Letter 64: Who You Are

I’m sure I’ve mentioned our dog before.  Since he is a mutt, there is no need to describe as anything other than a dog.  He is quite content with that description.  Our dog is sure of who he is, and suffers no existential angst over whether he is really something other than what he is.  And he has never had to seek out this information.  In this, he is one with the rocks and trees and birds.  None worries about its identity.  Their identity is inherently bound up in their being.

Humans are strangely cursed with this question, “Who am I?”  We obsess about it, convinced that we do not have the answers, and that once we do, we unlock our destiny, which freights the quest with so much worry and fear.  What if we get our identity wrong?  Are we condemning ourselves to a life of misery?

And so we experiment.  We try out identities the way we try on clothes.  Does this fit?  Is it flattering?  We anxiously flit about, missing the irony that our identity cannot be something from the outside that we put on.  It can’t be.  A banana in pajamas is still a banana, albeit one now in pajamas.

Matthew’s Gospel opens with a genealogy of Jesus.  Coming off the strings of genealogies in the Old Testament, it is a strange place to start.  Mark begins with Jesus in action, Luke offers a formal introduction laying out his purpose, and John offers a cosmic view of what he is about to relate.  But our first look at Jesus starts with a whole string of begettings.  Why?

Matthew wants to lay out Jesus’ identity as both contextual and relational.  First and foremost, Jesus is a descendant of Abraham, through Isaac, which makes him a Jew and a further fulfillment of God’s promise.  As we follow the list, Jesus bears in his person the story of God’s people, both the high points– Boaz, David, and Hezekiah– and the low– Rehoboam, Jeconiah and the exile.  From the heights of kings, Jesus’s family tree descends to comparative obscurity.  Generations of hopes and dreams flow into him.

More concretely, it also shows him as a son and a grandson, and later a brother, a person of a certain class residing in a certain time and place.  These can give rise to certain assumptions on our part– Can anything good come from Nazareth– but our assumptions do not make for another’s identity.

There can be certain facts about us, like our height and weight and eye color, which are important in describing us, but there are likely a number of people in the world possessing the same combination of height, weight, and eye color.  We must be more.  We are all like mosaics, a complete image made up of many tiny pieces.  We cannot be reduced to any one piece, or even a number of pieces.  As image bearers of God, like Him, we simply are, albeit delineated by time.

So wear a silly hat, if you wish, or the latest styles.  Eat no fat, or only fat.  Appreciate that you have father and mother and a hometown.  None of these defines you, but they are all a part of you.  Some are to be shouted about, others to be mourned.  But submit yourselves to God in humble worship, for we are all uniquely and wonderfully made.

About the only thing I remember of my wedding is seeing my wife come down the aisle.  She had on make up and contacts, and her hair was straightened and pinned up.  I did not recognize her.  It was only when she broke out in a smile that I finally knew that this was my beloved.  It could be no other, and it is better than good.

Letter 63: L Day

Lorde, thou hast bene oure refuge from one generacion to another.
Before the mountaynes were brought forth, or ever the earth and the worlde were made, thou art God from everlastyng and worlde without ende.
Thou turnest man to destruccion. Agayne, thou sayest: come agayne ye chyldren of men. For a thousande yeares in thy syght are but as yesterdaye, seynge that is past as a watch in the nyght. As sone as thou scatrest them, they are even as a slepe, and fade awaye sodenly lyke the grasse.
In the mornyng it is grene and groweth up, but in the evenynge it is cut downe dryed up and withered. For we consume awaye in thy displeasure, and are afrayed at thy wrathfull indignacyon. Thou hast set oure misdedes before the, and oure secrete synnes in the lyght of thy countenaunce. For when thou art angrye, all oure dayes are gone: we brynge oure yeares to an ende, as it were a tale that is tolde.
The dayes of our age are thre score yeares and ten: and though men be so stronge that they come to foure score yeares, yet is theyr strength then but laboure and sorowe: so soone passeth it a waye, and we are gone.
But who regardeth the power of thy wrath, for even therafter as a man feareth, so is thy displeasure. O teach us to nonbre oure dayes, that we maye applye oure hertes unto wysdome. Turne the agayne (O Lorde) at the last, and be gracious unto thy servauntes. O satisfie us with thy mercy, and that soone: so shall we rejoyce and be glad all the dayes of oure lyfe.
Comforte us agayne, now after the tyme that thou hast plagued us, and for the yeares wherin we have suffred adversyte.
Shewe thy servauntes thy worcke, and theyr children thy glory. And the gloryous majesty of the Lorde oure God be upon us: prospere thou the worcke of our handes upon us, O prospere thou oure handy worcke.

-Psalm XC, Domine, refugium (Coverdale)

Psalm 90 bears the peculiar attribution to “Moses, the Man of God.”  We do not know if it was prompted by a particular circumstance or not.  It does serve as a fitting coda to the Pentateuch.  The Israelites have experienced God’s protection and seen His wrath.  The author is clearly aware of God’s power and the puny weakness and brevity of man.  Contrary to the promise of most self-help platforms, even our best life is “labor and sorrow.” If life is short and difficult and lived out before God how are we to live?

Verse 12 forms the hinge that moves us forward.  “O teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.”  So how do we do this?

The standard application is to make every day count, because our days are limited.  This feeds the American preoccupation with efficiency and productivity.  Like carry-on luggage, we are inclined jam as much as we can into our lives, until things are overflowing.  And in this, we are well pleased.

But this is missing the nuances of the Hebrew.  The word we translate as “number” or “consider,” mana, has a broader meaning.  The word is also used when Joshua assigns each tribe their territory in the Promised Land.  It can suggest preparing, assigning, allocating, or reckoning.  The word “teach,” yada, suggests imparting a measure of familiarity, such that this knowledge becomes a part of us.

Beyond knowing that our lives are short, the verse suggests viewing the arc of our lives as a whole.  As I have mentioned before, I live in a part of the world that has a definite growing season.  There is a time when things will grow, and times when nothing grows.  Thus it is always important to know what season it is to know actions are needed.  One does not harvest in Spring.  And this sense of knowing the time and season is a part of mana.

So to number our days and gain wisdom, we must first know what season we are in.

This year marks one of those milestone birthdays that invites looking back, as much as it does looking forward.  Like it or no, much of my life is now past.  It still feels strange to say that.  So much of my life heretofore has been a process of clearing one milestone after another in the race forward.  Talking- check.  Walking- check.  Reading- check.  Go to school- check.  We have been groomed to push ever forward, only now, I find I’m not moving so fast, and I’m not in such a hurry to get there.

It is time, I think, to start looking at what should be left behind.  As might be expected, this is a pun, as it includes both those things in my life that should be released as unnecessary, but also to those things I hope will outlast my final breath.  What will they be?

Prosper the work of my hand, O God, prosper the work of my hands.