The year, 1940, was significant for me. My seventeenth birthday occurred in late January, and I made my decision to be a Christian two days before that birthday. I took the matter of faith seriously, and determined almost immediately to follow a life and career in Christian ministry. I graduated from high school, and that fall entered a Christian college (Nyack), then to another (Wheaton) to prepare for a life of service. The students were intent about their desire to prepare for some occupation relating to mission in the world. A common question we asked of each other, and our teachers, was: How may we find God’s will for our lives? Thirty years later (after teaching at Northwestern (Minnesota), and Whitworth (Washington) Colleges, I became the president of a Christian college (Simpson) in California. Questions had shifted in their order, even changed in the passing of time. Most common was: Who am I? I was struck that the accent had changed from an objective ideal to a personal one. The questions on the Christian campus were nearly the same as the ones that students were asking on public, secular campuses. Our students were interested in God’s will, but emphases had shifted as reflected in their topics, and in their conduct. They were more socially aware and interested in wealth than we elders were.
Who am I? Had I asked my mother, she might have said: You are Mark Lee, my son, and I love you. Go cut the lawn. That would give me a fair idea about who I am physically. Had I asked my pastor, he might have responded with the insight he held about spiritual integrity in my life. Had I asked my teachers, they might have recalled the grades I had received in my classes, by recitations, and various bits of evidence related to my intellectual development to maturity. They would say, in their own way, that I was an excellent, good, fair, poor, or failing student. My friends could tell me, from their points of view, who I was to them. All of these, added up, would give me a fair idea of who I am – at the moment. Some factors I would know, but some introduced.
In early generations of my American forebears, children were born and perceived as little people. Effective parents simply tried to teach their little people to become big people – adults. If we had talked to a reliable parent in 1800 about adolescence that parent would know only marginally the meaning. Paintings show children dressed as their parents dressed, and bearing the same countenance. The children were on their way to becoming adults to live, marry, work, believe and nurture a family. Part of that development was to find the social, physical, intellectual and spiritual levels of life that were available. It was the pattern applied to Jesus, noted in Luke 2:52.
The story in the book of Esther included perceptions of identity. Mordecai had no problems with self-identity. He declared his lineage and faith. While others covered their identity by denying their Jewishness, he was open about it, related also to his environment. Haman became angry that Mordecai would not grant him reverence. Haman did not know who he was. He tried to be a demigod, rather than a servant, to the people. Haman died on the gallows for his machinations. Mordecai succeeded to Haman’s governing position. Mordecai, knowing about himself, was more concerned about what a person, and his family, could become on earth – for God. Even when Mordecai played the game of the secular court, as he appears to have done within the boundaries he would accept, his conduct related to that he believed himself, and God to be. It was enough for Esther to take heart and discover who she could be. *Mark W. Lee, Sr. — 2016, 2020