Well, it used to be that your identity was something given to you, given by your family, by your community, or by your religion.
But today, we live in a world of endless options.
We have access to global education, global careers, and a global spiritual marketplace.
The question, therefore, isn't who am I? The question is, who do I want to be? We have become masters of the curated self, those who have learned to invent their own identity, gender, purpose, morality, and even spirituality.
And theologian Dan Strange, building on the work of Dutch missiologist J.H. Bavinck, notes that people don't just invent random ideas about God.
He explains, "If Christianity is the ultimate truth about God, then other religions are inferior responses.
They are antithetically against, yet parasitically dependent on, the truth of a Christian worldview." Let me say that little bit again.
That's quite complicated.
"They are antithetically against, yet parasitically dependent on, the truth of a Christian worldview." In other words, they have created for themselves a substitute, like off-brand cola.
They are similar in appearance, but lack the real thing.
But when we reject his true revelation of himself, we don't stop worshiping.
We build surrogate, custom-made, and less demanding gods.
We suppress the truth for a lie, as Paul later writes to the Romans.
But here's the kicker.
This isn't just true of world religions.
It's true of every one of us here.
All of us are curating the world around us and our identity within it, including our righteousness.
We carefully choose, edit, and present every aspect of our lives that we want other people to see, while also hiding the mess, the bad days, the mistakes, the boring bits, and the sin.
We try vainly to manage the narrative of brand me.
And once we have constructed this fragile, curated self, we will do almost anything to protect it.
I've taken many funerals where it's almost impossible to recognize the person behind the eulogy.
Every mistake has been airbrushed out, and we all know it's a fake.
But somehow the curated memory just seems more bearable than an honest assessment of their life.
Well, it used to be that your identity was something given to you, given by your family, by your community, or by your religion.
But today, we live in a world of endless options.
We have access to global education, global careers, and a global spiritual marketplace.
The question, therefore, isn't who am I? The question is, who do I want to be? We have become masters of the curated self, those who have learned to invent their own identity, gender, purpose, morality, and even spirituality.
And theologian Dan Strange, building on the work of Dutch missiologist J.H. Bavinck, notes that people don't just invent random ideas about God.
He explains, "If Christianity is the ultimate truth about God, then other religions are inferior responses.
They are antithetically against, yet parasitically dependent on, the truth of a Christian worldview." Let me say that little bit again.
That's quite complicated.
"They are antithetically against, yet parasitically dependent on, the truth of a Christian worldview." In other words, they have created for themselves a substitute, like off-brand cola.
They are similar in appearance, but lack the real thing.
But when we reject his true revelation of himself, we don't stop worshiping.
We build surrogate, custom-made, and less demanding gods.
We suppress the truth for a lie, as Paul later writes to the Romans.
But here's the kicker.
This isn't just true of world religions.
It's true of every one of us here.
All of us are curating the world around us and our identity within it, including our righteousness.
We carefully choose, edit, and present every aspect of our lives that we want other people to see, while also hiding the mess, the bad days, the mistakes, the boring bits, and the sin.
We try vainly to manage the narrative of brand me.
And once we have constructed this fragile, curated self, we will do almost anything to protect it.
I've taken many funerals where it's almost impossible to recognize the person behind the eulogy.
Every mistake has been airbrushed out, and we all know it's a fake.
But somehow the curated memory just seems more bearable than an honest assessment of their life.
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