Confessing the Sin of Identity Idolatry
If you Confess, He will Forgive
What Movie Character Represents You as a Kid?
I see myself with the personality of Buddy the Elf circa 2003. Maybe it’s because Christmas was just a few weeks ago, but Buddy’s immature, happy-go-lucky demeanor feels like a prepubescent Bo. But when I really think about it, I was a lot like Smalls from The Sandlot (1993). I wasn’t exactly fluent in the social cues needed to discern the difference between Babe Ruth and Baby Ruth. (If you were Squints Palledorous, I salute you.) And, to be honest, I think I was also a bit like Chunk from The Goonies (1985). I recently rewatched The Goonies with my daughter and couldn’t help but remember how often I was the kid yelling, “Hey, guys, wait up!” Thankfully, I was never asked to do the Truffle Shuffle to gain entrance to a friend’s house. But let’s be real: I absolutely would’ve shaken what little belly fat I had with minimal prompting. Best of all, Chunk could make friends with anyone—even the greatest protagonist of all time, Sloth. So, Chunk and I have a lot in common.
I was that loyal friend you didn’t know all that well. I loved trying to make you laugh, and it probably came off as slightly innocent and a little annoying at the same time. I was on the edge of a lot of circles, and no one really knew how I got there. Like a magic trick, I just appeared. But instead of receiving applause, people looked confused. Thinking, “Maybe we should put a bell on that guy?” I was a lot like Chance, the American Bulldog from Homeward Bound (1993)—a lovable, abandoned pup from the pound. At my best, I was enjoyable; at my worst, I was kind of clueless.
Speaking of clueless, Clueless (1995) brings me to my next thought: none of you wanted to be any of the characters I mentioned above. Well, maybe Chance the dog. We all wanted more for ourselves. I longed to be whoever Paul Rudd’s character was in Clueless. I wanted Cher—the only character that mattered—to fall for me, the silly older boy next door who always loved her: the rich, beautiful, popular girl who drove a convertible and had the right to say, “As if!” to any guy in school. I wanted to be strong and brave. From my earliest memories, I longed to be Atreyu from The NeverEnding Story (1984). I rented that movie from Ms. Bonnie Ann’s (Welsh’s rental store) more times than I can count. I wanted to be wrapped in a tale of adventure, fighting the Nothing, riding Artax, the beautiful white horse, and saving the empress by calling out her name: “Moon Child!” I wanted to be wild, fearless, and noble. But I knew I wasn’t.
Let’s take a long, hard stare in the mirror, shall we? Who I wanted to be as a kid was not who I really was. And I’ll go out on a limb and say that who you were wasn’t who you dreamed of being either. None of us were Richie Rich (1994), but maybe we were lucky enough to be one of the poor street rats who followed him around and played in his mansion. Most of us were just… normal. We’re the top of the bell curve, somewhere between A.C. Slater and Steve Urkel.
But who among us is honestly okay with being ordinary? What is that nagging feeling inside us that craves to be more? I’m not fool enough to wish I were Batman—Kevin Costner, of course—but couldn’t I be just a little more… _____? I tried to think of a word to fill in that blank, but I couldn’t. I don’t believe there is a word that accurately describes the person I want to be.
I like the angle Frederick Buechner gives to this feeling:
"Each of us carries around inside himself, a certain emptiness-a sense that something is missing, a restlessness, the deep feeling that somehow all is not right inside his skin. Psychologists sometimes call it anxiety, theologians sometimes call it estrangement, but whatever you call it, I doubt that there are many who do not recognize the experience itself, especially no one of our age, which has been variously termed the age of anxiety, the lost generation, the beat generation, the lonely crowd. Part of the inner world of everyone is this sense of emptiness, unease, incompleteness, and I believe that this in itself is a word from God, that this is the sound that God's voice makes in a world that has explained him away. In such a world, I suspect that maybe God speaks to us most clearly through his silence, his absence, so that we know him best through our missing him.”1
Dang it, Frederick. That’s not what I wanted to hear. Can’t you just say that if I pray more, have deeper devotionals, or work harder, I could—with or without God’s help—become something more akin to He-Man? No. Instead, you’re saying the emptiness is the gift. (Dammit, Buechner, now I’m tearing up!) Off the bat, this doesn’t make me feel better. I want to be complete, and I hate the void. (I’m going to pause here and sit in this for a while, then come back to write what I hope is a good conclusion.)
(I’m back. I wrote that on Tuesday, and now it’s Friday.)
My meditation took me to Jesus, which is always the best conclusion. Our sin attempts to fill the void by creating an identity that mirrors powerless superheroes, vain magazine models, or vainglorious motivational speakers. But I know those idols will never fill the black hole of my heart. Buechner was right: there is a God-ordained silence that deafens all the noise. Would these verses2 help speak into that deep well:
• Ecclesiastes 3:11: “He has put eternity in their heart, without a person grasping what God has done from beginning to end.” — Eternity is inside us all, and something as trivial as fiction will never fill me up.
• Psalm 42:1-2: “As a deer yearns for streams of water, so I yearn for You, O God. My whole being thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and see the presence of God?” — God is and is in the thirst. But will I drink from Him? Does He truly satisfy?
I will never, ever be my childhood idols. I’m forever normal. And though I am not great, I am part of something great. There is a Son of Man to whom I belong, and He is Jesus. He has called me to something extraordinary: to trust in Him as I walk His path. May I believe more and more that my deep unease is God’s way of speaking to my deep need. I can even take comfort in knowing that my anxiety will push me toward Jesus.
“I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” —2 Corinthians 12:9
As is our custom, I invite you to join the other readers in a corporate confession of sin. Let’s Pray:
Gracious Father, we confess that we have sought to fill the void in our hearts with idols of our own making, chasing after identities that cannot satisfy. Forgive us for ignoring Your voice in the silence and striving to be extraordinary in ways that distance us from You. Teach us to rest in the truth that we belong to Jesus, trusting Him to meet our deepest needs and lead us in Your path.
Thanks for praying; God Bless You! I hope you’ll read and pray with us next Saturday at 10 a.m. Feel free to leave a comment if you want to interact.
Telling the Truth, 1969
Verses from Robert Alter’s Translation. The Hebrew Bible