helplessly incompetent to declare a self-elected identity that is immutable, and most importantly, that doesn’t require anything from me. I am a human-being esteemed with a dignity and honor above all the other creatures because of God. But the cacophony of voices continues to resound.

It is because of such varied opinions that identity seems to share the same panting breath of anxiety. I must admit, even with this revelation, I too get anxious amidst the opinions of others, indeed the societal pecking order has many sharp and terrible beaks. While the revelation of my identity as an image bearer of God has been my greatest freedom, it has also been my greatest grief. It is freedom because my identity isn’t constantly in flux and corresponding to what I can or cannot do. It is a grief felt because this freedom is set beside others who contest it as foolish and even arrogant-minded. It was with both this freedom and this grief that I brought pen to paper and crafted a story that hones in on this very tension: the contesting and competing narratives for identity.

If you are like me and find all this musing about identity both fascinating and enriching, I would like to challenge you to read my book, Imago Dei (for more info click here). It is my pleasure to share these thoughts with you all in order to provide some intellectual honesty as a preface before inviting you to read such a book as mine. This is perhaps irregular, as it not only risks to dispel the fictive dream of my story, but rushes straight towards criticism before a single sale is made. So then why put all the cards on the table? Because I know just how tender and volatile the topic of identity is, most especially these days, I wish to present a tone of understanding. The words of my story are not to be confused with some curmudgeon who loiters on a social platform to profess moral snobbery, but instead, they belong to one who needs grace like all other human-beings.