Who Am I?
“But what about you?” he asked. “Who do you say I am?” Matthew 16:15 NIV
You – Remember Hagar? When she was abused by Sarah, she fled to the wilderness, probably expecting to die. “Just get it over with,” she thought. “I can’t take this anymore.” Of course, the angel of the Lord found her there and asked life’s two fundamental questions: 1) Where did you come from?, and 2) Where are you going? Hagar is able to answer the first question only from the perspective of her distress. She excludes ethnicity, birthplace, gender. All she can say is, “I’m running away from my pain.” As for the second question, she doesn’t have a clue. She has no direction, no purpose, other than to stop hurting. As it turns out, that motivation is no different than the desire to end it all. God sends her back to rediscover what she had forgotten. He’s there, in the midst, even if we think we’re all alone.
Centuries later Yeshua poses the third crucial question about life. “Who do you say that I am?” The answer isn’t obvious. Even those who knew him best weren’t sure. Peter required heavenly insight to utter the correct designation. However, it seems that his pronouncement was soon forgotten—by all—as they were vying for status and position. Accompanying God’s anointed didn’t help them answer the two questions asked of Hagar either.
These two incidents in the Bible remind us that answering those questions matter more than our theological proclamations and religious distinctions. “Where do you come from?” isn’t about geography. It’s about emotional awareness. Each of us is moving away from something and whatever that something is defines us now. Our past is our present. “Where are you going?” is a question about who we will be, not who we are now. And both answers depend on “Who am I?” as a question about the Messiah and about ourselves. It seems to me that most of life involves these three questions. And only these three. All the rest is derivative. But just like Hagar and the disciples, we often find ourselves either tragically ignorant or practically distracted. So we define ourselves with convenient labels that do not require depth analysis, like “Messianic,” or “observant,” or “Jew,” or “Christian,” or “pre-trib,” or “Pentecostal,” or whatever else that says nothing really important—like “Where do you come from?”
I’m not much for labels. I know Torah-observant people who aren’t Jews and would be appalled to be called Hebrew Messianics. And I know people who call themselves (still) Christian but they are more Jewish than a lot of Jews. I suppose I am just one of those who seeks to understand what was happening in the recorded experiences of the Israelites in the biblical texts (I include the apostolic writings in that group). So, according to Paul, I am a citizen of the Kingdom, a Gentile, an Abrahamic follower (he was Mesopotamian, BTW), and a believer that Yeshua is the Jewish Messiah. But if you pressed me hard on any of these labels, I would waffle since labels have rather impenetrable borders and usually serve to bolster theological positions. I’m not quite sure what purpose they serve. I am not very interested in such things these days. It’s hard enough just to find a way to live with God in my own skin let alone provide answers for others’ questions. Labels don’t seem to contribute much to the three crucial questions.
As for Torah observance, living in Babylon makes a difference. Trying to be as observant as possible mattered to me in the past, but these days I wouldn’t let “kosher eating” interfere with fellowship and since I live in Parma, Italy, fellowship matters a lot. Eating comes second, especially if my insistence damages the effort to achieve real relationship. The same seems to be true of other things. God and I are working on all this.
I have been greatly influenced about this issue by the work of Paula Fredriksen and Mark Nanos (although I have differences on the Acts 15 counsel) when it comes to understanding the role of Torah among Gentiles, like me. But on some concerns, I am comfortable with a wide range of interpretations since I find devout followers of YHVH on all sides of the fence(s). There are a lot of “fences” with this one, I’m afraid. Not all of them are very loving.
For example, wearing tzitzit seems to be a paradigmatic cultural identifier. And a PRIVATE affair. Display of tzitzit among non-Jewish groups is often mistaken as some kind of merit badge, I’m afraid. My son wears them (under his shirt) as an expression of his personal commitment. I get that. But parading them as a sign of obedience seems to me to be just the opposite of their intention. So I will remain non-communicative on this, if you don’t mind. Some things are just between me and my Maker.
Finally, this journey of mine is mine, and others are free to follow my progress (or regress) if they wish. I don’t promote it as if I am some sort of leader. Heaven knows (and God concurs), I am as broken or more so than virtually everyone I know. But I do have a few things to say that others seem to find useful. I do not expect anyone to follow blindly along as if I had the answers. I don’t. I have a lot of questions. That’s pretty much what keeps me going, although I will admit that there are days when I wish I could “just believe.” I’m afraid it’s too late for me on that count. So, if you find something useful in my ruminations and struggles, take it for yourself. If you don’t, then I was probably wrong again.
I’m not Abraham (although somehow I am connected to him). I don’t live in his world or share his worldview. But I also am not Moses (or Pharaoh), Joshua, Samuel, David, Nathan, Isaiah or Malachi. Clearly I’m not Matthew or John or Paul, and whatever they thought about Yeshua and YHVH is difficult for me to grasp since I find I am often ambushed by my own Western culture and theological education. “Get back to the roots” seems virtually impossible. As far as I can tell, the Acts 2:42 “church” doesn’t exist anymore. I am coming to believe that faith is a paradigm commitment—a way of seeing the world and acting in it—not necessarily based purely on rational thinking (but on a different kind of thinking—not abandoning reason and not jumping off an existential cliff). The distance between me and these men of faith whose stories I find so enthralling and engaging keeps getting wider despite my efforts to bridge the cultural and linguistic gap. It seems to me that faith is more like perseverance (à la Brad Young), a pursuit of something I can’t quite grasp. I can “feel” it like feeling the wind in my face. It’s there. I know it’s real, but I can’t “see” it. I only see the results it produces. So, I keep trying to figure it out. Maybe that’s my problem. Maybe real faith isn’t amenable to “figuring it out.” Anyway, I’m enjoying the journey (sometimes). And I think I’m learning a few things. In that regard, this year will be better than the last. I often think of Robert Frost’s poem: “and miles to go before I sleep.”
Topical Index: you, who am I, Matthew 16:15
