A sense of identity is critical to a healthy personality. I read of London's "storm of the century."
I was interested in what one of the Londoners said when the reporter asked if the city would survive. He said, "of course we shall survive. After all, we are English."
As you know, my father was a preacher in the slums. To counteract this environment and to give us a sense of heritage my mother used to tell us that our ancestors came from Virginia. I was never sure of the fact but I am sure of the effect. She knew the importance of identity. We see this in the military when someone proudly identifies with their branch of the service. Our daughter Brenda lived in Des Moines for "five winters" as they count time. The first July 4Th she walked to the capitol, situated high on a hill, for the military band concert. Men and women were seated all over the grounds. When the band began a medley of service anthems men and women would spontaneously stand in reverence as their theme was played. She hurried back to call us and share the emotion of that experience. They still identified with their branch, long after wars end. In the old days of sports when somebody became a Yankee it created a clear identity. Bobby Richardson said when he put on the pinstripes he played better because he knew he was a Yankee. We even see it in industrial situations with IBM, Nike or Microsoft where there is a strong cultural identity.
Unfortunately, both in society and in business I find those people who really have no personal sense of identity but simply say "I'll be whatever you want me to be." They are blown about by every wind of doctrine. They become the moral faddists.
For many years I've had a personal prayer: "Lord, expand my realization of reality." During a trip to Padre Island I got up an hour before sunrise just to sit on the deck of our condo and look out over the water, trying in some small way to grasp what I was seeing. The moon was full and the light was shimmering across the rollers onto the beach. The clouds on the horizon looked like massive hills with the oil pumping stations dotted out over the water with their external red hearts beating. As the light was pushed in front of the rising sun, in came the huge flocks of birds from their roosts to feed on whatever the tide had brought them. I wondered, how do they flock? What alarm clock do they have? How long do they live? What does their life mean? All of this I was contemplating simply in small hope of having my realization of reality expanded. Once I sat behind an orchestra conductor attending a symphony concert and as I watched him listen I saw the tears come down his face and while I could love music, I knew that I was not feeling what he was feeling but I wished that I could. When I go to black churches and hear them sing, I wish I could feel what they feel. As I sat on the condo deck I got to thinking about why it is so difficult for us to expand our experiences and to deepen them. But as I stretched my realization of reality I considered my identity. Scripture puts us in touch with the unimaginable place that we have in Christ. We don't have to be blown by those winds, but can be rooted. When our anthem plays we can stand together as a "band of brothers."
