You're Mine

A Reflection on the Second Reading for March 8th, 2020:
​Second Sunday of Lent

2 Timothy 1:8-10

Do not be ashamed then of testifying to our Lord, nor of me his prisoner, but share in suffering for the gospel in the power of God,  who saved us and called us with a holy calling, not in virtue of our works but in virtue of his own purpose and the grace which he gave us in Christ Jesus ages ago, and now has manifested through the appearing of our Saviour Christ Jesus, who abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel. 

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Pause. Pray.

And then read more...

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I am so prone to trying to earn God's love. I know that's not how it works, but that doesn't stop me from trying to earn it. I like to rely on my own ability, my own merit, my own accomplishments.  I think it has something to do with my love of control.

Several years ago, I had the opportunity to do a Catholic pilgrimage called the Camino de Santiago in Spain. If you walk one of the main routes, you'll meet lots of other walkers and often land in each town with the same group of people for weeks; like a very un-glamorous and sweaty bus tour with blisters and tendonitis, in the rain. Sounds great, right? Perhaps surprisingly, it is! It attracts all kinds of walkers — seekers, doubters, adventurers, devoted believers, recent retirees, students on school trips, and people at all sorts of crossroads in their lives. Though I often walked alone, I met a lot of people and had many interesting conversations. It often seemed like I was having the same conversation over and over again with different people: "Where are you from?" "What do you do?" "Why are you walking the Camino?" I loved it. The other person's part of the conversation was different every time — and they were fascinating. My part of the conversation was basically the same, but as I was answering these questions over and over again, I realized I was essentially answering the question, "Who are you?". Truthfully, I felt like I was explaining the answers to myself for the first time. I did the walk just after I finished all my training for work, and in talking with people who had no vested interest in what I said, I was free to really ask myself those questions. 

I did another route to Santiago a few years later. This time, the route was a lot less populated. The Camino leaves you alone with your own thoughts a lot, which can be both good and bad. I would think about the most seemingly random things. On one day where I spent most of the time walking alone, a particular question kept coming to mind: "Don't you know who you are?" I thought it was a Bible verse. When I went to look for the verse that evening, I couldn't find it. Then I started wondering if it was not so much a verse as a question. Certainly, it's the question at the core of a lot of God's messages to the people of the Old Testament, but I started thinking it might be a question for me, too.

"Don't you know who you are?"

It was not accusing, not chiding, not angry; it was comforting, validating, encouraging. It was as if God might be saying, "Morgan, where are you looking to find your identity, to find your value? Don't you know who you are? You don't have to prove yourself in any way. You're mine." It seemed like the completion, or probably more appropriately an extension, of the lesson I got from my first Camino. The first time, I was asking myself the question, "Who are you?", and coming up with all kinds of what I thought were honest answers: daughter, sister, friend, auntie, health care provider, believer, doubter, hypocrite, idealist, cynic, etc. The second time, it was as if God was saying, "Sure, all those things might be true to varying degrees and parts of your human identity, but don't you know who you really are? You are loved by Me."​




​Morgan MacKenzie

Photo by Jorge Luis Ojeda Flota on Unsplash

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