Who Am I?
Dietrich Bonhoeffer was a German pastor who stood firmly against the Nazi
regime during World War II. Born into a well-to-do family, his faith led him to
imprisonment. In prison, he wrestled deeply with his identity, asking himself,
“Who am I?” The following is one of his writings:
Who
am I? They often tell me
I would step from my cell’s
confinement
calmly, cheerfully, firmly,
like a squire from his
country-house.
Who
am I? They often tell me
I would talk to my warders
freely and friendly and
clearly,
as though it were mine to
command.
Who
am I? They also tell me
I would bear the days of
misfortune
equably, smilingly,
proudly,
like one accustomed to win.
Am
I then really all that which other men tell of?
Or am I only what I know of
myself,
restless and longing and
sick, like a bird in a cage,
struggling for breath, as
though hands were compressing my throat,
yearning for colors, for
flowers, for the voices of birds,
thirsting for words of
kindness, for neighborliness,
trembling with anger at
despotism and petty humiliation,
tossing in expectation of
great events,
powerlessly trembling for
friends at an infinite distance,
weary and empty at praying,
at thinking, at making,
faint, and ready to say
farewell to it all?
Who
am I? This or the other?
Am I one person today, and
tomorrow another?
Am I both at once? A
hypocrite before others,
and before myself a
contemptibly woebegone weakling?
Or is something within me
still like a beaten army,
fleeing in disorder from a
victory already achieved?
Who
am I?
They mock me, these lonely
questions of mine.
Whoever I am, thou knowest,
O God, I am thine.
At the River
Who
am I? Knowing
ourselves is one of the most important qualities in our life journey. In
today’s passage, the Jews aggressively questioned John the Baptist, “Who are
you?” John responded plainly, “I am not the Christ.” They pressed further,
“Then who are you? Are you Elijah?” “No,” he replied. “Are you the Prophet we
are expecting?” “No,” he said.
At
the time, people were expecting Elijah, Moses, or a powerful Messianic figure
to come and save them from oppression. Again, they asked, “Who are you? What do
you say about yourself?” John answered, “I am a voice crying out in the wilderness, make the Lord’s path
straight, just as the prophet Isaiah said.”
John
saw himself as a humble servant – a voice that cries out and then disappears,
not the powerful figure they anticipated. John knew who he was and who he was
not. His identity was grounded in God’s
Word.
The
Way
Like John the Baptist, there were other people who have sought truth and found
their identity in God’s signs. The Magi were one of them. Who were the Magi?
The term “Magi” originally referred to priests in ancient Persia. Many scholars
believe the Magi in the nativity story came from Babylon, traveling nearly nine
hundred miles. Their journey likely took several months.
When
the Magi saw the star, they embarked on a bold journey to Jerusalem. Though
they may not have fully understood who Jesus was, they knew they needed a true
King and Savior.
Upon
arriving in Jerusalem, the contrast became clear. The Magi actively sought
Jesus, while the Jewish religious leaders, though they had accurate scriptural
knowledge, did nothing. When asked where the Messiah would be born, the priests
quoted Micah 5:2, but they returned to life as usual. They did nothing. Their
knowledge did not lead them to action because they were content with their
current lives. They felt no need for a Savior.
In
the movie The Way,
Tom, an American eye doctor, learns that his son died while on the pilgrimage, the Camino de Santiago. Tom travels to
France to bring his son’s body home, but then later, he decides to take the
pilgrimage himself in honor of his son’s desire to complete it.
On
his journey, Tom meets several fellow pilgrims, each with different reasons for
walking the Camino. One wants to lose weight, another to quit smoking, and
another to find inspiration for writing. Yet, as they travel together, deeper
questions emerge. It becomes less about their original goals and more about
restoring relationships, healing from guilt, and rediscovering purpose of life.
By the end of the pilgrimage, they are transformed – not because some miracles
happen or their problems are solved, but
because they realize that they are pilgrims. They realize who they are and
who they are not.
The
signs
The Magi needed a guiding star. John the Baptist, though clear in his calling,
still needed God’s signs along the path. Later, from prison, John sent his
disciples to ask Jesus, “Are you the One we’ve been expecting, or should we
wait for someone else?” (Matthew 11:3). Jesus responded, “Go and tell John what
you hear and see: the blind receive sight, the lame walk, the deaf hear, the
dead are raised, and the poor hear the good news.” John saw the sign, stayed
the course, and finished his race well.
During
Christmas break, my family and I took a trip to Boston. As we traveled, I
prayed for signs and assurance that I was on the right path. On Sunday morning,
I planned to worship at Grace-Vision UMC, my home church. However, the church
had moved locations three times, and I accidentally went to the wrong place.
The
first church we visited had just three cars in the parking lot, and the
atmosphere felt lifeless. Though we were late, we searched online and found the
correct location, fifteen minutes away. When we finally arrived and opened the
door, Joyce and I were shocked. The church, once filled with 60-70 people, now
had fewer than 20. Many had left because of pastoral changes, internal
dissension, and denominational struggles.
Despite
all this, I saw life. The pastor and his family were fully invested, repairing
the building and preparing the rooms for children and youth by faith. The
faithful remnant encouraged me. As I worshiped with them, my heart was
refreshed. I saw the light, and I was ready to return to God’s country.
Look
again!
We don’t need to search far for special stars or take a special trip to find God’s
signs. They are always near, found in His
Word and woven throughout our daily lives.
Pastor
John Piper once shared a story that profoundly shaped his life – the story of
Agassiz and the fish.[1]
Louis Agassiz (1807-1873) was the founder of the Harvard Museum of Comparative
Zoology and a Harvard professor. One of his students, Samuel Scudder, recounted
a lesson he learned in Agassiz’s classroom that left a lasting imprint on his
life. On the first day of class, Professor Agassiz handed Samuel a large jar
filled with specimens preserved in yellow alcohol. Reaching in, Agassiz pulled
out a fish and handed it to Samuel, saying, “Take this fish and look at it. We
call it a Haemulon. By and by, I will ask you what you have seen.” Samuel
examined the fish carefully. In about ten minutes, he thought he had seen
everything there was to see. The scales, the fins, the shape of the mouth –
what else could there possibly be? Hours passed, and still, the professor had
not returned. By the time Agassiz came back, Samuel confidently reported his
observations. But to his surprise, the professor was disappointed. “Is that all
you have seen?” he asked. “Look again; look again!” The next several days,
Samuel had no other assignment. For three days, he stared at that same wretched
fish – day and night. He was not allowed to study anything else or use any
instruments to aid his examination. The only instructions he received were,
“Look, look, look.” By the end of those three days, something incredible
happened. Samuel could draw the fish in perfect detail without even looking at
it. Every scale, fin, and ridge was engraved in his mind. When Agassiz finally
introduced a second fish on the fourth day, Samuel was immediately able to see
both the similarities and differences between the two.
As
we step into the new year, may we root our identity in God’s Word. May we
meditate on the Word deeply and patiently, allowing Christ to dwell richly
within us – guiding, shaping, and transforming us. Amen.
[1] John
Piper, Foundations for Lifelong Learning:
Education in Serious Joy (p. 165). Crossway. Kindle Edition.
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