Who You Are and What You Represent
The Very Reverend Harry H. Pritchett, Jr.
The Cathedral of St. Philip, Atlanta, GA
January 7 , 2007
When I was growing up in Alabama, our Diocesan Bishop would come on occasion to visit in the Parish Sunday School. We were all fascinated with him because he was six feet eight inches tall, a former wrestler and spoke in a very deep base voice. If truth be known, as a little boy, I really thought he was God! His favorite admonition to us children was this: “Remember who you are and what you represent!”. I’m sure I never knew exactly what that meant, but I took it to heart because of his mammoth size, resonant voice, and flowing red Episcopal robes.
It wasn’t until years later that I began to think about that admonition : who was I and what did I represent. I assumed it had something to do with the church because the Bishop always said it. And yet it implied consciously and unconsciously the question which in some says is THE question of our age… who are we and what do we really represent. Psychologists would call it the question of identity. It’s not a question you readily ask on first meeting someone at a cocktail party. More likely we say something like where are you from, which in the south is really asking who are your people? Or we say where did you go to school? Or even more frequently, what do you do? All these, however, are just more subtle ways of asking the “who are you” question without being so startlingly forward.
The church in her wisdom without being so startlingly forward, does suggest an answer to the “who are you” question. Of course sometimes I think the church tends to provide answers before we have even asked the questions in a sort of theological jeopardy game. In that TV game the answers are provided and then the contestants are supposed to come up with the correct questions.
Yet on the question of identity, I think the church has got it right. The answer is fundamental and simple and straightforward. It is here in the baptism service – as the priest is signing the head of the newly baptized with the sign of the cross, the priest says, “You are marked as Christ’s own forever.” That is who you are. The church dares to proclaim that this is our identity at the bottom line . Just as God claimed Jesus’ identity at his baptism when God said, “You are my beloved child. With you I am well pleased.” So today we also proclaim the basic identity of these children, “You are marked as Christ’s own forever!”
And I believe this is true for us all. Our foreheads are branded with this invisible sign–we are claimed as members of God’s family forever. And in that sense we really are not free anymore. We are not free any more to do as we please. There is an analogy between our spiritual birth at baptism and our natural birth. All of us were born with a unique set of genes – a unique set of parents – a unique set of historical circumstances. And that can’t be changed. Oh, I could change my name and I could go to the farthest part of the world and pretend that I never heard of my folks or my family or what it was like in central Alabama in the 40s and 50s, but that would not change my basic identity. In other words I am free to choose not to live like who I am. That is to say I can try not to remember who I am and what I represent. But the truth is I am what I am, as the wonderful song from “La Cage aux Folles” sings.
Now I can pretend I’m somebody else. I can assume I’m only a creature of the moment, but that would be a lie. We are not called into being out of nothing. We came from somewhere. We all have our personal and communal histories that reach back further than memory even and far deeper than our consciousness. To pretend these dimensions are not part of who we are is to deny our unique identity. And likewise we may choose not to live out our identity as God’s children. We may live as though we are not Christ’s own forever. We may pretend we are somebody else and somebody else’s. But then we live a lie. Once you have been baptized, there is that indelible cross on your forehead. It defines you .You are who you are, and you are Christ’s own forever.
Think about what that might mean. Play with that image this morning just a minute in your mind. Imagine that the invisible cross on your forehead is not invisible. Imagine that it is really there for all to see – like a tattoo. Imagine as you drive down Peachtree and another driver cuts right in front of you and delivers a vulgar hand gesture, on your forehead is the cross of Jesus. Imagine as you get ready to say whatever it is you want to say to your spouse, your forehead is branded with the cross. As you go into the voting booth , it is there As you walk into the office to close the deal, it is there. As you go into court to argue the case, there it is.
As you walk into the restaurant and encounter the tired and irritable waitress, it is there on your forehead. As you walk by the drunk curled up in the bushes in the park, it is there. As your partner confesses his betrayal, it is there. As your teenager slams the door angrily in your face, there it is on your forehead – the cross of Christ. You are a marked person, branded as “Christ’s on forever.” At least, with this backwards collar on, I can take it off! So, being Christ’s own forever may hold its responsibilities, but it also comes with it promises – its protection and power.
One of the saddest event to strike our All Saints Parish right before I left Atlanta for New York about eleven years ago, was the tragic and mysterious death of a ten-year-old boy, who hung himself one night in his room. Amidst the shock and horror and incredible unreality of that day, his funeral needed to be planned and the faith of the community needed to be held up and the grief of all needed to be acknowledged and affirmed. And so, we gathered together in the church with the ancient liturgy to comfort each other as well as his parents – and we sang Easter alleluias – not because we felt like it, but because it is what Christians do to affirm who we are – to proclaim our identity. Brad was buried that day in the cemetery outside our sanctuary. Now the custom at All Saints is that every newly baptized person receives his or her own banner with nothing written on it besides their name and “Christ’s own forever”. At Brad’s parents’ request, his remains were placed in the ground wrapped in his ten-year-old, faded and tattered baptism banner in sure and certain hope that his true identity as a marked and beloved child is that he is Christ’s own forever .
Maybe the most important thing that has happened to any of us Christians is being baptized. I didn’t know it at the time, but somehow it has defined my life’s quest. Maybe the ultimate tribute for any of us is to say that we were baptized…that we became who we were. Just maybe that is the most fulfilling and real thing for baptized persons to become…to become who we are. Maybe that’s is the goal of our pilgrimage in faith – living into our own identity as the baptized ones. And maybe that tall and old bishop from my childhood was right ... we need to remember over and over again just who we are and what we represent. And along our journey our brother Jesus yells back at us when the night is long and the going is rough to assure us—to claim us… “you are my beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
Comments? Contact Dean Pritchett at: HPritchett@stphilipscathedral.org