Identity

My parents made the long trek to St. Paul last Thursday in order to visit me. For them, it was an adventure. Several lanes of speeding traffic can be a bit unnerving if one is used to driving on narrow gravel roads. (Incidentally, city people are nervous about and as bad at driving on country roads as are country people with city highways.) We had a great time together, visiting the Cathedral, the Minnesota Zoo, and the Hard Rock Café. I was glad to have them here, and share a few moments of the more hidden seminary life that I live - the life with which they are mostly unfamiliar.

One of the striking things about my parents, though, and my father in particular, is that there is no mistaking their profession. My father is a rancher, and it is obvious. He is proud of who he is and what he does. As a result, regardless of place or circumstance, you will find him wearing the uniform of a cowboy. He is seldom without a hat, tall topped boots with the pant legs tucked inside, and a brightly colored silk scarf. Now, it seems to me that when "emo" is the fashion of the day, there are very few people in a position to be startled at the dress of another, but startled, people were. I suppose that it is unusual to see a cowboy wandering around downtown Minneapolis.

My father was a bit concerned that his dress was embarrassing me. It was not. It is who he is. It is who I am.

Before returning to school, on a retreat with other seminarians from my diocese, the retreat director spoke to us of finding our identity primarily rooted in the the fact that through baptism, we are made sons and daughters of God. As I spent time praying with this notion, it occurred to me that a great deal of information can be ascertained about me when one knows who my father is. This is especially apparent to me when I attend a community event in my childhood community. I have been away long enough now to not be recognized by some people. When asked who I am, rather than telling them my own name, I respond, "I am Robert's son." With that information, people know where I was raised and how I was raised. They have some sense of my political views. They know my religion. They know most of the things, at least the outwardly discernible things, that distinguish me from everybody else. I am Robert's son.

More profoundly, though, I am God's son. He adopted me, through Jesus Christ, in my baptism. As a result, people who encounter me should immediately know a few things. First, I am loved profoundly, and my life is designed to allow me to draw closer to that love each day. I am not of this world. I am a pilgrim making my way home. I am a reflection of God. I am a witness. I am a member of a community that extends across national and cultural barriers. I am called to change the world. I have recourse to a power that is not of myself. I am these things, precisely because I am a son of God.

I love my parents. I was happy to have them for a short weekend. And I'm glad to be reminded that while I will always be Robert's son, I am, in the deepest sense of the word, a son of God.