The Exercise of Identity

A homily preached at the College for Congregational Development weekend, January 9, 2010. 

You started with an exercise, a new logo for the diocese.  I am still waiting to see those, I really want to!  Logos are about identity, who you are, a snapshot of what you think is reality.  What you want to tell the world. 

 

If you haven’t already, you will also be discussing culture, the culture of your congregation, your community, the world we live in.  That too, has identity, has a DNA.  Jesus, we hear in John, is talking about much the same.  Identity.  He is trying to make clear his identity. 

 

On Christmas Eve, I was preaching at St. Mark’s Cathedral.  Finding myself being hot and sweaty throughout the service I actually looked forward to marching out the back doors to the great outdoors where I greeted people, and bid them Merry Christmas.  And as I did, I kept, out of the corner of my eye, seeing this man standing off to the side, somewhat not sure if he should approach me.  So, I turned to him, and held my hand out, and he didn’t just shake mine, he really took it.  And he had in his hand, this band.  He said this band has the name of my brother in arms, because of him, I am here.  He told me a bit about him, that he had a wife, two kids, and that his wife was pregnant when he died.   He put this in my hand, and said,  he is the reason I am alive, but, I can’t grieve him anymore.  I have to let it go.  I told him to let me take it, and I will say my prayers, and I would do the grieving. 

 

My son helped me put it on my arm.   And on Christmas day I stared at it, wondering what I had done.  How could I grieve someone I did not know?  And so, I looked him up.  It was not hard to do. 

 

His name is David Wilkey, age 22, of Elkhart, Ind.; assigned to 1st Battalion, 28th Infantry Regiment, 4th Infantry Brigade, 1st Infantry Division, Fort Riley, Kan.; died June 18, 2007 in Baghdad of wounds sustained when an improvised explosive device detonated near his unit while on foot patrol.  His wife, who was 21 at the time of his death, is named Melinda.  They had a one year old son, and a 4 year old stepson, and his wife was expecting their third child when this news came.  Wilkey went into the military, having been laid off from his job, and needing a way to support his family.  Still, he was proud of his service his friends noted. 

 

I found out a lot, a story about Melinda, and her life a year after his death.   She tells in that about the box that came a few weeks after his death,  In it she found his dog tags and a very personal book. "Just a book that he did little doodles and thoughts and left me a note. And in the front cover it has the different ... the different names.  Those names are those Wilkey was playing with , what he might want to name their unborn child, due in October.  Melinda Wilkey said if it's a boy, he'll be named David Anthony Wilkey III.  It was a girl. 

 

As I poured over these stories, I found myself being able to grieve.  Because I knew Wilkey, he had an identity. 

 

Every time I have had such an experience I want to learn from it, how every person we come in contact with, has such an identity.   How easy it is to forget that, or to make persons an abstract unknown, so that we don’t, and even cannot grieve. 

 

I worry to a degree, that we as Christians, and the Church which is the Body of Christ in this world, not to mention the Episcopal Church, is losing identity.  That’s one of our struggles for this day and time.  And I connect that to what we are about here, to what our work for Christ is, to help others know that identity.  I am convinced we have to know ourselves in a much deeper way if we are to ever find that, learn to be very honest with ourselves, and about our lives together in this wonderful, sacred mystery we call the Church.

 

This work is about identity, who we are, what is reality, to whom it is we pledge our allegiance, to whom we belong.  What does, the logo if there ever was one for Christianity, the cross really mean?  No one will believe us, unless they see it change us.  As Flannery O ‘Connor once said, you shall know the truth and the truth will make you odd.   It should. 

 

Our faith has to be a lived transformative reality for us, to be children of light.   If that is authentically our reality, then we will be telling the world, and changing it too.   That makes this, much more than a simple exercise. 

 

Comments

[KJ]

I just had this discussion with my father today. In this context, odd, peculiar, and yes, queer is a very, very good thing.

Thank you for sharing David's story.

Peace