I am Marty.
I’ve been thinking about this concept all day, and to be honest it kind of hurts my head, so I thought I’d share it with you, and maybe release some of the pressure.
Should my identity be made up by my ideas?
To break it down, I’m basically asking, “Should Marty be Marty and be seen as the Marty that people know because of what Marty believes to be true?”
I used to think yes, but now I’m not so sure. Why?
Because it’s almost impossible (if not impossible) to love someone whose identity you associate with someone who diametrically opposes you in terms of belief.
I grew up a Creationist. Not in the scientific realm, but in the “God said it, and so did my parents, so I believe it” realm. When I first moved to Massachusetts, I remember having lunch at the 99 with a friend of mine who had a science degree from WPI, and my friend basically told me that he believed in evolution, but he was also a Christian. He called it “Theistic Evolution.” Because I grew up associating the identity of people with what they believed, my world was crushed as this person who I trusted had quickly become someone who, to me, not only believed scandalous things, but could not possibly be a a true Christ follower.
Thankfully, I reconciled with my friend, and to this day we have a great relationship, but first, I had to separate my friend from what he believed. Not that I should have to agree with or ignore what he believed, but I first am called to love people before anything else. (See Deuteronomy and that guy who “gave His life” in the New Testament). So…
I am Marty. And the first thing you need to know about me is I am loved and am created to love.
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Yes. And, well, not no, but, hrm.
When a Christian tells a non-Christian, “I hope you grow in understanding.” “I hope you come to receive the love of Christ in your life.” There’s love there. Great love.
But there’s something else. It’s both semantically useful and bankrupt to call it disrespect. Both semantically useful and semantically bankrupt to call it hate.
“Your ideas. Your way of seeing the world. It’s hollow. Built on sand. I only find validity in your words if they reflect what I know of God’s mind. You’re an unfilled receptacle for God’s love, beautiful in your hollowness, waiting for God’s imbuement.”
My thoughts, the things I value and identify with… are automatically, well, shit, or if not, then only by coincidence, effectively.
To term what you call love “love,” is, well, both semantically useful and semantically bankrupt. But then, language is a harsh mistress.