Who do you say that I am?

Who am I? ‘I am a rock. I am an island’ – those lyrics haunted me for years. Simon & Garfunkel’s soulful songs drew out the insecurities in my teenage life. Yet, forty years on I found myself back to square one -asking myself the same question – who am I? Am I a rock? Am I an island?

Three years ago I thought I knew who I was and where I was going. The kids had left home and I’d retired from my teaching job to begin writing full-time. I had friends, family and purpose. Life was good, not without its challenges but hey, we all have those, right? It was still good and I was happy to be alive. But through a series of events, [which this post is not about] everything changed. I’d read dramatic accounts in the past about how other people’s lives were changed through various circumstances  but I always felt that I was solid as a rock. I thought nothing could shake me; that my faith was invincible. How wrong I was.

In the twinkle of an eye, everything changed. That which was sure in my life, I now looked upon with suspicion. Suddenly, I trusted no-one; not even God. I still talked to God but I wasn’t sure I could trust Him any more- after all, why did He allow me to be subjected to lies and betrayal; why didn’t He tell me to watch out, where was this so-called protection, this deliverance from the fowler’s snare that the Bible spoke of? And where were my friends; the ones who knew the truth yet kept quiet, lest they themselves be caught in the same net? I was in a bad way. I decided to hide; the only solution was to find a safe place, a place inside myself.

For six months I withdrew and took refuge – I buried myself in myself. I wasn’t even sure I could be trusted but I certainly knew no-one else could, so I made the best of it. The thing I discovered in this watershed environment was that living this way wasn’t living at all – it was merely existing. Don’t get me wrong; it was everything I wanted it to be – safe, secure, predictable; but it wasn’t really living. I became restless – I knew I couldn’t see out my days like this. I was looking out through the bars of a self-imposed prison and I saw the choices laid out before me; like bowls of fruit on a banqueting table. Love, joy, peace, kindness, goodness, faithfulness and the like; they were all on offer. I’d tasted them before and I knew they were good. Why did you stop feasting? The question plagued me. I had been listening to reason, lapping at bitterness, feeding on fear. The cup of poison offered me an analgesic, yet it would also consume my soul. I was in danger – I would become a rock, an island.

I knew if I didn’t leave now, I would morph into something that produced death. But how does one leave a prison cell? And if I did leave, would I be safe? There were no guarantees – in fact I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be safe. But I would be free. The way out was fraught with danger. I didn’t know who I was any more – my identity had changed. My only option was to take the risk – the risk of being hurt, of being misunderstood, of being rejected again. As I walked out of that cell, I found a new identity; one based not on what others said about me but based on what Jesus said about me – and about you, about us all. I thought others had destroyed my reputation but I discovered that my reputation with God had not been destroyed – He knew who I was and He loved me anyway. The day I discovered that, I wept. And suddenly I realised I wasn’t a rock and I wasn’t an island either because ‘a rock feels no pain,and an island never cries.’

Who does God say that you are? Ask Him.

Photographer: Peter Ronald