Whose Are You?
John 17:6-19
James Sledge
May 16, 2021
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I pulled up in the parking lot of this ancient garage, dragged the tire from the bed of a beat up El Camino, and rolled it toward one of the two open garage doors where a couple of elderly gentlemen were sitting in chairs. I did not recognize either of them, but one looked at me and said, “You must be Hartwell’s grandkid.”
Now it so happens that my father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were all named Hartwell, but only my great-grandfather went by that name. And so I answered the gentleman saying, “I believe I’m his great-grandson,” and the ensuing conversation confirmed that this was indeed the case.
Growing up in the vestiges of the rural south, who your daddy or granddaddy was, was important. More often than not, an introduction was likely to include something of your lineage. “This is James, Ken Sledge’s son, Dick’s grandson. Such identifications were, for me, usually beneficial. My family had been in the area for generations and was reasonably well respected That meant I was assumed to be respectable myself unless I did something to prove otherwise. Had I been from a different family, I might have been assumed no-good unless I worked hard to convince people differently.
It’s a notion that is fading away in our culture, the notion that the family you belong to says something about who you are. People don’t stay in one place as much as they once did, and we live in an increasingly individualist culture. We don’t want to be identified by who we belong to. We want to be our own person, to make our own mark.
I felt that way at times when I still lived in Charlotte. When Shawn and I got married, we were members for a time at the church my parents and siblings belonged to, the church I had been a member of since 9th grade. And even though I was an adult, it seemed to me that I was never just James. I was always Ken’s son. When Shawn and I later joined another church, it was largely because it was more convenient to where we lived, but it was also a place where I wasn’t Ken’s son. I could just be James.
Wanting to be independent is a natural human drive it seems. As children grow up, they test their parents’ limits, seeking autonomy. People from families where the parents won’t treat their grown-up children as adults sometimes move clear across the country so that they can be independent, be their own person.
Seeking to be independent is as old as humanity. And it’s not just independence from parents or teachers or employers that people seek. People also seek their independence from God. In fact, that’s the first story in the Bible. The man and the woman in the Garden of Eden, blessed with every good thing that there is to have, still want to be independent. That’s what tempts them. “…When you eat of [the tree] your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God…” It’s the oldest story, and the newest, because it’s our story. We seek to be independent, even to be our own gods.
It’s our culture’s story as well. Our culture is about the pursuit of freedom. Within certain limits, no one should tell me what to do. I am free to make my own decisions. We chafe at the idea of others telling us what to do. We want to be our own person.
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In our gospel reading, Jesus prays for his disciples just before he is arrested and says, “I have made your name known to those you gave me from the world… I am not asking on behalf of the world, but on behalf of those you gave me, because they are yours.” They are yours. They belong to God and to Jesus.
The very first question of the Heidelberg Catechism puts it this way. “Q. What is your only comfort in life and in death? A. That I am not my own, but belong—body and soul, in life and in death—to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ…” It is comforting to know that we belong to God in Christ, but it also runs quite counter to being our own person. If I belong to God, I cannot be my own man. I am not my own. I am God’s.
Think about that. If we are Jesus’ disciples, we are not our own. We belong to God. It means that we are in the care of one whose love risked a cross for our sakes. It means we are in the arms of one whose love is stronger even than death. It means we belong to one who was willing, as the Bible says, to redeem us at great cost. It means we are greatly desired, greatly valued by God. But our belonging to God is also for a purpose, that we might be God’s holy people, sent out into the world just as Jesus was sent.
Called to be a holy people… All Christians are, you know. Twice in Jesus’ prayer he asks the Father to sanctify his disciples. Sanctify means to purify, to set aside for sacred purposes, to make holy. This has nothing to do with being holier than thou or sanctimonious. This is about being set apart by God for a special purpose, a calling issued to everyone who professes faith in Christ. This is the other half of belonging to God, being called to do God’s work in the world.
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When people decide to give church a try, very often they are seeking meaning. Very often they are looking for fulfillment and a sense of identity. Very often they are seeking answers to the basic question, “Who am I?” But perhaps another question needs to be asked as well. Not just “Who” but also “Whose am I?”
Whose are you? To whom do you belong? “Q. What is your only comfort in life and in death? A. That I am not my own, but belong—body and soul, in life and in death—to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ…”
To whom or what do you belong? Don’t answer too quickly. Think for a moment about who or what you are captive to. Some people belong to their careers and would do almost anything to advance them. Some people belong to their things more than their things belong to them. Things call to them saying, “You need me, you want me,” and they cannot resist that voice. Some people belong so completely to their spouse that their own identity becomes lost somewhere in the process.
“Q. What is your only comfort in life and in death? A. That I am not my own, but belong—body and soul, in life and in death—to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ…”
Very often, belonging to something or someone makes you a captive, loosing yourself in the pursuit of a career, in consumerism’s endless pursuit of things, in an unhealthy relationship. But belonging to God, to Jesus, is a strange sort of captivity that sets you free, free to live the life you were created to live.
There’s an old hymn that captures the paradoxical nature of belonging to God. It begins this way. “Make me a captive Lord, and then I shall be free; Force me to render up my sword, and I shall conqueror be. I sink in life’s alarms when by myself I stand; Imprison me within Thine arms, and strong shall be my hand.”[1]
“Q. What is your only comfort in life and in death? A. That I am not my own, but belong—body and soul, in life and in death—to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ…”
Thanks be to God!
[1]“Make Me a Captive, Lord,” 1890, by George Matheson, The Presbyterian Hymnal, (Louisville: Westminster/John Knox Press, 1990), Hymn No. 378.
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